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| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-08 01:39:13 -0800 |
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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-03-08 01:39:13 -0800 |
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| tree | 41ee5d77e55d33743260e92450e2d7e74247b5ed /42301-0.txt | |
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diff --git a/42301-0.txt b/42301-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b232575 --- /dev/null +++ b/42301-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6827 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42301 *** + +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. Or instead, + To dream of silent fields where calm and deep + The sunshine lieth like a golden sleep-- + Recalling sweetest looks of Summers dead. + + +London:--Printed by G. BARCLAY, Castle St. Leicester Sq. + + + + + 86, FLEET STREET, _London_. + _January 1854._ + +DAVID BOGUE'S + +LATE TILT AND BOGUE, + +ANNUAL CATALOGUE. + +[Illustration: Logo] + + + + +New Illustrated Works. + + +Longfellow's Golden Legend, Illustrated. + + A New and Revised Edition, with numerous alterations and notes by + the author. Illustrated by BIRKET FOSTER. Crown 8vo. handsomely + bound, 12s.; morocco, 21s. + +Longfellow's Poetical Works, Illustrated. + + Including "Evangeline," "Voices of the Night," "Seaside and + Fireside," and other Poems; beautifully illustrated by BIRKET + FOSTER, JANE BENHAM, and JOHN GILBERT. 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In 12 Nos. 6d. each. + + "It is not too much to say that if this method were universally + adopted in out schools it would be attended with complete success." + + * * * * * + + ANDREWS' ART OF FLOWER-PAINTING. Col. Plates. 6 Nos. 2s. 6d.; cl. 16s. + BARNARD'S (GEORGE) DRAWING BOOK OF TREES. 6 Nos. 1s. + BARRAUD'S STUDIES OF ANIMALS. Six Nos. 3s.; coloured, 5s. + COOPER'S (T.S.) DRAWING BOOK OF ANIMALS. 8 Nos. 1s. each; bd. 10s. 6d. + DIBDIN'S EASY DRAWING BOOK, AND GUIDE TO SKETCHING. 6 Nos. + 2s. 6d.; bound, 18s. + -------- LESSONS IN WATER COLOURS. 4 Nos. 4s. + FAIRLAND'S JUVENILE ARTIST. 8 Nos. 1s.; cloth, 8s. + FORD'S EASY LESSONS IN LANDSCAPE. 8 Nos. 9d.; cloth, 7s. 6d. + GREENWOOD'S STUDIES OF TREES. 6 Nos. 1s.; cloth, 7s. 6d. + GRUNDY'S SHIPPING AND CRAFT. 6 Nos. 1s.; cloth, 7s. 6d. + HAND-BOOK OF PENCIL DRAWING; or, Self-Instructor in Art. 2 Plates, + cl. 1s. + PHILLIPS'S ETCHINGS OF FAMILIAR LIFE. 3 Nos. 1s. 6d. + RAWLINS'S ELEMENTARY PERSPECTIVE. 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. Master of the Hertfordshire Hounds. + Royal 8vo. _Originally published at_ 28s.; _reduced to_ 12s. + +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_ £3. 3s.; _reduced to_ 21s. + +Museum of Painting and Sculpture: + + a Collection of the principal Pictures, Statues, and Bas-Reliefs in + the Public and Private Galleries of Europe. This work, which + contains Engravings of all the chief works in the Italian, German, + 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_ £17. 17s.; _reduced to_ £4. 14s. 6d. + +Laconics; + + or, the Best Words of the Best Authors. 3 vols. cloth, _published + at_ 12s.; _reduced to_ 7s. 6d. + +Travels in S.E. 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 42301 *** |