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@@ -1,37 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems, by Alexander Smith - - -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: Poems - Third Edition - - -Author: Alexander Smith - - - -Release Date: March 10, 2013 [eBook #42301] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS*** - - -E-text prepared by Judith Wirawan, David Clarke, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42301 *** Transcriber's note: @@ -47,6 +14,9 @@ Transcriber's note: is represented in this e-text by an em-dash and a "greater than" sign (-->). + The symbol of double dagger is represented in this e-text by + two plus signs (++). + @@ -197,7 +167,7 @@ _Reading from a paper on which he has been writing_. Has had thine eyes too long; thine eyes are mine! Alack! there's sorrow in my Anthony's face! Dost think of Rome? I'll make thee, with a kiss, - Richer than Caesar! Come, I'll crown thy lips." + Richer than Cæsar! Come, I'll crown thy lips." [_Another pause._ How tenderly the moon doth fill the night! Not like the passion that doth fill my soul; @@ -285,7 +255,7 @@ LADY. Life is transfigured in the soft and tender Light of Love, as a volume dun - Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathed splendour + Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathèd splendour In the declining sun. Driven from cities by his restless moods, @@ -386,7 +356,7 @@ LADY. And do not poets' brows throb feverous Till they are cooled with laurels? Therefore, sir, If such dote more on praise than all the wealth - Of precious-wombed earth and pearled mains, + Of precious-wombèd earth and pearlèd mains, Blame not the cheeks of simple maidenhood. Fair sir, I am the empress of this wood! The courtier oaks bow in proud homages, @@ -424,7 +394,7 @@ WALTER. Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness, And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on - With a wild joy. Some books are drenched sands, + With a wild joy. Some books are drenchèd sands, On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books! They mingle gloom and splendour, as I've oft, @@ -518,7 +488,7 @@ LADY. From his heart he unclasped his love Amid the trembling trees, And sent it to the Lady Blanche - On winged poesies. + On wingèd poesies. The Lady Blanche was saintly fair, Nor proud, but meek her look; @@ -659,7 +629,7 @@ WALTER. One great life in my myriad veins, in leaves, in flowers, in cloudy cars, Blowing, underfoot, in clover; beating, overhead, in stars! Once I saw a blissful harvest-moon, but not through forest-leaves; - 'Twas not whitening o'er a country, costly with the piled sheaves; + 'Twas not whitening o'er a country, costly with the pilèd sheaves; Rose not o'er the am'rous ocean, trembling round his happy isles; It came circling large and queenly o'er yon roof of smoky tiles, And I saw it with such feeling, joy in blood, in heart, in brain, @@ -722,7 +692,7 @@ WALTER. Ev'n now are stretched in blessing o'er the sea and o'er the lands. Sit not like a mourner, Brother! by the grave of that dear Past, Throw the Present! 'tis thy servant only when 'tis overcast,-- - Give battle to the leagued world, if thou'rt worthy, truly brave, + Give battle to the leaguèd world, if thou'rt worthy, truly brave, Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a slave, As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, glows with ire, Rifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred bursts of fire, @@ -826,7 +796,7 @@ LADY. Must be the shoutings of the morning stars! What martial music is to marching men Should Song be to Humanity. In song - The infant ages born and swathed are. + The infant ages born and swathèd are. A beauteous menial to our wants divine, A shape celestial tending the dark earth With light and silver service like the moon, @@ -846,7 +816,7 @@ LADY. Is wide and daring as a comet's path! And doubtless 'twill contain the tale of earth By way of episode or anecdote. - This precious world which one pale marred face + This precious world which one pale marrèd face Dropt tears upon. This base and beggar world To your rich soul! O! Marc Anthony, With a fine scorn did toss your world away @@ -930,7 +900,7 @@ WALTER. But there was one among that soft-voiced band Who pined away for love of his sweet eyes, And died among the roses of the spring. - When Eve sat in the dew with closed lids, + When Eve sat in the dew with closèd lids, Came gentle maidens bearing forest flowers To strew upon her green and quiet grave. They soothed the dead with love-songs low and sweet; @@ -962,7 +932,7 @@ WALTER. Pants out her gladness the luxurious night, The moon and stars all hanging on her song, She poured her soul in music. When she ceased, - The charmed woods and breezes silent stood, + The charmèd woods and breezes silent stood, As if all ear to catch her voice again. Uprose the dreamer from his couch of flowers, With awful expectation in his look, @@ -1059,7 +1029,7 @@ WALTER. Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light, Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame, Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks - Of piled gorgeousness, and rocks of fire + Of pilèd gorgeousness, and rocks of fire A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas, All these were huddled in that dreadful west, All shook and trembled in unsteadfast light, @@ -1184,8 +1154,8 @@ WALTER. Golden and green, soft-showering through the leaves, Silent she sat one-half the silent noon; At last she sank luxurious in her couch, - Purple and golden-fringed, like the sun's, - And stretched her white arms on the warmed air, + Purple and golden-fringèd, like the sun's, + And stretched her white arms on the warmèd air, As if to take some object wherewithal To ease the empty aching of her heart. "Oh, what a weariness of life is mine!" @@ -1354,7 +1324,7 @@ WALTER. Weary I of pride and jest, In this rich heart I would rest, - Purple and love-lined nest. + Purple and love-linèd nest. "My dazzling panther of the smoking hills, When the hot sun hath touched their loads of dew, @@ -1376,9 +1346,9 @@ WALTER. Would joy rush through her spirit like a stream, When to her lips he came with victory back: Acclaims and blessings on his head like crowns, - His mouthed wounds brave trumpets in his praise, + His mouthèd wounds brave trumpets in his praise, Drawing huge shoals of people, like the moon, - Whose beauty draws the solemn-noised seas? + Whose beauty draws the solemn-noisèd seas? Or would his bright and lovely sanguine-stains Scare all the coward blood into her heart, Leaving her cheeks as pale as lily leaves? @@ -1396,7 +1366,7 @@ WALTER. Yet are unthreaded, loosened by a sneer, And their resolve doth pass as doth a wave: Of this sort was my cousin. I saw him once, - Adown a pleached alley, in the sun, + Adown a pleachèd alley, in the sun, Two gorgeous peacocks pecking from his hand; At sight of me he first turned red, then pale. I laughed and said, 'I saw a misery perched @@ -1441,7 +1411,7 @@ WALTER. To charm her blood with the fine touch of praise, And as she listens--steal away the heart. If the good gods do grant me such a man, - More would I dote upon his trenched brows, + More would I dote upon his trenchèd brows, His coal-black hair, proud eyes, and scornful lips, Than on a gallant, curled like Absalom, Cheek'd like Apollo, with his luted voice. @@ -1527,7 +1497,7 @@ WALTER. By trembling into music.--"Thee I love." "Thou!" and the Lady, with a cruel laugh, (Each silver throb went through him like a sword,) - Flung herself back upon her fringed couch. + Flung herself back upon her fringèd couch. From which she rose upon him like a queen, She rose and stabbed him with her angry eyes. "'Tis well my father did not hear thee, boy, @@ -1718,7 +1688,7 @@ WALTER. Night mounts her chariot in the eastern glooms To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left Footprints of glory in the clouded west: - Swift is she haled by winged swimming steeds, + Swift is she haled by wingèd swimming steeds, Whose cloudy manes are wet with heavy dews, And dews are drizzling from her chariot wheels. Soft in her lap lies drowsy-lidded Sleep, @@ -1873,7 +1843,7 @@ _A Room in London._ WALTER _reading from a manuscript._ She sat on shaven plot of grass, With earnest face, and weaving - Lilies white and freaked pansies + Lilies white and freakèd pansies Into quaint delicious fancies, Then, on a sudden leaving Her floral wreath, she would upspring @@ -1899,10 +1869,10 @@ _A Room in London._ WALTER _reading from a manuscript._ Two are still leaping in the sun, Three are married; _that_ dearest one Is 'neath the violets. - I gazed till my heart grew wild, + I gazèd till my heart grew wild, To fold her in my warm caresses, Clasp her showers of golden tresses,-- - Oh, dreamy-eyed child! + Oh, dreamy-eyèd child! O Child of Beauty! still thou art A sunbeam in this lonely heart. @@ -1923,11 +1893,11 @@ _A Room in London._ WALTER _reading from a manuscript._ A dear friend and I were walking ('Twas the Sabbath), we were talking Of dreams and feelings vague; - We paused by a place of graves, + We pausèd by a place of graves, Scarcely a word was 'twixt us given, Silent the earth, silent the heaven, No murmur of the waves, - The awed Loch lay black and still + The awèd Loch lay black and still In the black shadow of the hill. We loosed the gate and wandered in, @@ -2626,7 +2596,7 @@ EDWARD _sings._ I sang this song some twenty years ago, (Hot to the ear-tips, with great thumps of heart), - On the gold lawn, while, Caesar-like, the sun + On the gold lawn, while, Cæsar-like, the sun Gathered his robes around him as he fell. ARTHUR. @@ -3232,7 +3202,7 @@ WALTER. Before the door there lay a plot of grass, Snowed o'er with daisies,--flower by all beloved, And famousest in song--and in the midst, - A carved fountain stood, dried up and broken, + A carvèd fountain stood, dried up and broken, On which a peacock perched and sunned itself; Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white, Squatted upon the sward. @@ -3250,7 +3220,7 @@ WALTER. And the cool wind waved in upon his brow, And stirred his curls. Soft fell the summer night. Then he arose, and with inspired lips said,-- - "Stars! ye are golden-voiced clarions + "Stars! ye are golden-voicèd clarions To high-aspiring and heroic dooms. To-night, as I look up unto ye, Stars! I feel my soul rise to its destiny, @@ -3441,7 +3411,7 @@ WALTER. Down to the dewy grass! Here lean thy head, Now you will feel my heart leap 'gainst thy cheek; Imprison me with those white arms of thine. - So, so. O sweet upturned face! (_Kisses her._) If God + So, so. O sweet upturnèd face! (_Kisses her._) If God Told you to-night He'd grant your dearest wish, What would it be? @@ -3802,7 +3772,7 @@ CHARLES. Not in plain terms. Oft an unhappy thought, Telling all is not well, falls from his soul - Like a diseased feather from the wing + Like a diseasèd feather from the wing Of a sick eagle; a scorched meteor-stone Dropt from the ruined moon. @@ -3924,7 +3894,7 @@ WALTER. From its wide circle to its leafy heart, Is as familiar to me as my soul. Memories dwell like doves among the trees, - Like nymphs in glooms, like naiads in the wells; + Like nymphs in glooms, like naïads in the wells; And some are sweet, and sadder some than death. [_A pause._ I could have sworn the world did sing in air, @@ -4699,7 +4669,7 @@ SONNETS. I wrote a Name upon the river sands With her who bore it standing by my side, Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride, - And leaning on my arm with clasped hands, + And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands, To burning words of mine she thus replied, "Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands @@ -4802,7 +4772,7 @@ Turner and his Works: A Biography, illustrated by Examples from his Pictures and a Critical Examination of his Principles and Practice. By JOHN BURNET, F.S.A. The Memoir by PETER CUNNINGHAM: with Plates. Demy 4to. 31s. - 6d.; Autograph Proofs (only 25 printed), folio, L5. 5s. + 6d.; Autograph Proofs (only 25 printed), folio, £5. 5s. Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. @@ -4827,8 +4797,8 @@ The Heroines of Shakspeare: Forty-five Portraits of the principal Female Characters. Engraved under the superintendence of Mr. CHARLES HEATH, from Drawings by the best Artists. Imperial 8vo. handsomely bound in morocco, 42s.; - coloured Plates, L3. 13s. 6d.; proofs, imperial folio, half-morocco, - L3. 13s. 6d.; India proofs, L5. 5s. + coloured Plates, £3. 13s. 6d.; proofs, imperial folio, half-morocco, + £3. 13s. 6d.; India proofs, £5. 5s. The Book of Beauty. @@ -4846,7 +4816,7 @@ Rembrandt and his Works; with a Critical Examination into his Principles and Practice. By JOHN BURNET, F.R.S. 15 Plates, 4to. 31s. 6d.; Artist's Autograph - Proofs, imperial 4to. L5. 5s. (only 50 printed). + Proofs, imperial 4to. £5. 5s. (only 50 printed). Curiosities of Glass-making: @@ -4871,7 +4841,7 @@ Views in Rome; comprising all its principal Edifices, and its surrounding Scenery. Engraved by W.B. COOKE. 38 Plates, with a Panoramic View of the - City. 4to. 21s.; India proofs, L2. 2s. + City. 4to. 21s.; India proofs, £2. 2s. The Bible Gallery: @@ -4888,20 +4858,20 @@ The Gallery of Byron Beauties: Portraits of the Heroines of Lord Byron's Poems, from Drawings by the most eminent Artists. Super-royal 8vo. morocco, 31s. 6d.; highly - coloured, L3. + coloured, £3. Heath's Waverley Gallery. Portraits of the principal Female Characters in the Writings of SCOTT. 36 highly-finished Plates, super-royal 8vo. splendidly bound - in morocco, 31s. 6d.; with coloured plates, L3. + in morocco, 31s. 6d.; with coloured plates, £3. Gallery of the Graces; or, Beauties of British Poets: 36 beautiful Female Heads by Landseer, Boxall, F. Stone, &c., illustrating Tennyson, Campbell, Rogers, Landon, &c. Super-royal 8vo. 31s. 6d. morocco; with coloured - Plates, L3. + Plates, £3. Milton's Poetical Works. @@ -4968,7 +4938,7 @@ Sketches at Home and Abroad. By J.D. HARDING. Sixty Views of the most interesting Scenes, Foreign and Domestic, printed in tints, in exact imitation of the Original - Drawings. Imperial folio, half-morocco, L6. 6s. + Drawings. Imperial folio, half-morocco, £6. 6s. "A treasure-house of delight. Here northern Italy yields up its architectural glories and its lake scenery--Venice its palaces--the @@ -5096,20 +5066,20 @@ An Analysis of Gothic Architecture. Illustrated by a series of upwards of Seven Hundred Examples of Doorways, Windows, &c.; accompanied with Remarks on the several Details of an Ecclesiastical Edifice. By R. and J.A. BRANDON, - Architects. 2 large vols. royal 4to. L5. 5s. + Architects. 2 large vols. royal 4to. £5. 5s. The Open Timber Roofs of the Middle Ages. Illustrated by Perspective and Working Drawings of some of the best varieties of Church Roofs; with descriptive Letterpress. By R. and - J.A. BRANDON. Royal 4to. uniform with the above, L3. 3s. + J.A. BRANDON. Royal 4to. uniform with the above, £3. 3s. Parish Churches; being Perspective Views of English Ecclesiastical Structures; accompanied by Plans drawn to a Uniform Scale, and Letterpress Descriptions. By R. and J.A. BRANDON, Architects. 2 vols. large 8vo. - containing 160 Plates, L2. 2s. + containing 160 Plates, £2. 2s. * * * * * @@ -5119,8 +5089,8 @@ Winkles's English Cathedrals. CHURCHES OF ENGLAND AND WALES. New Edition, with the MANCHESTER CATHEDRAL. 186 Plates, beautifully engraved by B. WINKLES; with Historical and Descriptive Accounts of the various Cathedrals. In - three handsome vols. imp. 8vo. cloth, L2. 8s.; roy. 4to. India - proofs (_very few left_), L6. 6s. + three handsome vols. imp. 8vo. cloth, £2. 8s.; roy. 4to. India + proofs (_very few left_), £6. 6s. *** The Third Volume, comprising Lichfield, Gloucester, Hereford, Worcester, Durham, Carlisle, Chester, Ripon, Manchester, and the @@ -5131,7 +5101,7 @@ Winkles's French Cathedrals. From Drawings by R. GARLAND; with Historical and Descriptive Accounts. Containing Fifty large Plates. Cloth, 21s.; royal 4to. - India proofs, L2. 2s. + India proofs, £2. 2s. Glossary of Architecture. @@ -5194,7 +5164,7 @@ A Month in Constantinople. Prince Adalbert. Travels of H.R.H. Prince Adalbert, of Prussia, in the South of - Europe and in Brazil; with a Voyage up the Amazon and the Xingu. + Europe and in Brazil; with a Voyage up the Amazon and the Xingú. Translated by Sir R.H. SCHOMBURCK and J.E. TAYLOR. 2 vols. 8vo. Maps and Plates, 16s. @@ -5213,7 +5183,7 @@ The Boat and the Caravan: Tour on the Prairies. Narrative of an Expedition across the Great South Western Prairies, - from Texas to Santa Fe. By GEORGE W. KENDALL. 2 vols. fcp. 8vo, with + from Texas to Santa Fé. By GEORGE W. KENDALL. 2 vols. fcp. 8vo, with Map and Plates, 12s. The Wonders of Travel; @@ -5463,7 +5433,7 @@ _Also, in same style,_ Hearts are Trumps. By James Hannay. Natural History of Tuft-hunters and Toadies. " " the Hawk Tribe (Swindlers, Blacklegs, &c.). - " " a Bal Masque. By the Count Chicard. + " " a Bal Masqué. By the Count Chicard. @@ -5476,14 +5446,14 @@ Alexander Smith's Poems. A Life Drama, and other Poems. By ALEXANDER SMITH. _Third Edition._ Fcp. 8vo. cloth, 5s. -Life and Times of Madame de Stael. +Life and Times of Madame de Staël. By MARIA NORRIS. Post 8vo. 9s. cloth. My Life and Acts in Hungary: Being a Personal Narrative of his Career in connection with the - Revolution. By ARTHUR GOERGEI, Commander-in-Chief of the Hungarian + Revolution. By ARTHUR GÖRGEI, Commander-in-Chief of the Hungarian Army. 2 vols. post 8vo. 21s. Men of the Time: @@ -5700,7 +5670,7 @@ Year-Book of Facts in Science and Art; in the arts and sciences, &c. The volumes, from its commencement in 1839, may still be had, 5s. each. - "Ably and honestly compiled."--ATHENAEUM. + "Ably and honestly compiled."--ATHENÆUM. Life's Lessons: @@ -5714,7 +5684,7 @@ Williams's Symbolical Euclid, Edition, 6s. 6d. cloth; 7s. roan.--An 8vo. Edition may also be had, 7s. cloth. - This edition is in use at many of the Public Schools. + ++§++ This edition is in use at many of the Public Schools. King's Interest Tables, @@ -5817,7 +5787,7 @@ Tilt's Cabinet Library Editions. 3. OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S WORKS. 4. HERVEY'S MEDITATIONS and CONTEMPLATIONS. - These Works are clearly and beautifully printed by + ++§++ These Works are clearly and beautifully printed by Whittingham, and each comprised in a handsome fcp. 8vo. vol. Their elegance and cheapness render them very suitable for Presents, School Prizes, or Travelling Companions. Price 6s. each, neatly @@ -5862,7 +5832,7 @@ Memorable Women; The Boy's Own Book: - a complete Encyclopaedia of all the Diversions--Athletic, Scientific, + a complete Encyclopædia of all the Diversions--Athletic, Scientific, and Recreative--of Boyhood and Youth. With several hundred Woodcuts. New Edition, greatly enlarged and improved. Handsomely bound, 8s. 6d. @@ -6151,7 +6121,7 @@ necessary, in ordering, to specify--"TILT'S EDITION." The whole Series may be had in a Case, representing two handsome Quarto Volumes, lettered "LONDON LIBRARY OF BRITISH CLASSICS," which, -when shut, is secured by a patent spring lock, for L5. 5s., forming a +when shut, is secured by a patent spring lock, for £5. 5s., forming a very useful and acceptable BIRTHDAY AND WEDDING PRESENT. @@ -6304,7 +6274,7 @@ Water-colour Gallery; containing large and highly-finished Engravings of the Works of the most distinguished Painters in Water-colours &c. 18 Plates, imperial - 4to. cloth. _Originally published at_ L3. 3s.; _reduced to_ 21s. + 4to. cloth. _Originally published at_ £3. 3s.; _reduced to_ 21s. Museum of Painting and Sculpture: @@ -6314,7 +6284,7 @@ Museum of Painting and Sculpture: Dutch, French, and English Schools, includes TWELVE HUNDRED PLATES, and is an indispensable _vade-mecum_ to the Artist or Collector. In 17 handsome vols. small 8vo. neatly bound, with gilt tops. - _Originally published at_ L17. 17s.; _reduced to_ L4. 14s. 6d. + _Originally published at_ £17. 17s.; _reduced to_ £4. 14s. 6d. Laconics; @@ -6337,14 +6307,14 @@ The English School of Painting: Sculpture executed by British Artists, from the days of Hogarth: with Descriptive and Explanatory Notices, by G. HAMILTON. Four volumes, containing nearly Three Hundred Plates, neatly bound, with - gilt tops. _Originally published at_ L3. 12s.; _reduced to_ 28s. + gilt tops. _Originally published at_ £3. 12s.; _reduced to_ 28s. Martin's Illustrations of the Bible; consisting of Twenty large and magnificent Plates, designed and engraved by John Martin, Author of "Belshazzar's Feast," &c. In a - large folio volume, cloth. _Originally published at_ L10. 10s.; - _reduced to_ L2. 2s. + large folio volume, cloth. _Originally published at_ £10. 10s.; + _reduced to_ £2. 2s. @@ -6471,7 +6441,7 @@ INDEX. Dale's Poems, 12 - De Stael's (Mad.) Life and Times, 11 + De Staël's (Mad.) Life and Times, 11 De Vigny's Cinq Mars, 19 @@ -6536,7 +6506,7 @@ INDEX. Goldsmith's Works, 16 - Goergei's Life in Hungary, 11 + Görgei's Life in Hungary, 11 Graces, Gallery of the, 3 @@ -6840,7 +6810,7 @@ punctuations and spellings have been left as printed in the book, including: - inconsistent use of hyphen (e.g. "dew-drop" and "dewdrop"); -- inconsistent use of accents (e.g. "fringed" and "fringed"); +- inconsistent use of accents (e.g. "fringèd" and "fringed"); - inconsistent use of apostrophe (e.g. "would'st" and "wouldst"); - inconsistent use of archaic forms (e.g. "goes" and "goeth"); - and any other variable spellings. @@ -6849,367 +6819,9 @@ Index entries that do not match their referred text are corrected, including: - Index entry "Foxhunting" corrected to be "Fox-hunting." -- Index entry "Gorgei" corrected to be "Goergei." +- Index entry "Gorgei" corrected to be "Görgei." - Index entry "Rafaelle" corrected to be "Raffaelle." - Index entry "Winkle" corrected to be "Winkles." - Index entry "Wurtemburg" corrected to be "Wurtemberg." - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS*** - - -******* This file should be named 42301.txt or 42301.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/3/0/42301 - - - -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. 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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: Poems - Third Edition - - -Author: Alexander Smith - - - -Release Date: March 10, 2013 [eBook #42301] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS*** - - -E-text prepared by Judith Wirawan, David Clarke, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) - - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). - - The symbol of inverted asterism (three asterisks forming - an inverted triangle) is represented in this e-text by - three consecutive asterisks (***). - - The symbol of index/fist (a hand with pointing index finger) - is represented in this e-text by an em-dash and a "greater - than" sign (-->). - - The symbol of double dagger is represented in this e-text by - two plus signs (++). - - - - - -POEMS - -by - -ALEXANDER SMITH. - -Third Edition. - - - - - - - -London: -David Bogue, Fleet Street. -MDCCCLIV. - -LONDON: -Printed by G. Barclay, Castle St. Leicester Sq. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - Page - - A LIFE-DRAMA 9 - - AN EVENING AT HOME 213 - - LADY BARBARA 229 - - TO ---- 236 - - SONNETS 239 - - - - -A LIFE-DRAMA. - - -SCENE I.--_An Antique Room: Midnight._ - -WALTER, -_Reading from a paper on which he has been writing_. - - As a wild maiden, with love-drinking eyes, - Sees in sweet dreams a beaming Youth of Glory, - And wakes to weep, and ever after, sighs - For that bright vision till her hair is hoary; - Ev'n so, alas! is my life's-passion story. - For Poesy my heart and pulses beat, - For Poesy my blood runs red and fleet, - As Aaron's serpent the Egyptians' swallow'd, - One passion eats the rest. My soul is follow'd - By strong ambition to out-roll a lay, - Whose melody will haunt the world for aye, - Charming it onward on its golden way. - [_Tears the paper and paces the room with disordered steps._ - Oh, that my heart were quiet as a grave - Asleep in moonlight! - For, as a torrid sunset boils with gold - Up to the zenith, fierce within my soul - A passion burns from basement to the cope. - Poesy! Poesy! I'd give to thee, - As passionately, my rich-laden years, - My bubble pleasures, and my awful joys, - As Hero gave her trembling sighs to find - Delicious death on wet Leander's lip. - Bare, bald, and tawdry, as a fingered moth, - Is my poor life, but with one smile thou canst - Clothe me with kingdoms. Wilt thou smile on me? - Wilt bid me die for thee? O fair and cold! - As well may some wild maiden waste her love - Upon the calm front of a marble Jove. - I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes. - I love thee, Poesy! Thou art a rock, - I, a weak wave, would break on thee and die. - There is a deadlier pang than that which beads - With chilly death-drops the o'er-tortured brow, - When one has a big heart and feeble hands,-- - A heart to hew his name out upon time - As on a rock, then in immortalness - To stand on time as on a pedestal; - When hearts beat to this tune, and hands are weak, - We find our aspirations quenched in tears, - The tears of impotence, and self-contempt - That loathsome weed, up-springing in the heart, - Like nightshade 'mong the ruins of a shrine; - I am so cursed, and wear within my soul - A pang as fierce as Dives' drowsed with wine, - Lipping his leman in luxurious dreams; - Waked by a fiend in hell!---- - 'T is not for me, ye Heavens! 't is not for me - To fling a Poem, like a comet, out, - Far-splendouring the sleepy realms of night. - I cannot give men glimpses so divine, - As when, upon a racking night, the wind - Draws the pale curtains of the vapoury clouds, - And shows those wonderful, mysterious voids, - Throbbing with stars like pulses.--Naught for me - But to creep quietly into my grave; - Or calm and tame the swelling of my heart - With this foul lie, painted as sweet as truth. - That "great and small, weakness and strength, are naught, - That each thing being equal in its sphere, - The May-night glow-worm with its emerald lamp, - Is worthy as the mighty moon that drowns - Continents in her white and silent light." - This--this were easy to believe, were I - The planet that doth nightly wash the earth's - Fair sides with moonlight; not the shining worm. - But as I am--beaten, and foiled, and shamed, - The arrow of my soul which I have shot - To bring down Fame, dissolved like shaft of mist-- - This painted falsehood, this most damned lie, - Freezes me like a fiendish human face, - With all its features gathered in a sneer. - Oh, let me rend this breathing tent of flesh; - Uncoop the soul--fool, fool, 't were still the same, - 'T is the deep soul that's touch'd, _it_ bears the wound; - And memory doth stick in 't like a knife, - Keeping it wide for ever. [_A long pause._ - I am fain - To feed upon the beauty of the moon! - [_Opens the casement._ - Sorrowful moon! seeming so drowned in woe, - A queen, whom some grand battle-day has left - Unkingdomed and a widow, while the stars, - Thy handmaidens, are standing back in awe, - Gazing in silence on thy mighty grief! - All men have loved thee for thy beauty, moon! - Adam has turned from Eve's fair face to thine, - And drunk thy beauty with his serene eyes. - Anthony once, when seated with his queen, - Worth all the East, a moment gazed at thee: - She struck him on the cheek with jealous hand, - And chiding said,--"Now, by my Egypt's gods, - That pale and squeamish beauty of the night - Has had thine eyes too long; thine eyes are mine! - Alack! there's sorrow in my Anthony's face! - Dost think of Rome? I'll make thee, with a kiss, - Richer than Cæsar! Come, I'll crown thy lips." - [_Another pause._ - How tenderly the moon doth fill the night! - Not like the passion that doth fill my soul; - It burns within me like an Indian sun. - A star is trembling on the horizon's verge, - That star shall grow and broaden on the night, - Until it hangs divine and beautiful - In the proud zenith-- - Might I so broaden on the skies of fame! - O Fame! Fame! Fame! next grandest word to God! - I seek the look of Fame! Poor fool--so tries - Some lonely wanderer 'mong the desert sands - By shouts to gain the notice of the Sphynx, - Staring right on with calm eternal eyes. - - -SCENE II. - -_A Forest._ WALTER _sleeping beneath a tree._ - -_Enter_ LADY _with a fawn._ - -LADY. - - Halt! Flora, halt! This race - Has danced my ringlets all about my brows, - And brought my cheeks to bloom. Here will I rest - And weave a garland for thy dappled neck. - [_Weaves flowers._ - I look, sweet Flora, in thine innocent eyes, - And see in them a meaning and a glee - Fitting this universal summer joy: - Each leaf upon the trees doth shake with joy, - With joy the white clouds navigate the blue, - And, on his painted wings, the butterfly, - Most splendid masker in this carnival, - Floats through the air in joy! Better for man, - Were he and Nature more familiar friends! - His part is worst that touches this base world. - Although the ocean's inmost heart be pure, - Yet the salt fringe that daily licks the shore - Is gross with sand. On, my sweet Flora, on! - [_Rises and approaches_ WALTER. - Ha! what is this? A bright and wander'd youth, - Thick in the light of his own beauty, sleeps - Like young Apollo, in his golden curls! - At the oak-roots I've seen full many a flower, - But never one so fair. A lovely youth, - With dainty cheeks and ringlets like a girl, - And slumber-parted lips 'twere sweet to kiss! - Ye envious lids! I fain would see his eyes! - Jewels so richly cased as those of his - Must be a sight. So, here's a well-worn book, - From which he drinks such joy as doth a pale - And dim-eyed worker who escapes, in Spring, - The thousand-streeted and smoke-smothered town, - And treads awhile the breezy hills of health. - [LADY _opens the book, a slip of paper falls out; - she reads._ - - The fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays, - The churlish thistles, scented briers, - The wind-swept blue-bells on the sunny braes, - Down to the central fires, - - Exist alike in Love. Love is a sea, - Filling all the abysses dim - Of lornest space, in whose deeps regally - Suns and their bright broods swim. - - This mighty sea of Love with wondrous tides, - Is sternly just to sun and grain; - 'Tis laving at this moment Saturn's sides,-- - 'Tis in my blood and brain. - - All things have something more than barren use; - There is a scent upon the brier, - A tremulous splendour in the autumn dews, - Cold morns are fringed with fire; - - The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breathed flowers; - In music dies poor human speech, - And into beauty blow those hearts of ours, - When Love is born in each. - - Life is transfigured in the soft and tender - Light of Love, as a volume dun - Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathèd splendour - In the declining sun. - - Driven from cities by his restless moods, - In incense-glooms and secret nooks, - A miser o'er his gold--the lover broods - O'er vague words, earnest looks. - - Oft is he startled on the sweetest lip; - Across his midnight sea of mind - A Thought comes streaming, like a blazing ship - Upon a mighty wind, - - A Terror and a Glory! Shocked with light, - His boundless being glares aghast; - Then slowly settles down the wonted night, - All desolate and vast. - - Daisies are white upon the churchyard sod, - Sweet tears, the clouds lean down and give. - This world is very lovely. O my God, - I thank Thee that I live! - - Ringed with his flaming guards of many kinds, - The proud Sun stoops his golden head, - Grey Eve sobs crazed with grief; to her the winds - Shriek out, "The Day is dead." - - I gave this beggar Day no alms, this Night - Has seen nor work accomplished, planned, - Yet this poor Day shall soon in memory's light - A summer rainbow stand! - - There is no evil in this present strife; - From th' shivering Seal's low moans, - Up through the shining tiers and ranks of life, - To stars upon their thrones, - - The seeming ills are Loves in dim disguise; - Dark moral knots, that pose the seer, - If _we_ are lovers, in our wider eyes - Shall hang, like dew-drops, clear. - - Ye are my menials, ye thick-crowding years! - Ha! yet with a triumphant shout - My spirit shall take captive all the spheres, - And wring their riches out. - - God! what a glorious future gleams on me; - With nobler senses, nobler peers, - I'll wing me through Creation like a bee, - And taste the gleaming spheres! - - While some are trembling o'er the poison-cup, - While some grow lean with care, some weep, - In this luxurious faith I'll wrap me up, - As in a robe, and sleep. - - Oh, 'tis a sleeping Poet! and his verse - Sings like the syren-isles. An opulent Soul - Dropt in my path like a great cup of gold, - All rich and rough with stories of the gods! - Methinks all poets should be gentle, fair, - And ever young, and ever beautiful: - I'd have all Poets to be like to this,-- - Gold-haired and rosy-lipped, to sing of Love. - Love! Love! Old song that Poet ever chanteth, - Of which the listening world is never weary. - Soul is a moon, Love is its loveliest phase. - Alas! to me this Love will never come - Till summer days shall visit dark December. - Woe's me! 'tis very sad, but 'tis my doom - To hide a ghastly grief within my heart, - And then to coin my lying cheek to smiles, - Sure, smiles become a victim garlanded! - Hist! he awakes---- - -WALTER (_awakening_). - - Fair lady, in my dream - Methought I was a weak and lonely bird, - In search of summer, wander'd on the sea, - Toiling through mists, drenched by the arrowy rain, - Struck by the heartless winds: at last, methought - I came upon an isle in whose sweet air - I dried my feathers, smoothed my ruffled breast, - And skimmed delight from off the waving woods. - Thy coming, lady, reads this dream of mine: - I am the swallow, thou the summer land. - -LADY. - - Sweet, sweet is flattery to mortal ears, - And, if I drink thy praise too greedily, - My fault I'll match with grosser instances. - Do not the royal souls that van the world - Hunger for praises? Does not the hero burn - To blow his triumphs in the trumpet's mouth? - And do not poets' brows throb feverous - Till they are cooled with laurels? Therefore, sir, - If such dote more on praise than all the wealth - Of precious-wombèd earth and pearlèd mains, - Blame not the cheeks of simple maidenhood. - Fair sir, I am the empress of this wood! - The courtier oaks bow in proud homages, - And shake down o'er my path their golden leaves. - Queen am I of this green and summer realm. - This wood I've entered oft when all in sheen - The princely Morning walks o'er diamond dews, - And still have lingered, till the vain young Night - Trembles o'er her own beauty in the sea. - -WALTER. - - And as thou passest some mid-forest glade, - The simple woodman stands amazed, as if - An angel flashed by on his gorgeous wings. - -LADY. - - I am thine empress. Who and what art thou? - Art thou Sir Bookworm? Haunter of old tomes, - Sitting the silent term of stars to watch - Your own thought passing into beauty, like - An earnest mother watching the first smile - Dawning upon her sleeping infant's face, - Until she cannot see it for her tears? - And when the lark, the laureate of the sun, - Doth climb the east, eager to celebrate - His monarch's crowning, goeth pale to bed,-- - Art thou such denizen of book-world, pray? - -WALTER. - - Books written when the soul is at spring-tide, - When it is laden like a groaning sky - Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness, - And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader - As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on - With a wild joy. Some books are drenchèd sands, - On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps, - Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books! - They mingle gloom and splendour, as I've oft, - In thund'rous sunsets, seen the thunder-piles - Seamed with dull fire and fiercest glory-rents. - They awe me to my knees, as if I stood - In presence of a king. They give me tears; - Such glorious tears as Eve's fair daughters shed, - When first they clasped a Son of God, all bright - With burning plumes and splendours of the sky, - In zoning heaven of their milky arms. - How few read books aright! Most souls are shut - By sense from grandeur, as a man who snores, - Night-capped and wrapt in blankets to the nose, - Is shut in from the night, which, like a sea, - Breaketh for ever on a strand of stars. - Lady, in book-world have I ever dwelt, - This book has domed my being like a sky. - -LADY. - - And who was its creator? - -WALTER. - - He was one - Who could not help it, for it was his nature - To blossom into song, as 'tis a tree's - To leaf itself in April. - -LADY. - - Did he love? - -WALTER. - - Ay; and he suffered.--His was not that love - That comes on men with their beards. His soul was rich; - And this his book unveils it, as the night - Her panting wealth of stars. The world was cold, - And he went down like a lone ship at sea; - And now the fame that scorned him while he lived - Waits on him like a menial.---- - When the dark dumb Earth - Lay on her back and watched the shining stars, - A Soul from its warm body shuddered out - To the dim air and trembled with the cold; - Through the waste air it passed as swift and still, - As a dream passes through the lands of sleep, - Till at the very gates of spirit-world - 'Twas asked by a most worn and earnest shape - That seemed to tremble on the coming word, - About an orphan Poem, and if yet - A Name was heard on earth. - -LADY. - - 'Tis very sad, - And doth remind me of an old, low strain, - I used to sing in lap of summers dead, - When I was but a child, and when we played - Like April sunbeams 'mong the meadow-flowers; - Or romped i' the dews with weak complaining lambs; - Or sat in circles on the primrose knolls, - Striving with eager and palm-shaded eyes, - 'Mid shouts and silver laughs, who first should catch - The lark, a singing speck, go up the blue. - I'll sing it to thee; 'tis a song of One-- - (An image slept within his soul's caress, - Like a sweet thought within a Poet's heart - Ere it is born in joy and golden words)-- - Of One whose naked soul stood clad in love, - Like a pale martyr in his shirt of fire. - I'll sing it to thee. [LADY _sings._ - - In winter when the dismal rain - Came down in slanting lines, - And Wind, that grand old harper, smote - His thunder-harp of pines, - - A Poet sat in his antique room, - His lamp the valley kinged, - 'Neath dry crusts of dead tongues he found - Truth, fresh and golden-winged. - - When violets came and woods were green, - And larks did skyward dart, - A Love alit and white did sit, - Like an angel on his heart. - - From his heart he unclasped his love - Amid the trembling trees, - And sent it to the Lady Blanche - On wingèd poesies. - - The Lady Blanche was saintly fair, - Nor proud, but meek her look; - In her hazel eyes her thoughts lay clear - As pebbles in a brook. - - Her father's veins ran noble blood, - His hall rose 'mid the trees; - Like a sunbeam she came and went - 'Mong the white cottages. - - The peasants thanked her with their tears, - When food and clothes were given,-- - "This is a joy," the Lady said, - "Saints cannot taste in Heaven!" - - They met--the Poet told his love, - His hopes, despairs, his pains,-- - The Lady with her calm eyes mocked - The tumult in his veins. - - He passed away--a fierce song leapt - From cloud of his despair, - As lightning, like a bright, wild beast, - Leaps from its thunder-lair. - - He poured his frenzy forth in song,-- - Bright heir of tears and praises! - Now resteth that unquiet heart - Beneath the quiet daisies. - - The world is old,--Oh! very old,-- - The wild winds weep and rave; - The world is old, and grey, and cold, - Let it drop into its grave! - - Our ears, Sir Bookworm, hunger for _thy_ song. - -WALTER. - - I have a strain of a departed bard; - One who was born too late into this world. - A mighty day was past, and he saw nought - But ebbing sunset and the rising stars,-- - Still o'er him rose those melancholy stars! - Unknown his childhood, save that he was born - 'Mong woodland waters full of silver breaks; - That he grew up 'mong primroses moon-pale - In the hearts of purple hills; that he o'er ran - Green meadows golden in the level sun, - A bright-haired child; and that, when these he left - To dwell within a monstrous city's heart, - The trees were gazing up into the sky, - Their bare arms stretched in prayer for the snows. - When first we met, his book was six months old, - And eagerly his name was buzzed abroad; - Praises fell thick on him. Men said, "This Dawn - Will widen to a clear and boundless Day; - And when it ripens to a sumptuous west - With a great sunset 'twill be closed and crowned." - Lady! he was as far 'bove common men - As a sun-steed, wild-eyed and meteor-maned, - Neighing the reeling stars, is 'bove a hack - With sluggish veins of mud. More tremulous - Than the soft star that in the azure east - Trembles with pity o'er bright bleeding day, - Was his frail soul; I dwelt with him for years; - I was to him but Labrador to Ind; - His pearls were plentier than my pebble-stones. - He was the sun, I was that squab--the earth, - And basked me in his light until he drew - Flowers from my barren sides. Oh! he was rich, - And I rejoiced upon his shore of pearls, - A weak enamoured sea. Once did he say, - "My Friend! a Poet must ere long arise, - And with a regal song sun-crown this age, - As a saint's head is with a halo crown'd;-- - One, who shall hallow Poetry to God - And to its own high use, for Poetry is - The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts ride;-- - One, who shall fervent grasp the sword of song - As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest blade, - To find the quickest passage to the heart. - A mighty Poet whom this age shall choose - To be its spokesman to all coming times. - In the ripe full-blown season of his soul, - He shall go forward in his spirit's strength, - And grapple with the questions of all time, - And wring from them their meanings. As King Saul - Called up the buried prophet from his grave - To speak his doom, so shall this Poet-king - Call up the dead Past from its awful grave - To tell him of our future. As the air - Doth sphere the world, so shall his heart of love-- - Loving mankind, not peoples. As the lake - Reflects the flower, tree, rook, and bending heaven, - Shall he reflect our great humanity; - And as the young Spring breathes with living breath - On a dead branch, till it sprouts fragrantly - Green leaves and sunny flowers, shall he breathe life - Through every theme he touch, making all Beauty - And Poetry for ever like the stars." - His words set me on fire; I cried aloud, - "Gods! what a portion to forerun this Soul!" - He grasped my hand,--I looked upon his face,-- - A thought struck all the blood into his cheeks, - Like a strong buffet. His great flashing eyes - Burned on mine own. He said, "A grim old king, - Whose blood leapt madly when the trumpets brayed - To joyous battle 'mid a storm of steeds, - Won a rich kingdom on a battle-day; - But in the sunset he was ebbing fast, - Ringed by his weeping lords. His left hand held - His white steed, to the belly splashed with blood, - That seemed to mourn him with its drooping head; - His right, his broken brand; and in his ear - His old victorious banners flap the winds. - He called his faithful herald to his side,-- - 'Go! tell the dead I come!' With a proud smile, - The warrior with a stab let out his soul, - Which fled and shrieked through all the other world, - 'Ye dead! My master comes!' And there was pause - Till the great shade should enter. Like that herald, - Walter, I'd rush across this waiting world - And cry, '_He_ comes!'" Lady, wilt hear the song? - [_Sings._ - - In the street, the tide of being, how it surges, how it rolls! - God! what base ignoble faces, God! what bodies wanting souls, - 'Mid this stream of human being, banked by houses tall and grim, - Pale I stand this shining morrow with a pant for woodlands dim, - To hear the soft and whispering rain, feel the dewy cool of leaves, - Watch the lightnings dart like swallows round the brooding thunder-eaves, - To lose the sense of whirling streets, 'mong breezy crests of hills, - Skies of larks, and hazy landscapes, with fine threads of silver rills,-- - Stand with forehead bathed in sunset on a mountain's summer crown, - And look up and watch the shadow of the great night coming down, - One great life in my myriad veins, in leaves, in flowers, in cloudy cars, - Blowing, underfoot, in clover; beating, overhead, in stars! - Once I saw a blissful harvest-moon, but not through forest-leaves; - 'Twas not whitening o'er a country, costly with the pilèd sheaves; - Rose not o'er the am'rous ocean, trembling round his happy isles; - It came circling large and queenly o'er yon roof of smoky tiles, - And I saw it with such feeling, joy in blood, in heart, in brain, - I would give to call the affluence of that moment back again, - Europe, with her cities, rivers, hills of prey, sheep-sprinkled downs,-- - Ay, a hundred sheaves of sceptres! Ay, a planet's gathered crowns! - For with that resplendent harvest-moon, my inmost thoughts were shared - By a bright and shining maiden, hazel-eyed and golden-haired; - One blest hour we sat together in a lone and silent place, - O'er us, starry tears were trembling on the mighty midnight's face. - Gradual crept my arm around her, 'gainst my shoulder came her head, - And I could but draw her closer, whilst I tremulously said,-- - "Passion as it runs grows purer, loses every tinge of clay, - As from Dawn all red and turbid flows the white transparent Day, - And in mingled lives of lovers, the array of human ills - Breaks their gentle course to music, as the stones break summer rills." - "You should give the world," she murmured, "such delicious thoughts as - these." - "They are fit to line portmanteaus;" "Nay," she whispered, "Memories." - And thereat she looked upon me with a smile so full of grace, - All my blood was in a moment glowing in my ardent face! - Half-blind, I looked up to the host of palpitating stars, - 'Gainst my sides my heart was leaping, like a lion 'gainst his bars, - For a thought was born within me, and I said within my mind, - "I will risk all in this moment, I will either lose or find." - "Dost thou love me?" then I whispered; for a minute after this, - I sat and trembled in great blackness--On my lips I felt a kiss;-- - Than a roseleaf's touch 'twas lighter,--on her face her hands she prest, - And a heaven of tears and blushes was deep buried in my breast. - I could make _her_ faith, _my_ passion, a wide mark for scorn and sneers, - I could laugh a hollow laughter but for these hot bursting tears; - In the strong hand of my frenzy, laws and statutes snapt like reeds, - And furious as a wounded bull I tore at all the creeds; - I rushed into the desert, where I stood with hopeless eyes, - Glaring on vast desolations, barren sands, and empty skies! - Soon a trembling naked figure, to the earth my face was bowed, - For the curse of God gloomed o'er me like a bursting thunder-cloud. - Rolled away that fearful darkness, pass'd my weakness, pass'd my grief, - Washed with bitter tears I sat full in the sunshine of belief. - Weary eyes are looking eastward, whence the golden sun upsprings, - Cry the young and fervid spirits, clad with ardour as with wings, - "Life and Soul make wretched jangling, they should mingle to one Sire - As the lovely voices mingle in a holy temple choir. - O! those souls of ours, my brothers! prisoned now in mortal bars, - Have been riched by growth and travel, by the round of all the stars. - Soul, alas! is unregarded; Brothers! it is closely shut: - All unknown as royal Alfred in the Saxon neatherd's hut, - In the Dark house of the Body, cooking victuals, lighting fires, - Swelters on the starry stranger, to our nature's base desires. - From its lips is 't any marvel that no revelations come? - We have wronged it; we do wrong it--'tis majestically dumb! - God! our souls are aproned waiters! God! our souls are hired slaves: - Let us hide from Life, my Brothers! let us hide us in our graves. - O! why stain our holy childhoods? Why sell all for drinks and meats? - Why degrade, like those old mansions, standing in our pauper streets, - Lodgings _once_ of kings and nobles, silken stirs and trumpet's din, - _Now_, where crouch 'mong rags and fever, shapes of squalor and of sin?" - Like a mist this wail surrounds me; Brothers, hush; the Lord Christ's - hands - Ev'n now are stretched in blessing o'er the sea and o'er the lands. - Sit not like a mourner, Brother! by the grave of that dear Past, - Throw the Present! 'tis thy servant only when 'tis overcast,-- - Give battle to the leaguèd world, if thou'rt worthy, truly brave, - Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a slave, - As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, glows with ire, - Rifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred bursts of fire, - Melts the black and thund'rous masses to a sphere of rosy light, - Then on edge of glowing heaven smiles in triumph on the night. - Lo! the song of Earth--a maniac's on a black and dreary road-- - Rises up, and swells, and grandeurs, to the loud triumphal ode-- - Earth casts off a slough of darkness, an eclipse of hell and sin, - In each cycle of her being, as an adder casts her skin; - Lo! I see long blissful ages, when these mammon days are done, - Stretching like a golden ev'ning forward to the setting sun. - - He sat one winter 'neath a linden tree - In my bare orchard: "See, my friend," he said, - "The stars among the branches hang like fruit, - So, hopes were thick within me. When I'm gone - The world will like a valuator sit - Upon my soul, and say, 'I was a cloud - That caught its glory from a sunken sun, - And gradual burn'd into its native grey.'" - On an October eve, 'twas his last wish - To see again the mists and golden woods; - Upon his death-bed he was lifted up, - The slumb'rous sun within the lazy west - With their last gladness filled his dying eyes. - No sooner was he hence than critic-worms - Were swarming on the body of his fame, - And thus they judged the dead: "This Poet was - An April tree whose vermeil-loaded boughs - Promised to Autumn apples juiced and red, - But never came to fruit." "He is to us - But a rich odour,--a faint music-swell." - "Poet he was not in the larger sense; - He could write pearls, but he could never write - A Poem round and perfect as a star." - "Politic i' faith. His most judicious act - Was dying when he did; the next five years - Had fingered all the fine dust from his wings, - And left him poor as we. He died--'twas shrewd! - And came with all his youth and unblown hopes - On the world's heart, and touched it into tears." - -LADY. - - Would'st thou, too, be a poet? - -WALTER. - - Lady! ay! - A passion has grown up to be a King, - Ruling my being with as fierce a sway - As the mad sun the prostrate desert sands, - And it is _that_. - -LADY. - - Hast some great cherished theme? - -WALTER. - - Lovely in God's eyes, where, in barren space, - Like a rich jewel hangs His universe, - Unwrinkled as a dew-drop, and as fair, - In my poor eyes, my loved and chosen theme - Is lovely as the universe in His. - -LADY. - - Wilt write of some young wanton of an isle - Whose beauty so enamoured hath the sea, - It clasps it ever in its summer arms - And wastes itself away on it in kisses? - Or the hot Indes, on whose teeming plains - The seasons four knit in one flowery band - Are dancing ever? Or some older realm? - -WALTER. - - I will begin in the oldest; far in God. - When all the ages, and all suns, and worlds, - And souls of men and angels, lay in Him - Like unborn forests in an acorn cup. - -LADY. - - And how wilt thou begin it? - -WALTER. - - With old words! - With the soliloquy with which God broke - The silence of the dead eternities. - At which most ancient words, O beautiful! - With showery tresses like a child from sleep, - Uprose the splendid-mooned and jewelled night,-- - The loveliest born of God. - -LADY. - - Then your first chorus - Must be the shoutings of the morning stars! - What martial music is to marching men - Should Song be to Humanity. In song - The infant ages born and swathèd are. - A beauteous menial to our wants divine, - A shape celestial tending the dark earth - With light and silver service like the moon, - Is Poesy; ever remember this-- - How wilt thou end it? - -WALTER. - - With God and Silence! - When the great universe subsides in God, - Ev'n as a moment's foam subsides again - Upon the wave that bears it. - -LADY. - - Why, thy plan - Is wide and daring as a comet's path! - And doubtless 'twill contain the tale of earth - By way of episode or anecdote. - This precious world which one pale marrèd face - Dropt tears upon. This base and beggar world - To your rich soul! O! Marc Anthony, - With a fine scorn did toss your world away - For Cleopatra's lips!--so rich, so poor. - - -SCENE III. - -_Antique Room._ WALTER _pacing up and down._ - -WALTER. - - Thou day beyond to-morrow! though my life - Should cease in thee, I'd dash aside the hours - That intervene to bring thee quicklier here. - Again to meet her in the windy woods! - When last we met she was as marble, calm: - I, with thick-beating heart and sight grown dim, - And leaping pulses and loud-ringing ears, - And tell-tale blood that rushed into my face, - And blabbed the love secreted in my heart. - She must have understood that crimson speech, - And yet she frowned not. No, she never frowned - I think that I am worthy to be loved. - Oh, could I lift my heart into her sight, - As an old mountain lifts its martyr's cairn - Into the pure sight of the holy heavens! - Would she but love me, I would live for her! - Were she plain Night, I'd clothe her with my stars. - My spirit, Poesy, would be her slave, - 'Twould rifle for her ocean's secret hoards, - And make her rough with pearls. If Death's pale realms - Contained a gem out-lust'ring all the world, - I would adventure there, and bring it her. - - My inmost being dwells upon her words, - "Wilt trim a verse for me by this night week? - Make it as jubilant as marriage bells; - Or, if it please you, make it doleful sad - As bells that knoll a maiden to her grave, - When the spring earth is sweet in violets, - And it will fit _one_ heart, yea, as the cry - Of the lone plover fits a dismal heath." - I'll write a tale through which my passion runs, - Like honeysuckle through a hedge of June. - - A silent isle on which the love-sick sea - Dies with faint kisses and a murmured joy, - In the clear blue the lark hangs like a speck, - And empties his full heart of music-rain - O'er sunny slopes, where tender lambkins bleat, - And new-born rills go laughing to the sea, - O'er woods that smooth down to the southern shore, - Waving in green, as the young breezes blow - O'er the sea sphere all sweet and summer smells. - Not of these years, but by-gone minstrel times, - Of shepherd-days in the young world's sunrise, - Was this warm clime, this quiet land of health, - By gentle pagans filled, whose red blood ran - Healthy and cool as milk,--pure, simple men: - Ah, how unlike the swelterers in towns! - Who ne'er can glad their eyes upon the green - Sunshine-swathed earth; nor hear the singing rills, - Nor feel the breezes in their lifted hair. - - A lovely youth, in manhood's very edge, - Lived 'mong these shepherds and their quiet downs; - Tall and blue-eyed, and bright in golden hair, - With half-shut dreamy eyes, sweet earnest eyes, - That seemed unoccupied with outward things, - Feeding on something richer! Strangely, oft, - A wildered smile lay on his noble lips. - The sunburnt shepherds stared with awful eyes - As he went past; and timid girls upstole, - With wond'ring looks, to gaze upon his face, - And on his cataract of golden curls, - Then lonely grew, and went into the woods - To think sweet thoughts, and marvel why they shook - With heart-beat and with tremor when he came, - And in the night he filled their dreams with joy. - But there was one among that soft-voiced band - Who pined away for love of his sweet eyes, - And died among the roses of the spring. - When Eve sat in the dew with closèd lids, - Came gentle maidens bearing forest flowers - To strew upon her green and quiet grave. - They soothed the dead with love-songs low and sweet; - Songs sung of old beneath the purple night, - Songs heard on earth with heart-beat and a blush, - Songs heard in heaven by the breathless stars. - - Thought-wrapt, he wandered in the breezy woods - In which the Summer, like a hermit, dwelt. - He laid him down by the old haunted springs, - Up-bubbling 'mid a world of greenery, - Shut-eyed, and dreaming of the fairest shapes - That roam the woods; and when the autumn nights - Were dark and moonless, to the level sands - He would betake him, there to hear, o'er-awed, - The old Sea moaning like a monster pained. - - One day he lay within the pleasant woods - On bed of flowers edging a fountain's brim, - And gazed into its heart as if to count - The veined and lucid pebbles one by one, - Up-shining richly through the crystal clear. - Thus lay he many hours, when, lo! he heard - A maiden singing in the woods alone - A sad and tender island melody, - Which made a golden conquest of his soul, - Bringing a sadness sweeter than delight. - As nightingale, embowered in vernal leaves, - Pants out her gladness the luxurious night, - The moon and stars all hanging on her song, - She poured her soul in music. When she ceased, - The charmèd woods and breezes silent stood, - As if all ear to catch her voice again. - Uprose the dreamer from his couch of flowers, - With awful expectation in his look, - And happy tears upon his pallid face, - With eager steps, as if toward a heaven, - He onward went, and, lo! he saw her stand, - Fairer than Dian, in the forest glade. - His footsteps startled her, and quick she turned - Her face,--looks met like swords. He clasped his hands, - And fell upon his knees; the while there broke - A sudden splendour o'er his yearning face; - 'Twas a pale prayer in its very self. - "I know thee, lovely maiden!" then he cried; - "I know thee, and of thee I have been told: - Been told by all the roses of the vale, - By hermit streams, by pale sea-setting stars, - And by the roaring of the storm-tost pines; - And I have sought for thee upon the hills, - In dim sweet dreams, on the complacent sea, - When breathless midnight, with her thousand hearts, - Beats to the same love-tune as my own heart. - I've waited for thee many seasons through, - Seen many autumns shed their yellow leaves - O'er the oak-roots, heard many winters moan - Through the leafless forests drearily. - Now am I joyful, as storm-battered dove - That finds a perch in the Hesperides, - For thou art found. Thou, whom I long have sought, - My other self! Our blood, our hearts, our souls, - Shall henceforth mingle in one being, like - The married colours in the bow of heaven. - My soul is like a wide and empty fane, - Sit thou in 't like a god, O maid divine! - With worship and religion 'twill be filled. - My soul is empty, lorn, and hungry space; - Leap thou into it like a new-born star, - And 'twill o'erflow with splendour and with bliss. - More music! music! music! maid divine! - My hungry senses, like a finch's brood, - Are all a-gape. O feed them, maid divine! - Feed, feed my hungry soul with melodies!" - Thus, like a worshipper before a shrine, - He earnest syllabled, and, rising up, - He led that lovely stranger tenderly - Through the green forest toward the burning west. - He never, by the maidens of the isle - Nor by the shepherds, was thereafter seen - 'Mong sunrise splendours on the misty hills, - Or stretched at noon by the old haunted wells, - Or by the level sands on autumn nights. - - I've heard that maidens have been won by song. - O Poesy, fine sprite! I'd bless thee more - If thou would'st bring that lady's love to me, - Than immortality in twenty worlds. - I'd rather win her than God's youngest star, - With singing continents and seas of bliss.---- - Thou day beyond to-morrow, haste thee on! - - -SCENE IV. - -_The Banks of a River._--WALTER _and the_ LADY. - -LADY. - - The stream of sunsets? - -WALTER. - - 'Tis that loveliest stream. - I've learned by heart its sweet and devious course - By frequent tracing, as a lover learns - The features of his best-beloved's face. - In memory it runs, a shining thread, - With sunsets strung upon it thick, like pearls. - From yonder trees I've seen the western sky - All washed with fire, while, in the midst, the sun - Beat like a pulse, welling at ev'ry beat - A spreading wave of light. Where yonder church - Stands up to heaven, as if to intercede - For sinful hamlets scattered at its feet, - I saw the dreariest sight. The sun was down, - And all the west was paved with sullen fire. - I cried, "Behold! the barren beach of hell - At ebb of tide." The ghost of one bright hour - Comes from its grave and stands before me now. - 'Twas at the close of a long summer day, - As we were sitting on yon grassy slope, - The sunset hung before us like a dream - That shakes a demon in his fiery lair; - The clouds were standing round the setting sun - Like gaping caves, fantastic pinnacles, - Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light, - Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame, - Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks - Of pilèd gorgeousness, and rocks of fire - A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas, - All these were huddled in that dreadful west, - All shook and trembled in unsteadfast light, - And from the centre blazed the angry sun, - Stern as the unlashed eye of God a-glare - O'er evening city with its boom of sin. - I do remember, as we journeyed home, - (That dreadful sunset burnt into our brains), - With what a soothing came the naked moon. - She, like a swimmer who has found his ground, - Came rippling up a silver strand of cloud, - And plunged from the other side into the night. - I and that friend, the feeder of my soul, - Did wander up and down these banks for years, - Talking of blessed hopes and holy faiths, - How sin and weeping all should pass away - In the calm sunshine of the earth's old age. - Breezes are blowing in old Chaucer's verse, - 'Twas here we drank them. Here for hours we hung - O'er the fine pants and trembles of a line. - Oft, standing on a hill's green head, we felt - Breezes of love, and joy, and melody, - Blow through us, as the winds blow through the sky. - Oft with our souls in our eyes all day we fed - On summer landscapes, silver-veined with streams, - O'er which the air hung silent in its joy-- - With a great city lying in its smoke, - A monster sleeping in its own thick breath; - And surgy plains of wheat, and ancient woods, - In the calm evenings cawed by clouds of rooks, - Acres of moss, and long black strips of firs, - And sweet cots dropt in green, where children played - To us unheard, till, gradual, all was lost - In distance-haze to a blue rim of hills, - Upon whose heads came down the closing sky. - Beneath the crescent moon on autumn nights - We paced its banks with overflowing hearts, - Discoursing long of great thought-wealthy souls, - And with what spendthrift hands they scatter wide - Their spirit-wealth, making mankind their debtors: - Affluent spirits, dropt from the teeming stars, - Who come before their time, are starved, and die, - Like swallows that arrive before the summer. - Or haply talked of dearer personal themes, - Blind guesses at each other's after fate; - Feeling our leaping hearts, we marvelled oft - How they should be unleashed, and have free course - To stretch and strain far down the coming time-- - But in our guesses never was the _grave_. - -LADY. - - The tale! the tale! the tale! As empty halls - Gape for a coming pageant, my fond ears - To take its music are all eager-wide. - -WALTER. - - Within yon grove of beeches is a well, - I've made a vow to read it only there. - -LADY. - - As I suppose, by way of recompense, - For quenching thirst on some hot summer day. - -WALTER. - - Memories grow around it thick as flow - That well is loved and haunted by a star. - The live-long day her clear and patient eye - Is open on the soft and bending blue, - Just where she lost her lover in the morn. - But with the night the star creeps o'er the trees - And smiles upon her, and some happy hours - She holds his image in her crystal heart. - Beside that well I read the mighty Bard - Who clad himself with beauty, genius, wealth, - Then flung himself on his own passion-pyre - And was consumed. Beside that lucid well - The whitest lilies grow for many miles. - 'Tis said that, 'mong the flowers of perished years, - A prince woo'd here a lady of the land, - And when with faltering lips he told his love, - Into her proud face leapt her prouder blood; - She struck him blind with scorn, then with an air - As if she wore the crowns of all the world, - She swept right on and left him in the dew. - Again he sat at even with his love, - He sent a song into her haughty ears - To plead for him;--she listened, still he sang. - Tears, drawn by music, were upon her face, - Till on its trembling close, to which she clung - Like dying wretch to life, with a low cry - She flung her arms around him, told her love, - And how she long had loved him, but had kept - It in her heart, like one who has a gem - And hoards it up in some most secret place, - While he who owns it seeks it and with tears. - Won by the sweet omnipotence of song! - He gave her lands! she paid him with herself. - Brow-bound with gold she sat, the fairest thing - Within his sea-washed shores. - -LADY. - - Most fit reward! - A poet's love should ever thus be paid. - -WALTER. - - Ha! Dost thou think so? - -LADY. - - Yes. The tale! the tale! - -WALTER. - - On balcony, all summer roofed with vines, - A lady half-reclined amid the light, - Golden and green, soft-showering through the leaves, - Silent she sat one-half the silent noon; - At last she sank luxurious in her couch, - Purple and golden-fringèd, like the sun's, - And stretched her white arms on the warmèd air, - As if to take some object wherewithal - To ease the empty aching of her heart. - "Oh, what a weariness of life is mine!" - The lady said, "soothing myself to sleep - With my own lute, floating about the lake - To feed my swans; with nought to stir my blood, - Unless I scold my women thrice a-day. - Unwrought yet in the tapestry of my life - Are princely suitors kneeling evermore. - I, in my beauty, standing in the midst, - Touching them, careless, with most stately eyes. - Oh, I could love, methinks, with all my soul! - But I see nought to love; nought save some score - Of lisping, curl'd gallants, with words i' their mouths - Soft as their mothers' milk. Oh, empty heart! - Oh, palace, rich and purple-chambered! - When will thy lord come home? - - "When the grey morn was groping 'bout the east - The Earl went trooping forth to chase the stag; - I trust he hath not, to the sport he loves - Better than ale-bouts, ta'en my cub of Ind. - My sweetest plaything. He is bright and wild - As is a gleaming panther of the hills,-- - Lovely as lightning, beautiful as wild! - His sports and laughters are with fierceness edged; - There's something in his beauty all untamed, - As I were toying with a naked sword, - Which starts within my veins the blood of earls. - I fain would have the service of his voice - To kill with music this most languid noon." - She rang a silver bell: with downcast eyes - The tawny nursling of the Indian sun - Stood at her feet. "I pr'ythee, Leopard, sing; - Give me some stormy song of sword and lance, - Which, rushing upward from a hero's heart, - Straight rose upon a hundred leaguered hills, - Ragged and wild as pyramid of flame. - Or, better, sing some hungry lay of love - Like that you sang me on the eve you told - How poor our English to your Indian darks; - Shaken from od'rous hills, what tender smells - Pass like fine pulses through the mellow nights; - The purple ether that embathes the moon,-- - Your large round moon, more beautiful than ours; - Your showers of stars, each hanging luminous, - Like golden dewdrops in the Indian air." - "I know a song, born in the heart of love, - Its sweetest sweet, steeped ere the close in tears. - 'Twas sung into the cold ears of the stars - Beside the murmured margent of the sea. - 'Tis of two lovers, matched like cymbals fine, - Who, in a moment of luxurious blood, - Their pale lips trembling in the kiss of gods, - Made their lives wine-cups, and then drank them off, - And died with beings full-blown like a rose; - A mighty heart-pant bore them like a wave, - And flung them, flowers, upon the next world's strand. - - Night the solemn, night the starry, - 'Mong the oak-trees old and gnarry; - By the sea-shore and the ships, - 'Neath the stars I sat with Clari; - Her silken bodice was unlaced, - My arm was trembling round her waist, - I plucked the joys upon her lips; - Joys that plucked still grow again! - Canst thou say the same, old Night? - Ha! thy life is vain. - - Oh, that death would let me tarry - Like a dewdrop on a flower, - Ever on those lips of Clari! - Our beings mellow, then they fall, - Like o'er-ripe peaches from the wall; - We ripen, drop, and all is o'er; - On the cold grave weeps the rain; - I weep it should be so, old Night. - Ah! my tears are vain. - - Night the solemn, night the starry, - Say, alas! that years should harry - Gloss from life and joy from lips, - Love-lustre from the eyes of Clari! - Moon! that walkest the blue deep, - Like naked maiden in her sleep; - Star! whose pallid splendour dips - In the ghost-waves of the main. - Oh, ye hear me not! old Night, - My tears and cries are vain." - - He ceased to sing; queenly the lady lay, - One white hand hidden in a golden shoal - Of ringlets, reeling down upon her couch, - And heaving on the heavings of her breast, - The while the thoughts rose in her eyes like stars, - Rising and setting in the blue of night. - "I had a cousin once," the lady said, - "Who brooding sat, a melancholy owl, - Among the twilight-branches of his thoughts. - He was a rhymer, and great knights he spoiled, - And damsels saved, and giants slew--in verse. - He died in youth; his heart held a dead hope, - As holds the wretched west the sunset's corpse: - He went to his grave, nor told what man he was. - He was unlanguaged, like the earnest sea, - Which strives to gain an utterance on the shore, - But ne'er can shape unto the listening hills - The lore it gathered in its awful age; - The crime for which 'tis lashed by cruel winds; - The thought, pain, grief, within its labouring breast. - To fledge with music, wings of heavy noon, - I'll sing some verses that he sent to me:-- - - Where the west has sunset-bloomed, - Where a hero's heart is tombed, - Where a thunder-cloud has gloomed, - - Seen, becomes a part of me. - Flowers and rills live sunnily - In gardens of my memory. - - Through its walks and leafy lanes, - Float fair shapes 'mong sunlight rains; - Blood is running in their veins. - - One, a queenly maiden fair, - Sweepeth past me with an air, - Kings might kneel beneath her stare. - - Round her heart, a rosebud free, - Reeled I, like a drunken bee; - Alas! it would not ope to me. - - One comes shining like a saint, - But her face I cannot paint, - For mine eyes and blood grow faint. - - Eyes are dimmed as by a tear, - Sounds are ringing in mine ear, - I feel only, she is here, - - That she laugheth where she stands, - That she mocketh with her hands; - I am bound in tighter bands. - - Laid 'mong faintest blooms is one, - Singing in the setting sun, - And her song is never done. - - She was born 'mong water-mills; - She grew up 'mong flowers and rills, - In the hearts of distant hills. - - There, into her being stole - Nature, and embued the whole, - And illumed her face and soul. - - She grew fairer than her peers; - Still her gentle forehead wears - Holy lights of infant years. - - Her blue eyes, so mild and meek, - She uplifteth, when I speak, - Lo! the blushes mount her cheek. - - Weary I of pride and jest, - In this rich heart I would rest, - Purple and love-linèd nest. - - "My dazzling panther of the smoking hills, - When the hot sun hath touched their loads of dew, - What strange eyes had my cousin, who could thus - (For you must know I am the first o' the three - That pace the gardens of his memory) - Prefer before the daughter of great earls, - This giglot, shining in her golden hair, - Haunting him like a gleam or happy thought; - Or her, the last, up whose cheeks blushes went - As thick and frequent as the streamers pass - Up cold December nights. True, she might be - A dainty partner in the game of lips, - Sweet'ning the honeymoon; but what, alas! - When redhot youth cools down to iron man? - Could her white fingers close a helmet up, - And send her lord unkissed away to field, - Her heart striking with his arm in every blow? - Would joy rush through her spirit like a stream, - When to her lips he came with victory back: - Acclaims and blessings on his head like crowns, - His mouthèd wounds brave trumpets in his praise, - Drawing huge shoals of people, like the moon, - Whose beauty draws the solemn-noisèd seas? - Or would his bright and lovely sanguine-stains - Scare all the coward blood into her heart, - Leaving her cheeks as pale as lily leaves? - And at his great step would she quail and faint, - And pay his seeking arms with bloodless swoon? - My heart would leap to greet such coming lord, - Eager to meet him, tiptoe on my lips." - - "This cousin loved the Lady Constance; did - The Lady Constance love her cousin, too?" - - "Ay, as a cousin. He woo'd me, Leopard mine, - I speared him with a jest; for there are men - Whose sinews stiffen 'gainst a knitted brow, - Yet are unthreaded, loosened by a sneer, - And their resolve doth pass as doth a wave: - Of this sort was my cousin. I saw him once, - Adown a pleachèd alley, in the sun, - Two gorgeous peacocks pecking from his hand; - At sight of me he first turned red, then pale. - I laughed and said, 'I saw a misery perched - I' the melancholy corners of his mouth, - Like griffins on each side my father's gates.' - And, 'That by sighing he would win my heart, - Somewhere as soon as he could hug the earth, - And crack its golden ribs.' A week the boy - Dwelt in his sorrow, like a cataract - Unseen, yet sounding through its shrouding mists. - Strange likings, too, this cousin had of mine. - A frail cloud trailing o'er the midnight moon, - Was lovelier sight than wounded boar a-foam - Among the yelping dogs. He'd lie in fields, - And through his fingers watch the changing clouds, - Those playful fancies of the mighty sky, - With deeper interest than a lady's face. - He had no heart to grasp the fleeting hour, - Which, like a thief, steals by with silent foot, - In his closed hand the jewel of a life. - He scarce would match this throned and kingdom'd earth - Against a dew drop. - - "Who'd leap into the chariot of my heart, - And seize the reins, and wind it to his will, - Must be of other stuff, my cub of Ind; - White honour shall be like a plaything to him, - Borne lightly, a pet falcon on his wrist; - One who can feel the very pulse o' the time, - Instant to act, to plunge into the strife, - And with a strong arm hold the rearing world. - In costly chambers hushed with carpets rich, - Swept by proud beauties in their whistling silks, - Mars' plait shall smooth to sweetness on his brow; - His mighty front whose steel flung back the sun, - When horsed for battle, shall bend above a hand - Laid like a lily in his tawny palm, - With such a grace as takes the gazer's eye. - His voice that shivered the mad trumpet's blare,-- - A new-raised standard to the reeling field,-- - Shall know to tremble at a lady's ear, - To charm her blood with the fine touch of praise, - And as she listens--steal away the heart. - If the good gods do grant me such a man, - More would I dote upon his trenchèd brows, - His coal-black hair, proud eyes, and scornful lips, - Than on a gallant, curled like Absalom, - Cheek'd like Apollo, with his luted voice. - - "Canst tell me, Sir Dark-eyes, - Is 't true what these strange-thoughted poets say, - That hearts are tangled in a golden smile? - That brave cheeks pale before a queenly brow? - That mail'd knees bend beneath a lighted eye? - That trickling tears are deadlier than swords? - That with our full-mooned beauty we can slave - Spirits that walk time, like the travelling sun, - With sunset glories girt around his loins? - That love can thrive upon such dainty food - As sweet words, showering from a rosy lip, - As sighs, and smiles, and tears, and kisses warm?" - The dark Page lifted up his Indian eyes - To that bright face, and saw it all a-smile; - And then half grave, half jestingly, he said,-- - "The devil fisheth best for souls of men - When his hook is baited with a lovely limb; - Love lights upon the heart, and straight we feel - More worlds of wealth gleam in an upturned eye, - Than in the rich heart of the miser sea. - Beauty hath made our greatest manhoods weak. - There have been men who chafed, leapt on their times, - And reined them in as gallants rein their steeds - To curvetings, to show their sweep of limb; - Yet love hath on their broad brows written 'fool.' - Sages, with passions held in leash like hounds; - Grave Doctors, tilting with a lance of light - In lists of argument, have knelt and sighed - Most plethoric sighs, and been but very men; - Stern hearts, close barred against a wanton world, - Have had their gates burst open by a kiss. - Why, there was one who might have topped all men, - Who bartered joyously for a single smile - This empired planet with its load of crowns, - And thought himself enriched. If ye are fair, - Mankind will crowd around you thick as when - The full-faced moon sits silver on the sea, - The eager waves lift up their gleaming heads, - Each shouldering for her smile." - - The lady dowered him with her richest look, - Her arch head half aside, her liquid eyes, - From 'neath their dim lids drooping slumberous, - Stood full on his, and called the wild blood up - All in a tumult to his sun-kissed cheek, - As if it wished to see her beauty too-- - Then asked in dulcet tones, "Dost think _me_ fair?" - "Oh, thou art fairer than an Indian morn, - Seated in her sheen palace of the east. - Thy faintest smile out-prices the swelled wombs - Of fleets, rich-glutted, toiling wearily - To vomit all their wealth on English strands. - The whiteness of this hand should ne'er receive - A poorer greeting than the kiss of kings; - And on thy happy lips doth sit a joy, - Fuller than any gathered by the gods, - In all the rich range of their golden heaven." - "Now, by my mother's white enskied soul!" - The lady cried, 'twixt laugh and blush the while, - "I'll swear thou'st been in love, my Indian sweet. - Thy spirit on another breaks in joy, - Like the pleased sea on a white-breasted shore-- - That blush tells tales. And now, I swear by all - The well-washed jewels strewn on fathom-sands, - That thou dost keep her looks, her words, her sighs, - Her laughs, her tears, her angers, and her frowns, - Balmed between memory's leaves; and ev'ry day - Dost count them o'er and o'er in solitude, - As pious monks count o'er their rosaries. - Now, tell me, did she give thee love for love? - Or didst thou make Midnight thy confidant, - Telling her all about thy lady's eyes, - How rich her cheek, how cold as death her scorn? - My lustrous Leopard, hast thou been in love?" - The Page's dark face flushed the hue of wine - In crystal goblet stricken by the sun; - His soul stood like a moon within his eyes, - Suddenly orbed; his passionate voice was shook - By trembling into music.--"Thee I love." - "Thou!" and the Lady, with a cruel laugh, - (Each silver throb went through him like a sword,) - Flung herself back upon her fringèd couch. - From which she rose upon him like a queen, - She rose and stabbed him with her angry eyes. - "'Tis well my father did not hear thee, boy, - Or else my pretty plaything of an hour - Might have gone sleep to-night without his head, - And I might waste rich tears upon his fate. - I would not have my sweetest plaything hurt. - Dost think to scorch me with those blazing eyes, - My fierce and lightning-blooded cub o' the sun? - Thy blood is up in riot on thy brow, - I' the face o' its monarch. Peace! By my grey sire, - Now could I slay thee with one look of hate, - One single look! My Hero! my Heart-god! - My dusk Hyperion, Bacchus of the Inds! - My Hercules, with chin as smooth as my own! - I am so sorry maid, I cannot wear - This great and proffered jewel of thy love. - Thou art too bold, methinks! Didst never fear - That on my poor deserts thy love would sit - Like a great diamond on a threadbare robe? - I tremble for 't. I pr'ythee, come to-morrow - And I will pasture you upon my lips - Until thy beard be grown. Go now, sir, go." - As thence she waved him with arm-sweep superb, - The light of scorn was cold within her eyes, - And withered his bloom'd heart, which, like a rose, - Had opened, timid, to the noon of love. - - The lady sank again into her couch, - Panting and flushed; slowly she paled with thought; - When she looked up the sun had sunk an hour, - And one round star shook in the orange west. - The lady sighed, "It was my father's blood - That bore me, as a red and wrathful stream - Bears a shed leaf. I would recall my words, - And yet I would not. - Into what angry beauty rushed his face! - What lips! what splendid eyes! 'twas pitiful - To see such splendours ebb in utter woe. - His eyes half-won me. Tush! I am a fool; - The blood that purples in these azure veins, - Rich'd with its long course through a hundred earls, - Were fouled and mudded if I stooped to him. - My father loves him for his free wild wit; - I for his beauty and sun-lighted eyes. - To bring him to my feet, to kiss my hand, - Had I it in my gift, I'd give the world, - Its panting fire-heart, diamonds, veins of gold; - Its rich strands, oceans, belts of cedared hills, - Whence summer smells are struck by all the winds. - But whether I might lance him through the brain - With a proud look,--or whether sternly kill - Him with a single deadly word of scorn,-- - Or whether yield me up, - And sink all tears and weakness in his arms, - And strike him blind with a strong shock of joy-- - Alas! I feel I could do each and all. - I will be kind when next he brings me flowers, - Plucked from the shining forehead of the morn, - Ere they have oped their rich cores to the bee. - His wild heart with a ringlet will I chain, - And o'er him I will lean me like a heaven, - And feed him with sweet looks and dew-soft words, - And beauty that might make a monarch pale, - And thrill him to the heart's core with a touch; - Smile him to Paradise at close of eve, - To hang upon my lips in silver dreams." - -LADY. - - What, art thou done already? Thy tale is like - A day unsealed with sunset. What though dusk? - A dusky rod of iron hath power to draw - The lightnings from their heaven to itself. - The richest wage you can pay love is--love. - -WALTER. - - Then close the tale thyself, I drop the mask; - I am the sun-tanned Page; the Lady, thou! - I take thy hand, it trembles in my grasp; - I look in thy face and see no frown in it. - O may my spirit on hope's ladder climb - From hungry nothing up to star-packed space, - Thence strain on tip-toe to thy love beyond-- - The only heaven I ask! - -LADY. - - My God! 'tis hard! - When I was all in leaf the frost winds came, - And now, when o'er me runs the summer's breath, - It waves but iron boughs. - -WALTER. - - What dost thou murmur? - Thy cheeks burn mad as mine. O untouched lips! - I see them as a glorious rebel sees - A crown within his reach. I'll taste their bliss - Although the price be death---- - -LADY (_springing up_). - - Walter! beware! - These tell-tale heavens are list'ning earnestly. - O Sir! within a month my bridal bells - Will make a village glad. The fainting Earth - Is bleeding at her million golden veins, - And by her blood I'm bought. The sun shall see - A pale bride wedded to grey hair, and eyes - Of cold and cruel blue; and in the spring - A grave with daisies on it. [_A pause._ - O my friend! - We twain have met like ships upon the sea, - Who hold an hour's converse, so short, so sweet; - One little hour! and then, away they speed - On lonely paths, through mist, and cloud, and foam, - To meet no more. We have been foolish, Walter! - I would to God that I had never known - This secret of thy heart, or else had met thee - Years before this. I bear a heavy doom. - If thy rich heart is like a palace shattered, - Stand up amid the ruins of thy heart, - And with a calm brow front the solemn stars. - [LADY _pauses;_ WALTER _remains silent._ - 'Tis four o'clock already. She, the moon, - Has climbed the blue steep of the eastern sky, - And sits and tarries for the coming night. - So let thy soul be up and ready armed, - In waiting till occasion comes like night; - As night to moons to souls occasion comes. - I am thine elder, WALTER! in the heart, - I read thy future like an open book: - I see thou shalt have grief; I also see - Thy grief's edge blunted on the iron world. - Be brave and strong through all thy wrestling years, - A brave soul is a thing which all things serve; - When the great Corsican from Elba came, - The soldiers sent to take him, bound or dead, - Were struck to statues by his kingly eyes: - He spoke--they broke their ranks, they clasped his knees, - With tears along a cheering road of triumph - They bore him to a throne. Know when to die! - Perform thy work and straight return to God. - Oh! there are men who linger on the stage - To gather crumbs and fragments of applause - When they should sleep in earth--who, like the moon, - Have brightened up some little night of time, - And 'stead of setting when their light is worn, - Still linger, like its blank and beamless orb, - When daylight fills the sky. But I must go. - Nay, nay, I go alone! Yet one word more,-- - Strive for the Poet's crown, but ne'er forget - How poor are fancy's blooms to thoughtful fruits; - That gold and crimson mornings, though more bright - Than soft blue days, are scarcely half their worth. - Walter, farewell! the world shall hear of thee. - [LADY _still lingers._ - I have a strange sweet thought. I do believe - I shall be dead in spring, and that the soul - Which animates and doth inform these limbs - Will pass into the daisies of my grave: - If memory shall ever lead thee there, - Through daisies I'll look up into thy face - And feel a dim sweet joy; and if they move, - As in a little wind, thou'lt know 't is I. [LADY _goes._ - -WALTER (_after a long interval, looking up_). - - God! what a light has passed away from earth - Since my last look! How hideous this night! - How beautiful the yesterday that stood - Over me like a rainbow! I am alone. - The past is past. I see the future stretch - All dark and barren as a rainy sea. - - -SCENE V. - -WALTER, _wandering down a rural lane. Evening of the same day as -Scene IV._ - -WALTER. - - Sunset is burning like the seal of God - Upon the close of day.--This very hour - Night mounts her chariot in the eastern glooms - To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left - Footprints of glory in the clouded west: - Swift is she haled by wingèd swimming steeds, - Whose cloudy manes are wet with heavy dews, - And dews are drizzling from her chariot wheels. - Soft in her lap lies drowsy-lidded Sleep, - Brainful of dreams, as summer hive with bees; - And round her in the pale and spectral light - Flock bats and grisly owls on noiseless wings. - The flying sun goes down the burning west, - Vast night comes noiseless up the eastern slope, - And so the eternal chase goes round the world. - - Unrest! unrest! The passion-panting sea - Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars - Like a great hungry soul. The unquiet clouds - Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, - And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. - Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth; - Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain; - We hear the wail of the remorseful winds - In their strange penance. And this wretched orb - Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, - Homeless and sobbing through the deep she goes. - [_A Child runs past;_ WALTER _looks after her._ - O thou bright thing, fresh from the hand of God, - The motions of thy dancing limbs are swayed - By the unceasing music of thy being! - Nearer I seem to God when looking on thee. - 'Tis ages since he made his younger star. - His hand was on thee as 'twere yesterday, - Thou later Revelation! Silver Stream, - Breaking with laughter from the lake divine - Whence all things flow! O bright and singing babe! - What wilt thou be hereafter?--Why should man - Perpetuate this round of misery - When he has in his hand the power to close it? - Let there be no warm hearts, no love on earth. - No Love! No Love! Love bringeth wretchedness. - No holy marriage. No sweet infant smiles. - No mother's bending o'er the innocent sleep - With unvoiced prayers and with happy tears. - Let the whole race die out, and with a stroke, - A master-stroke, at once cheat Death and Hell - Of half of their enormous revenues. - [WALTER _approaches a cottage; a peasant sitting at the door._ - One of my peasants. 'Tis a fair eve. - -PEASANT. - - Ay, Master! - How sweet the smell of beans upon the air; - The wheat is earing fairly. We have reason - For thankfulness to God. - -WALTER (_looking upward_). - - We _have_ great reason; - For He provides a balm for all our woes. - He has made Death. Thrice blessed be His name! - -PEASANT. - - He has made Heaven---- - -WALTER. - - To yawn eternities. - Did I say death? O God! there is no death. - When our eyes close, we only pass one stage - Of our long being.--Dost thou wish to die? - -PEASANT. - - I trust in God to live for many years, - Although with a worn frame and with a heart - Somewhat the worse for wear. - -WALTER. - - O fool! fool! fool! - These hands are brown with toil; that brow is seamed, - Still must you sweat and swelter in the sun, - And trudge, with feet benumbed, the winter's snow, - Nor intermission have until the end. - Thou canst not draw down fame upon thy head, - And yet would cling to life! I'll not believe it; - The faces of all things belie their hearts, - Each man's as weary of his life as I. - This anguish'd earth shines on the moon--a moon. - The moon hides with a cloak of tender light - A scarr'd heart fed upon by hungry fires. - Black is this world, but blacker is the next; - There is no rest for any living soul: - We are immortals--and must bear with us - Through all eternity this hateful being; - Restlessly flitting from pure star to star, - The memory of our sins, deceits, and crimes, - Eating into us like a poisoned robe. - Yet thou canst wear content upon thy face - And talk of thankfulness! O die, man, die! - Get underneath the earth for very shame. - [_During this speech the Child draws near; - at its close her Father presents her to_ WALTER. - Is this thy answer? [_Looks at her earnestly._ - O my worthy friend, - I lost a world to-day and shed no tear; - Now I could weep for _thee_. Sweet sinless one! - My heart is weak as a great globe, all sea. - It finds no shore to break on but thyself: - So let it break. - [_He hides his face in his hands, the Child - looking fearfully up at him._ - - -SCENE VI. - -_A Room in London._ WALTER _reading from a manuscript._ - - My head is grey, my blood is young, - Red-leaping in my veins, - The spring doth stir my spirit yet - To seek the cloistered violet, - The primrose in the lanes. - In heart I am a very boy, - Haunting the woods, the waterfalls, - The ivies on grey castle-walls; - Weeping in silent joy - When the broad sun goes down the west, - Or trembling o'er a sparrow's nest. - - The world might laugh were I to tell - What most my old age cheers,-- - Mem'ries of stars and crescent moons, - Of nutting strolls through autumn noons, - Rainbows 'mong April's tears. - But chief, to live that hour again, - When first I stood on sea-beach old, - First heard the voice, first saw out-rolled - The glory of the main. - Many rich draughts hath Memory, - The Soul's cup-bearer, brought to me. - - I saw a garden in my strolls, - A lovely place, I ween, - With rows of vermeil-blossomed trees, - With flowers, with slumb'rous haunts of bees, - With summer-house of green. - A peacock perched upon a dial, - In the sun's face he did unclose - His train superb with eyes and glows, - To dare the sun to trial. - A child sat in a shady place, - A shower of ringlets round her face. - - She sat on shaven plot of grass, - With earnest face, and weaving - Lilies white and freakèd pansies - Into quaint delicious fancies, - Then, on a sudden leaving - Her floral wreath, she would upspring - With silver shouts and ardent eyes, - To chase the yellow butterflies, - Making the garden ring; - Then gravely pace the scented walk, - Soothing her doll with childish talk. - And being, as I said before, - An old man who could find - A boundless joy beneath the skies, - And in the light of human eyes, - And in the blowing wind, - There, daily were my footsteps turned, - Through the long spring, until the peach - Was drooping full-juiced in my reach.-- - Each day my old heart yearned - To look upon that child so fair, - That infant in her golden hair. - - In this green lovely world of ours - I have had many pets, - Two are still leaping in the sun, - Three are married; _that_ dearest one - Is 'neath the violets. - I gazèd till my heart grew wild, - To fold her in my warm caresses, - Clasp her showers of golden tresses,-- - Oh, dreamy-eyèd child! - O Child of Beauty! still thou art - A sunbeam in this lonely heart. - - When autumn eves grew chill and rainy, - England left I for the Ganges; - I couched 'mong groves of cedar-trees, - Blue lakes, and slumb'rous palaces, - Crossed the snows of mountain-ranges, - Watched the set of old Orion, - Saw wild flocks and wild-eyed shepherds, - Princes charioted by leopards, - In the desert met the lion, - The mad sun above us glaring,-- - Child! for thee I still was caring. - - Home returned from realms barbaric, - By the shores of Loch Lubnaig, - A dear friend and I were walking - ('Twas the Sabbath), we were talking - Of dreams and feelings vague; - We pausèd by a place of graves, - Scarcely a word was 'twixt us given, - Silent the earth, silent the heaven, - No murmur of the waves, - The awèd Loch lay black and still - In the black shadow of the hill. - - We loosed the gate and wandered in, - When the sun eternal - Was sudden blanched with amethyst, - As if a thick and purple mist - Dusked his brows supernal. - Soon like a god in mortal throes, - City, hill, and sea, he dips - In the death-hues of eclipse; - Mightier his anguish grows, - Till he hung black, with ring intense, - The wreck of his magnificence. - Above the earth's cold face he hung - With a pale ring of glory, - Like that which cunning limners paint - Around the forehead of a saint, - Or brow of martyr hoary. - And sitting there I could but choose,-- - That blind and stricken sun aboon, - Stars shuddering through the ghostly noon, - 'Mong the thick-falling dews,-- - To tell, with features pale and wild, - About that Garden and that Child. - - When moons had waxed and waned, I stood - Beside the garden gate, - The Peacock's dial was overthrown, - The walks with moss were overgrown, - _Her_ bower was desolate. - Gazing in utter misery - Upon that sad and silent place, - A woman came with mournful face, - And thus she said to me,-- - "Those trees, as they were human souls, - All withered at the death-bell knolls." - - I turned and asked her of the child. - "She is gone hence," quoth she, - "To be with Christ in Paradise. - Oh, sir! I stilled her infant cries, - I nursed her on my knee. - Though we were ever at her side, - And saw life fading in her cheek, - She knew us not, nor did she speak, - Till just before she died; - In the wild heart of that eclipse, - These words came through her wasted lips:-- - - 'The callow young were huddling in the nests, - The marigold was burning in the marsh, - Like a thing dipt in sunset, when He came. - - My blood went up to meet Him on my face, - Glad as a child that hears its father's step, - And runs to meet him at the open porch. - - I gave Him all my being, like a flower - That flings its perfume on a vagrant breeze; - A breeze that wanders on and heeds it not. - - His scorn is lying on my heart like snow, - My eyes are weary, and I fain would sleep; - The quietest sleep is underneath the ground. - - Are ye around me, friends? I cannot see, - I cannot hear the voices that I love, - I lift my hands to you from out the night! - - Methought I felt a tear upon my cheek; - Weep not, my mother! It is time to rest, - And I am very weary; so, good night!' - - "My heart is in the grave with her, - The family went abroad; - Last autumn you might see the fruits, - Neglected, rot round the tree-roots; - This spring no leaves they shewed. - I sometimes fear my brain is crost: - Around this place, the churchyard yonder, - All day, all night, I silent wander, - As woeful as a ghost---- - God take me to His gracious keeping, - But this old man is wildly weeping!" - - That night the sky was heaped with clouds; - Through one blue gulf profound, - Begirt with many a cloudy crag, - The moon came rushing like a stag, - And one star like a hound. - Wearily the chase I eyed, - Wearily I saw the Dawn's - Feet sheening o'er the dewy lawns. - O God! that I had died. - My heart's red tendrils were all torn - And bleeding on that summer morn. - -WALTER (_after a long silence, speaking abstractedly, and with -frequent pauses_). - - Twice hath the windy Summer made a noise - Of leaves o'er all the land from sea to sea, - And still that Child's face sleeps within my heart - Like a young sunbeam in a gloomy wood, - Making the darkness smile--I almost smile - At the strange fancies I have girt her with; - The garden, peacock, and the black eclipse, - The still old graveyard 'mong the dreary hills, - Grey mourners round it--I wonder if she's dead? - She was too fair for earth. Ah! she would die - Like music, sunbeams, and the pallid flowers - That spring on Winter's corse--I saw those graves - With Him who is no more. They are all dead, - The beings whom I loved, and I am sad, - But would not change my sadness for a life - Without a fissure running through its joy. - This very hour a suite of sumptuous rooms - O'erflows with music like a cup with wine; - Outside, the night is weeping like a girl - At her seducer's door, and still the rooms - Run o'er with music, careless of her woe. - I would not have my heart thus. This poor rhyme - Is but an adumbration of my life, - My misery tricked out in a quaint disguise. - Oh, it did happen on a summer day - When I was playing unawares with flowers, - That happiness shot past me like a planet, - And I was barren left! - -_Enter_ EDWARD, _unobserved._ - -EDWARD. - - Walter's love-sick for Fame: - A haughty mistress! How this mad old world - Reels to its burning grave, shouting forth names, - Like a wild drunkard at his frenzy's height, - And they who bear them deem such shoutings _Fame_, - And, smiling, die content. What is thy thought? - -WALTER. - - 'Tis this, a sad one:--Though our beings point - Upward, like prayers or quick spires of flame, - We soon lose interest in this breathing world. - Joy palls from taste to taste, until we yawn - In Pleasure's glowing face. When first we love, - Our souls are clad with joy, as if a tree, - All winter-bare, had on a sudden leapt - To a full load of blooms; next time 'tis nought. - Great weariness doth feed upon the soul; - I sometimes think the highest-blest in heaven - Will weary 'mong its flowers. As for myself, - There's nothing new between me and the grave - But the cold feel of Death. - -EDWARD. - - Watch well thy heart! - It is, methinks, an eager shaking star, - Not a calm steady planet. - -WALTER. - - I love thee much, - But thou art all unlike the glorious guide - Of my proud boyhood. Oh, he led me up, - As Hesper, large and brilliant, leads the night! - Our pulses beat together, and our beings - Mixed like two voices in one perfect tune, - And his the richest voice. He loved all things, - From God to foam-bells dancing down a stream, - With a most equal love. Thou mock'st at much; - And he who sneers at any living hope - Or aspiration of a human heart, - Is just so many stages less than God, - That universal and all-sided Love. - I'm wretched, Edward! to the very heart; - I see an unreached heaven of young desire - Shine through my hopeless tears. My drooping sails - Flap idly 'gainst the mast of my intent. - I rot upon the waters when my prow - Should grate the golden isles. - -EDWARD. - - What wouldst thou do? - Thy brain did teem with vapours wild and vast. - -WALTER. - - But since my younger and my hotter days - (As nebula condenses to an orb), - These vapours gathered to one shining hope, - Sole-hanging in my sky. - -EDWARD. - - What hope is that? - -WALTER. - - To set this Age to music--The great work - Before the Poet now--I do believe - When it is fully sung, its great complaint, - Its hope, its yearning, told to earth and heaven, - Our troubled age shall pass, as doth a day - That leaves the west all crimson with the promise - Of the diviner morrow, which even then - Is hurrying up the world's great side with light. - Father! if I should live to see that morn, - Let me go upward, like a lark, to sing - One song in the dawning! - -EDWARD. - - Ah, my ardent friend! - You need not tinker at this leaking world, - 'Tis ruined past all cure. - -WALTER. - - Edward, for shame! - Not on a path of reprobation runs - The trembling earth. God's eye doth follow her - With far more love than doth her maid, the moon. - Speak no harsh words of Earth, she is our mother, - And few of us, her sons, who have not added - A wrinkle to her brow. She gave us birth, - We drew our nurture from her ample breast, - And there is coming, for us both, an hour - When we shall pray that she will ope her arms - And take us back again. Oh, I would pledge - My heart, my blood, my brain, to ease the earth - Of but one single pang! - -EDWARD. - - So would not I. - Because the pangs of earth shall ne'er be eased. - We sleep on velvets now, instead of leaves; - The land is covered with a net of iron, - Upon whose spider-like, far-stretching lines, - The trains are rushing, and the peevish sea - Frets 'gainst the bulging bosoms of the ships, - Whose keels have waked it from its hour's repose. - Walter! this height of civilisation's tide - Measures our wrong. We've made the immortal Soul - Slave to the Body. 'Tis the Soul has wrought - And laid the iron roads, evoked a power - Next mightiest to God, to drive the trains - That bring the country butter up to town; - Has drawn the terrible lightning from its cloud, - And tamed it to an eager Mercury, - Running with messages of news and gain; - And still the Soul is tasked to harder work, - For Paradise, according to the world, - Is scarce a league a-head. - -WALTER. - - The man I loved - Wrought this complaint of thine into a song, - Which I sung long ago. - -EDWARD. - - We must reverse - The plans of ages. Let the Body sweat, - So that the soul be calm, why should _it_ work? - Say, had I spent the pith of half my life, - And made me master of our English law, - What gain had I on resurrection morn, - But such as hath the body of a clown, - That it could turn a summerset on earth? - A single soul is richer than all worlds, - Its acts are only shadows of itself, - And oft its wondrous wealth is all unknown; - 'Tis like a mountain-range, whose rugged sides - Feed starveling flocks of sheep; pierce the bare sides, - And they ooze plenteous gold. We must go down - And work our souls like mines, make books our lamps, - Not shrines to worship at, nor heed the world-- - Let it go roaring past. You sigh for Fame; - Would serve as long as Jacob for his love, - So you might win her. Spirits calm and still - Are high above your order, as the stars - Sit large and tranquil o'er the restless clouds - That weep and lighten, pelt the earth with hail, - And fret themselves away. The truly great - Rest in the knowledge of their own deserts, - Nor seek the confirmation of the world. - Wouldst thou be calm and still? - -WALTER. - - I'd be as lieve - A minnow to leviathan, that draws - A furrow like a ship. Away! away! - You'd make the world a very oyster-bed. - I'd rather be the glad, bright-leaping foam, - Than the smooth sluggish sea. O let me live - To love and flush and thrill--or let me die! - -EDWARD. - - And yet, what weariness was on your tongue - An hour ago!--you shall be wearier yet. - - -SCENE VII. - -_A Balcony overlooking the Sea_--EDWARD _and_ WALTER _seated._ - -WALTER. - - The lark is singing in the blinding sky, - Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom sea - Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, - And, in the fulness of his marriage joy, - He decorates her tawny brow with shells, - Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, - Then proud, runs up to kiss her. All is fair-- - All glad, from grass to sun! Yet more I love - Than this, the shrinking day, that sometimes comes - In Winter's front, so fair 'mong its dark peers, - It seems a straggler from the files of June, - Which in its wanderings had lost its wits, - And half its beauty; and, when it returned, - Finding its old companions gone away, - It joined November's troop, then marching past; - And so the frail thing comes, and greets the world - With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears, - And all the while it holds within its hand - A few half-withered flowers. I love and pity it! - -EDWARD. - - Air is like Happiness or Poetry. - We see it in the glorious roof of day, - We feel it lift the down upon the cheek, - We hear it when it sways the heavy woods, - We close our hand on 't--and we have it not. - -WALTER. - - I'd be above all things the summer wind - Blowing across a kingdom, rich with alms - From ev'ry flower and forest, ruffling oft - The sea to transient wrinkles in the sun, - Where ev'ry wrinkle is a flash of light. - -EDWARD. - - Like God, I would pervade Humanity, - From bridegroom dreaming on his marriage morn, - To a wild wretch tied on the farthest bough - Of oak that roars on edge of an abyss, - The while the desperate wind with all its strength - Strains the whole night to drive it down the gulf, - Which like a beast gapes wide for man and tree. - I'd creep into the lost and ruined hearts - Of sinful women dying in the streets,-- - Of pinioned men, their necks upon the block, - Axe gleaming in the air. - -WALTER. - - Away, away! - Break not, my Edward, this consummate hour; - For very oft within the year that's past - I've fought against thy drifts of wintry thought - Till they put out my fires, and I have lain, - A volcano choked with snow. Now let me rest! - If I should wear a rose but once in life, - You surely would not tear it leaf from leaf, - And trample all its sweetness in the dust! - Thy dreary thoughts will make my festal heart - As empty and as desolate's a church - When worshippers are gone and night comes down. - Spare me this happy hour, and let me rest! - -EDWARD. - - The banquet you do set before your joys - Is surely but indifferently served, - When they so readily vacate their seats. - -WALTER (_abstractedly_). - - Would I could raise the dead! - I am as happy as the singing heavens-- - There was one very dear to me that died, - With heart as vacant as a last-year's nest. - Oh, could I bring her back, I'd empty mine, - And brim hers with my joy!--enough for both. - -EDWARD (_after a pause_). - - The garrulous sea is talking to the shore, - Let us go down and hear the greybeard's speech. - [_They walk along the sands._ - I shall go down to Bedfordshire to-morrow. - Will you go with me? - -WALTER. - - Whom shall we see there? - -EDWARD. - - Why, various specimens of that biped, Man. - I'll show you one who might have been an abbot - In the old time; a large and portly man, - With merry eyes, and crown that shines like glass. - No thin-smiled April he, bedript with tears, - But appled-Autumn, golden-cheeked and tan; - A jest in his mouth feels sweet as crusted wine. - As if all eager for a merry thought, - The pits of laughter dimple in his cheeks. - His speech is flavorous, evermore he talks - In a warm, brown, autumnal sort of style. - A worthy man, Sir! who shall stand at compt - With conscience white, save some few stains of wine. - -WALTER. - - Commend me to him! He is half right. The Past - Is but an emptied flask, and the rich Future - A bottle yet uncorked. Who is the next? - -EDWARD. - - Old Mr. Wilmott; nothing in himself, - But rich as ocean. He has in his hand - Sea-marge and moor, and miles of stream and grove, - Dull flats, scream-startled, as the exulting train - Streams like a meteor through the frighted night, - Wind-billowed plains of wheat, and marshy fens, - Unto whose reeds on midnights blue and cold, - Long strings of geese come clanging from the stars. - Yet wealthier in one child than in all these! - Oh! she is fair as Heaven! and she wears - The sweetest name that woman ever wore. - And eyes to match her name--'Tis Violet. - -WALTER. - - If like her name, she must be beautiful. - -EDWARD. - - And so she is; she has dark violet eyes, - A voice as soft as moonlight. On her cheek - The blushing blood miraculous doth range - From tender dawn to sunset. When she speaks - Her soul is shining through her earnest face, - As shines a moon through its up-swathing cloud-- - My tongue's a very beggar in her praise, - It cannot gild her gold with all its words. - -WALTER. - - Hath unbreeched Cupid struck your heart of ice? - You speak of her as if you were her lover. - Could _you_ not find a home within her heart? - No, no! you are too cold, you never loved. - -EDWARD. - - There's nothing colder than a desolate hearth. - -WALTER. - - A desolate hearth! Did fire leap on it once? - -EDWARD. - - My hand is o'er my heart--and shall remain.-- - Let the swift minutes run, red sink the sun, - To-morrow will be rich with Violet. - -WALTER. - - So be it, large he sinks! Repentant Day - Frees with his dying hand the pallid stars - He held imprisoned since his young hot dawn. - Now watch with what a silent step of fear - They'll steal out one by one, and overspread - The cool delicious meadows of the night. - -EDWARD. - - And lo, the first one flutters in the blue - With a quick sense of liberty and joy! - -(_Two hours afterwards_), WALTER. - - The rosy glow has faded from the sky, - The rosy glow has faded from the sea. - A tender sadness drops upon my soul, - Like the soft twilight dropping on the world. - -EDWARD. - - Behold yon shining symbol overhead, - Clear Venus hanging in the mellow west, - Jupiter large and sovereign in the east, - With the red Mars between. - -WALTER. - - See yon poor star - That shudders o'er the mournful hill of pines! - 'Twould almost make you weep, it seems so sad. - 'Tis like an orphan trembling with the cold - Over his mother's grave among the pines. - Like a wild lover who has found his love - Worthless and foul, our friend, the sea, has left - His paramour the shore; naked she lies, - Ugly and black and bare. Hark how he moans! - The pain is in his heart. Inconstant fool! - He will be up upon her breast to-morrow, - As eager as to-day. - -EDWARD. - - Like man in that. - We cannot see the lighthouse in the gloom, - We cannot see the rock; but look! now, now, - It opes its ruddy eye, the night recoils, - A crimson line of light runs out to sea, - A guiding torch to the benighted ships. - [_After a long pause._ - O God! 'mid our despairs and throbs and pains, - What a calm joy doth fill great Nature's heart! - -WALTER. - - Thou look'st up to the night as to the face - Of one thou lov'st; I know her beauty is - Deep-mirrored in thy soul as in a sea. - What are thy thinkings of the earth and stars? - A theatre magnificently lit - For sorry acting, undeserved applause? - Dost think there's any music in the spheres? - Or doth the whole creation, in thine ear, - Moan like a stricken creature to its God, - Fettered eternal in a lair of pain? - -EDWARD. - - I think--we are two fools: let us to bed. - What care the stars for us? - - -SCENE VIII. - -_Evening_--_A Room in a Manor_--Mr. WILMOTT, ARTHUR, EDWARD--WALTER -_seated a little apart._ - -WALTER. - - She grows on me like moonrise on the night-- - My life is shaped in spite of me, the same - As ocean by his shores. Why am I here? - The weary sun was lolling in the west, - Edward and I were sauntering on the shore - Yawning with idleness; and so we came - To kill the tedium of slow-creeping days. - On such slight hinges an existence turns! - How frequent in the very thick of life - We rub clothes with a fate that hurries past! - A tiresome friend detains us in the street, - We part, and turning, meet fate in the teeth. - A moment more or less had 'voided it. - Yet through the subtle texture of our souls, - From circumstance each draws a different hue. - The sunlight falls upon a bed of flowers, - From the same sunlight one draws crimson deep, - Another azure pale. Edward and I - See Violet each day, her silks brush both, - She smiles on both alike--My heart! she comes. - [VIOLET _enters and crosses the room._ - O God! I'd be the very floor that bears - Such a majestic thing! Now feed, my eyes, - On beauteous poison, Nightshade, honey sweet. - [_A silence._ - -VIOLET. - - There is a ghastly chasm in the talk, - As if a fate hung in the midst of us, - Its shadow on each heart. Why, this should be - A dark and lustrous night of wit and wine, - Rich with quick bouts of merry argument, - And witty sallies quenched in laughter sweet, - Yet my voice trembles in a solitude, - Like a lone man in a great wilderness. - -MR. WILMOTT. - - Arthur, you once could sing a roaring song, - That to the chorus drew our voices out; - 'Twere no bad plan to sing us one to-night. - Come, wash the roughness from your throat with wine. - -ARTHUR. - - What sort of song, Sirs, shall I sing to you-- - Dame Venus panting on her bed of flowers, - Or Bacchus purple-mouthed astride his tun? - Now for a headlong song of blooded youth, - Give 't such a welcome as shall lift the roof off-- - Sweet friends, be ready with a hip hurrah! - -ARTHUR _sings._ - - A fig for a draught from your crystalline fountains, - Your cold sunken wells, - In mid forest dells, - Ha! bring me the fiery bright dew of the mountains, - When yellowed with peat-reek, and mellowed with age, - O, richest joy-giver! - Rare warmer of liver! - Diviner than kisses, thou droll and thou sage! - Fine soul of a land struck with brightest sun-tints, - Of dark purple moors, - Of sleek ocean-floors, - Of hills stained with heather like bloody footprints; - In sunshine, in rain, a flask shall be nigh me, - Warm heart, blood and brain, Fine Sprite deify me! - - I've drunk 'mong slain deer in a lone mountain shieling, - I've drunk till delirious, - While rain beat imperious, - And rang roof and rafter with bagpipes and reeling. - I've drunk in Red Rannoch, amid its grey boulders: - Where, fain to be kist, - Through his thin scarf of mist, - Ben-More to the sun heaves his wet shining shoulders! - I've tumbled in hay with the fresh ruddy lasses, - I've drunk with the reapers, - I've roared with the keepers, - And scared night away with the ring of our glasses! - In sunshine, in rain, a flask shall be nigh me, - Warm heart, blood, and brain, Fine Sprite deify me! - - Come, string bright songs upon a thread of wine, - And let the coming midnight pass through us, - Like a dusk prince crusted with gold and gems! - Our studious Edward from his Lincoln fens, - And home quaint-gabled hid in rooky trees, - Seen distant is the sun in the arch of noon, - Seen close at hand, the same sun large and red, - His day's work done, within the lazy west - Sitting right portly, staring at the world - With a round, rubicund, wine-bibbing face-- - Ha! like a dove, I see a merry song - Pluming itself for flight upon his lips. - -EDWARD _sings._ - - My heart is beating with all things that are, - My blood is wild unrest; - With what a passion pants yon eager star - Upon the water's breast! - Clasped in the air's soft arms the world doth sleep, - Asleep its moving seas, its humming lands; - With what an hungry lip the ocean deep - Lappeth for ever the white-breasted sands; - What love is in the moon's eternal eyes, - Leaning unto the earth from out the midnight skies! - - Thy large dark eyes are wide upon my brow, - Filled with as tender light - As yon low moon doth fill the heavens now, - This mellow autumn night! - On the late flowers I linger at thy feet, - I tremble when I touch thy garment's rim, - I clasp thy waist, I feel thy bosom's beat-- - O kiss me into faintness sweet and dim! - Thou leanest to me as a swelling peach, - Full-juiced and mellow, leaneth to the taker's reach. - - Thy hair is loosened by that kiss you gave, - It floods my shoulders o'er; - Another yet! Oh, as a weary wave - Subsides upon the shore, - My hungry being with its hopes, its fears, - My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest, - Yet strong as is despair, as weak as tears, - Doth faint upon thy breast! - I feel thy clasping arms, my cheek is wet - With thy rich tears. One kiss! Sweet, sweet, another yet! - - I sang this song some twenty years ago, - (Hot to the ear-tips, with great thumps of heart), - On the gold lawn, while, Cæsar-like, the sun - Gathered his robes around him as he fell. - -ARTHUR. - - Struck by some country cousin, a rosy beauty - Of the Dutch-cheese order, riched with great black eyes, - Which, when you planned a theft upon her lips, - Looked your heart quite away! - Oh, Love! oh, Wine! thou sun and moon o' our lives, - What oysters were we without love and wine! - Our host, I doubt not, vaults a mighty tun, - Wide-wombed and old, cobwebbed and dusted o'er. - Broach! and within its gloomy sides you'll find - A beating heart of wine. The world's a tun, - A gloomy tun, but he who taps the world - Will find much sweetness in 't. Walter, my boy, - Against this sun of wine's most purple light - Burst into song. - -WALTER. - - I fear, Sir, I have none. - -ARTHUR. - - Hang nuts in autumn woods? Then 't is your trade, - Spin us a new one. Come! some youth love-mad, - Reading the thoughts within his lady's eyes, - Earnest as One that looks into the Book, - Seeking the road to bliss-- - Clothe me this bare bough with your sunny flowers. - -WALTER. - - The evening heaven is not always dressed - With frail cloud-empires of the setting sun, - Nor are we always in our singing-robes. - I have no song, nor can I make you one; - But, with permission, I will tell a tale. - -ARTHUR. - - If short and merry, Heaven speed your tongue; - If long and sad, the Lord have mercy on us! - -WALTER. - - Within a city One was born to toil, - Whose heart could not mate with the common doom - To fall like a spent arrow in the grave. - 'Mid the eternal hum, the boy clomb up - Into a shy and solitary youth, - With strange joys and strange sorrows, oft to tears - He was moved, he knew not why, when he has stood - Among the lengthening shadows of the eve, - Such feeling overflowed him from the sky. - 'Mong crowds he dwelt, as lonely as a star - Unsphered and exiled, yet he knew no scorn. - Once did he say, "For me, I'd rather live - With this weak human heart and yearning blood, - Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls; - More brave, more beautiful, than myself must be - The man whom truly I can call my Friend; - He must be an Inspirer, who can draw - To higher heights of Being, and aye stand - O'er me in unreached beauty, like the moon; - Soon as he fail in this, the crest and crown - Of noble friendship, he is nought to me. - What so unguessed as Death? Yet to the dead - It lies as plain as yesterday to us. - Let me go forward to my grave alone, - What need have I to linger by dry wells?" - Books were his chiefest friends. In them he read - Of those great spirits who went down like suns, - And left upon the mountain-tops of Death - A light that made them lovely. His own heart - Made him a Poet. Yesterday to him - Was richer far than fifty years to come. - Alchymist Memory turned his past to gold. - When morn awakes against the dark wet earth, - Back to the morn she laughs with dewy sides, - Up goes her voice of larks! With like effect - Imagination opened on his life, - _It_ lay all lovely in that rarer light. - - He was with Nature on the sabbath-days; - Far from the dressed throngs and the city bells - He gave his hot brows to the kissing wind, - While restless thoughts were stirring in his heart. - "These worldly men will kill me with their scorns, - But Nature never mocks or jeers at me; - Her dewy soothings of the earth and air - Do wean me from the thoughts that mad my brain. - Our interviews are stolen, I can look, - Nature! in thy serene and griefless eyes - But at long intervals; yet, Nature! yet, - Thy silence and the fairness of thy face - Are present with me in the booming streets. - Yon quarry shattered by the bursting fire, - And disembowelled by the biting pick, - Kind Nature! thou hast taken to thyself; - Thy weeping Aprils and soft-blowing Mays, - Thy blossom-buried Junes, have smoothed its scars, - And hid its wounds and trenches deep in flowers. - So take my worn and passion-wasted heart, - Maternal Nature! Take it to thyself, - Efface the scars of scorn, the rents of hate, - The wounds of alien eyes, visit my brain - With thy deep peace, fill with thy calm my heart, - And the quick courses of my human blood." - Thus would he muse and wander, till the sun - Reached the red west, where all the waiting clouds, - Attired before in homely dun and grey, - Like Parasites that dress themselves in smiles - To feed a great man's eye, in haste put on - Their purple mantles rimmed with ragged gold, - And congregating in a shining crowd, - Flattered the sinking orb with faces bright. - As slow he journeyed home, the wanderer saw - The labouring fires come out against the dark, - For with the night the country seemed on flame: - Innumerable furnaces and pits, - And gloomy holds, in which that bright slave, Fire, - Doth pant and toil all day and night for man, - Threw large and angry lustres on the sky, - And shifting lights across the long black roads. - - Dungeoned in poverty, he saw afar - The shining peaks of fame that wore the sun, - Most heavenly bright, they mocked him through his bars, - A lost man wildered on the dreary sea, - When loneliness hath somewhat touched his brain, - Doth shrink and shrink beneath the watching sky, - Which hour by hour more plainly doth express - The features of a deadly enemy, - Drinking his woes with a most hungry eye. - Ev'n so, by constant staring on his ills, - They grew worse-featured; till, in his great rage, - His spirit, like a roused sea, white with wrath, - Struck at the stars. "Hold fast! Hold fast! my brain! - Had I a curse to kill with, by yon Heaven! - I'd feast the worms to-night." Dreadfuller words, - Whose very terror blanched his conscious lips, - He uttered in his hour of agony. - With quick and subtle poison in his veins, - With madness burning in his heart and brain, - With words, like lightnings, round his pallid lips, - He rushed to die in the very eyes of God. - 'Twas late, for as he reached the open roads, - Where night was reddened by the drudging fires, - The drowsy steeples tolled the hour of One. - The city now was left long miles behind, - A large black hill was looming 'gainst the stars, - He reached its summit. Far above his head, - Up there upon the still and mighty night, - God's name was writ in worlds. Awhile he stood, - Silent and throbbing like a midnight star, - He raised his hands, alas! 'twas not in prayer-- - He long had ceased to pray. "Father," he said, - "I wished to loose some music o'er Thy world, - To strike from its firm seat some hoary wrong, - And then to die in autumn with the flowers, - And leaves, and sunshine I have loved so well. - Thou might'st have smoothed my way to some great end-- - But wherefore speak? Thou art the mighty God. - This gleaming wilderness of suns and worlds - Is an eternal and triumphant hymn, - Chanted by Thee unto Thine own great self! - Wrapt in Thy skies, what were my prayers to Thee? - My pangs? My tears of blood? They could not move - Thee from the depths of Thine immortal dream. - Thou hast forgotten me, God! Here, therefore, here, - To-night upon this bleak and cold hill-side, - Like a forsaken watch-fire will I die, - And as my pale corse fronts the glittering night, - It shall reproach Thee before all Thy worlds." - His death did not disturb that ancient Night. - Scornfullest Night! Over the dead there hung - Greats gulfs of silence, blue, and strewn with stars-- - No sound--no motion--in the eternal depths. - -EDWARD. - - Now, what a sullen-blooded fool was this, - At sulks with earth and Heaven! Could he not - Out-weep his passion like a blustering day, - And be clear-skied thereafter? He, poor wretch, - Must needs be famous! Lord! how Poets geck - At Fame, their idol. Call 't a worthless thing, - Colder than lunar rainbows, changefuller - Than sleeked purples on a pigeon's neck, - More transitory than a woman's loves, - The bubbles of her heart--and yet each mocker - Would gladly sell his soul for one sweet crumb - To roll beneath his tongue. - -WALTER. - - Alas! the youth - Earnest as flame, could not so tame his heart - As to live quiet days. When the heart-sick Earth - Turns her broad back upon the gaudy sun, - And stoops her weary forehead to the night, - To struggle with her sorrow all alone, - The moon, that patient sufferer, pale with pain, - Presses her cold lips on her sister's brow, - Till she is calm. But in _his_ sorrow's night - He found no comforter. A man can bear - A world's contempt when he has that within - Which says he's worthy--when he contemns himself, - There burns the hell. So this wild youth was foiled - In a great purpose--in an agony, - In which he learned to hate and scorn himself, - He foamed at God, and died. - -MR. WILMOTT. - - Rain similes upon his corse like tears-- - The youth you spoke of was a glowing moth, - Born in the eve and crushed before the dawn. - -VIOLET. - - He was, methinks, like that frail flower that comes - Amid the nips and gusts of churlish March, - Drinking pale beauty from sweet April's tears, - Dead on the hem of May. - -EDWARD. - - A Lapland fool, - Who, staring upward as the Northern lights - Banner the skies with glory, breaks his heart, - Because his smoky hut and greasy furs - Are not so rich as they. - -ARTHUR. - - Mine is pathetic-- - A ginger-beer bottle burst. - -WALTER (_aside_). - - And mine would be - The pale child, Eve, leading her mother, Night. - [MR. WILMOTT, ARTHUR, _and_ EDWARD, _converse_--VIOLET - _approaches_ WALTER. - -VIOLET. - - Did you know well that youth of whom you spake? - -WALTER. - - Know him! Oh, yes, I knew him as myself-- - Two passions dwelt at once within his soul, - Like eve and sunset dwelling in one sky. - And as the sunset dies along the west, - Eve higher lifts her front of trembling stars, - Till she is seated in the middle sky, - So gradual, one passion slowly died, - And from its death the other drew fresh life, - Until 't was seated in his soul alone-- - The dead was Love--the living, Poetry. - -VIOLET. - - Alas! if Love rose never from the dead. - -WALTER. - - Between him and the Lady of his Love - There stood a wrinkled worldling ripe for hell. - When with his golden hand he plucked that flower, - And would have smelt it, lo! it paled and shrank, - And withered in his grasp. And when she died, - The rivers of his heart ran all to waste; - They found no ocean, dry sands sucked them up. - - Lady! he was a fool--a pitiful fool. - She said she loved him, would be dead in spring-- - She asked him but to stand beside her grave-- - She said she would be daisies--and she thought - 'Twould give her joy to feel that he was near. - She died like music; and, would you believe 't? - He kept her foolish words within his heart - As ceremonious as a chapel keeps - A relic of a saint. And in the spring - The doting idiot went! - -VIOLET. - - What found he there? - -WALTER. - - Laugh till your sides ache! Oh, he went, poor fool! - But he found nothing save red-trampled clay, - And a dull sobbing rain. Do you not laugh? - Amid the comfortless rain he stood and wept, - Bare-headed, in the mocking, pelting rain. - He might have known 'twas ever so on earth. - -VIOLET. - - You cannot laugh yourself, Sir, nor can I. - Her unpolluted corse doth sleep in earth, - Like a pure thought within a sinful soul. - Dearer is earth to God for her sweet sake. - -WALTER. - - 'Tis said our nature is corrupt; but she - O'erlaid hers with all graces, ev'n as Night - Wears such a crowd of jewels on her face, - You cannot see 'tis black. - -VIOLET. - - How looked this youth? - Did he in voice or mien resemble you? - Was he about your age? Wore he such curls? - Such eyes of dark sea-blue? - -WALTER. - - Why do you ask? - -VIOLET. - - I thought just now you might resemble him. - Were you not brothers?--twins? Or was the one - A shadow of the other? - -WALTER. - - What mean you? - -VIOLET. - - That like the moon you need not wrap yourself - In any cloud; you shine through each disguise; - You are a masker in a mask of glass. - You've such transparent sides, each casual eye - May see the heaving heart. - -WALTER. - - Oh, misery! - Is 't visible to thee? - -VIOLET. - - 'Tis clear as dew! - Mine eyes have been upon it all the night, - Unknown to you. - -WALTER. - - The sorrowful alone - Can know the sorrowful. What woe is thine, - That thou canst read me thus? - -VIOLET. - - A new-born power, - Whose unformed features cannot clearly show - Whether 'tis Joy or Sorrow. But the years - May nurture it to either. - -WALTER. - - To thee I'm bare. - My heart lies open to you, as the earth - To the omniscient sun. I have a work-- - The finger of my soul doth point it out; - I trust God's finger points it also out. - I must attempt it; if my sinews fail, - On my unsheltered head men's scorns will fall, - Like a slow shower of fire. Yet if one tear - Were mingled with them, it were less to bear. - -VIOLET. - - I'll give thee tears.-- - -WALTER. - - That were as queenly Night - Would loosen all the jewels from her hair, - And hail them on this sordid thing, the earth. - Thy tears keep for a worthier head than mine. - -VIOLET. - - I will not cope with you in compliment. - I'll give you tears, and pity, and true thoughts; - If you are desolate, my heart is open; - I know 'tis little worth, but any hut, - However poor, unto a homeless man, - Is welcomer than mists or nipping winds. - But if you conquer Fame---- - -WALTER. - - With eager hands - I'll bend the awful thing into a crown, - And you shall wear it. - -VIOLET. - - Oh, no, no! - Lay it upon _her_ grave. [_Another silence._ - -ARTHUR. - - Run out again! - We should he jovial as the feasting gods, - We're silent as a synod of the stars! - The night is out at elbows. Laughter's dead. - To the rescue, Violet! A song! a song! - -VIOLET _sings._ - - Upon my knee a modern minstrel's tales, - Full as a choir with music, lies unread; - My impatient shallop flaps its silken sails - To rouse me, but I cannot lift my head. - I see a wretched isle, that ghost-like stands, - Wrapt in its mist-shroud in the wint'ry main; - And now a cheerless gleam of red-ploughed lands, - O'er which a crow flies heavy in the rain. - - I've neither heart nor voice! - [_Rises and draws the curtain._ - You've sat the night out, Masters! See, the moon - Lies stranded on the pallid coast of morn. - -ARTHUR. - - Methinks our merriment lies stranded, too. - Draw the long table for a game of bowls. - You will be captain, Edward,--Gods! he yawns. - [_To_ WALTER. - Your thunder, Jove, has soured these cream-pots all. - -MR. WILMOTT. - - To bed! To bed! - - -SCENE IX. - -_A Lawn_--_Sunset_--WALTER _lying at_ VIOLET'S _feet._ - - -VIOLET. - - You loved, then, very much, this friend of thine? - -WALTER. - - The sound of his voice did warm my heart like wine. - He's long since dead; but if there is a heaven, - He's in its heart of bliss. - -VIOLET. - - How did you live? - -WALTER. - - We read and wrote together, slept together; - We dwelt on slopes against the morning sun, - We dwelt in crowded streets, and loved to walk - While Labour slept; for, in the ghastly dawn, - The wildered city seemed a demon's brain, - The children of the night its evil thoughts. - Sometimes we sat whole afternoons, and watched - The sunset build a city frail as dream, - With bridges, streets of splendour, towers; and saw - The fabrics crumble into rosy ruins, - And then grow grey as heath. But our chief joy - Was to draw images from everything; - And images lay thick upon our talk, - As shells on ocean sands. - -VIOLET. - - From everything! - Here is the sunset, yonder grows the moon, - What image would you draw from these? - -WALTER. - - Why, this. - The sun is dying like a cloven king - In his own blood; the while the distant moon, - Like a pale prophetess, whom he has wronged, - Leans eager forward, with most hungry eyes, - Watching him bleed to death, and, as he faints, - She brightens and dilates; revenge complete, - She walks in lonely triumph through the night. - -VIOLET. - - Give not such hateful passion to the orb - That cools the heated lands; that ripes the fields, - While sleep the husbandmen, then hastes away - Ere the first step of dawn, doing all good - In secret and the night. 'Tis very wrong. - Would I had known your friend! - -WALTER. - - Iconoclast! - 'Tis better as it is. - -VIOLET. - - Why is it so? - -WALTER. - - Because you would have loved him, and then I - Would have to wander outside of all joy, - Like Neptune in the cold. [_A pause._ - -VIOLET. - - Do you remember - You promised yesterday you'd paint for me - Three pictures from your life? - -WALTER. - - I'll do so now. - On this delicious eve, with words like colours, - I'll limn them on the canvass of your sense. - -VIOLET. - - Be quick! be quick! for see, the parting sun - But peers above yon range of crimson hills, - Taking his last look of this lovely scene. - Dusk will be here anon. - -WALTER. - - And all the stars! - -VIOLET. - - Great friends of yours; you love them overmuch. - -WALTER. - - I love the stars too much! The tameless sea - Spreads itself out beneath them, smooth as glass. - You cannot love them, lady, till you dwell - In mighty towns; immured in their black hearts, - The stars are nearer to you than the fields. - I'd grow an Atheist in these towns of trade, - Were 't not for stars. The smoke puts heaven out; - I meet sin-bloated faces in the streets, - And shrink as from a blow. I hear wild oaths, - And curses spilt from lips that once were sweet, - And sealed for Heaven by a mother's kiss. - I mix with men whose hearts of human flesh, - Beneath the petrifying touch of gold, - Have grown as stony as the trodden ways. - I see no trace of God, till in the night, - While the vast city lies in dreams of gain, - He doth reveal himself to me in heaven. - My heart swells to Him as the sea to the moon; - Therefore it is I love the midnight stars. - -VIOLET. - - I would I had a lover who could give - Such ample reasons for his loving me, - As you for loving stars! But to your task. - -WALTER. - - Wilt listen to the pictures of my life? - -VIOLET. - - Patient as evening to the nightingale! - -WALTER. - - 'Mong the green lanes of Kent--green sunny lanes-- - Where troops of children shout, and laugh, and play, - And gather daisies, stood an antique home, - Within its orchard, rich with ruddy fruits, - For the full year was laughing in his prime. - Wealth of all flowers grew in that garden green, - And the old porch with its great oaken door - Was smothered in rose-blooms, while o'er the walls - The honeysuckle clung deliriously. - Before the door there lay a plot of grass, - Snowed o'er with daisies,--flower by all beloved, - And famousest in song--and in the midst, - A carvèd fountain stood, dried up and broken, - On which a peacock perched and sunned itself; - Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white, - Squatted upon the sward. - A row of poplars darkly rose behind, - Around whose tops, and the old-fashioned vanes, - White pigeons fluttered, and o'er all was bent - The mighty sky, with sailing sunny clouds. - One casement was thrown open, and within, - A boy hung o'er a book of poesy, - Silent as planet hanging o'er the sea. - In at the casement open to the noon - Came sweetest garden-odours, and the hum-- - The drowsy hum--of the rejoicing bees, - Heavened in blooms that overclad the walls; - And the cool wind waved in upon his brow, - And stirred his curls. Soft fell the summer night. - Then he arose, and with inspired lips said,-- - "Stars! ye are golden-voicèd clarions - To high-aspiring and heroic dooms. - To-night, as I look up unto ye, Stars! - I feel my soul rise to its destiny, - Like a strong eagle to its eyrie soaring. - Who thinks of weakness underneath ye, Stars? - A hum shall be on earth, a name be heard, - An epitaph shall look up proud to God. - Stars! read and listen, it may not be long." - -VIOLET (_leaning over him_). - - I'll see that grand desire within your eyes-- - Oh, I only see myself! - -WALTER. - - Violet! - Could you look through my heart as through mine eyes, - You'd find yourself there, too. - -VIOLET. - - Hush, flatterer! - Yet go on with your tale. - -WALTER. - - Three blue days passed, - Full of the sun, loud with a thousand larks; - An evening like a grey child walked 'tween each. - 'Twas in the quiet of the fourth day's noon, - The boy I speak of slumbered in the wood. - Like a dropt rose at an oak-root he lay, - A lady bent above him. He awoke; - She blushed like sunset, 'mid embarrassed speech; - A shock of laughter made them friends at once, - And laughter fluttered through their after-talk, - As darts a bright bird in and out the leaves. - All day he drank her splendid light of eyes; - Nor did they part until the deepening east - Gan to be sprinkled with the lights of eve. - -VIOLET. - - Go on! go on! - -WALTER. - - June sang herself to death. - They parted in the wood, she very pale, - And he walked home the weariest thing on earth. - That night he sat in his unlighted room, - Pale, sad, and solitary, sick at heart, - For he had parted with his dearest friends, - High aspirations, bright dreams golden-winged, - Troops of fine fancies that like lambs did play - Amid the sunshine and the virgin dews, - Thick-lying in the green fields of his heart. - Calm thoughts that dwelt like hermits in his soul, - Fair shapes that slept in fancifullest bowers, - Hopes and delights,--He parted with them all. - Linked hand in hand they went, tears in their eyes, - As faint and beautiful as eyes of flowers, - And now he sat alone with empty soul. - Last night his soul was like a forest, haunted - With pagan shapes; when one nymph slumbering lay, - A sweet dream 'neath her eyelids, her white limbs - Sinking full softly in the violets dim; - When timbrelled troops rushed past with branches green. - One in each fountain, riched with golden sands, - With her delicious face a moment seen, - And limbs faint-gleaming through their watery veil. - To-night his soul was like that forest old, - When these were reft away, and the wild wind - Running like one distract 'mong their old haunts, - Gold-sanded fountains, and the bladed flags. - [_A pause._ - It is enough to shake one into tears. - A palace full of music was his heart, - An earthquake rent it open to the rain; - The lovely music died--the bright throngs fled-- - Despair came like a foul and grizzly beast, - And littered in its consecrated rooms. - - Nature was leaping like a Bacchanal - On the next morn, beneath its sky-wide sheen - The boy stood pallid in the rosy porch. - The mad larks bathing in the golden light, - The flowers close-fondled by the impassioned winds, - The smells that came and went upon the sense, - Like faint waves on a shore, he heeded not; - He could not look the morning in the eyes. - That singing morn he went forth like a ship; - Long years have passed, and he has not returned, - Beggared or laden, home. - -VIOLET. - - Ah, me, 'tis sad! - And sorrow's hand as well as mine has been - Among these golden curls. 'Tis past, 'tis past; - It has dissolved, as did the bank of cloud - That lay in the west last night. - -WALTER. - - I yearned for love, - As earnestly as sun-cracked summer earth - Yearns to the heavens for rain--none ever came. - -VIOLET. - - Oh, say not so! I love thee very much; - Let me but grow up like a sweet-breathed flower - Within this ghastly fissure of thy heart! - Do you not love me, Walter? - -WALTER. - - By thy tears - I love thee as my own immortal soul. - Weep, weep, my Beautiful! Upon thy face - There is no cloud of sorrow or distress. - It is as moonlight, pale, serene, and clear. - Thy tears are spilt of joy, they fall like rain - From heaven's stainless blue. - Bend over me, my Beautiful, my Own. - Oh, I could lie with face upturned for ever, - And on thy beauty feed as on a star! - [_Another pause._ - Thy face doth come between me and the heaven-- - Start not, my dearest! for I would not give - Thee in thy tears for all yon sky lit up - For a god's feast to-night. And I am loved! - Why did you love me, Violet? - -VIOLET. - - The sun - Smiles on the earth, and the exuberant earth - Returns the smile in flowers--'twas so with me. - I love thee as a fountain leaps to light-- - I can do nothing else. - -WALTER. - - Say these words again, - And yet again; never fell on my ear - Such drops of music. - -VIOLET. - - Alas! poor words are weak, - So are the daily ills of common life, - To draw the ingots and the hoarded pearls - From out the treasure-caverns of my heart. - Suffering, despair, and death alone can do it: - Poor Walter! [_Kisses him._ - -WALTER. - - Gods! I could out-Anthony - Anthony! This moment I could scatter - Kingdoms life halfpence. I am drunk with joy. - This is a royal hour--the top of life. - Henceforth my path slopes downward to the grave-- - All's dross but love. That largest Son of Time, - Who wandered singing through the listening world, - Will be as much forgot as the canoe - That crossed the bosom of a lonely lake - A thousand years ago. My Beautiful! - I would not give thy cheek for all his songs-- - Thy kiss for all his fame. Why do you weep? - -VIOLET. - - To think that we, so happy now, must die. - -WALTER. - - That thought hangs like a cold and slimy snail - On the rich rose of love--shake it away-- - Give me another kiss, and I will take - Death at a flying leap. The night is fair, - But thou art fairer, Violet! Unloose - The midnight of thy tresses, let them float - Around us both. How the freed ringlets reel - Down to the dewy grass! Here lean thy head, - Now you will feel my heart leap 'gainst thy cheek; - Imprison me with those white arms of thine. - So, so. O sweet upturnèd face! (_Kisses her._) If God - Told you to-night He'd grant your dearest wish, - What would it be? - -VIOLET. - - That He would let you grow - To your ambition's height. What would be yours? - -WALTER. - - A greater boon than Satan's forfeit throne! - That He would keep us beautiful and young - For ever, as to-night. Oh, I could live - Unwearied on thy beauty, till the sun - Grows dim and wrinkled as an old man's face. - Our cheeks are close, our breaths mix like our souls. - We have been starved hereto; Love's banquet's spread, - Now let us feast our fills. - -VIOLET. - - Walter! - - -SCENE X. - -_A Bridge in a City_--_Midnight_--WALTER _alone._ - -WALTER. - - Adam lost Paradise--eternal tale - Repeated in the lives of all his sons. - I had a shining orb of happiness, - God gave it me; but sin passed over it - As small-pox passes o'er a lovely face, - Leaving it hideous. I have lost for ever - The Paradise of young and happy thoughts, - And now stand in the middle of my life - Looking back through my tears--ne'er to return. - I've a stern tryst with Death, and must go on, - Though with slow steps and oft-reverted eyes. - - 'Tis a thick, rich-hazed, sumptuous autumn night; - The moon grows like a white flower in the sky; - The stars are dim. The tired year rests content - Among her sheaves, as a fond mother rests - Among her children; all her work is done. - There is a weight of peace upon the world; - It sleeps: God's blessing on it. Not on _me_! - Oh, as a lewd dream stains the holy sleep, - I stain the holy night, yet dare not die! - I knew this river's childhood, from the lake - That gave it birth, till, as if spilt from heaven, - It floated o'er the face of jet-black rocks, - Graceful and gauzy as a snowy veil. - Then we were pure as the blue sky above us, - Now we are black alike. This stream has turned - The wheels of commerce, and come forth distained; - And now trails slowly through a city's heart, - Drawing its filth as doth an evil soul - Attract all evil things; putrid and black - It mingles with the clear and stainless sea. - So into pure eternity my soul - Will disembogue itself. - Good men have said - That sometimes God leaves sinners to their sin,-- - He has left me to mine, and I am changed; - My worst part is insurgent, and my will - Is weak and powerless as a trembling king - When millions rise up hungry. Woe is me! - My soul breeds sins as a dead body worms! - They swarm and feed upon me. Hear me, God! - Sin met me and embraced me on my way; - Methought her cheeks were red, her lips had bloom; - I kissed her bold lips, dallied with her hair: - She sang me into slumber. I awoke-- - It was a putrid corse that clung to me, - That _clings_ to me like memory to the damned, - That rots into my being. Father! God! - I cannot shake it off, it clings, it clings;-- - I soon will grow as corrupt as itself. [_A pause._ - God sends me back my prayers, as a father - Returns unoped the letters of a son - Who has dishonoured him. - Have mercy, Fiend! - Thou Devil, thou wilt drag me down to hell. - Oh, if she had proclivity to sin - Who did appear so beauteous and so pure, - Nature may leer behind a gracious mask. - And God himself may be----I'm giddy, blind, - The world reels from beneath me. - [_Catches hold of the parapet._ - (_An outcast approaches._) Wilt pray for me? - -GIRL (_shuddering_). - - 'Tis a dreadful thing to pray. - -WALTER. - - Why is it so? - Hast thou, like me, a spot upon thy soul - That neither tears can cleanse nor fires eterne? - -GIRL. - - But few request _my_ prayers. - -WALTER. - - I request them. - For ne'er did a dishevelled woman cling - So earnest-pale to a stern conqueror's knees, - Pleading for a dear life, as did my prayer - Cling to the knees of God. He shook it off, - And went upon His way. Wilt pray for me? - -GIRL. - - Sin crusts me o'er as limpets crust the rocks. - I would be thrust from ev'ry human door; - I dare not knock at heaven's. - -WALTER. - - Poor homeless one! - There is a door stands wide for thee and me-- - The door of hell. Methinks we are well met. - I saw a little girl three years ago, - With eyes of azure and with cheeks of red, - A crowd of sunbeams hanging down her face; - Sweet laughter round her; dancing like a breeze. - I'd rather lair me with a fiend in fire - Than look on such a face as hers to-night. - But I can look on thee, and such as thee; - I'll call thee "Sister;" do thou call me "Brother." - A thousand years hence, when we both are damned, - We'll sit like ghosts upon the wailing shore, - And read our lives by the red light of hell. - Shall we not, Sister? - -GIRL. - - O thou strange, wild man! - Let me alone: what would you seek with me? - -WALTER. - - Your ear, my Sister. I have that within - Which urges me to utterance. I could accost - A pensive angel, singing to himself - Upon a hill in heaven, and leave his mind - As dark and turbid as a trampled pool, - To purify at leisure.--I have none - To listen to me, save a sinful woman - Upon a midnight bridge.--She was so fair, - God's eye could rest with pleasure on her face. - Oh, God, she was so happy! Her short life, - As full of music as the crowded June - Of an unfallen orb. What is it now? - She gave me her young heart, full, full of love: - My return--was to break it. Worse, far worse; - I crept into the chambers of her soul, - Like a foul toad, polluting as I went. - -GIRL. - - I pity her--not you. Man trusts in God; - He is eternal. Woman trusts in man, - And he is shifting sand. - -WALTER. - - Poor child, poor child! - We sat in dreadful silence with our sin, - Looking each other wildly in the eyes: - Methought I heard the gates of heaven close, - She flung herself against me, burst in tears, - As a wave bursts in spray. She covered me - With her wild sorrow, as an April cloud - With dim dishevelled tresses hides the hill - On which its heart is breaking. She clung to me - With piteous arms, and shook me with her sobs, - For she had lost her world, her heaven, her God, - And now had nought but me and her great wrong. - She did not kill me with a single word, - But once she lifted her tear-dabbled face-- - Had hell gaped at my feet I would have leapt - Into its burning throat, from that pale look. - Still it pursues me like a haunting fiend: - It drives me out to the black moors at night, - Where I am smitten by the hissing rain, - And ruffian winds, dislodging from their troops, - Hustle me shrieking, then with sudden turn - Go laughing to their fellows. Merciful God! - It comes--that face again, that white, white face, - Set in a night of hair; reproachful eyes, - That make me mad. Oh, save me from those eyes! - They will torment me even in the grave, - And burn on me in Tophet. - -GIRL. - - Where are you going? - -WALTER. - - My heart's on fire by hell, and on I drive - To outer blackness, like a blazing ship. - [_He rushes away._ - - -SCENE XI. - -_Night._--WALTER, _standing alone in his garden._ - -WALTER. - - Summer hath murmured with her leafy lips - Around my home, and I have heard her not; - I've missed the process of three several years, - From shaking wind-flowers to the tarnished gold - That rustles sere on Autumn's aged boughs. - I went three years ago, and now return, - As stag sore-hunted a long summer day - Creeps in the eve to its deep forest-home. [_A pause._ - This is my home again! Once more I hail - The dear old gables and the creaking vanes. - It stands all flecked with shadows in the moon, - Patient, and white, and woeful. 'Tis so still, - It seems to brood upon its youthful years, - When children sported on its ringing floors, - And music trembled through its happy rooms. - 'Twas here I spent my youth, as far removed - From the great heavings, hopes, and fears of man, - As unknown isle asleep in unknown seas. - Gone my pure heart, and with it happy days; - No manna falls around me from on high, - Barely from off the desert of my life - I gather patience and severe content. - God is a worker. He has thickly strewn - Infinity with grandeur. God is Love; - He yet will wipe away Creation's tears, - And all the worlds shall summer in His smile. - Why work I not? The veriest mote that sports - Its one-day life within the sunny beam - Has its stern duties. Wherefore have I none? - I will throw off this dead and useless past, - As a strong runner, straining for his life, - Unclasps a mantle to the hungry winds. - A mighty purpose rises large and slow - From out the fluctuations of my soul, - As, ghost-like, from the dim and tumbling sea - Starts the completed moon. [_Another pause._ - I have a heart to dare, - And spirit-thews to work my daring out; - I'll cleave the world as a swimmer cleaves the sea, - Breaking the sleek green billows into froth, - With tilting full-blown chest, and scattering - With scornful breath the kissing, flattering foam, - That leaps and dallies with his dipping lip. - Thou'rt distant, now, O World! I hear thee not; - No pallid fringes of thy fires to-night - Droop round the large horizon. Yet, O World! - I have thee in my power, and as a man - By some mysterious influence can sway - Another's mind, making him laugh and weep, - Shudder or thrill, such power have I on thee. - Much have I suffered, both from thee and thine; - Thou shalt not 'scape me, World! I'll make thee weep; - I'll make my lone thought cross thee like a spirit, - And blanch thy braggart cheeks, lift up thy hair, - And make thy great knees tremble; I will send - Across thy soul dark herds of demon dreams, - And make thee toss and moan in troubled sleep; - And, waking, I will fill thy forlorn heart - With pure and happy thoughts, as summer woods - Are full of singing-birds. I come from far, - I'll rest myself, O World! awhile on thee, - And half in earnest, half in jest, I'll cut - My name upon thee, pass the arch of Death, - Then on a stair of stars go up to God. - - -SCENE XII. - -_An Apartment_--CHARLES _and_ EDWARD _seated._ - -EDWARD. - - Have you seen Walter lately? - -CHARLES. - - Very much; - I wintered with him. - -EDWARD. - - What was he about? - -CHARLES. - - He wrote his Poem then. - -EDWARD. - - That was a hit! - The world is murmuring like a hive of bees: - He is its theme--to-morrow it may change. - Was it done at a dash? - -CHARLES. - - It was; each word sincere, - As blood-drops from the heart. The full-faced moon, - Set round with stars, in at his casement looked, - And saw him write and write: and when the moon - Was waning dim upon the edge of morn, - Still sat he writing, thoughtful-eyed and pale; - And, as of yore, round his white temples reeled - His golden hair, in ringlets beautiful. - Great joy he had, for thought came glad and thick - As leaves upon a tree in primrose-time; - And as he wrote, his task the lovelier grew, - Like April unto May, or as a child, - A-smile in the lap of life, by fine degrees - Orbs to a maiden, walking with meek eyes - In atmosphere of beauty round her breathed. - He wrote all winter in an olden room, - Hallowed with glooms and books. Priests who have wed - Their makers unto Fame, Moons that have shed - Eternal halos around England's head; - Books dusky and thumbed without, _within_, a sphere - Smelling of Spring, as genial, fresh, and clear, - And beautiful, as is the rainbowed air - After May showers. Within this pleasant lair - He passed in writing all the winter moons; - But when May came, with train of sunny noons, - He chose a leafy summer-house within - The greenest nook in all his garden green; - Oft a fine thought would flush his face divine, - As he had quaffed a cup of olden wine, - Which deifies the drinker: oft his face - Gleamed like a spirit's in that shady place, - While he saw, smiling upward from the scroll, - The image of the thought within his soul; - There, 'mid the waving shadows of the trees, - 'Mong garden-odours and the hum of bees, - He wrote the last and closing passages. - He is not happy. - -EDWARD. - - Has he told you so? - -CHARLES. - - Not in plain terms. Oft an unhappy thought, - Telling all is not well, falls from his soul - Like a diseasèd feather from the wing - Of a sick eagle; a scorched meteor-stone - Dropt from the ruined moon. - -EDWARD. - - What are these thoughts? - -CHARLES. - - I walked with him upon a windy night; - We saw the streaming moon flee through the sky, - Pursued by all the dark and hungry clouds. - He stopped and said: "Weariness feeds on all. - God wearies, and so makes a universe, - And gathers angels round him.--He is weak; - I weary, and so wreak myself in verse,---- - Away with scrannel-pipes. Oh, for mad War! - I'd give my next twelve years to head but once - Ten thousand horse in a victorious charge. - Give me some one to hate, and let me chase - Him through the zones, and finding him at last, - Make his accursed eyes leap on his cheeks, - And his face blacken, with one choking gripe." - -EDWARD. - - Savage enough, i' faith! - -CHARLES. - - He often said, - His strivings after Poesy and Fame - Were vain as turning blind eyes on the sun. - His Book came out; I told him that the world - Hailed him a Poet. He said, with feeble smile, - "I have arisen like a dawn--the world, - Like the touched Memnon, murmurs--that is all." - He said, as we were lying on the moss, - (A forest sounding o'er us, like a sea - Above two mermen seated on the sands,) - "Our human hearts are deeper than our souls, - And Love than Knowledge is diviner food-- - Oh, Charles! if God will ever send to thee - A heart that loves thee, reverence that heart. - We think that Death is hard, when he can kill - An infant smiling in his very face: - Harder was I than Death.--In cup of sin - I did dissolve thee, thou most precious pearl, - Then drank thee up." We sat one eve, - Gazing in silence on the falling sun: - We saw him sink. Upon the silent world, - Like a fine veil, came down the tender gloom; - A dove came fluttering round the window, flew - Away, and then came fluttering back. He said, - "As that dove flutters round the casement, comes - A pale shape round my soul; I've done it wrong, - I never will be happy till I ope - My heart and take it in."--'Twas ever so; - To some strange sorrow all his thoughts did tend, - Like waves unto a shore. Dost know his grief? - -EDWARD. - - I dimly guess it; a rich cheek grew pale, - A happy spirit singing on her way - Grew mute as winter. Walter, mad and blind, - Threw off the world, God, unclasped loving arms, - Rushed wild through Pleasure and through Devil-world, - Till he fell down exhausted.--Do you know - If he believes in God? - -CHARLES. - - He told me once, - The saddest thing that can befall a soul - Is when it loses faith in God and Woman; - For he had lost them both. Lost I those gems-- - Though the world's throne stood empty in my path, - I would go wandering back into my childhood, - Searching for them with tears. - -EDWARD. - - Let him go - Alone upon his waste and dreary road, - He will return to the old faith he learned - Beside his mother's knee. That memory - That haunts him, as the sweet and gracious moon - Haunts the poor outcast Earth, will lead him back - To happiness and God. - -CHARLES. - - May it be so! - - -SCENE XIII. - -_Afternoon._--WALTER _and_ VIOLET _entering the garden from the -house._ - -VIOLET. - - This is the dwelling you have told me of,-- - Summer again hath dressed its bloomy walls, - Its fragrant front is populous with bees; - This is the garden--all is very like, - And yet unlike the picture in my heart; - I know not which is loveliest. I see - Afar the wandering beauty of the stream, - And nearer I can trace it as it shows - Its broad and gleaming back among the woods. - Is that the wood you slept in? - -WALTER. - - That is it. - And every nook and glade and tangled dell, - From its wide circle to its leafy heart, - Is as familiar to me as my soul. - Memories dwell like doves among the trees, - Like nymphs in glooms, like naïads in the wells; - And some are sweet, and sadder some than death. - [_A pause._ - I could have sworn the world did sing in air, - I was so happy once. The eagle drinks - The keen blue morning, and the morn was mine. - I bathed in sunset, and to me the night - Was a perpetual wonder and an awe. - Oft, as I lay on earth and gazed at her, - The gliding moon with influence divine - Would draw a most delicious tide of tears - And spill it o'er my eyes. Sadness was joy - Of but another sort. My happiness - Was flecked with vague and transitory griefs, - As sweetly as the shining length of June - With evanescent eves; and through my soul - At intervals a regal pageant passed, - As through the palpitating streets the corse - Of a great chieftain, rolled in music rich, - Moves slow towards its rest. In these young days - Existence was to me sufficient joy; - At once a throne and kingdom, crown and lyre. - Now it is but a strip of barren sand, - On which with earnest heart I strive to rear - A temple to the Gods. I will not sadden you. - [_They move on._ - This is the fountain: once it flashed and sang - (Possessed of such exuberance of joy) - To golden sunrise, the blue day, and when - The night grew gradual o'er it, star by star,-- - Now it is mute as Memnon. - -VIOLET. - - Sad again! - Its brim is written over--o'er and o'er; - 'Tis mute; but have you made its marble lips - As sweet as Music's? - -WALTER. - - Miserable words! - The offspring of some most unhappy hours. - To me this fountain's brim is sad as though - 'Twere splashed with my own blood. - - - -VIOLET (_reads_). - - "Nature cares not - Although her loveliness should ne'er be seen - By human eyes, nor praised by human tongues. - The cataract exults among the hills, - And wears its crown of rainbows all alone. - Libel the ocean on his tawny sands, - Write verses in his praise,--the unmoved sea - Erases both alike. Alas for man! - Unless his fellows can behold his deeds - He cares not to be great." 'Tis very true. - The next is written in a languid hand: - "Sin hath drunk up my pleasure, as eclipse - Drinks up the sunlight. On my spirit lies - A malison and ban. What though the Spring - Makes all the hills and valleys laugh in green,-- - Is the sea healed, or is the plover's cry - Merry upon the moor? I now am kin - To these, and winds, and ever-suffering things." - Oh, I could blot these words out with my tears! - -WALTER. - - So could I when I wrote them. - -VIOLET. - - What is next? - "A sin lies dead and dreadful in my soul, - Why should I gaze upon it day by day? - Oh, rather, since it cannot be destroyed, - Let me as reverently cover it - As with a cloth we cover up the dead, - And place it in some chamber of my soul, - Where it may lie unseen as sound, yet _felt_,-- - Making life hushed and awful." - -WALTER. - - No more. No more. - Let God wash out this record with His rain! - This is the summer-house. [_They enter._ - It is as sweet - As if enamoured Summer did adorn - It for his Love to dwell in. I love to sit - And hear the pattering footsteps of the shower, - As he runs over it, or watch at noon - The curious sunbeams peeping through the leaves. - -VIOLET. - - I've always pictured you in such a place - Writing your Book, and hurrying on, as if - You had a long and wondrous tale to tell, - And felt Death's cold hand closing round your heart. - -WALTER. - - Have you read my Book? - -VIOLET. - - I have. - -WALTER. - - It is enough. - The Book was only written for two souls, - And they are thine and mine. - -VIOLET. - - For many weeks, - When I was dwelling by the moaning sea, - Your name was blown to me on ev'ry wind, - And I was glad; for by that sign I knew - You had fulfilled your heart, and hoped you would - Put off the robes of sorrow, and put on - The singing crown of Fame. One dreary morn - Your Book came to me, and I fondled it, - As though it were a pigeon sent from thee - With love beneath its wing. I read and read - Until the sun lifted his cloudy lids - And shot wild light along the leaping deep, - Then closed his eyes in death. I shed no tear, - I laid it down in silence, and went forth - Burdened with its sad thoughts: slowly I went; - And, as I wandered through the deepening gloom, - I saw the pale and penitential moon - Rise from dark waves that plucked at her, and go - Sorrowful up the sky. Then gushed my tears-- - The tangled problem of my life was plain-- - I cried aloud, "Oh, would he come to me! - I know he is unhappy; that he strives - As fiercely as that blind and desperate sea, - Clutching with all its waves--in vain, in vain. - He never will be happy till he comes." - As I went home the thought that you would come - Filled my lorn heart with gladness, as the moon - Filled the great vacant night with moonlight, till - Its silver bliss ran o'er--so after prayer - I slept in the lap of peace--next morn you came. - -WALTER. - - And then I found you beautiful and pale-- - Pale as that moonlight night! O Violet, - I have been undeceived. In my hot youth - I kissed the painted bloom off Pleasure's lips - And found them pale as Pain's,--and wept aloud. - Never henceforward can I hope to drain - The rapture of a lifetime at a gulp. - My happiness is not a troubled joy; - 'Tis deep, serene as death. The sweet contents, - The happy thoughts from which I've been estranged, - Again come round me, as the old known peers - Surround and welcome a repentant spirit, - Who by the steps of sorrow hath regained - His throne and golden prime. The eve draws nigh! - The prosperous sun is in the west, and sees - From the pale east to where he sets in bliss, - His long road glorious. Wilt thou sing, my love, - And sadden me into a deeper joy? - -VIOLET _sings._ - - The wondrous ages pass like rushing waves, - Each crowned with its own foam. Bards die, and Fame - Hangs like a pallid meteor o'er their graves. - Religions change, and come and go like flame. - - Nothing remains but Love, the world's round mass - It doth pervade, all forms of life it shares, - The institutions that like moments pass - Are but the shapes the masking spirit wears. - - Love is a sanctifier; 'tis a moon, - Turning each dusk to silver. A pure light, - Redeemer of all errors---- - [_Ceases, and bursts into tears._ - -WALTER. - - What ails you, Violet? - Has music stung you like a very snake? - Why do you weep? - -VIOLET. - - Walter! dost thou believe - Love will redeem all errors? Oh, my friend, - This gospel saves you! doubt it, you are lost. - Deep in the mists of sorrow long I lay, - Hopeless and still, when suddenly _this_ truth - Like a slant sunbeam quivered through the mist, - And turned it into radiance. In the light - I wrote these words, while you were far away - Fighting with shadows. Oh! Walter, in one boat - We floated o'er the smooth, moon-silvered sea; - The sky was smiling with its orbs of bliss; - And while we lived within each other's eyes, - We struck and split, and all the world was lost - In one wild whirl of horror darkening down; - At last I gained a deep and silent isle, - Moaned on by a dim sea, and wandered round, - Week after week, the happy-mournful shore, - Wond'ring if you had 'scaped. - -WALTER. - - Thou noble soul, - Teach me, for thou art nearer God than I! - My life was a long dream; when I awoke, - Duty stood like an angel in my path, - And seemed so terrible, I could have turned - Into my yesterdays, and wandered back - To distant childhood, and gone out to God - By the gate of birth, not death. Lift, lift me up - By thy sweet inspiration, as the tide - Lifts up a stranded boat upon the beach. - I will go forth 'mong men, not mailed in scorn, - But in the armour of a pure intent. - Great duties are before me and great songs, - And whether crowned or crownless, when I fall - It matters not, so that God's work is done. - I've learned to prize the quiet lightning-deed, - Not the applauding thunder at its heels - Which men call Fame. Our night is past; - We stand in precious sunrise, and beyond - A long day stretches to the very end. - Look out, my beautiful, upon the sky! - Even puts on her jewels. Look! she sets, - Venus upon her brow. I never gaze - Upon the evening but a tide of awe, - And love, and wonder, from the Infinite, - Swells up within me, as the running brine - From the smooth-glistening, wide-heaving sea, - Grows in the creeks and channels of a stream - Until it threats its banks. It is not joy, - 'Tis sadness more divine. - -VIOLET. - - How quick they come,-- - World after world! See the great moon above - Yon undistinguishable clump of trees - Is slowly from the darkness gathering light! - You used to love the moon! - -WALTER. - - This mournful wind - Has surely been with Winter, 'tis so cold; - The dews are falling, Violet! Your cloak-- - Draw it around you. Let the still night shine! - A star's a cold thing to a human heart, - And love is better than their radiance. Come! - Let us go in together. - - - - -AN EVENING AT HOME. - - - To-day a chief was buried--let him rest. - His country's bards are up like larks, and fill - With singing the wide heavens of his fame. - To-night I sit within my lonely room, - The atmosphere is full of misty rain, - Wretched the earth and heaven. Yesterday - The streets and squares were choked with yellow fogs, - To-morrow we may all be drenched in sleet! - Stretched like a homeless beggar on the ground, - The city sleeps amid the misty rain. - Though Rain hath pitched his tent above my head, - 'Tis but a speck upon the happy world. - Since I've begun to trace these lines, Sunrise - Has struck a land and woke its bleating hills; - Afar upon some black and silent moor - The crystal stars are shaking in the wind; - An ocean gurgles, for the stooping moon - Hath kissed him into peace, and now she smooths - The well-pleased monster with her silver hand. - Come, naked, gleaming Spring! great crowds of larks - Fluttering above thy head, thy happy ears - Loud with their ringing songs, Bright Saviour, come! - And kill old Winter with thy glorious look, - And turn his corse to flowers! - - I sit to-night - As dreary as the pale, deserted East, - That sees the Sun, the Sun that once was hers, - Forgetful of her, flattering his new love, - The happy-blushing West. In these long streets - Of traffic and of noise, the human hearts - Are hard and loveless as a wreck-strewn coast. - Eternity doth wear upon her face - The veil of Time. They only see the veil, - And thus they know not what they stand so near. - Oh, rich in gold! Beggars in heart and soul! - Poor as the empty void! Why, even I, - Sitting in this bare chamber with my thoughts, - Am richer than ye all, despite your bales, - Your streets of warehouses, your mighty mills, - Each booming like a world faint heard in space: - Your ships; unwilling fires, that day and night - Writhe in your service seven years, then die - Without one taste of peace. Do ye believe - A simple primrose on a grassy bank - Forth-peeping to the sun, a wild bird's nest, - The great orb dying in a ring of clouds, - Like hoary Jacob 'mong his waiting sons; - The rising moon, and the young stars of God, - Are things to love? With _these_ my soul is brimmed; - With a diviner and serener joy - Then all thy heaven of money-bags can bring - Thy dry heart, Worldling! - - The terror-stricken rain - Flings itself wildly on the window-panes, - Imploring shelter from the chasing wind. - Alas! to-night in this wide waste of streets - It beats on human limbs as well as walls! - God led Eve forth into the empty world - From Paradise. Could our great Mother come - And see her children now, what sight were worst; - A worker woke by cruel Day, the while - A kind dream feeds with sweetest phantom-bread, - Him, and his famished ones; or when the Wind, - With shuddering fingers, draws the veil of smoke, - And scares her with a battle's bleeding face? - - Most brilliant star upon the crest of Time - Is England. England! Oh, I know a tale - Of those far summers when she lay in the sun, - Listening to her own larks, with growing limbs, - And mighty hands, which since have tamed the world, - Dreaming about their tasks. This dreary night - I'll tell the story to my listening heart. - I sang 't to thee, O unforgotten Friend! - (Who dwellest now on breezy English downs, - While I am drowning in the hateful smoke) - Beside the river which I long have loved. - O happy Days! O happy, happy Past! - O Friend! I am a lone benighted ship; - Before me hangs the vast untravelled gloom, - Behind, a wake of splendour, fading fast - Into the hungry gloom from whence it came. - - Two days the Lady gazed toward the west, - The way that he had gone; and when the third - From its high noon sloped to a rosy close, - Upon the western margin of the isle, - Feeding her petted swans by tossing bread - Among the clumps of water-lilies white, - She stood. The fond Day pressed against her face; - His am'rous, airy fingers, with her robe - Fluttered and played, and trembling, touched her throat, - And toying with her ringlets, could have died - Upon her sweet lips and her happy cheeks! - With a long rippling sigh she turned away, - And wished the sun was underneath the hills. - Anon she sang; and ignorant Solitude, - Astonished at the marvel of her voice, - Stood tranced and mute as savage at the door - Of rich cathedral when the organ rolls, - And all the answering choirs awake at once. - Then she sat down and thought upon her love; - Fed on the various wonders of his face - To make his absence rich. "'Tis but three days - Since he went from me in his light canoe, - And all the world went with him, and to-night - He will be back again. Oh, when he comes, - And when my head is laid upon his breast, - And in the pauses of the sweetest storm - Of kisses that e'er beat upon a face, - I'll tell him how I've pined, and sighed, and wept, - And thought of those sweet days and nights that flew - O'er us unheeded as a string of swans, - That wavers down the sky toward the sea,-- - And he will chide me into blissful tears, - Then kiss the tears away." Quick leapt she up, - "He comes! he comes!" She laughed, and clapt her hands, - A light canoe came dancing o'er the lake, - And he within it gave a cry of joy. - She sent an answer back that drew him on. - The swans are scared,--the lilies rippled--now - Her happy face is hidden in his breast, - And words are lost in joy. "My Bertha! let - Me see myself again in those dear orbs. - Have you been lonely, love?" She raised her head, - "You surely will not leave me so again! - I'll grow as pale 's the moon, and my praised cheeks - Will be as wet as April's if you do." - As when the moon hath sleeked the blissful sea, - A light wind wrinkles it and passes off, - So ran a transient trouble o'er his face. - "My Bertha! we must leave this isle to-night. - Thy shining face is blanked! We will return - Ere thrice the day, like a great bird of light - Flees 'cross the dark, and hides it with his wings." - "Ah, wherefore?" "Listen, I will tell you why. - - "I stood afar upon the grassy hills, - I saw the country with its golden slopes, - And woods, and streams, run down to meet the sea. - I saw the basking ocean skinned with light. - I saw the surf upon the distant sands - Silent and white as snow. Above my head - A lark was singing, 'neath a sunny cloud, - Around the playing winds. As I went down - There seemed a special wonder on the shore, - Low murmuring crowds around a temple stood: - There was a wildered music on the air, - Which came and went, yet ever nearer grew, - When, lo! a train came upward from the sea - With snowy garments, and with reverend steps, - Full in their front a silver cross they bore, - And this sweet hymn they strewed along the winds. - - 'Blest be this sunny morning, sweet and fair! - Blest be the people of this pleasant land! - Ye unseen larks that sing a mile in air, - Ye waving forests, waving green and grand, - Ye waves, that dance upon the flashing strand, - Ye children golden-haired! we bring, we bring - A gospel hallowing.' - Then one stood forth and spoke against the gods; - He called them 'cruel gods,' and then he said, - 'We have a Father, One who dwells serene, - 'Bove thunder and the stars, Whose eye is mild, - And ever open as the summer sky; - Who cares for everything on earth alike, - Who hears the plovers crying in the wind, - The happy linnets singing in the broom, - Whose smile is sunshine.' When the old man ceased, - Forth from the murmuring crowd there stepped a youth, - As bright-haired as a star, and cried aloud, - 'Friends! I've grown up among the wilds, and found - Each outward form is but a window whence - Terror or Beauty looks. Beauty I've seen - In the sweet eyes of flowers, along the streams, - And in the cold and crystal wells that sleep - Far in the murmur of the summer woods; - Terror in fire and thunder, in the worn - And haggard faces of the winter clouds, - In shuddering winds, and oft on moonless nights - I've heard it in the white and wailing fringe - That runs along the coast from end to end. - The mountains brooded on some wondrous thought - Which they would ne'er reveal. I seemed to stand - Outside of all things; my desire to know - Grew wild and eager as a starving wolf. - To gain the secret of the awful world, - I knelt before the gods, and then held up - My heart to them in the pure arms of prayer-- - They gave no answer, or had none to give. - Friends! I will test these sour and sullen gods: - If they are weak, 'tis well, we then may list - Unto the strangers; but if my affront - Draw angry fire, I shall be slain by gods, - And Death may have no secrets. A spear! a steed!' - A steed was brought by trembling hands, he sprang - And dashed towards the temple with a cry. - A shudder ran through all the pallid crowds. - I saw him enter, and my sight grew dim, - And on a long-suspended breath I stood, - Till one might count a hundred beats of heart: - Then he rode slowly forth, and, wondrous strange! - Although an awful gleam lay on his face, - His charger's limbs were drenched with terror-sweat. - Amid the anxious silence loud he cried, - 'Gods, marvellously meek! Why, any child - May pluck them by the beard, spit in their face, - Or smite them on the mouth; they can do nought, - But sit like poor old foolish men, and moan. - I flung my spear.'--Here, as a singing rill - Is in the mighty noise of ocean drowned, - His voice was swallowed in the shout that rose, - And touched the heavens, ran along the hills, - Thence came on after silence, strange and dim. - - A voice rose 'mong the strangers like a lark, - And warbled out its joy, then died away. - And the old man that spoke before went on, - And, oh! the gentle music of his voice - Stirred through my heart-strings like a wind through reeds. - He said, 'It was God's hand that shaped the world - And laid it in the sunbeams:' and that 'God, - With His great presence fills the universe. - That, could we dwell like night among the stars, - Or plunge with whales in the unsounded sea, - He still would be around us with His care.' - And also, 'That, as flowers come back in Spring, - We would live after Death.' I heard no more. - I thought of thee in this delightful isle, - Pure as a prayer, and wished that I had wings - To tell you swiftly, that the death we feared - Was but a grey eve 'tween two shining days, - That we would love for ever! Then I thought - Our home might be in that transparent star - Which we have often watched from off this verge, - Stand in the dying sunset, large and clear-- - The humming world awoke me from my dream. - I saw the old gods tumbled on the grass - Like uncouth stones, they threw the temple wide, - And Summer, with her bright and happy face, - Looked in upon its gloom, and pensive grew. - The while among the tumult of the crowds, - Divinest hymns the white-robed strangers sang. - I wearied for thee, Bertha! and I came. - Wilt go and hear these strangers?" She turned on him - A look of love--a look that richly crowned - A moment heavenly rich, and murmured "Yes." - He kissed her proudly, while a giddy tear, - Wild with its happiness, ran down her cheek - And perished in the dew. They took their seats, - And as the paddles struck, grey-pinioned Time - Flew through the gates of sunset into Night, - And held through stars to gain the coasts of Morn. - - 'Tis done! The phantoms of my soul have fled - Into the night, and I am left alone - With that sweet sadness which doth ever dwell - On the brink of tears; I stare i' th' crumbling fire - Which from my brooding eye takes strangest shapes. - The Past is with me, and I scarcely hear - Outside the weeping of the homeless rain. - - - - -LADY BARBARA. - - - Earl Gawain wooed the Lady Barbara,-- - High-thoughted Barbara, so white and cold! - 'Mong broad-branched beeches in the summer shaw, - In soft green light his passion he has told. - When rain-beat winds did shriek across the wold, - The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear - Framed passion-trembled ditties manifold; - Silent she sat his am'rous breath to hear, - With calm and steady eyes, her heart was otherwhere. - - He sighed for her through all the summer weeks; - Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful boughs - Bore glorious apples with smooth-shining cheeks, - Earl Gawain came and whispered, "Lady, rouse! - Thou art no vestal held in holy vows; - Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath." - Her father's blood leapt up unto her brows-- - He who, exulting on the trumpet's breath, - Came charging like a star across the lists of death, - - Trembled, and passed before her high rebuke: - And then she sat, her hands clasped round her knee: - Like one far-thoughted was the lady's look, - For in a morning cold as misery - She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea; - Before the north 'twas driven like a cloud, - High on the poop a man sat mournfully: - The wind was whistling thorough mast and shroud. - And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud:-- - - "Didst look last night upon my native vales, - Thou Sun! that from the drenching sea hast clomb? - Ye demon winds! that glut my gaping sails, - Upon the salt sea must I ever roam, - Wander for ever on the barren foam? - O happy are ye, resting mariners. - O Death, that thou wouldst come and take me home! - A hand unseen this vessel onward steers, - And onward I must float through slow moon-measured years. - - "Ye winds! when like a curse ye drove us on, - Frothing the waters, and along our way, - Nor cape nor headland through red mornings shone, - One wept aloud, one shuddered down to pray, - One howled, 'Upon the Deep we are astray.' - On our wild hearts his words fell like a blight: - In one short hour my hair was stricken grey, - For all the crew sank ghastly in my sight - As we went driving on through the cold starry night. - - "Madness fell on me in my loneliness, - The sea foamed curses, and the reeling sky - Became a dreadful face which did oppress - Me with the weight of its unwinking eye. - It fled, when I burst forth into a cry-- - A shoal of fiends came on me from the deep; - I hid, but in all corners they did pry, - And dragged me forth, and round did dance and leap; - They mouthed on me in dream, and tore me from sweet sleep. - - "Strange constellations burned above my head, - Strange birds around the vessel shrieked and flew, - Strange shapes, like shadows, through the clear sea fled, - As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through, - Angering to foam the smooth and sleeping blue." - The lady sighed, "Far, far upon the sea, - My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you! - The wind blows shrill between my love and me." - Fond heart! the space between was but the apple-tree. - - There was a cry of joy, with seeking hands - She fled to him, like worn bird to her nest; - Like washing water on the figured sands, - His being came and went in sweet unrest, - As from the mighty shelter of his breast - The Lady Barbara her head uprears - With a wan smile, "Methinks I'm but half blest: - Now when I've found thee, after weary years, - I cannot see thee, love! so blind I am with tears." - - - - -TO ---- - - - The broken moon lay in the autumn sky, - And I lay at thy feet; - You bent above me; in the silence I - Could hear my wild heart beat. - - I spoke; my soul was full of trembling fears - At what my words would bring: - You raised your face, your eyes were full of tears, - As the sweet eyes of Spring. - - You kissed me then, I worshipped at thy feet - Upon the shadowy sod. - Oh, fool, I loved thee! loved thee, lovely cheat! - Better than Fame or God. - - My soul leaped up beneath thy timid kiss: - What then to me were groans, - Or pain, or death? Earth was a round of bliss, - I seemed to walk on thrones. - - And you were with me 'mong the rushing wheels, - 'Mid Trade's tumultuous jars; - And where to awe-struck wilds the Night reveals - Her hollow gulfs of stars. - - Before your window, as before a shrine, - I've knelt 'mong dew-soaked flowers, - While distant music-bells, with voices fine, - Measured the midnight hours. - - There came a fearful moment: I was pale, - You wept, and never spoke, - But clung around me as the woodbine frail - Clings, pleading, round an oak. - - Upon my wrong I steadied up my soul, - And flung thee from myself; - I spurned thy love as 'twere a rich man's dole,-- - It was my only wealth. - - I spurned thee! I, who loved thee, could have died, - That hoped to call thee "wife," - And bear thee, gently-smiling at my side, - Through all the shocks of life! - - Too late, thy fatal beauty and thy tears, - Thy vows, thy passionate breath; - I'll meet thee not in Life, nor in the spheres - Made visible by Death. - - - - -SONNETS. - - - I cannot deem why men toil so for Fame. - A porter is a porter though his load - Be the oceaned world, and although his road - Be down the ages. What is in a name? - Ah! 'tis our spirit's curse to strive and seek. - Although its heart is rich in pearls and ores, - The Sea complains upon a thousand shores; - Sea-like we moan for ever. We are weak. - We ever hunger for diviner stores. - I cannot say I have a thirsting deep - For human fame, nor is my spirit bowed - To be a mummy above ground to keep - For stare and handling of the vulgar crowd, - Defrauded of my natural rest and sleep. - - * * * * * - - There have been vast displays of critic wit - O'er those who vainly flutter feeble wings, - Nor rise an inch 'bove ground,--weak Poetlings! - And on them to the death men's brows are knit. - Ye men! ye critics! seems 't so very fit - They on a storm of laughter should be blown - O'er the world's edge to Limbo? Be it known, - Ye men! ye critics! that beneath the sun - The chiefest woe is this,--When all alone, - And strong as life, a soul's great currents run - Poesy-ward, like rivers to the sea, - But never reach 't. Critic, let that soul moan - In its own hell without a kick from thee. - Kind Death, kiss gently, ease this weary one! - - * * * * * - - Joy like a stream flows through the Christmas-streets, - But I am sitting in my silent room, - Sitting all silent in congenial gloom. - To-night, while half the world the other greets - With smiles and grasping hands and drinks and meats, - I sit and muse on my poetic doom; - Like the dim scent within a budded rose, - A joy is folded in my heart; and when - I think on Poets nurtured 'mong the throes, - And by the lowly hearths of common men,-- - Think of their works, some song, some swelling ode - With gorgeous music growing to a close, - Deep-muffled as the dead-march of a god,-- - My heart is burning to be one of those. - - * * * * * - - Beauty still walketh on the earth and air, - Our present sunsets are as rich in gold - As ere the Iliad's music was out-rolled; - The roses of the Spring are ever fair, - 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, - And the deep sea still foams its music old. - So, if we are at all divinely souled, - This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. - 'Tis pleasant, when blue skies are o'er us bending - Within old starry-gated Poesy, - To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, - Like thine, sweet Friend! Oh, dearer this to me - Than are the dewy trees, the sun, the moon, - Or noble music with a golden ending. - - * * * * * - - Last night my cheek was wetted with warm tears, - Each worth a world. They fell from eyes divine. - Last night a loving lip was pressed to mine, - And at its touch fled all the barren years; - And softly couched upon a bosom white, - Which came and went beneath me like a sea, - An emperor I lay in empire bright, - Lord of the beating heart, while tenderly - Love-words were glutting my love-greedy ears. - Kind Love, I thank thee for that happy night! - Richer this cheek with those warm tears of thine - Than the vast midnight with its gleaming spheres. - Leander toiling through the moonlight brine, - Kingdomless Anthony, were scarce my peers. - - * * * * * - - I wrote a Name upon the river sands - With her who bore it standing by my side, - Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride, - And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands, - To burning words of mine she thus replied, - "Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail - Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands - Will scarce confine these limbs." I turned love-pale, - I gazed upon the river'd landscape wide, - And thought how little _it_ would all avail - Without her love. 'Twas on a morn of May, - Within a month I stood upon the sand, - Gone was the name I traced with trembling hand,-- - And from my heart 'twas also gone away. - - * * * * * - - Like clouds or streams we wandered on at will, - Three glorious days, till, near our journey's end, - As down the moorland road we straight did wend, - To Wordsworth's "Inversneyd," talking to kill - The cold and cheerless drizzle in the air, - 'Bove me I saw, at pointing of my friend, - An old fort like a ghost upon the hill, - Stare in blank misery through the blinding rain, - So human-like it seemed in its despair-- - So stunned with grief--long gazed at it we twain. - Weary and damp we reached our poor abode, - I, warmly seated in the chimney-nook, - Still saw that old Fort o'er the moorland road - Stare through the rain with strange woe-wildered look. - - * * * * * - - Sheath'd is the river as it glideth by, - Frost-pearl'd are all the boughs in forests old, - The sheep are huddling close upon the wold, - And over them the stars tremble on high. - Pure joys these winter nights around me lie; - 'Tis fine to loiter through the lighted street - At Christmas time, and guess from brow and pace - The doom and history of each one we meet, - What kind of heart beats in each dusky case; - Whiles startled by the beauty of a face - In a shop-light a moment. 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Royal 4to. sewed, 4s. - SUTCLIFFE'S DRAWING-BOOK OF HORSES, 6 Nos. 1s.; cloth, 7s. 6d. - WORSLEY'S LITTLE DRAWING BOOK OF LANDSCAPES, &c. 14 Nos. 6d.; or - 2 vols. cloth, 4s. each. - - - - -Books Reduced in Price. - - -Roman Art.--Il Vaticano: - - an Historical and Descriptive Account of the Church of St. Peter, - and the Vatican Museum, and Galleries. By ERASMO PISTOLESI. In Eight - Volumes folio, containing upwards of Nine Hundred Plates. Half-bound - in morocco, gilt tops, _Thirty Guineas._ - -Authors of England: - - Portraits of the Principal Literary Characters, engraved in - Basso-relievo by Mr. COLLAS; with Lives by H.F. CHORLEY. Royal 4to. - cloth gilt, _published at_ 31s. 6d.; _reduced to_ 10s. 6d. - -The Georgian Era: - - Modern British Biography since the Reign of Queen Anne. Handsomely - bound in cloth. _Published at_ 34s. 6d.; _now reduced to_ 14s. - -The Noble Science--Fox-hunting. - - By F.P. DELME RADCLIFFE, Esq. 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Asia, Malaya, Burmah, - - and HINDUSTAN. By the Rev. H. MALCOM. 2 vols. 8vo. _published at_ - 16s.; _reduced to_ 8s. - -Puckle's Club; - - or, a Grey Cap for a Green Head. Many first-rate Wood Engravings, - cloth. _Published at_ 7s. 6d.; _reduced to_ 2s. 6d. - -The English School of Painting: - - a Series of Engravings of the most admired Works in Painting and - Sculpture executed by British Artists, from the days of Hogarth: - with Descriptive and Explanatory Notices, by G. HAMILTON. Four - volumes, containing nearly Three Hundred Plates, neatly bound, with - gilt tops. _Originally published at_ £3. 12s.; _reduced to_ 28s. - -Martin's Illustrations of the Bible; - - consisting of Twenty large and magnificent Plates, designed and - engraved by John Martin, Author of "Belshazzar's Feast," &c. In a - large folio volume, cloth. _Originally published at_ £10. 10s.; - _reduced to_ £2. 2s. - - - - -INDEX. - - - Adalbert's (Prince) Travels, 7 - - Acting Charades, 8 - - Andrews' Flower Painting, 21 - - Aram, Eugene, Dream of, 14 - - Architectural Works, 5 - - Art of Painting Restored, 5 - - Auerbach's Village Tales, 8 - - Authors of England, 22 - - - Backgammon, 14 - - Beattie and Collins, 3 - - Berington's Middle Ages, 19 - - Bertie's Indestructible Books, 18 - - Bible Gallery, 2 - - ----- Women of the, 3 - - Bingley's Tales, 18 - - Bloxam's Gothic Architecture, 6 - - Blunt's Beauty of the Heavens, 4 - - Boat (The) and the Caravan, 7 - - Bond's History of England, 17 - - Book of Beauty, 2 - - ------- the Months, 13 - - Boswell's Johnson, 16 - - Boyhood of Great Men, 16 - - Boy's Own Book, 16 - - ----- Treasury, 18 - - Bouterwek's Spanish Literature, 19 - - Brandon's Architectural Works, 5, 6 - - Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, 2 - - Burnet on Painting, 4, 5 - - ------'s Essays, 5 - - -------- Life of Turner, 1 - - ---------------- Rembrandt, 2 - - Butterfly (Bachelor), 10 - - Byron Gallery, 3 - - - Canadian Life, Sketches of, 13 - - Carrel's Counter Revolution, 19 - - Chapman's Elements of Art, 5 - - Cheever's Whaleman's Adventures, 12 - - Child's Drawing Books, 21 - - ------- First Lesson Book, 18 - - Christian Graces in Olden Time, 2 - - Christmas with the Poets, 1 - - Church Catechism Illustrated, 18 - - Comic Works, 9 - - ----- Latin Grammar, 10 - - ----- Natural Histories, 10 - - ----- Almanack, 9 - - Comical Creatures from Wurtemberg, 17 - - ------- People, 17 - - ------- Story Books, 17 - - Cooke's Rome, 2 - - Cooper's (T.S.) Animals, 21 - - Cowper's Poems, 4, 15, 20 - - Cracker Bon Bon for Christmas, 8 - - Crosland's Memorable Women, 16 - - Cruikshank's (Geo.) Works, 9 - - ------------------- Fairy Lib., 16 - - - Dale's Poems, 12 - - De Staël's (Mad.) Life and Times, 11 - - De Vigny's Cinq Mars, 19 - - Domestic Architecture, 6 - - -------- Hints, 14 - - Drawing Books, 21 - - ------- Copy Books, 21 - - Dumas' Marguerite de Valois, 19 - - - Edgar's Biographies for Boys, 16 - - ------- Boyhood of Great Men, 16 - - Emma de Lissau, 12 - - English School of Painting, 22 - - Etiquette for the Ladies, 15 - - ------------- Gentlemen, 15 - - --------- of Courtship, 15 - - Euclid, Symbolical, 14 - - European Library, 19 - - - Fielding's Works on Painting, 5 - - Floral Fancies, 14 - - Flora's Gems, 3 - - Footprints of Famous Men, 16 - - Forster's Pocket Peerage, 11 - - Fountain of Living Waters, 12 - - Fox-hunting, Noble Science of, 22 - - French Domestic Cookery, 12 - - ------ Dictionary, Miniature, 13 - - - Galt's Life of Wolsey, 19 - - Games for Christmas, 8 - - Gavarni in London, 8 - - Georgian Era (The), 22 - - Glossary of Architecture, 6 - - Goldsmith's Works, 16 - - Görgei's Life in Hungary, 11 - - Graces, Gallery of the, 3 - - Guides for Travellers, 11 - - Guizot's English Revolution, 19 - - -------- Civilization, 19 - - -------- (Mad.) Young Student, 13 - - - Happy Home (The), 12 - - Harding's Works on Art, 5 - - --------- Drawing Books, 21 - - --------- Sketches at Home, 4 - - Harry's Ladder to Learning, 17 - - Heroes of England, 18 - - Heroines of Shakspeare, 2 - - Hervey's Meditations, 16 - - Hitchcock's Religion of Geology, 11 - - Home Lesson Books, 18 - - ---- Story Books, 18 - - Hood's Epping Hunt, 9 - - ------ Eugene Aram, 14 - - Hunt's Fourth Estate, 11 - - - Introd. to Gothic Architecture, 6 - - - Johnson's Lives of the Poets, 16 - - Julien's Studies of Heads, 21 - - -------- Human Figure, 21 - - Juvenile Books, 17 - - - Keepsake (The), 2 - - Kendall's Travels, 7 - - King's Interest Tables, 14 - - Laconics, 22 - - Landscape Painters of England, 2 - - Language of Flowers, 3 - - Laurel and Lyre, 15 - - Lectures on Great Exhibition, 11 - - ----------- Gold, 11 - - Le Keux's Cambridge, 4 - - Life's Lessons, 14 - - Little Mary's Books, 17 - - ------------- Treasury, 17 - - ------------- Lesson Book, 17 - - Lives of Italian Painters, 19 - - London Anecdotes, 13 - - Longfellow's Poems, 1, 12 - - ------------ Hyperion, 1 - - ------------ Golden Legend, 1, 12 - - ------------ Prose Works, 12 - - Luther's Life, 19 - - -------- Table Talk, 19 - - - Mackay's (Charles) Egeria, 13 - - ------------------ Town Lyrics, 13 - - Maid of Honour, 13 - - Malcom's Travels in Hindustan, 22 - - Manuals of Instruction, &c., 15 - - Martin's (John) Bible, 22 - - Mayhew's Greatest Plague, 7 - - -------- Acting Charades, 8 - - -------- Magic of Industry, 8 - - -------- Sandboys' Adventures, 8 - - -------- Toothache, 9 - - -------- Model Men & Women, 10 - - Men of the Time, 11 - - Michelet's Life of Luther, 19 - - ---------- Roman Republic, 19 - - Miguet's French Revolution, 19 - - Miller's (T.) Poems for Children, 17 - - ------------- Anglo-Saxons, 19 - - ------------- Pictures of Country Life, 4 - - Milton's Poetical Works, 3 - - Miniature Classics, 20 - - Miriam and Rosette, 12 - - Museum of Painting & Sculpture, 22 - - - Ogleby's Adventures, 10 - - Oldbuck's Adventures, 10 - - - Painting, Drawing, &c. Works on, 4 - - Panorama of Jerusalem, 14 - - Parlour Magic, 18 - - Pearls of the East, 4 - - Pellatt on Glass-making, 2 - - Pen and Ink Sketches, 8 - - Pentamerone (The), 8 - - Pictorial Bible History, 18 - - Picture Book for the Young, 16 - - Playmate (The), 17 - - Poetry of Flowers, 15 - - --------- the Sentiments, 15 - - Prout's (Sam.) Microcosm, &c., 21 - - Puckle's Club, 22 - - - Raffaelle's Cartoons, 2 - - Reach's (A.B.) Loire and Rhone, 7 - - -------------- Leonard Lindsay, 7 - - -------------- Comic. Nat. Hists., 10 - - Recollections of the Lakes, 14 - - Reid's (Capt. M.) Desert Home, 16 - - ----------------- Boy Hunters, 16 - - ----------------- Young Voyag., 16 - - Rembrandt and his Works, 2 - - Reveries of a Bachelor, 7 - - Robinson Crusoe, 8 - - Romance of Nature, 3 - - Roscoe's Lorenzo de Medici, 19 - - -------- Leo X., 19 - - Round Games, 8 - - - Scott's Poems, 3, 15, 20 - - Seymour's New Readings, 10 - - Shakspeare Heroines, 2 - - ----------'s Works, 20 - - Sharpe's Diamond Dictionary, 13 - - Singing Book, 13 - - Smith's (Alexander) Poems, 11 - - ------- (Albert) Mont Blanc, 7 - - ---------------- Constantinople, 7 - - ---------------- Christ. Tadpole, 8 - - ---------------- Comic Natural Histories, 10 - - Spring's Glory of Christ, 13 - - Stowe Catalogue, 12 - - Stuart's Antiquities of Athens, 6 - - Suggestions in Design, 6 - - - Tayler's (C.B.) Angel's Song, 12 - - --------------- May You Like It, 13 - - Taylor's Young Islanders, 17 - - Thierry's Norman Conquest, 19 - - Thomson's Seasons, 3, 15 - - Tschudi's Travels in Peru, 7 - - Turner and his Works, 1 - - - Vaticano (Il), 22 - - Vestiges of Old London, 2 - - - Walton's Angler, 4, 20 - - Water Colour Gallery, 22 - - Waverley Gallery, 3 - - Webster's Quarto Dictionary, 11 - - --------- Octavo Dictionary, 11 - - Whist, Game of, 14 - - Willson on Water Colours, 5 - - Windsor in Olden Time, 12 - - Winkles's Cathedrals, 6 - - Women of the Bible, 3 - - Wonders of Travel, 7 - - - Year Book of Facts, 14 - - Young Lady's Oracle, 8 - - - - - * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Obvious punctuation and printer's errors have been corrected. Other -punctuations and spellings have been left as printed in the book, -including: - -- inconsistent use of hyphen (e.g. "dew-drop" and "dewdrop"); -- inconsistent use of accents (e.g. "fringèd" and "fringed"); -- inconsistent use of apostrophe (e.g. "would'st" and "wouldst"); -- inconsistent use of archaic forms (e.g. "goes" and "goeth"); -- and any other variable spellings. - -Index entries that do not match their referred text are corrected, -including: - -- Index entry "Foxhunting" corrected to be "Fox-hunting." -- Index entry "Gorgei" corrected to be "Görgei." -- Index entry "Rafaelle" corrected to be "Raffaelle." -- Index entry "Winkle" corrected to be "Winkles." -- Index entry "Wurtemburg" corrected to be "Wurtemberg." - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS*** - - -******* This file should be named 42301-8.txt or 42301-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/3/0/42301 - - - -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. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/42301-8.zip b/42301-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index c895497..0000000 --- a/42301-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/42301-h.zip b/42301-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 06b9d07..0000000 --- a/42301-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/42301-h/42301-h.htm b/42301-h/42301-h.htm index 801448f..4db431c 100644 --- a/42301-h/42301-h.htm +++ b/42301-h/42301-h.htm @@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> <html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> <head> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Alexander Smith</title> <style type="text/css"> @@ -69,19 +69,8 @@ table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} </style> </head> <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42301 ***</div> <h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems, by Alexander Smith</h1> -<p>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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></p> -<p>Title: Poems</p> -<p> Third Edition</p> -<p>Author: Alexander Smith</p> -<p>Release Date: March 10, 2013 [eBook #42301]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS***</p> <p> </p> <h3>E-text prepared by Judith Wirawan, David Clarke,<br /> and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> @@ -248,7 +237,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Has had thine eyes too long; thine eyes are mine!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Alack! there's sorrow in my Anthony's face!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dost think of Rome? I'll make thee, with a kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Richer than Cæsar! Come, I'll crown thy lips."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Richer than Cæsar! Come, I'll crown thy lips."<br /></span> <span class="i26">[<i>Another pause.</i><br /></span> <span class="i0">How tenderly the moon doth fill the night!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Not like the passion that doth fill my soul;<br /></span> @@ -340,7 +329,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Life is transfigured in the soft and tender<br /></span> <span class="i2">Light of Love, as a volume dun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathèd splendour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rolling smoke becomes a wreathèd splendour<br /></span> <span class="i2">In the declining sun.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Driven from cities by his restless moods,<br /></span> @@ -445,7 +434,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">And do not poets' brows throb feverous<br /></span> <span class="i0">Till they are cooled with laurels? Therefore, sir,<br /></span> <span class="i0">If such dote more on praise than all the wealth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of precious-wombèd earth and pearlèd mains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of precious-wombèd earth and pearlèd mains,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Blame not the cheeks of simple maidenhood.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fair sir, I am the empress of this wood!<br /></span> <span class="i0">The courtier oaks bow in proud homages,<br /></span> @@ -489,7 +478,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Before a thunder-storm, are power and gladness,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And majesty and beauty. They seize the reader<br /></span> <span class="i0">As tempests seize a ship, and bear him on<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a wild joy. Some books are drenchèd sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a wild joy. Some books are drenchèd sands,<br /></span> <span class="i0">On which a great soul's wealth lies all in heaps,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Like a wrecked argosy. What power in books!<br /></span> <span class="i0">They mingle gloom and splendour, as I've oft,<br /></span> @@ -593,7 +582,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">From his heart he unclasped his love<br /></span> <span class="i2">Amid the trembling trees,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And sent it to the Lady Blanche<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On wingèd poesies.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On wingèd poesies.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">The Lady Blanche was saintly fair,<br /></span> <span class="i2">Nor proud, but meek her look;<br /></span> @@ -736,7 +725,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">One great life in my myriad veins, in leaves, in flowers, in cloudy cars,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Blowing, underfoot, in clover; beating, overhead, in stars!<br /></span> <span class="i0">Once I saw a blissful harvest-moon, but not through forest-leaves;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">'Twas not whitening o'er a country, costly with the pilèd sheaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas not whitening o'er a country, costly with the pilèd sheaves;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Rose not o'er the am'rous ocean, trembling round his happy isles;<br /></span> <span class="i0">It came circling large and queenly o'er yon roof of smoky tiles,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And I saw it with such feeling, joy in blood, in heart, in brain,<br /></span> @@ -797,7 +786,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Ev'n now are stretched in blessing o'er the sea and o'er the lands.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> <span class="i0">Sit not like a mourner, Brother! by the grave of that dear Past,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Throw the Present! 'tis thy servant only when 'tis overcast,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give battle to the leaguèd world, if thou'rt worthy, truly brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Give battle to the leaguèd world, if thou'rt worthy, truly brave,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Thou shalt make the hardest circumstance a helper or a slave,<br /></span> <span class="i0">As when thunder wraps the setting sun, he struggles, glows with ire,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Rifts the gloom with golden furrows, with a hundred bursts of fire,<br /></span> @@ -919,7 +908,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Must be the shoutings of the morning stars!<br /></span> <span class="i0">What martial music is to marching men<br /></span> <span class="i0">Should Song be to Humanity. In song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The infant ages born and swathèd are.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The infant ages born and swathèd are.<br /></span> <span class="i0">A beauteous menial to our wants divine,<br /></span> <span class="i0">A shape celestial tending the dark earth<br /></span> <span class="i0">With light and silver service like the moon,<br /></span> @@ -943,7 +932,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Is wide and daring as a comet's path!<br /></span> <span class="i0">And doubtless 'twill contain the tale of earth<br /></span> <span class="i0">By way of episode or anecdote.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This precious world which one pale marrèd face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This precious world which one pale marrèd face<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dropt tears upon. This base and beggar world<br /></span> <span class="i0">To your rich soul! O! Marc Anthony,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With a fine scorn did toss your world away<br /></span> @@ -1030,7 +1019,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">But there was one among that soft-voiced band<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> <span class="i0">Who pined away for love of his sweet eyes,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And died among the roses of the spring.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Eve sat in the dew with closèd lids,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Eve sat in the dew with closèd lids,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Came gentle maidens bearing forest flowers<br /></span> <span class="i0">To strew upon her green and quiet grave.<br /></span> <span class="i0">They soothed the dead with love-songs low and sweet;<br /></span> @@ -1062,7 +1051,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Pants out her gladness the luxurious night,<br /></span> <span class="i0">The moon and stars all hanging on her song,<br /></span> <span class="i0">She poured her soul in music. When she ceased,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The charmèd woods and breezes silent stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charmèd woods and breezes silent stood,<br /></span> <span class="i0">As if all ear to catch her voice again.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Uprose the dreamer from his couch of flowers,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With awful expectation in his look,<br /></span> @@ -1164,7 +1153,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Citadels throbbing in their own fierce light,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Tall spires that came and went like spires of flame,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cliffs quivering with fire-snow, and peaks<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Of pilèd gorgeousness, and rocks of fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pilèd gorgeousness, and rocks of fire<br /></span> <span class="i0">A-tilt and poised, bare beaches, crimson seas,<br /></span> <span class="i0">All these were huddled in that dreadful west,<br /></span> <span class="i0">All shook and trembled in unsteadfast light,<br /></span> @@ -1305,8 +1294,8 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Golden and green, soft-showering through the leaves,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Silent she sat one-half the silent noon;<br /></span> <span class="i0">At last she sank luxurious in her couch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purple and golden-fringèd, like the sun's,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stretched her white arms on the warmèd air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purple and golden-fringèd, like the sun's,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stretched her white arms on the warmèd air,<br /></span> <span class="i0">As if to take some object wherewithal<br /></span> <span class="i0">To ease the empty aching of her heart.<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Oh, what a weariness of life is mine!"<br /></span> @@ -1475,7 +1464,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Weary I of pride and jest,<br /></span> <span class="i0">In this rich heart I would rest,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Purple and love-linèd nest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Purple and love-linèd nest.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">"My dazzling panther of the smoking hills,<br /></span> <span class="i0">When the hot sun hath touched their loads of dew,<br /></span> @@ -1497,9 +1486,9 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Would joy rush through her spirit like a stream,<br /></span> <span class="i0">When to her lips he came with victory back:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> <span class="i0">Acclaims and blessings on his head like crowns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His mouthèd wounds brave trumpets in his praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mouthèd wounds brave trumpets in his praise,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Drawing huge shoals of people, like the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose beauty draws the solemn-noisèd seas?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose beauty draws the solemn-noisèd seas?<br /></span> <span class="i0">Or would his bright and lovely sanguine-stains<br /></span> <span class="i0">Scare all the coward blood into her heart,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Leaving her cheeks as pale as lily leaves?<br /></span> @@ -1517,7 +1506,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">Yet are unthreaded, loosened by a sneer,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And their resolve doth pass as doth a wave:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> <span class="i0">Of this sort was my cousin. I saw him once,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown a pleachèd alley, in the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adown a pleachèd alley, in the sun,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Two gorgeous peacocks pecking from his hand;<br /></span> <span class="i0">At sight of me he first turned red, then pale.<br /></span> <span class="i0">I laughed and said, 'I saw a misery perched<br /></span> @@ -1562,7 +1551,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">To charm her blood with the fine touch of praise,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And as she listens—steal away the heart.<br /></span> <span class="i0">If the good gods do grant me such a man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More would I dote upon his trenchèd brows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More would I dote upon his trenchèd brows,<br /></span> <span class="i0">His coal-black hair, proud eyes, and scornful lips,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Than on a gallant, curled like Absalom,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Cheek'd like Apollo, with his luted voice.<br /></span> @@ -1648,7 +1637,7 @@ Printed by <span class="smcap">G. Barclay</span>, Castle St. Leicester Sq.</b></ <span class="i0">By trembling into music.—"Thee I love."<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Thou!" and the Lady, with a cruel laugh,<br /></span> <span class="i0">(Each silver throb went through him like a sword,)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flung herself back upon her fringèd couch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flung herself back upon her fringèd couch.<br /></span> <span class="i0">From which she rose upon him like a queen,<br /></span> <span class="i0">She rose and stabbed him with her angry eyes.<br /></span> <span class="i0">"'Tis well my father did not hear thee, boy,<br /></span> @@ -1854,7 +1843,7 @@ of the same day as Scene IV.</i></p> <span class="i0">Night mounts her chariot in the eastern glooms<br /></span> <span class="i0">To chase the flying Sun, whose flight has left<br /></span> <span class="i0">Footprints of glory in the clouded west:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift is she haled by wingèd swimming steeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swift is she haled by wingèd swimming steeds,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Whose cloudy manes are wet with heavy dews,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> <span class="i0">And dews are drizzling from her chariot wheels.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Soft in her lap lies drowsy-lidded Sleep,<br /></span> @@ -2024,7 +2013,7 @@ manuscript.</i></p> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">She sat on shaven plot of grass,<br /></span> <span class="i0">With earnest face, and weaving<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lilies white and freakèd pansies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lilies white and freakèd pansies<br /></span> <span class="i0">Into quaint delicious fancies,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then, on a sudden leaving<br /></span> <span class="i0">Her floral wreath, she would upspring<br /></span> @@ -2050,10 +2039,10 @@ manuscript.</i></p> <span class="i0">Two are still leaping in the sun,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Three are married; <i>that</i> dearest one<br /></span> <span class="i0">Is 'neath the violets.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gazèd till my heart grew wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I gazèd till my heart grew wild,<br /></span> <span class="i0">To fold her in my warm caresses,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> <span class="i0">Clasp her showers of golden tresses,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, dreamy-eyèd child!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, dreamy-eyèd child!<br /></span> <span class="i0">O Child of Beauty! still thou art<br /></span> <span class="i0">A sunbeam in this lonely heart.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> @@ -2074,11 +2063,11 @@ manuscript.</i></p> <span class="i0">A dear friend and I were walking<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> <span class="i0">('Twas the Sabbath), we were talking<br /></span> <span class="i0">Of dreams and feelings vague;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We pausèd by a place of graves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We pausèd by a place of graves,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Scarcely a word was 'twixt us given,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Silent the earth, silent the heaven,<br /></span> <span class="i0">No murmur of the waves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The awèd Loch lay black and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The awèd Loch lay black and still<br /></span> <span class="i0">In the black shadow of the hill.<br /></span> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">We loosed the gate and wandered in,<br /></span> @@ -2877,7 +2866,7 @@ a little apart.</i></p> </div><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">I sang this song some twenty years ago,<br /></span> <span class="i0">(Hot to the ear-tips, with great thumps of heart),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the gold lawn, while, Cæsar-like, the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the gold lawn, while, Cæsar-like, the sun<br /></span> <span class="i0">Gathered his robes around him as he fell.<br /></span> </div></div> @@ -3605,7 +3594,7 @@ a little apart.</i></p> <span class="i0">Before the door there lay a plot of grass,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Snowed o'er with daisies,—flower by all beloved,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And famousest in song—and in the midst,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A carvèd fountain stood, dried up and broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A carvèd fountain stood, dried up and broken,<br /></span> <span class="i0">On which a peacock perched and sunned itself;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Beneath, two petted rabbits, snowy white,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Squatted upon the sward.<br /></span> @@ -3623,7 +3612,7 @@ a little apart.</i></p> <span class="i0">And the cool wind waved in upon his brow,<br /></span> <span class="i0">And stirred his curls. Soft fell the summer night.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Then he arose, and with inspired lips said,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">"Stars! ye are golden-voicèd clarions<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Stars! ye are golden-voicèd clarions<br /></span> <span class="i0">To high-aspiring and heroic dooms.<br /></span> <span class="i0">To-night, as I look up unto ye, Stars!<br /></span> <span class="i0">I feel my soul rise to its destiny,<br /></span> @@ -3848,7 +3837,7 @@ a little apart.</i></p> <span class="i0">Down to the dewy grass! Here lean thy head,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Now you will feel my heart leap 'gainst thy cheek;<br /></span> <span class="i0">Imprison me with those white arms of thine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, so. O sweet upturnèd face! (<i>Kisses her.</i>) If God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, so. O sweet upturnèd face! (<i>Kisses her.</i>) If God<br /></span> <span class="i0">Told you to-night He'd grant your dearest wish,<br /></span> <span class="i0">What would it be?<br /></span> </div></div> @@ -4264,7 +4253,7 @@ a little apart.</i></p> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <span class="i0">Not in plain terms. Oft an unhappy thought,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Telling all is not well, falls from his soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a diseasèd feather from the wing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a diseasèd feather from the wing<br /></span> <span class="i0">Of a sick eagle; a scorched meteor-stone<br /></span> <span class="i0">Dropt from the ruined moon.<br /></span> </div></div> @@ -4407,7 +4396,7 @@ garden from the house.</i></p> <span class="i0">From its wide circle to its leafy heart,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Is as familiar to me as my soul.<br /></span> <span class="i0">Memories dwell like doves among the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like nymphs in glooms, like naïads in the wells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like nymphs in glooms, like naïads in the wells;<br /></span> <span class="i0">And some are sweet, and sadder some than death.<br /></span> <span class="i33">[<i>A pause.</i><br /></span> <span class="i0">I could have sworn the world did sing in air,<br /></span> @@ -5251,7 +5240,7 @@ garden from the house.</i></p> <span class="i0">I wrote a Name upon the river sands<br /></span> <span class="i0">With her who bore it standing by my side,<br /></span> <span class="i0">Her large dark eyes lit up with gentle pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And leaning on my arm with claspèd hands,<br /></span> <span class="i0">To burning words of mine she thus replied,<br /></span> <span class="i0">"Nay, writ not on thy heart. This tablet frail<br /></span> <span class="i0">Fitteth as frail a vow. Fantastic bands<br /></span> @@ -5375,7 +5364,7 @@ Super-royal 8vo. richly bound, 25s.; morocco, 35s.</p></blockquote> <p>A Biography, illustrated by Examples from his Pictures and a Critical Examination of his Principles and Practice. By <span class="smcap">John Burnet</span>, F.S.A. The Memoir by <span class="smcap">Peter Cunningham</span>: with Plates. Demy 4to. 31s. 6d.; -Autograph Proofs (only 25 printed), folio, £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> +Autograph Proofs (only 25 printed), folio, £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> @@ -5410,8 +5399,8 @@ with Poetical Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Henry Stebbing</span>, D.D. I <p>Forty-five Portraits of the principal Female Characters. Engraved under the superintendence of Mr. <span class="smcap">Charles Heath</span>, from Drawings by the best Artists. Imperial 8vo. handsomely bound in morocco, 42s.; -coloured Plates, £3. 13s. 6d.; proofs, imperial folio, half-morocco, -£3. 13s. 6d.; India proofs, £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> +coloured Plates, £3. 13s. 6d.; proofs, imperial folio, half-morocco, +£3. 13s. 6d.; India proofs, £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>The Book of Beauty.</big></p> @@ -5435,7 +5424,7 @@ niece), assisted by the most popular writers of the day. Royal 8vo. <p>with a Critical Examination into his Principles and Practice. By <span class="smcap">John Burnet</span>, F.R.S. 15 Plates, 4to. 31s. 6d.; Artist's Autograph Proofs, -imperial 4to. £5. 5s. (only 50 printed).</p></blockquote> +imperial 4to. £5. 5s. (only 50 printed).</p></blockquote> <p><big>Curiosities of Glass-making:</big></p> @@ -5467,7 +5456,7 @@ Imperial 4to. 42s. bound; proofs, 50s.; coloured, 63s.</p></blockquote> <p>comprising all its principal Edifices, and its surrounding Scenery. Engraved by <span class="smcap">W.B. Cooke</span>. 38 Plates, with a Panoramic View of the -City. 4to. 21s.; India proofs, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> +City. 4to. 21s.; India proofs, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>The Bible Gallery:</big></p> @@ -5492,7 +5481,7 @@ Handsomely bound, 21s.; coloured, 42s.</p></blockquote> <p>Portraits of the Heroines of Lord Byron's Poems, from Drawings by the most eminent Artists. Super-royal 8vo. morocco, 31s. 6d.; highly -coloured, £3.</p></blockquote> +coloured, £3.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Heath's Waverley Gallery.</big></p> @@ -5500,7 +5489,7 @@ coloured, £3.</p></blockquote> <p>Portraits of the principal Female Characters in the Writings of <span class="smcap">Scott</span>. 36 highly-finished Plates, super-royal 8vo. splendidly bound in morocco, -31s. 6d.; with coloured plates, £3.</p></blockquote> +31s. 6d.; with coloured plates, £3.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Gallery of the Graces;</big></p> @@ -5508,7 +5497,7 @@ coloured, £3.</p></blockquote> <p>or, Beauties of British Poets: 36 beautiful Female Heads by Landseer, Boxall, F. Stone, &c., illustrating Tennyson, Campbell, Rogers, Landon, -&c. Super-royal 8vo. 31s. 6d. morocco; with coloured Plates, £3.</p></blockquote> +&c. Super-royal 8vo. 31s. 6d. morocco; with coloured Plates, £3.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Milton's Poetical Works.</big></p> @@ -5600,7 +5589,7 @@ Williams. Crown 8vo. cloth, 6s.</p></blockquote> <p>By <span class="smcap">J.D. Harding</span>. Sixty Views of the most interesting Scenes, Foreign and Domestic, printed in tints, in exact imitation of the Original Drawings. -Imperial folio, half-morocco, £6. 6s.</p> +Imperial folio, half-morocco, £6. 6s.</p> <p>"A treasure-house of delight. Here northern Italy yields up its architectural glories and its lake scenery—Venice its palaces—the Tyrol its romantic valleys and villages—the Rhenish cities @@ -5753,7 +5742,7 @@ coloured Plates. Post 8vo. 9s. 6d.</p> <p>Illustrated by a series of upwards of Seven Hundred Examples of Doorways, Windows, &c.; accompanied with Remarks on the several Details of an Ecclesiastical Edifice. By R. and <span class="smcap">J.A. Brandon</span>, Architects. -2 large vols. royal 4to. £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> +2 large vols. royal 4to. £5. 5s.</p></blockquote> <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> @@ -5763,7 +5752,7 @@ of an Ecclesiastical Edifice. By R. and <span class="smcap">J.A. Brandon</span>, <p>Illustrated by Perspective and Working Drawings of some of the best varieties of Church Roofs; with descriptive Letterpress. By R. and <span class="smcap">J.A. -Brandon</span>. Royal 4to. uniform with the above, £3. 3s.</p></blockquote> +Brandon</span>. Royal 4to. uniform with the above, £3. 3s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Parish Churches;</big></p> @@ -5772,7 +5761,7 @@ Brandon</span>. Royal 4to. uniform with the above, £3. 3s.</p></blockquote> <p>being Perspective Views of English Ecclesiastical Structures; accompanied by Plans drawn to a Uniform Scale, and Letterpress Descriptions. By R. and <span class="smcap">J.A. Brandon</span>, Architects. 2 vols. large 8vo. containing -160 Plates, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> +160 Plates, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> <hr /> @@ -5784,8 +5773,8 @@ By R. and <span class="smcap">J.A. Brandon</span>, Architects. 2 vols. large 8vo Churches of England and Wales.</span> New Edition, with the <span class="smcap">Manchester Cathedral</span>. 186 Plates, beautifully engraved by <span class="smcap">B. Winkles</span>; with Historical and Descriptive Accounts of the various -Cathedrals. In three handsome vols. imp. 8vo. cloth, £2. 8s.; roy. 4to. -India proofs (<i>very few left</i>), £6. 6s.</p> +Cathedrals. In three handsome vols. imp. 8vo. cloth, £2. 8s.; roy. 4to. +India proofs (<i>very few left</i>), £6. 6s.</p> <p>⁂ The Third Volume, comprising Lichfield, Gloucester, Hereford, Worcester, Durham, Carlisle, Chester, Ripon, Manchester, and the Welsh Cathedrals, @@ -5797,7 +5786,7 @@ may still be had separately, to complete sets, price 24s. in 8vo., 48s. 4to.</p> <p>From Drawings by <span class="smcap">R. Garland</span>; with Historical and Descriptive Accounts. Containing Fifty large Plates. Cloth, 21s.; royal 4to. -India proofs, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> +India proofs, £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Glossary of Architecture.</big></p> @@ -5883,7 +5872,7 @@ Third Edition, fcp. 8vo. 5s. cloth.</p></blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Travels of H.R.H. Prince Adalbert, of Prussia, in the South of Europe -and in Brazil; with a Voyage up the Amazon and the Xingú. Translated +and in Brazil; with a Voyage up the Amazon and the Xingú. Translated by Sir <span class="smcap">R.H. Schomburck</span> and <span class="smcap">J.E. Taylor</span>. 2 vols. 8vo. Maps and Plates, 16s.</p></blockquote> @@ -5907,7 +5896,7 @@ Original Drawings. Fourth Edit. Fcp. 8vo. cloth, 7s.; morocco, 10s. 6d.</p></blo <blockquote> <p>Narrative of an Expedition across the Great South Western Prairies, -from Texas to Santa Fé. By <span class="smcap">George W. Kendall</span>. 2 vols. fcp. 8vo, +from Texas to Santa Fé. By <span class="smcap">George W. Kendall</span>. 2 vols. fcp. 8vo, with Map and Plates, 12s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>The Wonders of Travel;</big></p> @@ -6238,7 +6227,7 @@ with Humorous Engravings by Leech. New Edition, 5s. cloth.</p> Hearts are Trumps. By James Hannay.<br /> Natural History of Tuft-hunters and Toadies.<br /> <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">the Hawk Tribe (Swindlers, Blacklegs, &c.).</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">a Bal Masqué. By the Count Chicard.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"</span><span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">a Bal Masqué. By the Count Chicard.</span><br /> </p></blockquote> <hr class="chap" /> @@ -6258,7 +6247,7 @@ Natural History of Tuft-hunters and Toadies.<br /> <p>A Life Drama, and other Poems. By <span class="smcap">Alexander Smith</span>. <i>Third Edition.</i> Fcp. 8vo. cloth, 5s.</p></blockquote> -<p><big>Life and Times of Madame de Staël.</big></p> +<p><big>Life and Times of Madame de Staël.</big></p> <blockquote> @@ -6269,7 +6258,7 @@ Edition.</i> Fcp. 8vo. cloth, 5s.</p></blockquote> <blockquote> <p>Being a Personal Narrative of his Career in connection with the Revolution. -By <span class="smcap">Arthur Görgei</span>, Commander-in-Chief of the Hungarian +By <span class="smcap">Arthur Görgei</span>, Commander-in-Chief of the Hungarian Army. 2 vols. post 8vo. 21s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Men of the Time:</big></p> @@ -6563,7 +6552,7 @@ view of the progress of discovery during the year, systematically arranged, with engravings illustrative of novelties in the arts and sciences, &c. The volumes, from its commencement in 1839, may still be had, 5s. each.</p> -<p>"Ably and honestly compiled."—<span class="smcap">Athenæum.</span></p></blockquote> +<p>"Ably and honestly compiled."—<span class="smcap">Athenæum.</span></p></blockquote> <p><big>Life's Lessons:</big></p> @@ -6580,7 +6569,7 @@ Edition, with Frontispiece, fcp. 8vo. 4s, cloth.</p></blockquote> the Rev. <span class="smcap">J.M. Williams</span>, of Queen's College, Cambridge. New Edition, 6s. 6d. cloth; 7s. roan.—An 8vo. Edition may also be had, 7s. cloth.</p> -<p>‡§‡ This edition is in use at many of the Public Schools.</p></blockquote> +<p>‡Â§‡ This edition is in use at many of the Public Schools.</p></blockquote> <p><big>King's Interest Tables,</big></p> @@ -6712,7 +6701,7 @@ by Harvey. Crown 8vo. 1s. sewed.</p></blockquote> <tr><td align="left">3.</td><td align="left"> OLIVER GOLDSMITH'S WORKS.</td></tr> <tr><td align="left">4.</td><td align="left"> HERVEY'S MEDITATIONS and CONTEMPLATIONS.</td></tr> </table></div> -<p>‡§‡ These Works are clearly and beautifully printed by Whittingham, and +<p>‡Â§‡ These Works are clearly and beautifully printed by Whittingham, and each comprised in a handsome fcp. 8vo. vol. Their elegance and cheapness render them very suitable for Presents, School Prizes, or Travelling Companions. Price 6s. each, neatly half-bound morocco; or 9s. calf extra.</p> @@ -6763,7 +6752,7 @@ B. Foster. Fcp. 8vo. 6s.</p></blockquote> <blockquote> -<p>a complete Encyclopædia of all the Diversions—Athletic, Scientific, and +<p>a complete Encyclopædia of all the Diversions—Athletic, Scientific, and Recreative—of Boyhood and Youth. With several hundred Woodcuts. New Edition, greatly enlarged and improved. Handsomely bound, 8s. 6d.</p></blockquote> @@ -7102,7 +7091,7 @@ specify—"TILT'S EDITION."</p> <p>The whole Series may be had in a Case, representing two handsome Quarto Volumes, lettered "<span class="smcap">London Library of British Classics</span>," which, -when shut, is secured by a patent spring lock, for £5. 5s., forming a very +when shut, is secured by a patent spring lock, for £5. 5s., forming a very useful and acceptable</p> <p class="center">BIRTHDAY AND WEDDING PRESENT.</p> @@ -7305,7 +7294,7 @@ Royal 8vo. <i>Originally published at</i> 28s.; <i>reduced to</i> 12s.</p></bloc <p>containing large and highly-finished Engravings of the Works of the most distinguished Painters in Water-colours &c. 18 Plates, imperial 4to. -cloth. <i>Originally published at</i> £3. 3s.; <i>reduced to</i> 21s.</p></blockquote> +cloth. <i>Originally published at</i> £3. 3s.; <i>reduced to</i> 21s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Museum of Painting and Sculpture:</big></p> @@ -7317,7 +7306,7 @@ Engravings of all the chief works in the Italian, German, Dutch, French, and English Schools, includes <span class="smcap">Twelve Hundred Plates</span>, and is an indispensable <i>vade-mecum</i> to the Artist or Collector. In 17 handsome vols. small 8vo. neatly bound, with gilt tops. <i>Originally published -at</i> £17. 17s.; <i>reduced to</i> £4. 14s. 6d.</p></blockquote> +at</i> £17. 17s.; <i>reduced to</i> £4. 14s. 6d.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Laconics;</big></p> @@ -7348,7 +7337,7 @@ cloth. <i>Published at</i> 7s. 6d.; <i>reduced to</i> 2s. 6d.</p></blockquote> Sculpture executed by British Artists, from the days of Hogarth: with Descriptive and Explanatory Notices, by <span class="smcap">G. Hamilton</span>. Four volumes, containing nearly Three Hundred Plates, neatly bound, with gilt tops. -<i>Originally published at</i> £3. 12s.; <i>reduced to</i> 28s.</p></blockquote> +<i>Originally published at</i> £3. 12s.; <i>reduced to</i> 28s.</p></blockquote> <p><big>Martin's Illustrations of the Bible;</big></p> @@ -7356,7 +7345,7 @@ containing nearly Three Hundred Plates, neatly bound, with gilt tops. <p>consisting of Twenty large and magnificent Plates, designed and engraved by John Martin, Author of "Belshazzar's Feast," &c. In a large folio -volume, cloth. <i>Originally published at</i> £10. 10s.; <i>reduced to</i> £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> +volume, cloth. <i>Originally published at</i> £10. 10s.; <i>reduced to</i> £2. 2s.</p></blockquote> <hr class="chap" /> @@ -7483,7 +7472,7 @@ Cruikshank's (Geo.) Works, <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br /> <br /> Dale's Poems, <a href="#Page_12">12</a><br /> <br /> -De Staël's (Mad.) Life and Times, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +De Staël's (Mad.) Life and Times, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> <br /> De Vigny's Cinq Mars, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /> <br /> @@ -7548,7 +7537,7 @@ Glossary of Architecture, <a href="#Page_6">6</a><br /> <br /> Goldsmith's Works, <a href="#Page_16">16</a><br /> <br /> -Görgei's Life in Hungary, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> +Görgei's Life in Hungary, <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br /> <br /> Graces, Gallery of the, <a href="#Page_3">3</a><br /> <br /> @@ -7851,7 +7840,7 @@ Young Lady's Oracle, <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br /> punctuations and spellings have been left as they appear in the original text, including:</p> <ul> <li>inconsistent use of hyphen (e.g. "dew-drop" and "dewdrop");</li> -<li>inconsistent use of accents (e.g. "fringèd" and "fringed");</li> +<li>inconsistent use of accents (e.g. "fringèd" and "fringed");</li> <li>inconsistent use of apostrophe (e.g. "would'st" and "wouldst");</li> <li>inconsistent use of archaic forms (e.g. "goes" and "goeth");</li> <li>and any other variable spellings.</li></ul> @@ -7861,7 +7850,7 @@ punctuations and spellings have been left as they appear in the original text, i Index entries that do not match their referred text are corrected, including:</p> <ul><li>Index entry "Foxhunting" corrected to be "Fox-hunting."</li> -<li>Index entry "Gorgei" corrected to be "Görgei."</li> +<li>Index entry "Gorgei" corrected to be "Görgei."</li> <li>Index entry "Rafaelle" corrected to be "Raffaelle."</li> <li>Index entry "Winkle" corrected to be "Winkles."</li> <li>Index entry "Wurtemburg" corrected to be "Wurtemberg."</li> @@ -7869,360 +7858,6 @@ including:</p> </div> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 42301-h.txt or 42301-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/2/3/0/42301">http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/3/0/42301</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed.</p> - -<p> -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. 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