“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,As he dreamed in his true heart of her,As he rode that day up the highway wide,With his feathers gay, and the lute at his side;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,“My love that knows not I love her.”“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,As she sat in the porch above him,With the web half-spun in her fingers fair,And a ray of the sun in her brown, brown hair;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,“My love that knows not I love him.”Then as their eyes met, with a start I forgetWhether shame, or delight, or sorrow,The sky in its glow seemed to interest her,And he bent very low to fasten his spur;But “Oh, would I might see my love,”—dear me!They sang it no more till the morrow.
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,As he dreamed in his true heart of her,As he rode that day up the highway wide,With his feathers gay, and the lute at his side;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,“My love that knows not I love her.”“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,As she sat in the porch above him,With the web half-spun in her fingers fair,And a ray of the sun in her brown, brown hair;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,“My love that knows not I love him.”Then as their eyes met, with a start I forgetWhether shame, or delight, or sorrow,The sky in its glow seemed to interest her,And he bent very low to fasten his spur;But “Oh, would I might see my love,”—dear me!They sang it no more till the morrow.
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,As he dreamed in his true heart of her,As he rode that day up the highway wide,With his feathers gay, and the lute at his side;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,“My love that knows not I love her.”
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,
As he dreamed in his true heart of her,
As he rode that day up the highway wide,
With his feathers gay, and the lute at his side;
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang he,
“My love that knows not I love her.”
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,As she sat in the porch above him,With the web half-spun in her fingers fair,And a ray of the sun in her brown, brown hair;“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,“My love that knows not I love him.”
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,
As she sat in the porch above him,
With the web half-spun in her fingers fair,
And a ray of the sun in her brown, brown hair;
“Oh, would I might see my love,” sang she,
“My love that knows not I love him.”
Then as their eyes met, with a start I forgetWhether shame, or delight, or sorrow,The sky in its glow seemed to interest her,And he bent very low to fasten his spur;But “Oh, would I might see my love,”—dear me!They sang it no more till the morrow.
Then as their eyes met, with a start I forget
Whether shame, or delight, or sorrow,
The sky in its glow seemed to interest her,
And he bent very low to fasten his spur;
But “Oh, would I might see my love,”—dear me!
They sang it no more till the morrow.
Theystirred the carven agate doorBack from the cloisters, where of yoreOne toiled by night, and toiling, keptThe starlight on his bended head:“O enter with us, straight and free,The master’s place of mystery;Had he not gone beyond the sea,He would have bid us come,” they said.But from the threshold hushed and grayThe loiterer turned, and made his wayFrom arch to arch, and answered low,Pale with some ever-deepening dread:“What he once promised to unfold,Without him, how shall I behold?O enter you whose hearts are bold;My heart hath failed me here,” he said.Thou dead magician, be it so!I close thy pages, and foregoThe beauty other men may scanWith much of awe and tenderness;And if this blessing half-divine,With gracious sorrow I resignTo faith that firmer is than mine,Thou knowest if I love thee less!
Theystirred the carven agate doorBack from the cloisters, where of yoreOne toiled by night, and toiling, keptThe starlight on his bended head:“O enter with us, straight and free,The master’s place of mystery;Had he not gone beyond the sea,He would have bid us come,” they said.But from the threshold hushed and grayThe loiterer turned, and made his wayFrom arch to arch, and answered low,Pale with some ever-deepening dread:“What he once promised to unfold,Without him, how shall I behold?O enter you whose hearts are bold;My heart hath failed me here,” he said.Thou dead magician, be it so!I close thy pages, and foregoThe beauty other men may scanWith much of awe and tenderness;And if this blessing half-divine,With gracious sorrow I resignTo faith that firmer is than mine,Thou knowest if I love thee less!
Theystirred the carven agate doorBack from the cloisters, where of yoreOne toiled by night, and toiling, keptThe starlight on his bended head:“O enter with us, straight and free,The master’s place of mystery;Had he not gone beyond the sea,He would have bid us come,” they said.
Theystirred the carven agate door
Back from the cloisters, where of yore
One toiled by night, and toiling, kept
The starlight on his bended head:
“O enter with us, straight and free,
The master’s place of mystery;
Had he not gone beyond the sea,
He would have bid us come,” they said.
But from the threshold hushed and grayThe loiterer turned, and made his wayFrom arch to arch, and answered low,Pale with some ever-deepening dread:“What he once promised to unfold,Without him, how shall I behold?O enter you whose hearts are bold;My heart hath failed me here,” he said.
But from the threshold hushed and gray
The loiterer turned, and made his way
From arch to arch, and answered low,
Pale with some ever-deepening dread:
“What he once promised to unfold,
Without him, how shall I behold?
O enter you whose hearts are bold;
My heart hath failed me here,” he said.
Thou dead magician, be it so!I close thy pages, and foregoThe beauty other men may scanWith much of awe and tenderness;And if this blessing half-divine,With gracious sorrow I resignTo faith that firmer is than mine,Thou knowest if I love thee less!
Thou dead magician, be it so!
I close thy pages, and forego
The beauty other men may scan
With much of awe and tenderness;
And if this blessing half-divine,
With gracious sorrow I resign
To faith that firmer is than mine,
Thou knowest if I love thee less!
FOOTNOTE:[E]Hawthorne’s “Doctor Grimshawe.”
[E]Hawthorne’s “Doctor Grimshawe.”
[E]Hawthorne’s “Doctor Grimshawe.”
“Whycome ye in with tresses wild,With baffling winds aweary,All damp and cold, my bonny girl,My deary?“The sun not yet has oped his lids,The clouds hold fast together;Why stirred ye out this angry morn,And whither?”“O mother mine! mayhap I roseTo fetch the gillyflower,Or soothe my sister’s little sonAn hour;“Or else I led a bleating lamb,Strayed off from any other,Or went to pray at break of day,Sweet mother!”“My Bess, my lass, deceive me not;So long it had not taken.”“O no; O no! I did for griefAwaken.“My true love never you have seen,Down by the ships I found him;In all the gale, I held mine armsAround him.“He spake to me, he kissed me thrice,And sailed the seas a-mourning;And then my tears rained with the rainReturning.”
“Whycome ye in with tresses wild,With baffling winds aweary,All damp and cold, my bonny girl,My deary?“The sun not yet has oped his lids,The clouds hold fast together;Why stirred ye out this angry morn,And whither?”“O mother mine! mayhap I roseTo fetch the gillyflower,Or soothe my sister’s little sonAn hour;“Or else I led a bleating lamb,Strayed off from any other,Or went to pray at break of day,Sweet mother!”“My Bess, my lass, deceive me not;So long it had not taken.”“O no; O no! I did for griefAwaken.“My true love never you have seen,Down by the ships I found him;In all the gale, I held mine armsAround him.“He spake to me, he kissed me thrice,And sailed the seas a-mourning;And then my tears rained with the rainReturning.”
“Whycome ye in with tresses wild,With baffling winds aweary,All damp and cold, my bonny girl,My deary?
“Whycome ye in with tresses wild,
With baffling winds aweary,
All damp and cold, my bonny girl,
My deary?
“The sun not yet has oped his lids,The clouds hold fast together;Why stirred ye out this angry morn,And whither?”
“The sun not yet has oped his lids,
The clouds hold fast together;
Why stirred ye out this angry morn,
And whither?”
“O mother mine! mayhap I roseTo fetch the gillyflower,Or soothe my sister’s little sonAn hour;
“O mother mine! mayhap I rose
To fetch the gillyflower,
Or soothe my sister’s little son
An hour;
“Or else I led a bleating lamb,Strayed off from any other,Or went to pray at break of day,Sweet mother!”
“Or else I led a bleating lamb,
Strayed off from any other,
Or went to pray at break of day,
Sweet mother!”
“My Bess, my lass, deceive me not;So long it had not taken.”“O no; O no! I did for griefAwaken.
“My Bess, my lass, deceive me not;
So long it had not taken.”
“O no; O no! I did for grief
Awaken.
“My true love never you have seen,Down by the ships I found him;In all the gale, I held mine armsAround him.
“My true love never you have seen,
Down by the ships I found him;
In all the gale, I held mine arms
Around him.
“He spake to me, he kissed me thrice,And sailed the seas a-mourning;And then my tears rained with the rainReturning.”
“He spake to me, he kissed me thrice,
And sailed the seas a-mourning;
And then my tears rained with the rain
Returning.”
“In fair and discreet manhood; that is, civilly, by the sword.”—Ben Jonson.
“In fair and discreet manhood; that is, civilly, by the sword.”—Ben Jonson.
Bylaurels upon your browNew-placed, our worth is reckoned:You are a hero now,And I,—a dead man’s second.Your prowess was most fair,And fairer yet I own it;A majesty lies there,And you have overthrown it.To dexterous hands was givenYour weapon giant-hewing;The lightning out from heavenHad scarcely dared its doing!For balm on wounds aghastSupreme in you my trust is;Solicitous to the last,Your pity tempered justice.Thanks, to my final breath,For challenge, thrust, and parry.With this pale weight of deathYour living praise I carry.I see no hate abhorr’d,But courtesy acting thro’ you:The Devil, sweet my lord,Be thus considerate to you!In honor, after a lapse,Dare you to combat sprightly,Thenceforth you chance mishapsTo superintend,—politely.
Bylaurels upon your browNew-placed, our worth is reckoned:You are a hero now,And I,—a dead man’s second.Your prowess was most fair,And fairer yet I own it;A majesty lies there,And you have overthrown it.To dexterous hands was givenYour weapon giant-hewing;The lightning out from heavenHad scarcely dared its doing!For balm on wounds aghastSupreme in you my trust is;Solicitous to the last,Your pity tempered justice.Thanks, to my final breath,For challenge, thrust, and parry.With this pale weight of deathYour living praise I carry.I see no hate abhorr’d,But courtesy acting thro’ you:The Devil, sweet my lord,Be thus considerate to you!In honor, after a lapse,Dare you to combat sprightly,Thenceforth you chance mishapsTo superintend,—politely.
Bylaurels upon your browNew-placed, our worth is reckoned:You are a hero now,And I,—a dead man’s second.
Bylaurels upon your brow
New-placed, our worth is reckoned:
You are a hero now,
And I,—a dead man’s second.
Your prowess was most fair,And fairer yet I own it;A majesty lies there,And you have overthrown it.
Your prowess was most fair,
And fairer yet I own it;
A majesty lies there,
And you have overthrown it.
To dexterous hands was givenYour weapon giant-hewing;The lightning out from heavenHad scarcely dared its doing!
To dexterous hands was given
Your weapon giant-hewing;
The lightning out from heaven
Had scarcely dared its doing!
For balm on wounds aghastSupreme in you my trust is;Solicitous to the last,Your pity tempered justice.
For balm on wounds aghast
Supreme in you my trust is;
Solicitous to the last,
Your pity tempered justice.
Thanks, to my final breath,For challenge, thrust, and parry.With this pale weight of deathYour living praise I carry.
Thanks, to my final breath,
For challenge, thrust, and parry.
With this pale weight of death
Your living praise I carry.
I see no hate abhorr’d,But courtesy acting thro’ you:The Devil, sweet my lord,Be thus considerate to you!
I see no hate abhorr’d,
But courtesy acting thro’ you:
The Devil, sweet my lord,
Be thus considerate to you!
In honor, after a lapse,Dare you to combat sprightly,Thenceforth you chance mishapsTo superintend,—politely.
In honor, after a lapse,
Dare you to combat sprightly,
Thenceforth you chance mishaps
To superintend,—politely.
Asonce in a town thro’ the twilight pleasantA belfry chorus majestic rose,While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glistened,And nothing you recked, rapt soul! but listened,And followed on truant wing incessantAfter the chime to its silvern close;So later, when over your gentle pages,The harsh world wronged you with scorn and sting,By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing,I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing,You heard, my Poet! the praise of the ages;Only and ever you heard them sing.
Asonce in a town thro’ the twilight pleasantA belfry chorus majestic rose,While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glistened,And nothing you recked, rapt soul! but listened,And followed on truant wing incessantAfter the chime to its silvern close;So later, when over your gentle pages,The harsh world wronged you with scorn and sting,By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing,I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing,You heard, my Poet! the praise of the ages;Only and ever you heard them sing.
Asonce in a town thro’ the twilight pleasantA belfry chorus majestic rose,While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glistened,And nothing you recked, rapt soul! but listened,And followed on truant wing incessantAfter the chime to its silvern close;
Asonce in a town thro’ the twilight pleasant
A belfry chorus majestic rose,
While our talk ran on, and the good lamp glistened,
And nothing you recked, rapt soul! but listened,
And followed on truant wing incessant
After the chime to its silvern close;
So later, when over your gentle pages,The harsh world wronged you with scorn and sting,By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing,I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing,You heard, my Poet! the praise of the ages;Only and ever you heard them sing.
So later, when over your gentle pages,
The harsh world wronged you with scorn and sting,
By the far-away joy in your blue eye growing,
I knew that beyond these ill winds blowing,
You heard, my Poet! the praise of the ages;
Only and ever you heard them sing.
“Weburied a loving heart to-day;We miss his coming over the way,The toss of his hair, his laughter’s ring;“The radiant presence gone from earth;The serious eyes that could shine with mirth,The luminous brain, the hand of a king;“So, losing him as we did, I sayFill up the goblets, and glad and gayOn his lonely road we will drink him cheer:“Health to the fine old friend we knew!Peace to his slumbers under the dew!Hail to his memory kind and dear!“And for second pledge, fill up to the brim;(Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim!)Here’s to the first that shall follow him.”The sun ran riot across the floor;Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door;Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill:The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost;Up from the board were the beakers tossed;Loud clashed their rims with a royal will.And he, the youngest, that swayed them erst,Poured yet again, like a man athirst:“To the first who follows we drink, we three!”Sudden beside him Another stood,So sudden, he fell as the sandal-woodSinks when the axe is laid to the tree:But the Shadow lifted his cup insteadWith the old quick smile, and the toss of the head:“Franz! thou art the first to follow!” he said.
“Weburied a loving heart to-day;We miss his coming over the way,The toss of his hair, his laughter’s ring;“The radiant presence gone from earth;The serious eyes that could shine with mirth,The luminous brain, the hand of a king;“So, losing him as we did, I sayFill up the goblets, and glad and gayOn his lonely road we will drink him cheer:“Health to the fine old friend we knew!Peace to his slumbers under the dew!Hail to his memory kind and dear!“And for second pledge, fill up to the brim;(Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim!)Here’s to the first that shall follow him.”The sun ran riot across the floor;Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door;Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill:The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost;Up from the board were the beakers tossed;Loud clashed their rims with a royal will.And he, the youngest, that swayed them erst,Poured yet again, like a man athirst:“To the first who follows we drink, we three!”Sudden beside him Another stood,So sudden, he fell as the sandal-woodSinks when the axe is laid to the tree:But the Shadow lifted his cup insteadWith the old quick smile, and the toss of the head:“Franz! thou art the first to follow!” he said.
“Weburied a loving heart to-day;We miss his coming over the way,The toss of his hair, his laughter’s ring;
“Weburied a loving heart to-day;
We miss his coming over the way,
The toss of his hair, his laughter’s ring;
“The radiant presence gone from earth;The serious eyes that could shine with mirth,The luminous brain, the hand of a king;
“The radiant presence gone from earth;
The serious eyes that could shine with mirth,
The luminous brain, the hand of a king;
“So, losing him as we did, I sayFill up the goblets, and glad and gayOn his lonely road we will drink him cheer:
“So, losing him as we did, I say
Fill up the goblets, and glad and gay
On his lonely road we will drink him cheer:
“Health to the fine old friend we knew!Peace to his slumbers under the dew!Hail to his memory kind and dear!
“Health to the fine old friend we knew!
Peace to his slumbers under the dew!
Hail to his memory kind and dear!
“And for second pledge, fill up to the brim;(Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim!)Here’s to the first that shall follow him.”
“And for second pledge, fill up to the brim;
(Laugh lightly, what if our eyes be dim!)
Here’s to the first that shall follow him.”
The sun ran riot across the floor;Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door;Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill:
The sun ran riot across the floor;
Pomegranate-blossoms swung by the door;
Blithe robins lit on the ivied sill:
The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost;Up from the board were the beakers tossed;Loud clashed their rims with a royal will.
The voice in the gurgle of wine was lost;
Up from the board were the beakers tossed;
Loud clashed their rims with a royal will.
And he, the youngest, that swayed them erst,Poured yet again, like a man athirst:“To the first who follows we drink, we three!”
And he, the youngest, that swayed them erst,
Poured yet again, like a man athirst:
“To the first who follows we drink, we three!”
Sudden beside him Another stood,So sudden, he fell as the sandal-woodSinks when the axe is laid to the tree:
Sudden beside him Another stood,
So sudden, he fell as the sandal-wood
Sinks when the axe is laid to the tree:
But the Shadow lifted his cup insteadWith the old quick smile, and the toss of the head:“Franz! thou art the first to follow!” he said.
But the Shadow lifted his cup instead
With the old quick smile, and the toss of the head:
“Franz! thou art the first to follow!” he said.
Bellsof victory are dumb;Trailing sword and muffled drumOn we come,Downcast eyes and broken tread,Weary arms, and burdenèdWith our dead.Lives were proffered: reck not his;For dear Freedom’s ransom isSacrifice.Proud our love is, nor at lastWith a sorrow that is pastOvercast.O’er the very clay we bring,Meet it is that we should singTriumphing:He was foremost, he was leal;Let his gallant breast revealHonor’s seal.Him we yield the Roman crown,Woven bays; in his renownLay him down.Earth will softest pillow make,So that never heart shall acheFor his sake;Spring will pass here many a day,Sighing, one with thoughts that prayFar away,“When the trumpets shake the sod,Raise Thy Knight from this dull clod,Lord our God!”
Bellsof victory are dumb;Trailing sword and muffled drumOn we come,Downcast eyes and broken tread,Weary arms, and burdenèdWith our dead.Lives were proffered: reck not his;For dear Freedom’s ransom isSacrifice.Proud our love is, nor at lastWith a sorrow that is pastOvercast.O’er the very clay we bring,Meet it is that we should singTriumphing:He was foremost, he was leal;Let his gallant breast revealHonor’s seal.Him we yield the Roman crown,Woven bays; in his renownLay him down.Earth will softest pillow make,So that never heart shall acheFor his sake;Spring will pass here many a day,Sighing, one with thoughts that prayFar away,“When the trumpets shake the sod,Raise Thy Knight from this dull clod,Lord our God!”
Bellsof victory are dumb;Trailing sword and muffled drumOn we come,
Bellsof victory are dumb;
Trailing sword and muffled drum
On we come,
Downcast eyes and broken tread,Weary arms, and burdenèdWith our dead.
Downcast eyes and broken tread,
Weary arms, and burdenèd
With our dead.
Lives were proffered: reck not his;For dear Freedom’s ransom isSacrifice.
Lives were proffered: reck not his;
For dear Freedom’s ransom is
Sacrifice.
Proud our love is, nor at lastWith a sorrow that is pastOvercast.
Proud our love is, nor at last
With a sorrow that is past
Overcast.
O’er the very clay we bring,Meet it is that we should singTriumphing:
O’er the very clay we bring,
Meet it is that we should sing
Triumphing:
He was foremost, he was leal;Let his gallant breast revealHonor’s seal.
He was foremost, he was leal;
Let his gallant breast reveal
Honor’s seal.
Him we yield the Roman crown,Woven bays; in his renownLay him down.
Him we yield the Roman crown,
Woven bays; in his renown
Lay him down.
Earth will softest pillow make,So that never heart shall acheFor his sake;
Earth will softest pillow make,
So that never heart shall ache
For his sake;
Spring will pass here many a day,Sighing, one with thoughts that prayFar away,
Spring will pass here many a day,
Sighing, one with thoughts that pray
Far away,
“When the trumpets shake the sod,Raise Thy Knight from this dull clod,Lord our God!”
“When the trumpets shake the sod,
Raise Thy Knight from this dull clod,
Lord our God!”
A youngbird fell last night across the darkAnd was not. In the willow hung its nest;But yesterday, with proud and beating breast,From bough to bough it crossed a fairy arc;Among its kindred barely did we harkIts first delightful carol, or note the crestGrow into golden-violet loveliest;There was no dial in our thought to markThe sealèd possibilities of days,The unwrought miracle of happy singing:And now, tho’ newly fail our earthly sense,Elsewhere that delicate intelligenceBursts into blossom of harmonious lays,All summer on a comely tree-top swinging.
A youngbird fell last night across the darkAnd was not. In the willow hung its nest;But yesterday, with proud and beating breast,From bough to bough it crossed a fairy arc;Among its kindred barely did we harkIts first delightful carol, or note the crestGrow into golden-violet loveliest;There was no dial in our thought to markThe sealèd possibilities of days,The unwrought miracle of happy singing:And now, tho’ newly fail our earthly sense,Elsewhere that delicate intelligenceBursts into blossom of harmonious lays,All summer on a comely tree-top swinging.
A youngbird fell last night across the darkAnd was not. In the willow hung its nest;But yesterday, with proud and beating breast,From bough to bough it crossed a fairy arc;Among its kindred barely did we harkIts first delightful carol, or note the crestGrow into golden-violet loveliest;There was no dial in our thought to markThe sealèd possibilities of days,The unwrought miracle of happy singing:And now, tho’ newly fail our earthly sense,Elsewhere that delicate intelligenceBursts into blossom of harmonious lays,All summer on a comely tree-top swinging.
A youngbird fell last night across the dark
And was not. In the willow hung its nest;
But yesterday, with proud and beating breast,
From bough to bough it crossed a fairy arc;
Among its kindred barely did we hark
Its first delightful carol, or note the crest
Grow into golden-violet loveliest;
There was no dial in our thought to mark
The sealèd possibilities of days,
The unwrought miracle of happy singing:
And now, tho’ newly fail our earthly sense,
Elsewhere that delicate intelligence
Bursts into blossom of harmonious lays,
All summer on a comely tree-top swinging.
(H. L.)
Lovingher, what should I fail to do for her?—Keep season on season sunny and blue for her,Lengthen her days like a happy tale,With thoughts all tender and hearts all true for her,Ward her from trouble, good tidings bring to her;Fight for her, laugh with her, comfort her, cling to her,But if I were even a nightingale,I wonder—if I should dare to sing to her!
Lovingher, what should I fail to do for her?—Keep season on season sunny and blue for her,Lengthen her days like a happy tale,With thoughts all tender and hearts all true for her,Ward her from trouble, good tidings bring to her;Fight for her, laugh with her, comfort her, cling to her,But if I were even a nightingale,I wonder—if I should dare to sing to her!
Lovingher, what should I fail to do for her?—Keep season on season sunny and blue for her,Lengthen her days like a happy tale,With thoughts all tender and hearts all true for her,
Lovingher, what should I fail to do for her?—
Keep season on season sunny and blue for her,
Lengthen her days like a happy tale,
With thoughts all tender and hearts all true for her,
Ward her from trouble, good tidings bring to her;Fight for her, laugh with her, comfort her, cling to her,But if I were even a nightingale,I wonder—if I should dare to sing to her!
Ward her from trouble, good tidings bring to her;
Fight for her, laugh with her, comfort her, cling to her,
But if I were even a nightingale,
I wonder—if I should dare to sing to her!
Outfrom the prison at twilight,With stealthy, terrible swiftness,Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;Freedom stirring his pulses,Gladness and fear and longingSurging thro’ brain and body with precious unwonted pain.Out from the damp, dark cell,The shackles, the sorrowful silence,Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,Forth to the scent of the meadows,The glisten of garrulous brooklets,And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.On, like the sweep of a scimitarDashed he, cutting the darkness,Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;Cumbered with horrible fears,Leaped he the perilous ledgesReaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.Midway of his sickening haste,Sudden he faltered and moaned,Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;A woman sad-featured and patient,Two golden heads at her shoulder,Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!Not yet, for surely the bloodhoundsWould track him thither to-morrow;Not yet! tho’ soon that door should open, as long ago:Dashing the tear from his cheeks,The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?Here meet the roads: see, eastways,The long, clear track to the forest,There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:Behind, a glimpse of the village,Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!Shuffle of hurrying feet,Breathings nearer and nearer.No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.Up to the toilsome cliffs!Better death than new anguish!A cry, a plunge . . . shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir by the meadow,Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;Deep in the dust of the street,Just where the four roads meet,Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;And a wistful child’s voice said,Touched with great trouble and dread:“O little sister! which way did father go?”
Outfrom the prison at twilight,With stealthy, terrible swiftness,Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;Freedom stirring his pulses,Gladness and fear and longingSurging thro’ brain and body with precious unwonted pain.Out from the damp, dark cell,The shackles, the sorrowful silence,Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,Forth to the scent of the meadows,The glisten of garrulous brooklets,And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.On, like the sweep of a scimitarDashed he, cutting the darkness,Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;Cumbered with horrible fears,Leaped he the perilous ledgesReaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.Midway of his sickening haste,Sudden he faltered and moaned,Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;A woman sad-featured and patient,Two golden heads at her shoulder,Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!Not yet, for surely the bloodhoundsWould track him thither to-morrow;Not yet! tho’ soon that door should open, as long ago:Dashing the tear from his cheeks,The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?Here meet the roads: see, eastways,The long, clear track to the forest,There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:Behind, a glimpse of the village,Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!Shuffle of hurrying feet,Breathings nearer and nearer.No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.Up to the toilsome cliffs!Better death than new anguish!A cry, a plunge . . . shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir by the meadow,Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;Deep in the dust of the street,Just where the four roads meet,Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;And a wistful child’s voice said,Touched with great trouble and dread:“O little sister! which way did father go?”
Outfrom the prison at twilight,With stealthy, terrible swiftness,Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;Freedom stirring his pulses,Gladness and fear and longingSurging thro’ brain and body with precious unwonted pain.
Outfrom the prison at twilight,
With stealthy, terrible swiftness,
Darted one of the branded, life beating in every vein;
Freedom stirring his pulses,
Gladness and fear and longing
Surging thro’ brain and body with precious unwonted pain.
Out from the damp, dark cell,The shackles, the sorrowful silence,Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,Forth to the scent of the meadows,The glisten of garrulous brooklets,And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.
Out from the damp, dark cell,
The shackles, the sorrowful silence,
Out from the ring of faces and the jarring of stern commands,
Forth to the scent of the meadows,
The glisten of garrulous brooklets,
And the dim, kindly evening he blessed with his weary hands.
On, like the sweep of a scimitarDashed he, cutting the darkness,Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;Cumbered with horrible fears,Leaped he the perilous ledgesReaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.
On, like the sweep of a scimitar
Dashed he, cutting the darkness,
Or as the storm blows on, none knowing its way or its will;
Cumbered with horrible fears,
Leaped he the perilous ledges
Reaching the village that lay in the valley, untroubled and still.
Midway of his sickening haste,Sudden he faltered and moaned,Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;A woman sad-featured and patient,Two golden heads at her shoulder,Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!
Midway of his sickening haste,
Sudden he faltered and moaned,
Seeing three stand by a window, as the breeze loitering blew;
A woman sad-featured and patient,
Two golden heads at her shoulder,
Dear eyes he made shine once—dear childish hair that he knew!
Not yet, for surely the bloodhoundsWould track him thither to-morrow;Not yet! tho’ soon that door should open, as long ago:Dashing the tear from his cheeks,The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?
Not yet, for surely the bloodhounds
Would track him thither to-morrow;
Not yet! tho’ soon that door should open, as long ago:
Dashing the tear from his cheeks,
The bronze, rough cheeks that it hallowed,
He rushed on. Had they seen it, the poor, wan face? Did they know?
Here meet the roads: see, eastways,The long, clear track to the forest,There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:Behind, a glimpse of the village,Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!
Here meet the roads: see, eastways,
The long, clear track to the forest,
There, with chestnuts shaded, the path to the inland town:
Behind, a glimpse of the village,
Front—four sharp cliffs to the ocean;
Quickly, which shall he choose? Hark! the captors are hunting him down!
Shuffle of hurrying feet,Breathings nearer and nearer.No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.Up to the toilsome cliffs!Better death than new anguish!A cry, a plunge . . . shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.
Shuffle of hurrying feet,
Breathings nearer and nearer.
No choice for a man that is doomed, unless straight to the merciful sea.
Up to the toilsome cliffs!
Better death than new anguish!
A cry, a plunge . . . shine, stars, on the ripples that ring that sea.
Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir by the meadow,Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;Deep in the dust of the street,Just where the four roads meet,Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;And a wistful child’s voice said,Touched with great trouble and dread:“O little sister! which way did father go?”
Soft in the ominous shadow the branches stir by the meadow,
Fair in the lonely distance the dying household glow;
Deep in the dust of the street,
Just where the four roads meet,
Two trembling forms where he stood a moment so;
And a wistful child’s voice said,
Touched with great trouble and dread:
“O little sister! which way did father go?”
Ladyserene, benign,This dainty name of mine,Pride in my bashful eyesBending to see,With your look eloquent,Oft for glad service lent,Laughingly, lovingly,Gave you to me.Generous gift bestowed!Lofty desert avowed!Queen and true Knight indeedPlayed we those days;All of my faith unspent,Full of my child’s content,Shyly, yet haughtily,Wore I your praise.O for that happy sportOnce in your mimic court!O for your voice again,Lips silencèd!O for the olden nameEre disillusion came;O for “the golden heart,”Too, that is dead!
Ladyserene, benign,This dainty name of mine,Pride in my bashful eyesBending to see,With your look eloquent,Oft for glad service lent,Laughingly, lovingly,Gave you to me.Generous gift bestowed!Lofty desert avowed!Queen and true Knight indeedPlayed we those days;All of my faith unspent,Full of my child’s content,Shyly, yet haughtily,Wore I your praise.O for that happy sportOnce in your mimic court!O for your voice again,Lips silencèd!O for the olden nameEre disillusion came;O for “the golden heart,”Too, that is dead!
Ladyserene, benign,This dainty name of mine,Pride in my bashful eyesBending to see,With your look eloquent,Oft for glad service lent,Laughingly, lovingly,Gave you to me.
Ladyserene, benign,
This dainty name of mine,
Pride in my bashful eyes
Bending to see,
With your look eloquent,
Oft for glad service lent,
Laughingly, lovingly,
Gave you to me.
Generous gift bestowed!Lofty desert avowed!Queen and true Knight indeedPlayed we those days;All of my faith unspent,Full of my child’s content,Shyly, yet haughtily,Wore I your praise.
Generous gift bestowed!
Lofty desert avowed!
Queen and true Knight indeed
Played we those days;
All of my faith unspent,
Full of my child’s content,
Shyly, yet haughtily,
Wore I your praise.
O for that happy sportOnce in your mimic court!O for your voice again,Lips silencèd!O for the olden nameEre disillusion came;O for “the golden heart,”Too, that is dead!
O for that happy sport
Once in your mimic court!
O for your voice again,
Lips silencèd!
O for the olden name
Ere disillusion came;
O for “the golden heart,”
Too, that is dead!
Onevoice I heard of a ghostly horde,About a visionary board,That said,While goblets filled with ruby-red:“Can you remember, good my lord,“Among the newer creeds and laws,The unrevived, pathetic causeOf kings?Can you remember all such things?How long, how long ago it was!“What is the story? Rivets loose,Superb contrivance; fainter use;For years,Allegiance, consecrate with tears,Sad loyalty, its own excuse;“A morning faith magnificent;Defiance breaking; ardor spentAnd painsFor royal blood thro’ dwindled veins,Half-clogged with dust of dull content,“But weak not wholly; for there burstIn the last scion, battle-nursed,Such scopeOf rich emprise, that our rash hopeWrote him not last, indeed, but first.“For our true liege folk mocked at ease,And chartered foes, and crossed the seas:Behold!Where are they now, the gaps, the oldDelicious taunts and enmities?“Then, troops of gallant gentlemenThat passed by night o’er field and fen,Did shoutTownward, lusty and loud throughout:‘When the King comes back to his own again.’“Then rose a prayer, heart-tremulous,Near many an heir, in many a house,Asleep:‘O kindly Heaven! do thou but keepOur children rebels after us!’“Then sailors landing from the fleet,Idling wits in a sunny street,And sirsWith trim-clipp’d beards and rattling spursMet, swearing fealty: so we meet.“And since the stars, and you, and IHave seen the cycle rolling by,And knowThat right is right, thro’ flower and snow,Why then, give still the wonted cry:—“Here’s to the proud, forgotten names,Here’s to the Stuart, Charles and James!Ah me!Full few that live so long as weFan older love to steadier flames.“Here’s to our fathers, Cavaliers;Their noble toil, their patient yearsThat boreA burden precious now no more:So may they rest in happier spheres.“And here’s our benison for herWho doth the forfeit sceptre stir;A toastLate in the day, and welcome most:Death and doom to Hanover!”. . . .Now this I heard from comrades dead,And vowed Amen to all they said,And roseWith fair intent to draw more close;But like the forest deer they fled.
Onevoice I heard of a ghostly horde,About a visionary board,That said,While goblets filled with ruby-red:“Can you remember, good my lord,“Among the newer creeds and laws,The unrevived, pathetic causeOf kings?Can you remember all such things?How long, how long ago it was!“What is the story? Rivets loose,Superb contrivance; fainter use;For years,Allegiance, consecrate with tears,Sad loyalty, its own excuse;“A morning faith magnificent;Defiance breaking; ardor spentAnd painsFor royal blood thro’ dwindled veins,Half-clogged with dust of dull content,“But weak not wholly; for there burstIn the last scion, battle-nursed,Such scopeOf rich emprise, that our rash hopeWrote him not last, indeed, but first.“For our true liege folk mocked at ease,And chartered foes, and crossed the seas:Behold!Where are they now, the gaps, the oldDelicious taunts and enmities?“Then, troops of gallant gentlemenThat passed by night o’er field and fen,Did shoutTownward, lusty and loud throughout:‘When the King comes back to his own again.’“Then rose a prayer, heart-tremulous,Near many an heir, in many a house,Asleep:‘O kindly Heaven! do thou but keepOur children rebels after us!’“Then sailors landing from the fleet,Idling wits in a sunny street,And sirsWith trim-clipp’d beards and rattling spursMet, swearing fealty: so we meet.“And since the stars, and you, and IHave seen the cycle rolling by,And knowThat right is right, thro’ flower and snow,Why then, give still the wonted cry:—“Here’s to the proud, forgotten names,Here’s to the Stuart, Charles and James!Ah me!Full few that live so long as weFan older love to steadier flames.“Here’s to our fathers, Cavaliers;Their noble toil, their patient yearsThat boreA burden precious now no more:So may they rest in happier spheres.“And here’s our benison for herWho doth the forfeit sceptre stir;A toastLate in the day, and welcome most:Death and doom to Hanover!”. . . .Now this I heard from comrades dead,And vowed Amen to all they said,And roseWith fair intent to draw more close;But like the forest deer they fled.
Onevoice I heard of a ghostly horde,About a visionary board,That said,While goblets filled with ruby-red:“Can you remember, good my lord,
Onevoice I heard of a ghostly horde,
About a visionary board,
That said,
While goblets filled with ruby-red:
“Can you remember, good my lord,
“Among the newer creeds and laws,The unrevived, pathetic causeOf kings?Can you remember all such things?How long, how long ago it was!
“Among the newer creeds and laws,
The unrevived, pathetic cause
Of kings?
Can you remember all such things?
How long, how long ago it was!
“What is the story? Rivets loose,Superb contrivance; fainter use;For years,Allegiance, consecrate with tears,Sad loyalty, its own excuse;
“What is the story? Rivets loose,
Superb contrivance; fainter use;
For years,
Allegiance, consecrate with tears,
Sad loyalty, its own excuse;
“A morning faith magnificent;Defiance breaking; ardor spentAnd painsFor royal blood thro’ dwindled veins,Half-clogged with dust of dull content,
“A morning faith magnificent;
Defiance breaking; ardor spent
And pains
For royal blood thro’ dwindled veins,
Half-clogged with dust of dull content,
“But weak not wholly; for there burstIn the last scion, battle-nursed,Such scopeOf rich emprise, that our rash hopeWrote him not last, indeed, but first.
“But weak not wholly; for there burst
In the last scion, battle-nursed,
Such scope
Of rich emprise, that our rash hope
Wrote him not last, indeed, but first.
“For our true liege folk mocked at ease,And chartered foes, and crossed the seas:Behold!Where are they now, the gaps, the oldDelicious taunts and enmities?
“For our true liege folk mocked at ease,
And chartered foes, and crossed the seas:
Behold!
Where are they now, the gaps, the old
Delicious taunts and enmities?
“Then, troops of gallant gentlemenThat passed by night o’er field and fen,Did shoutTownward, lusty and loud throughout:‘When the King comes back to his own again.’
“Then, troops of gallant gentlemen
That passed by night o’er field and fen,
Did shout
Townward, lusty and loud throughout:
‘When the King comes back to his own again.’
“Then rose a prayer, heart-tremulous,Near many an heir, in many a house,Asleep:‘O kindly Heaven! do thou but keepOur children rebels after us!’
“Then rose a prayer, heart-tremulous,
Near many an heir, in many a house,
Asleep:
‘O kindly Heaven! do thou but keep
Our children rebels after us!’
“Then sailors landing from the fleet,Idling wits in a sunny street,And sirsWith trim-clipp’d beards and rattling spursMet, swearing fealty: so we meet.
“Then sailors landing from the fleet,
Idling wits in a sunny street,
And sirs
With trim-clipp’d beards and rattling spurs
Met, swearing fealty: so we meet.
“And since the stars, and you, and IHave seen the cycle rolling by,And knowThat right is right, thro’ flower and snow,Why then, give still the wonted cry:—
“And since the stars, and you, and I
Have seen the cycle rolling by,
And know
That right is right, thro’ flower and snow,
Why then, give still the wonted cry:—
“Here’s to the proud, forgotten names,Here’s to the Stuart, Charles and James!Ah me!Full few that live so long as weFan older love to steadier flames.
“Here’s to the proud, forgotten names,
Here’s to the Stuart, Charles and James!
Ah me!
Full few that live so long as we
Fan older love to steadier flames.
“Here’s to our fathers, Cavaliers;Their noble toil, their patient yearsThat boreA burden precious now no more:So may they rest in happier spheres.
“Here’s to our fathers, Cavaliers;
Their noble toil, their patient years
That bore
A burden precious now no more:
So may they rest in happier spheres.
“And here’s our benison for herWho doth the forfeit sceptre stir;A toastLate in the day, and welcome most:Death and doom to Hanover!”. . . .Now this I heard from comrades dead,And vowed Amen to all they said,And roseWith fair intent to draw more close;But like the forest deer they fled.
“And here’s our benison for her
Who doth the forfeit sceptre stir;
A toast
Late in the day, and welcome most:
Death and doom to Hanover!”
. . . .
Now this I heard from comrades dead,
And vowed Amen to all they said,
And rose
With fair intent to draw more close;
But like the forest deer they fled.
“With a difference.”—Hamlet.
Againthe bloom, the northward flight,The fount freed at its silver height,And down the deep woods to the lowest,The fragrant shadows scarred with light.O inescapeable joy of spring!For thee the world shall leap and sing;But by her darkened door thou goestForever as a spectral thing.
Againthe bloom, the northward flight,The fount freed at its silver height,And down the deep woods to the lowest,The fragrant shadows scarred with light.O inescapeable joy of spring!For thee the world shall leap and sing;But by her darkened door thou goestForever as a spectral thing.
Againthe bloom, the northward flight,The fount freed at its silver height,And down the deep woods to the lowest,The fragrant shadows scarred with light.
Againthe bloom, the northward flight,
The fount freed at its silver height,
And down the deep woods to the lowest,
The fragrant shadows scarred with light.
O inescapeable joy of spring!For thee the world shall leap and sing;But by her darkened door thou goestForever as a spectral thing.
O inescapeable joy of spring!
For thee the world shall leap and sing;
But by her darkened door thou goest
Forever as a spectral thing.
Whenwe were children, at our will,That vanished summer blithe and free,Dear shipmate! how we loved to floatThro’ wind and calm, in a little boat,All alone on the sparkling sea!One morn, defying storms we sailedAnd sang our Credo, you and I—“Beyond the foam, the surge, the mist,The sea-fog’s moving amethyst,The peaceful fairy islands lie.”And far we urged the forward prow,Half-mad with longing as we hied;Yet at the sunset’s dying glowFaint-hearted, ceased, and homewards soCame meekly with the evening tide.Surely, the Isles of Rest were near!Why did our childish ardor tire?Now more, oh, more the thousandth time!We thirst for that celestial clime,We hunger with that old desire.Some day, when we shall sail again,The home-lights late indeed may burn;Let signals flutter on the shore,Let tides creep up to the open door,But with no tide shall we return.
Whenwe were children, at our will,That vanished summer blithe and free,Dear shipmate! how we loved to floatThro’ wind and calm, in a little boat,All alone on the sparkling sea!One morn, defying storms we sailedAnd sang our Credo, you and I—“Beyond the foam, the surge, the mist,The sea-fog’s moving amethyst,The peaceful fairy islands lie.”And far we urged the forward prow,Half-mad with longing as we hied;Yet at the sunset’s dying glowFaint-hearted, ceased, and homewards soCame meekly with the evening tide.Surely, the Isles of Rest were near!Why did our childish ardor tire?Now more, oh, more the thousandth time!We thirst for that celestial clime,We hunger with that old desire.Some day, when we shall sail again,The home-lights late indeed may burn;Let signals flutter on the shore,Let tides creep up to the open door,But with no tide shall we return.
Whenwe were children, at our will,That vanished summer blithe and free,Dear shipmate! how we loved to floatThro’ wind and calm, in a little boat,All alone on the sparkling sea!
Whenwe were children, at our will,
That vanished summer blithe and free,
Dear shipmate! how we loved to float
Thro’ wind and calm, in a little boat,
All alone on the sparkling sea!
One morn, defying storms we sailedAnd sang our Credo, you and I—“Beyond the foam, the surge, the mist,The sea-fog’s moving amethyst,The peaceful fairy islands lie.”
One morn, defying storms we sailed
And sang our Credo, you and I—
“Beyond the foam, the surge, the mist,
The sea-fog’s moving amethyst,
The peaceful fairy islands lie.”
And far we urged the forward prow,Half-mad with longing as we hied;Yet at the sunset’s dying glowFaint-hearted, ceased, and homewards soCame meekly with the evening tide.
And far we urged the forward prow,
Half-mad with longing as we hied;
Yet at the sunset’s dying glow
Faint-hearted, ceased, and homewards so
Came meekly with the evening tide.
Surely, the Isles of Rest were near!Why did our childish ardor tire?Now more, oh, more the thousandth time!We thirst for that celestial clime,We hunger with that old desire.
Surely, the Isles of Rest were near!
Why did our childish ardor tire?
Now more, oh, more the thousandth time!
We thirst for that celestial clime,
We hunger with that old desire.
Some day, when we shall sail again,The home-lights late indeed may burn;Let signals flutter on the shore,Let tides creep up to the open door,But with no tide shall we return.
Some day, when we shall sail again,
The home-lights late indeed may burn;
Let signals flutter on the shore,
Let tides creep up to the open door,
But with no tide shall we return.
Neverone in your kingdom, my queen,Who stands in your presence serene,Would take the first step less or more,Or pose otherwise on the floor,Or bend a whit deeper the knee,Or speak but as low as can be,And then at your royal command;And never a lord in the landWould stir the fine blade in its sheath,Or a marchioness rustle her wreath,Or a page grow too lean or too stoutFor fear of an exile, no doubt.And yet I remember the firstThro’ order and system to burst,Old freedom of ways to reclaim,Was that blithe little fellow who cameTo the arras majestic one day,In his lace and his velvet array,And rioted gallantly round,And talked of his horse and his hound,And gave milord’s buckler a clangAnd leaped o’er the marbles, and sang,And laughed in barbarian glee,Disturbing your stately levee;—Till the horrified ladies came downAnd bore him away, at your frown.That was a twelvemonth ago.You sit there as placid as snow:In ease and politeness and state,The court holds its doings of late,With nothing to vex with a qualmThat formal, respectable calm.Patrician reproofs are forgot,Since further ill-doers are not.Liege lady! say, what would you giveHenceforward as long as you live,For the roguish soft clutch at your hair,The capers and curvets in air,The laughter’s wild musical flow,That you frowned at a twelvemonth ago?
Neverone in your kingdom, my queen,Who stands in your presence serene,Would take the first step less or more,Or pose otherwise on the floor,Or bend a whit deeper the knee,Or speak but as low as can be,And then at your royal command;And never a lord in the landWould stir the fine blade in its sheath,Or a marchioness rustle her wreath,Or a page grow too lean or too stoutFor fear of an exile, no doubt.And yet I remember the firstThro’ order and system to burst,Old freedom of ways to reclaim,Was that blithe little fellow who cameTo the arras majestic one day,In his lace and his velvet array,And rioted gallantly round,And talked of his horse and his hound,And gave milord’s buckler a clangAnd leaped o’er the marbles, and sang,And laughed in barbarian glee,Disturbing your stately levee;—Till the horrified ladies came downAnd bore him away, at your frown.That was a twelvemonth ago.You sit there as placid as snow:In ease and politeness and state,The court holds its doings of late,With nothing to vex with a qualmThat formal, respectable calm.Patrician reproofs are forgot,Since further ill-doers are not.Liege lady! say, what would you giveHenceforward as long as you live,For the roguish soft clutch at your hair,The capers and curvets in air,The laughter’s wild musical flow,That you frowned at a twelvemonth ago?
Neverone in your kingdom, my queen,Who stands in your presence serene,Would take the first step less or more,Or pose otherwise on the floor,Or bend a whit deeper the knee,Or speak but as low as can be,And then at your royal command;And never a lord in the landWould stir the fine blade in its sheath,Or a marchioness rustle her wreath,Or a page grow too lean or too stoutFor fear of an exile, no doubt.And yet I remember the firstThro’ order and system to burst,Old freedom of ways to reclaim,Was that blithe little fellow who cameTo the arras majestic one day,In his lace and his velvet array,And rioted gallantly round,And talked of his horse and his hound,And gave milord’s buckler a clangAnd leaped o’er the marbles, and sang,And laughed in barbarian glee,Disturbing your stately levee;—Till the horrified ladies came downAnd bore him away, at your frown.
Neverone in your kingdom, my queen,
Who stands in your presence serene,
Would take the first step less or more,
Or pose otherwise on the floor,
Or bend a whit deeper the knee,
Or speak but as low as can be,
And then at your royal command;
And never a lord in the land
Would stir the fine blade in its sheath,
Or a marchioness rustle her wreath,
Or a page grow too lean or too stout
For fear of an exile, no doubt.
And yet I remember the first
Thro’ order and system to burst,
Old freedom of ways to reclaim,
Was that blithe little fellow who came
To the arras majestic one day,
In his lace and his velvet array,
And rioted gallantly round,
And talked of his horse and his hound,
And gave milord’s buckler a clang
And leaped o’er the marbles, and sang,
And laughed in barbarian glee,
Disturbing your stately levee;—
Till the horrified ladies came down
And bore him away, at your frown.
That was a twelvemonth ago.You sit there as placid as snow:In ease and politeness and state,The court holds its doings of late,With nothing to vex with a qualmThat formal, respectable calm.Patrician reproofs are forgot,Since further ill-doers are not.Liege lady! say, what would you giveHenceforward as long as you live,For the roguish soft clutch at your hair,The capers and curvets in air,The laughter’s wild musical flow,That you frowned at a twelvemonth ago?
That was a twelvemonth ago.
You sit there as placid as snow:
In ease and politeness and state,
The court holds its doings of late,
With nothing to vex with a qualm
That formal, respectable calm.
Patrician reproofs are forgot,
Since further ill-doers are not.
Liege lady! say, what would you give
Henceforward as long as you live,
For the roguish soft clutch at your hair,
The capers and curvets in air,
The laughter’s wild musical flow,
That you frowned at a twelvemonth ago?
[Translated from Victor Hugo.]
Whispersthe grave to the rose:“With the dew that the dawn bestows,What dost thou, love’s darling blossom?”And the rose to the grave soft saith:“And thou, dread abyss of death,With them in thine awful bosom?”But answers: “Mystical tomb,From the dew I exhale in the gloomMine odor of amber and spices.”Then the grave: “Ah, querulous flower!Even so from each heart in my powerAn angel to Heaven arises.”
Whispersthe grave to the rose:“With the dew that the dawn bestows,What dost thou, love’s darling blossom?”And the rose to the grave soft saith:“And thou, dread abyss of death,With them in thine awful bosom?”But answers: “Mystical tomb,From the dew I exhale in the gloomMine odor of amber and spices.”Then the grave: “Ah, querulous flower!Even so from each heart in my powerAn angel to Heaven arises.”
Whispersthe grave to the rose:
“With the dew that the dawn bestows,
What dost thou, love’s darling blossom?”
And the rose to the grave soft saith:
“And thou, dread abyss of death,
With them in thine awful bosom?”
But answers: “Mystical tomb,
From the dew I exhale in the gloom
Mine odor of amber and spices.”
Then the grave: “Ah, querulous flower!
Even so from each heart in my power
An angel to Heaven arises.”