PART II
The tears were still in woman's eyes,
When morn awoke on Paradise;
And still her sense of shame forbade
To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
To seek him, or to shun him most
Then Adam, willing to believe
A heart by casual fancy moved
Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
Addressed his song to Eve.
I
"Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
Forget with me all other sighs
Than summer air.
"Like me, the woodland shadows roam
At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
And peace and joy salute our home;
And lo, the sun in all his pride—
My sunshine, come!
"The fawns and birds, that know our call,
Are waiting for our presence—see,
They wait my presence, love; and thee,
The most desired of all.
II
"The trees, which thought it grievous thing
To weep their own sweet leaves away,
Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
Upon their nestled heads should lay
Her callow wing—
"The trees, whereat we smiled again,
To see them, in their growing wonder,
Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
Until the gay winds rustled under
Their feathered train,
"Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
And strew the winds with green.
III
"Of all the flowers that bow the head,
Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
Not one there is, declines to sned,
Or standeth up, to qualify
His incense-meed:
"Of all that blossom one by one,
Or join their lips in loving cluster,
Not one hath now resolved alone,
Or taken counsel, that his lustre
Shall be unshown.
"So let thy soul a blossom be,
To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
And lift itself, in early days,
To Him who fosters thee.
IV
"Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
And jewelled flight:
"Of all that hush among the moss,
Or babble to the lily-vases,
Not one there is but purls across
A gush of the delight, that causes
It's limpid gloss.
"So let thy heart a fountain be,
To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
In dimpled melody—and all
For love of home, and me."
V
The only fount her heart became
Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
While pink upon her white cheek came,
(Like apple-blossom among pear's)
The tinge of shame.
Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
Unwinding by discreet caresses,
The thread of harm.
Then she, with sobs of slow relief
(For silence is the jail of care)
Confessed, for him to heal or share,
The first of human grief.
VI
"I cannot look on thee, and think
That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
I cannot break the loosened link:
When thou, my only one, art near,
How can I shrink?
"So it were better, love—I mean,
My lord, it is more wise and right—
That I, as one whose day hath been,
Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
And dwell unseen.
"And—though it break my heart to say—
However sad my loneliness,
I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this—
To have me far away.
VII
"I know not how it is with man,
Perhaps his nature is to change,
On finding consort fairer than—
But oh, I cannot so arrange
My nature's plan!
"And haply thou hast never thought
To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
But, since to thee the thing was nought,
Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
As lightly brought.
"Yet, is it strange that I repine,
And feel abased in lonely woe,
To lose thy love—or e'en to know
That half of it is mine?
VIII
"For whom have I on earth but thee,
What heart to love, or home to bless?
Albeit I was wrong, I see,
To think my husband took no less
Delight in me.
"But even now, if thou wilt stay,
Or try at least no more to wander,
And let me love thee, day by day,
Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
(If so it may)—
"Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
In homely wise, on serving thee,
Than any stranger e'er can be;
And Eve shall seem content."
IX
Not loud she wept—but hope could hear;
Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
That each alternate step should trace
A smile and tear.
But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
Regarded her with troubled glances,
Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
Himself to be in strange romances,
And dreamy haze:
Then questioning in hurried voice,
And scarcely waiting her replies,
He spoke, and showed the true surprise
That made her soul rejoice.
X
She told him what the Tempter said,
And what her frightened self had seen,
(That form in loveliness arrayed,
With modest face, and graceful mien)
And how displayed.
Then well-content to show his bride
The worldly knowledge he possessed,
(That world whereof was none beside)
He laid his hand upon his breast,
And thus replied:—
"Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
"A little way down yonder path,
"And I will show the form which hath
"Enchanted thee, and me."
XI
Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
Which hurries down the pebbled way,
As one who hath small time to spare,
So far to go, so much to say
To summer air;
Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
And little circles dimple in,
As if the waters quaffed themselves,
The while they spin:
Thence in a clear pool, overbent
With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
Kadisha sleeps content.
XII
Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
The first of men was smiling gay;
Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
The mystery of that passion-sway
She could not quell.
As they approached the silver strand,
He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
Therein he set the blossom featly,
And took her hand:
He led her past the maiden-hair,
Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
Until the margin held her feet,
Like water-lilies fain
XIII
"Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
The only one with whom I stray,
The only image still I have,
Too often, even while I pray
To Him who gave.
The form she saw was long unknown,
Except as that beheld yestreen;
Till viewing, not that form alone,
But his, with hands enclasped between,
She guessed her own.
And, Bending O'er in Sweet Surprise,
Perused, With Simple Child's Delight,
the Flowing Hair, and Forehead White,
and Soft Inquiring Eyes.
The tears were still in woman's eyes,
When morn awoke on Paradise;
And still her sense of shame forbade
To tell her grievance, or upbraid;
Nor knew she which was dearer cost,
To seek him, or to shun him most
Then Adam, willing to believe
A heart by casual fancy moved
Would soon come back, at voice she loved,
Addressed his song to Eve.
I
"Come fairest, while the morn is fair,
And dews are bright as yon clear eyes;
Calm down this tide of troubled hair,
Forget with me all other sighs
Than summer air.
"Like me, the woodland shadows roam
At light (their fairer comrade's) side;
And peace and joy salute our home;
And lo, the sun in all his pride—
My sunshine, come!
"The fawns and birds, that know our call,
Are waiting for our presence—see,
They wait my presence, love; and thee,
The most desired of all.
II
"The trees, which thought it grievous thing
To weep their own sweet leaves away,
Untaught as yet how soon the Spring
Upon their nestled heads should lay
Her callow wing—
"The trees, whereat we smiled again,
To see them, in their growing wonder,
Suppose their buds were verdant rain,
Until the gay winds rustled under
Their feathered train,
"Lo, now they stand in braver mien,
And, claiming stronger shadow-right,
Make prisoner of the intrusive light,
And strew the winds with green.
III
"Of all the flowers that bow the head,
Or gaze erect on sun and sky,
Not one there is, declines to sned,
Or standeth up, to qualify
His incense-meed:
"Of all that blossom one by one,
Or join their lips in loving cluster,
Not one hath now resolved alone,
Or taken counsel, that his lustre
Shall be unshown.
"So let thy soul a blossom be,
To breathe the fragrance of its praise,
And lift itself, in early days,
To Him who fosters thee.
IV
"Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
Or silver-tress'd with shade of trees,
Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
It's plume of freshness on the breeze,
And jewelled flight:
"Of all that hush among the moss,
Or babble to the lily-vases,
Not one there is but purls across
A gush of the delight, that causes
It's limpid gloss.
"So let thy heart a fountain be,
To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
In dimpled melody—and all
For love of home, and me."
V
The only fount her heart became
Rose quick with sighs, and fell in tears;
While pink upon her white cheek came,
(Like apple-blossom among pear's)
The tinge of shame.
Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
Bent nigh to ask of her distresses,
Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
Unwinding by discreet caresses,
The thread of harm.
Then she, with sobs of slow relief
(For silence is the jail of care)
Confessed, for him to heal or share,
The first of human grief.
VI
"I cannot look on thee, and think
That thou has ceased to hold me dear;
I cannot break the loosened link:
When thou, my only one, art near,
How can I shrink?
"So it were better, love—I mean,
My lord, it is more wise and right—
That I, as one whose day hath been,
Should keep my pain from pleasure's sight,
And dwell unseen.
"And—though it break my heart to say—
However sad my loneliness,
I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this—
To have me far away.
VII
"I know not how it is with man,
Perhaps his nature is to change,
On finding consort fairer than—
But oh, I cannot so arrange
My nature's plan!
"And haply thou hast never thought
To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
But, since to thee the thing was nought,
Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
As lightly brought.
"Yet, is it strange that I repine,
And feel abased in lonely woe,
To lose thy love—or e'en to know
That half of it is mine?
VIII
"For whom have I on earth but thee,
What heart to love, or home to bless?
Albeit I was wrong, I see,
To think my husband took no less
Delight in me.
"But even now, if thou wilt stay,
Or try at least no more to wander,
And let me love thee, day by day,
Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
(If so it may)—
"Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
In homely wise, on serving thee,
Than any stranger e'er can be;
And Eve shall seem content."
IX
Not loud she wept—but hope could hear;
Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
That each alternate step should trace
A smile and tear.
But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
Regarded her with troubled glances,
Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
Himself to be in strange romances,
And dreamy haze:
Then questioning in hurried voice,
And scarcely waiting her replies,
He spoke, and showed the true surprise
That made her soul rejoice.
X
She told him what the Tempter said,
And what her frightened self had seen,
(That form in loveliness arrayed,
With modest face, and graceful mien)
And how displayed.
Then well-content to show his bride
The worldly knowledge he possessed,
(That world whereof was none beside)
He laid his hand upon his breast,
And thus replied:—
"Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
"A little way down yonder path,
"And I will show the form which hath
"Enchanted thee, and me."
XI
Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
Which hurries down the pebbled way,
As one who hath small time to spare,
So far to go, so much to say
To summer air;
Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
And little circles dimple in,
As if the waters quaffed themselves,
The while they spin:
Thence in a clear pool, overbent
With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
Kadisha sleeps content.
XII
Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
The first of men was smiling gay;
Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
The mystery of that passion-sway
She could not quell.
As they approached the silver strand,
He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
Therein he set the blossom featly,
And took her hand:
He led her past the maiden-hair,
Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
Until the margin held her feet,
Like water-lilies fain
XIII
"Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
The only one with whom I stray,
The only image still I have,
Too often, even while I pray
To Him who gave.
The form she saw was long unknown,
Except as that beheld yestreen;
Till viewing, not that form alone,
But his, with hands enclasped between,
She guessed her own.
And, Bending O'er in Sweet Surprise,
Perused, With Simple Child's Delight,
the Flowing Hair, and Forehead White,
and Soft Inquiring Eyes.
XIV
Then, blushing to a fairer tint
Than waves might ever hope to catch,
"I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
But surely I can never match
This lily glint!
"So pure, so innocent, and bright,
So charming free, without endeavour,
So fancy-touched with pensive light I
I think that I could gaze for ever,
With new delight
"And now that rose-bud in my hair,
Perhaps it should be placed above—
And yet, I will not change it, love,
Since mou hast set it there.
XV
"Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
What matter Tor thy form or face?
Thy beauty is, if love believe
Thee worthy of that treasured place
Thou ne'er shalt leave.
"Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
Take back my faith that dared to wander;
Forgive my joy to have thee shown
Not transient, as thine image yonder,
But all my own.
"And, love, if this be vain of me,
This pleasure, and the pride I take;
Tis only for thy dearer sake,
To be so fair to thee."
XVI
No more she said; but smiling fell,
And lost her sorrow on his breast;
Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
Like troubled waters laid at rest
In comfort's well:
Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
Than joy she cannot else reveal;
As onyx-gems of Pison keep
A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
Throughout their deep.
May every Adam's fairer part
Thus, only thus, a rival find—
The image of herself, enshrined
Within the faithful heart!
MOUNT ARAFA
IN TWO PARTS
"Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and Eve, on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of six score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "History of the Saracens," p. 60
THE PARTING
I
Driven away from Eden's gate
With biasing falchions fenced about,
Into a desert desolate,
A miserable pair came out,
To meet their fate.
To wander in a world of woe,
To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
With every living thing their foe—
The fire of God above, the river
Of death below.
Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
It is the destiny of man
To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
And hide from his own theft!
II
The father of a world unborn—
Who hath begotten death, ere life—
In sullen silence plods forlorn;
His love and pride in his fair wife
Are rage and scorn.
Instead of Angel ministers,
What hath he now but fiends devouring;
Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
In lieu of manna, crab and souring—
By whose fault? Hers!
Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
New penance waits thee; since—when thus
Thou shouldst have wept for all of us—
Thou mournest thine own ease I
III
The mother of all loving wives
(Condemned unborn to many a tear)
Is fain to take his hand, and strives
In sorrow to be doubly dear—
But shame deprives.
The Shame, The Woe, The Black Surprise,
That Love's First Dream Should Have Such Ending,
to Weep, and Wipe Neglected Eyes I
Oh Loss of True Love, Far Transcending
Lost Paradise!
I
Driven away from Eden's gate
With biasing falchions fenced about,
Into a desert desolate,
A miserable pair came out,
To meet their fate.
To wander in a world of woe,
To ache and starve, to burn and shiver,
With every living thing their foe—
The fire of God above, the river
Of death below.
Of home, of hope, of Heaven bereft;
It is the destiny of man
To cower beneath his Maker's ban,
And hide from his own theft!
II
The father of a world unborn—
Who hath begotten death, ere life—
In sullen silence plods forlorn;
His love and pride in his fair wife
Are rage and scorn.
Instead of Angel ministers,
What hath he now but fiends devouring;
Instead of grapes and melons, burs;
In lieu of manna, crab and souring—
By whose fault? Hers!
Alack, good sire of feeble knees,
New penance waits thee; since—when thus
Thou shouldst have wept for all of us—
Thou mournest thine own ease I
III
The mother of all loving wives
(Condemned unborn to many a tear)
Is fain to take his hand, and strives
In sorrow to be doubly dear—
But shame deprives.
The Shame, The Woe, The Black Surprise,
That Love's First Dream Should Have Such Ending,
to Weep, and Wipe Neglected Eyes I
Oh Loss of True Love, Far Transcending
Lost Paradise!
For is it faith, that cannot live
One gloomy hour, and soar above
The clouds of fate? And is it love,
That will not e'en forgive?
IV
The houseless monarch of the earth
Hath quickly found what empire means;
For while he scoffs with bitter mirth,
And curses, after Eden's scenes,
This dreary dearth.
A snake, that twined in playful zeal,
But yester morn, around his ankle,
Now driven along the dust to steal,
Steals up, and leaves its venom'd rankle
Deep in his heel.
He groans awhile. He seeks anon
For comfort to this first of pain,
Where all his sons to-day are fain;
He seeks—but Eve is gone!
PART I—ADAM
O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
He pours the sorrow no one hears;
Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
Some ease of heart in toil of mind.
I
"YE mountains, that forbid the day,
Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
How long amid you must I stray,
Deserted, banished from God's sight,
And castaway?
"Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
Ye beasts, to my good-will committed—
Although your trust hath been betrayed—
Not long ago ye would have pitied
Your old comrade.
"Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
Albeit I love your outward part;
The nature that enthrals my heart
Must be more like my own.
II
"The Maker once appointed me—
I know not, and I care not why—
The lord of everything I see,
Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
Whate'er they be.
"And all the earth whereon they dwell,
And all the heavens they are inhaling,
And powers, whereof I cannot tell—
Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
Until I fell.
"Twas good and glorious to believe;
But now mv majesty is o'er;
And I would give it all, and more,
For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
III
"For what is glory, what is power?
And what the pride of standing first?
A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
A sun-scorched flower.
"God grant the men who spring from me,
As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
To find a loftier pedigree
Than any by the Lord intended—
Frog, slug, or tree!
"So shall they live, without the grief
Of having womankind to love,
Find nought below, and less above,
And be their own belief.
IV
"So weak was I, so poorly taught,
By any but my Maker's voice,
Too happy to indulge in thought,
Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
And ends in nought.
"But now and then, my path grows clear,
My mind casts off its grim confusion,
When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
Then happiness seems no delusion,
Even down here.
"With love and faith, to bless the curse,
To heal the mind by touch of heart,
To make me feel my better part,
And fight against the worse.
V
"It may be that I did o'erprize,
Above the Giver, that rare gift,
Ungird my will for softer ties,
And hold my manhood little thrift
To woman's eyes.
"So far she was, so full of grace,
So innocent with coy caresses,
So proud to step at my own pace,
So rosy through her golden tresses;
And such a face!
"Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
A thought against my faithful Eve;
Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
That it was one, to love.
VI
"Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
Or better made by Him, who made
That pair in vain.
"Shall any know, as we have known,
Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
Crowning of reason, and upsetting
Of reason's throne?
"Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
Or crimson sting from creamy rose—
Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
Thy venom from our fall."
Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
Had made a drought of vocal flow;
When hungry, weary, desolate,
A fox crept home to his defis gate.
The sight brought Adam's memory back,
And touched him with a keener lack.
VII
"Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
(Or felt in mystery of bliss)
That so divinely was I wrought
As not to care for that or this,
And value nought;
"But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
Regarding all things most sublimely,
As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
Away with paltry and untimely
Hankerings for Home!
"But now the weary heart is fain
For shelter in some lowly nest—
To sink upon a softer breast,
And smile away its pain,
VIII
"For me, what home, what hope is left?
What difference of good or ill?
Of all I ever loved bereft,
Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
For one small theft!
"I sicken of my skill and pride;
I work, without a bit of caring.
The world is waste, the world is wide;
Why make good things, with no one sharing
Them at my side?
"What matters how I dwell, or die?
Away with such a niggard life!
The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
And life is only I.
IX
"God, who hast said it is not good
For man, thy son, to live alone;
Is everlasting solitude,
When once united bliss was known,
A livelier food?
"Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
When thine own creature so misled us,
In virtue of our simple trust,
To torture us like this, and tread us
Back into dust?
"Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
If, when immortal, I was slain,
For daring to impugn his reign,
How shall I, thus infirm?
X
"Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
For all the penance on me laid!
Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
That I am but what Thou hast made,
My soul Thy debt!
"Inspire me to survey the skies,
And tremble at their golden wonder;
To learn the space that I comprise,
At once to marvel, and to ponder,
And drop mine eyes.
"And grant me?—for I do but find,
In seeking more than God hath shown,
I scorn His power and lose my own—
Grant me a lowly mind.
XI
"A lowly mind! Thou wondrous sprite,
Whose frolics make their master weep;
Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
Anon, too impotent to creep,
Or blink aright;—
"Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
Among the miracles above thee,
Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
To labour, so that He shall love thee,
And guide thy way.
"Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
Of thy too visionary part,
To listen to the whispering heart,
And curb thine own extremes.
XII
"Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
And flowers of grace and love revive,
And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
And corn snail thrive.
"Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
Enfolding it also in each other,
May talk of heaven without a sigh;
Because our heaven in one another
Love shall supply.
"For courage, faith, and bended knees,
By stress of patience, cure distress,
And turn wild Love-in-idleness Into the true Heartsease."
The Lord breathed on the first of men,
And strung his limbs to strength again;
He scorned a century of ill,
And girt his loins to climb the parting hill.
O'er hill, and highland, moor, and plain,
A hundred years, he seeks in vain;
Oer hill and plain, a hundred years,
He pours the sorrow no one hears;
Yet finds, as wildest mourners find,
Some ease of heart in toil of mind.
I
"YE mountains, that forbid the day,
Ye glens, that are the steps of night,
How long amid you must I stray,
Deserted, banished from God's sight,
And castaway?
"Ye trees and flowers the Lord hath made,
Ye beasts, to my good-will committed—
Although your trust hath been betrayed—
Not long ago ye would have pitied
Your old comrade.
"Oh, nature, noblest when alone,
Albeit I love your outward part;
The nature that enthrals my heart
Must be more like my own.
II
"The Maker once appointed me—
I know not, and I care not why—
The lord of everything I see,
Or if they walk, or swim, or fly,
Whate'er they be.
"And all the earth whereon they dwell,
And all the heavens they are inhaling,
And powers, whereof I cannot tell—
Dark miscreants, supine and wailing,
Until I fell.
"Twas good and glorious to believe;
But now mv majesty is o'er;
And I would give it all, and more,
For one sweet glimpse of Eve.
III
"For what is glory, what is power?
And what the pride of standing first?
A twig struck down by a thunder shower,
A crown of thistle to quench the thirst,
A sun-scorched flower.
"God grant the men who spring from me,
As knowledge waxeth deep and splendid,
To find a loftier pedigree
Than any by the Lord intended—
Frog, slug, or tree!
"So shall they live, without the grief
Of having womankind to love,
Find nought below, and less above,
And be their own belief.
IV
"So weak was I, so poorly taught,
By any but my Maker's voice,
Too happy to indulge in thought,
Which gives me Tittle to rejoice,
And ends in nought.
"But now and then, my path grows clear,
My mind casts off its grim confusion,
When I have chanced on goodly cheer:
Then happiness seems no delusion,
Even down here.
"With love and faith, to bless the curse,
To heal the mind by touch of heart,
To make me feel my better part,
And fight against the worse.
V
"It may be that I did o'erprize,
Above the Giver, that rare gift,
Ungird my will for softer ties,
And hold my manhood little thrift
To woman's eyes.
"So far she was, so full of grace,
So innocent with coy caresses,
So proud to step at my own pace,
So rosy through her golden tresses;
And such a face!
"Suffice my sins; I'll ne'er approve
A thought against my faithful Eve;
Suffice my sins; I'll never believe.
That it was one, to love.
VI
"Oh; love, if e'er this desert plain,
Where I must sweat with axe and spade,
Shall hold a people sprung from twain,
Or better made by Him, who made
That pair in vain.
"Shall any know, as we have known,
Thy rapture, terror, vaunting, fretting,
Profound despair, ecstatic tone,
Crowning of reason, and upsetting
Of reason's throne?
"Bright honey quaffed from cells of gall,
Or crimson sting from creamy rose—
Thy heavenly half from Eden flows,
Thy venom from our fall."
Awhile he ceased; far scorching woe
Had made a drought of vocal flow;
When hungry, weary, desolate,
A fox crept home to his defis gate.
The sight brought Adam's memory back,
And touched him with a keener lack.
VII
"Home! Where is home? Of old I thought
(Or felt in mystery of bliss)
That so divinely was I wrought
As not to care for that or this,
And value nought;
"But sit or saunter, rest or roam,
Regarding all things most sublimely,
As if enthroned on heaven's dome;
Away with paltry and untimely
Hankerings for Home!
"But now the weary heart is fain
For shelter in some lowly nest—
To sink upon a softer breast,
And smile away its pain,
VIII
"For me, what home, what hope is left?
What difference of good or ill?
Of all I ever loved bereft,
Disgraced, discarded, outlawed still,
For one small theft!
"I sicken of my skill and pride;
I work, without a bit of caring.
The world is waste, the world is wide;
Why make good things, with no one sharing
Them at my side?
"What matters how I dwell, or die?
Away with such a niggard life!
The Lord hath robbed me of my wife;
And life is only I.
IX
"God, who hast said it is not good
For man, thy son, to live alone;
Is everlasting solitude,
When once united bliss was known,
A livelier food?
"Can'st thou suppose it right or just,
When thine own creature so misled us,
In virtue of our simple trust,
To torture us like this, and tread us
Back into dust?
"Oh, fool I am. Oh, rebel worm!
If, when immortal, I was slain,
For daring to impugn his reign,
How shall I, thus infirm?
X
"Woe me, poor me! No humbler yet,
For all the penance on me laid!
Forgive me, Lord, if I forget
That I am but what Thou hast made,
My soul Thy debt!
"Inspire me to survey the skies,
And tremble at their golden wonder;
To learn the space that I comprise,
At once to marvel, and to ponder,
And drop mine eyes.
"And grant me?—for I do but find,
In seeking more than God hath shown,
I scorn His power and lose my own—
Grant me a lowly mind.
XI
"A lowly mind! Thou wondrous sprite,
Whose frolics make their master weep;
Anon, endowed with eagle's flight,
Anon, too impotent to creep,
Or blink aright;—
"Howe'er, thy trumpery flashes play
Among the miracles above thee,
Be taught to feel thy Maker's sway,
To labour, so that He shall love thee,
And guide thy way.
"Be led, from out the cloudy dreams
Of thy too visionary part,
To listen to the whispering heart,
And curb thine own extremes.
XII
"Then hope shall shine from heaven, and give
To fruit of hard work, sunny cheek,
And flowers of grace and love revive,
And shrivelled pasturage grow sleek,
And corn snail thrive.
"Beholding gladness, Eve and I,
Enfolding it also in each other,
May talk of heaven without a sigh;
Because our heaven in one another
Love shall supply.
"For courage, faith, and bended knees,
By stress of patience, cure distress,
And turn wild Love-in-idleness Into the true Heartsease."
The Lord breathed on the first of men,
And strung his limbs to strength again;
He scorned a century of ill,
And girt his loins to climb the parting hill.
PART II—EVE
Meanwhile through lowland, holt, and glade,
Sad Eve her lonely travel made;
Not fierce, or proud, but well content
To own the righteous punishment;
Yet found, as gentle mourners find,
The hearts confession soothe the mind.
I
"Ye valleys, and ye waters vast,
Who answer all that look on you
With shadows of themselves, that last
As long as they, and are as true—
Where hath he past?
"Oh woods, and heights of rugged stone,
Oh weariness of sky above me,
For ever must I pine and moan,
With none to comfort, none to love me,
Alone, alone?
"Thou bird, that hoverest at heaven's gate,
Or cleavest limpid lines of air,
Return—for thou hast one to care—
Return to thy dear mate.
II
"For trie, no joy of earth or sky,
No commune with the things I see,
But dreary converse of the eye
With worlds too grand to look at me—
No smile, no sigh!
"In vain I fall Upon my knees,
In vain I weep and sob for ever;
All other miseries have ease,
All other prayers have ruth—but never
Any for these.
"Are we endowed with heavenly breath,
And God's own form, that we should win
A proud priority of sin,
And teach creation death?
III
"Not, that is too profound for me,
Too lofty for a fallen thing.
More keenly do I feel than see;
Far liefer would I, than take wing,
Beneath it be.
"The night—the dark—will soon be here,
The gloom that doth my heart appal so I
How can I tell what may be near?
My faith is in the Lord—but also
He hath made fear.
"I quail, I cower, I strive to flee;
Though oft I watched without affright,
The stern magnificence of night,
When Adam was with me
IV
"My husband! Ah, I thought sometime
That I could do without him well,
Communing with the heaven at prime,
And in my womanhood could dwell
Calm and sublime.
"Declining, with a playful strife,
All thoughts below my own transcendence,
All common-sense of earth and life,
And counting it a poor dependence
To be his wife,
"But now I know, by trouble's test,
How little my poor strength can bear,
What folly wisdom is, whene'er
The grief is in the breast!
"The grief is in my breast, because
I have not always been as kind
As woman should, by nature's laws,
But showed sometimes a wilful mind,
Carping at straws.
"While he, perhaps, with larger eyne,
Was pleased, instead of vexed, at seeing
Some little petulance in mine,
And loved me all the more, for being;
Not too divine.
"Until the pride became a snare,
The reason a deceit, wherein
I dallied face to face with sinh
And made a mortal pair.
VI
"Dark sin, the deadly foe of love,
All bowers of bliss thou shalt infest,
Implanting thorns the flowers above,
And one black feather in the breast
Of purest dove.
"Almighty Father, once our friend,
And ready even now to love us.
Thy pitying gaze upon us bend,
And through the tempest-clouds above us
Thine arm extend.
"That so thy children may begin
In lieu of bliss, to earn content,
And find that sinful Eve was meant
Not only for a sin."
Awhile she ceased; for memory's flow
Had drowned the utterance of woe;
Until a young hind crossed the lawn,
And fondly trotted forth her fawn,
Whose frolics of delight made Eve,
As in a weeping vision, grieve.
VII
"For me, poor me, no hope to learn
That sweeter bliss than Paradise,
The joy that makes a mother yearn
O'er that bright message from the skies
Her pains do earn.
She stoops entranced; she fears to stir,
Or think; lest each a thought endanger
(While two enraptured hearts confer)
That wonderful and wondering stranger,
Come home to her,
"He watches her, in solemn style;
A world of love flows to and fro;
He smiles; that he may learn to know
His mother by her smile.
VIII
"Oh, bliss, that to all other bliss
Shall be as sunrise unto night,
Or heaven to such a place as this,
Or God's own voice, with angels bright,
To serpent's hiss!
"I have I betrayed thee, or cast by
The pledge in which my soul delighted—
That all this wrong and misery
Should be avenged at last, and righted,
And so should I?
"Belike, they look on me as dead,
Those fiends that found me soft and sweet;
But God hath promised me one treat—
To crush that serpent's head!
IX
"Revenge! Oh, heaven, let some one rise,
Some woman, since revenge is small,—
Who shall not care about its size,
If only she can get it all,
For those black lies!
"Poor Adam is too good and great,
I felt it, though he said so little—
To hate his foes, as I can hate—
And pay them every jot, and tittle,
At their own rate.
"For was there none but I to blame?
God knows that if, instead of me,
There had been any other she,
She would have done the same,
X
"Poor me! Of course the whole disgrace,
In spite of reason, falls on me:
And so all women of my race,
In pure right, shall be reason-free,
In every case.
"It shall not be in power of man
To bind them to their own contentions;
But each shall speak, as speak she can,
And start anew with fresh inventions,
Where she began.
"And so shall they be dearer still;
For man shall ne'er suspect in them
The plucking of the fatal stem,
That brought him all his ill.
XI
"And when hereafter—as there must,
Since He, that made us, so hath sworn—
From that whereof we are, the dust,
And whereunto we shall return
In higher trust—
"There spring a grand and countless race,
Replenishing this vast possession,
Till life, hath won a larger space
Than death, by quick and fair succession
Of health and grace;
"They too shall find as I have found
The grief, that lifts its head on high,
A dewy bud the sun shall dry—
But not while on the ground.
XII
"Then men shall love their wives again,
Allowing for the frailer kind,
Content to keep the heart's Amen,
Content to own the turns of mind
Beyond their ken.
"And wives shall in their lords be blest,
Their higher sense of right perceiving
(When possible) with love their test;
Exalting, solacing, believing
All for the test.
"And for the best shall all things be,
If God once more will shine around,
And lift my husband from the ground,
And teach him to lift me."
New faith inspired the first of wives,
She smiles, and drooping hope revives;
She scorns a hundred years of woe%
And binds her hair, because the breezes blow.
Meanwhile through lowland, holt, and glade,
Sad Eve her lonely travel made;
Not fierce, or proud, but well content
To own the righteous punishment;
Yet found, as gentle mourners find,
The hearts confession soothe the mind.
I
"Ye valleys, and ye waters vast,
Who answer all that look on you
With shadows of themselves, that last
As long as they, and are as true—
Where hath he past?
"Oh woods, and heights of rugged stone,
Oh weariness of sky above me,
For ever must I pine and moan,
With none to comfort, none to love me,
Alone, alone?
"Thou bird, that hoverest at heaven's gate,
Or cleavest limpid lines of air,
Return—for thou hast one to care—
Return to thy dear mate.
II
"For trie, no joy of earth or sky,
No commune with the things I see,
But dreary converse of the eye
With worlds too grand to look at me—
No smile, no sigh!
"In vain I fall Upon my knees,
In vain I weep and sob for ever;
All other miseries have ease,
All other prayers have ruth—but never
Any for these.
"Are we endowed with heavenly breath,
And God's own form, that we should win
A proud priority of sin,
And teach creation death?
III
"Not, that is too profound for me,
Too lofty for a fallen thing.
More keenly do I feel than see;
Far liefer would I, than take wing,
Beneath it be.
"The night—the dark—will soon be here,
The gloom that doth my heart appal so I
How can I tell what may be near?
My faith is in the Lord—but also
He hath made fear.
"I quail, I cower, I strive to flee;
Though oft I watched without affright,
The stern magnificence of night,
When Adam was with me
IV
"My husband! Ah, I thought sometime
That I could do without him well,
Communing with the heaven at prime,
And in my womanhood could dwell
Calm and sublime.
"Declining, with a playful strife,
All thoughts below my own transcendence,
All common-sense of earth and life,
And counting it a poor dependence
To be his wife,
"But now I know, by trouble's test,
How little my poor strength can bear,
What folly wisdom is, whene'er
The grief is in the breast!
"The grief is in my breast, because
I have not always been as kind
As woman should, by nature's laws,
But showed sometimes a wilful mind,
Carping at straws.
"While he, perhaps, with larger eyne,
Was pleased, instead of vexed, at seeing
Some little petulance in mine,
And loved me all the more, for being;
Not too divine.
"Until the pride became a snare,
The reason a deceit, wherein
I dallied face to face with sinh
And made a mortal pair.
VI
"Dark sin, the deadly foe of love,
All bowers of bliss thou shalt infest,
Implanting thorns the flowers above,
And one black feather in the breast
Of purest dove.
"Almighty Father, once our friend,
And ready even now to love us.
Thy pitying gaze upon us bend,
And through the tempest-clouds above us
Thine arm extend.
"That so thy children may begin
In lieu of bliss, to earn content,
And find that sinful Eve was meant
Not only for a sin."
Awhile she ceased; for memory's flow
Had drowned the utterance of woe;
Until a young hind crossed the lawn,
And fondly trotted forth her fawn,
Whose frolics of delight made Eve,
As in a weeping vision, grieve.
VII
"For me, poor me, no hope to learn
That sweeter bliss than Paradise,
The joy that makes a mother yearn
O'er that bright message from the skies
Her pains do earn.
She stoops entranced; she fears to stir,
Or think; lest each a thought endanger
(While two enraptured hearts confer)
That wonderful and wondering stranger,
Come home to her,
"He watches her, in solemn style;
A world of love flows to and fro;
He smiles; that he may learn to know
His mother by her smile.
VIII
"Oh, bliss, that to all other bliss
Shall be as sunrise unto night,
Or heaven to such a place as this,
Or God's own voice, with angels bright,
To serpent's hiss!
"I have I betrayed thee, or cast by
The pledge in which my soul delighted—
That all this wrong and misery
Should be avenged at last, and righted,
And so should I?
"Belike, they look on me as dead,
Those fiends that found me soft and sweet;
But God hath promised me one treat—
To crush that serpent's head!
IX
"Revenge! Oh, heaven, let some one rise,
Some woman, since revenge is small,—
Who shall not care about its size,
If only she can get it all,
For those black lies!
"Poor Adam is too good and great,
I felt it, though he said so little—
To hate his foes, as I can hate—
And pay them every jot, and tittle,
At their own rate.
"For was there none but I to blame?
God knows that if, instead of me,
There had been any other she,
She would have done the same,
X
"Poor me! Of course the whole disgrace,
In spite of reason, falls on me:
And so all women of my race,
In pure right, shall be reason-free,
In every case.
"It shall not be in power of man
To bind them to their own contentions;
But each shall speak, as speak she can,
And start anew with fresh inventions,
Where she began.
"And so shall they be dearer still;
For man shall ne'er suspect in them
The plucking of the fatal stem,
That brought him all his ill.
XI
"And when hereafter—as there must,
Since He, that made us, so hath sworn—
From that whereof we are, the dust,
And whereunto we shall return
In higher trust—
"There spring a grand and countless race,
Replenishing this vast possession,
Till life, hath won a larger space
Than death, by quick and fair succession
Of health and grace;
"They too shall find as I have found
The grief, that lifts its head on high,
A dewy bud the sun shall dry—
But not while on the ground.
XII
"Then men shall love their wives again,
Allowing for the frailer kind,
Content to keep the heart's Amen,
Content to own the turns of mind
Beyond their ken.
"And wives shall in their lords be blest,
Their higher sense of right perceiving
(When possible) with love their test;
Exalting, solacing, believing
All for the test.
"And for the best shall all things be,
If God once more will shine around,
And lift my husband from the ground,
And teach him to lift me."
New faith inspired the first of wives,
She smiles, and drooping hope revives;
She scorns a hundred years of woe%
And binds her hair, because the breezes blow.
THE MEETING
I
The wind is hushed, the moon is bright,
More stars on heaven than may be told;
Young flowers are coying with the light,
That softly tempts them to unfold,
And trust the night.
What form comes bounding from above
Down Arafa, the mountain lonely,
Afraid to scare its long-lost dove,
Yet swift as joy—"It can be only,
Only my love!"
What shape is that—too fair to leave
On Arafa, the mountain lone?
So trembling, and so faint—"My own,
It must be my own Eve!"
II
As when the mantled heavens display
The glory of the morning glow,
And spread the mountain heights with day,
And bid the clouds and shadows go
Trooping away,
The Spirit of the Lord arose,
And made the earth and heaven to quiver,
And scattered all his hellish foes,
And deigned his good stock to deliver
From all their woes.
So Long the Twain Had Strayed Apart,
That Each As at a Marvel Gazed,
With Eyes Abashed, and Brain Amazed;
While Heart Enquired of Heart.
I
The wind is hushed, the moon is bright,
More stars on heaven than may be told;
Young flowers are coying with the light,
That softly tempts them to unfold,
And trust the night.
What form comes bounding from above
Down Arafa, the mountain lonely,
Afraid to scare its long-lost dove,
Yet swift as joy—"It can be only,
Only my love!"
What shape is that—too fair to leave
On Arafa, the mountain lone?
So trembling, and so faint—"My own,
It must be my own Eve!"
II
As when the mantled heavens display
The glory of the morning glow,
And spread the mountain heights with day,
And bid the clouds and shadows go
Trooping away,
The Spirit of the Lord arose,
And made the earth and heaven to quiver,
And scattered all his hellish foes,
And deigned his good stock to deliver
From all their woes.
So Long the Twain Had Strayed Apart,
That Each As at a Marvel Gazed,
With Eyes Abashed, and Brain Amazed;
While Heart Enquired of Heart.
III
Our God hath made a fairer thing
Than fairest dawn of summer day—
A gentle, timid, fluttering,
Confessing glance, that seeks alway
Rest for its wing.
A sweeter sight than azure skies,
Or golden star thereon that glideth;
And blest are they who see it rise,
For, if it cometh, it abideth
In woman's eyes.
The first of men such blessing sued;
The first of women smiled consent;
For husband, wife and home it meant,
And no more solitude!
IV
We trample now the faith of old,
We make our Gods of dream and doubt;
Yet life is but a tale untold,
Without one heart to love, without
One hand to hold—
The fairer half of humankind,
More gentle, playful, and confiding:
Whose soul is not the slave of mind,
Whose spirit hath a nobler guiding
Than we can find.
So Eve restores the sweeter part
Of what herself unwitting stole,
And makes the wounded Adam whole;
For half the mind is heart.
THE WELL OF SAINT JOHN
The old well of Saint John, in the parish of Newton-Nottage,
Glamorganshire, has a tide of its own, which appears to run exactly
counter to that of the sea, some half-mile away. The water is
beautifully bright and fresh, and the quaint dome among the lonely
sands is regarded with some awe and reverence.
He
"THERE is plenty of room for two in here,
Within the steep tunnel of old grey stone;
And the well is so dark, and the spring so clear,
It is quite unsafe to go down alone."
She
"It is perfectly safe, depend upon it,
For a girl who can count the steps, like me;
And if ever I saw dear mother's bonnet,
It is there on the hill by the old ash-tree."
He
"There is nobody but Rees Hopkin's cow
Watching, the dusk on the milk-white sea;
'Tis the time and the place for a life-long? vow,
Such as I owe you, and you owe me."
She
"Oh, Willie, how can I, in this dark well?
I shall drop the brown pitcher if you let go;
The long? roof is murmuring like a sea-shell,
And the shadows are shuddering to and fro."
He
"Tis the sound of the ebb, in Newton Bay,
Quickens the spring, as the tide grows less;
Even as true love flows alway
Counter the flood of the world's success."
She
"There is no other way for love to flow,
Whenever it springs in a woman's breast;
With the tide of its own heart it must go,
And run contrary to all the rest."
He
"Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love,
And pledge me your maiden faith thereon,
By the touch of the letter'd stone above,
And the holy water of Saint John."
She
"Oh, what shall I say? My heart sinks low;
My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat,
Is love to be measured by handfuls so;
And you know that I love you—without that."
Glamorganshire, has a tide of its own, which appears to run exactly
counter to that of the sea, some half-mile away. The water is
beautifully bright and fresh, and the quaint dome among the lonely
sands is regarded with some awe and reverence.
He
"THERE is plenty of room for two in here,
Within the steep tunnel of old grey stone;
And the well is so dark, and the spring so clear,
It is quite unsafe to go down alone."
She
"It is perfectly safe, depend upon it,
For a girl who can count the steps, like me;
And if ever I saw dear mother's bonnet,
It is there on the hill by the old ash-tree."
He
"There is nobody but Rees Hopkin's cow
Watching, the dusk on the milk-white sea;
'Tis the time and the place for a life-long? vow,
Such as I owe you, and you owe me."
She
"Oh, Willie, how can I, in this dark well?
I shall drop the brown pitcher if you let go;
The long? roof is murmuring like a sea-shell,
And the shadows are shuddering to and fro."
He
"Tis the sound of the ebb, in Newton Bay,
Quickens the spring, as the tide grows less;
Even as true love flows alway
Counter the flood of the world's success."
She
"There is no other way for love to flow,
Whenever it springs in a woman's breast;
With the tide of its own heart it must go,
And run contrary to all the rest."
He
"Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love,
And pledge me your maiden faith thereon,
By the touch of the letter'd stone above,
And the holy water of Saint John."
She
"Oh, what shall I say? My heart sinks low;
My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat,
Is love to be measured by handfuls so;
And you know that I love you—without that."
They stooped, in the gleam of the faint light, over
The print of themselves on the limpid gloom;
And she lifted her full palm toward her lover,
With her lips preparing the words of doom.
But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell,
And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear,
From a holier source than the old Saint's well,
From the depth of a woman's love—a tear.
The print of themselves on the limpid gloom;
And she lifted her full palm toward her lover,
With her lips preparing the words of doom.
But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell,
And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear,
From a holier source than the old Saint's well,
From the depth of a woman's love—a tear.
PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER
A STORY IN THREE SCENES
(Plin. Nat. Hist., xxxv. ii)
Scene I:—Outside the gate of Sicyon—Morning. Glycera
weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring.
Pausias
"YE Gods, I thought myself the Prince of Art,
By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart,
To smite the critic with his own complaint,
And teach the world the proper way to paint.
But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood,
And what becomes of all I understood?
I Stand and Stare; I Could Not Draw a Line,
if Ninety Muses Came, Instead of Nine.
Thy Name, Fair Maiden, is a Debt to Me;
Teach Him to Speak, Whom Thou Hast Taught To See.
Myself Already Some Repute Have Won,
for I Am Pausias, Brietes' Son.
to Boast Behoves Me Not, Nor Do I Need,
But Often Wish My Friends to Win the Meed.
So Shall They Now; No More Will I Pursue
the Beaten Track, But Try What Thou Hast Shown,
New Forms, New Curves, New Harmonies of Tone,
New Dreams of Heaven, and How to Make Them True."
weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring.
Pausias
"YE Gods, I thought myself the Prince of Art,
By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart,
To smite the critic with his own complaint,
And teach the world the proper way to paint.
But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood,
And what becomes of all I understood?
I Stand and Stare; I Could Not Draw a Line,
if Ninety Muses Came, Instead of Nine.
Thy Name, Fair Maiden, is a Debt to Me;
Teach Him to Speak, Whom Thou Hast Taught To See.
Myself Already Some Repute Have Won,
for I Am Pausias, Brietes' Son.
to Boast Behoves Me Not, Nor Do I Need,
But Often Wish My Friends to Win the Meed.
So Shall They Now; No More Will I Pursue
the Beaten Track, But Try What Thou Hast Shown,
New Forms, New Curves, New Harmonies of Tone,
New Dreams of Heaven, and How to Make Them True."
Glycera
"Fair Sir, 'tis only what I plucked this morn,
Kind nature's gift, ere you and I were born.
Through mossy woods, and watered vales, I roam,
While day is young, and bring my treasure home;
Each lovely bell so tenderly I bear,
It knoweth not my fingers from the air,
Lo now, they scarce acknowledge their surprise,
And how the dewdrops sparkle in their eyes!"
Pausias
"Because the sun shines out of thine. But hush,
To praise a face praiseworthy, makes it blush.
I am not of the youths who find delight,
In every pretty thing that meets their sight
My father is the sage of Sicyon;
And I—well, he is proud of such a son."
Glycera
"And proud am I, my mother's child to be,
And earn for her the life she gave to me,
Her name is Myrto of the silver hair,
Not famed for wisdom, but loved everywhere."
Pausias
"Then whence thine art? Hath Phoebus given thee boon
Of wreath and posy, fillet and festoon?
Of tint and grouping, balance, depth, and tone—
Lo, I could cast my palette down, and groan!"
Glycera
"No art, fair sir, hath ever crossed my thought,
The lesson I delight in comes untaught.
The flowers around me take their own sweet way,
They tell me what they wish—and I obey.
Unlike poor us, they feel no spleen or spite
But earn their joy, oy ministering delight.
So loved and cherished, each may well suppose
Itself at home again just where it grows.
No dread have they of what the Fates may bring,
But trust their Gods, and breathe perpetual Spring."
Pausias
"Fair child of Myrto, simple-hearted maid,
Thy innocence doth arrogance upbraid.
Ye Gods, I pray you make a flower of me;
That I may dwell with nature, and with thee."
Glycera
"I see the brave sun leap the city wall!
The gates swing wide; I hear the herald's call.
The Archon ham proclaimed the market-day;
And mother will shed tears at my delay.
The priest of Zeus hath ordered garlands three;
And while I tarry, who will wait for me?"
Pausias
"No picture have I sold for many a moon,
But fortune must improve her habits soon;
Then will I purchase all thy stock-in-trade,
And thou shalt lead me to thy bower of green,
There will I paint the flowers, and thee their Queen—
The Queen of dowers, that nevermore shall fade."
Glycera
"I know a wood-nymph, who her dwelling hath
Among the leaves, and far beyond the path,
With myrtle and with jasmin roofed across,
Enlaced with vine, and carpeted with moss,
Whose only threshold is a plaited brook,
Whereby the primrose at herself may look;
While birds of song melodious make the air—
But oh! I must not take a stranger there."
Pausias
"Nay, but a friend No stranger now am I.
Good art is pledge of perfect modesty.
From chastened heights the painter glanceth down;
No maid can fear a youth who loves renown."
Glycera
"Thy words are trim, If mother deems them true,
Thou shalt come with me. But till then, adieu!" [Exit.
Pausias
"O! where am I? The mind is all for art—
But one warm breath transforms it into heart."
Scene II:—A wood near Sicyon. Pausias with his
easel, &c. Glycera carrying flowers.
Pausias
"Confounded tangle! Who could paint all this?
A bear might hug him, or a serpent hiss!
For love of nature justly am I famed;
But when she goes so far as this, she ought to be ashamed."
Glycera
"Nay, be not frightened by a small affray,
Pure love of nature cannot pave its way.
But lo, where yonder coney-tracks begin,
My nymph hath made her favourite bower within.
Yon oak hath reared its rugged antlers thus,
Before Deucalion lived, or Daedalus.
Inside her woodland Majesty doth keep
A world of wonders—if one dared to peep—
Of things that burrow, elide, spin webs, or creep;
Strange creatures, which before they live must die,
And plants that hunt for prey, and flowers that fly!"
easel, &c. Glycera carrying flowers.
Pausias
"Confounded tangle! Who could paint all this?
A bear might hug him, or a serpent hiss!
For love of nature justly am I famed;
But when she goes so far as this, she ought to be ashamed."
Glycera
"Nay, be not frightened by a small affray,
Pure love of nature cannot pave its way.
But lo, where yonder coney-tracks begin,
My nymph hath made her favourite bower within.
Yon oak hath reared its rugged antlers thus,
Before Deucalion lived, or Daedalus.
Inside her woodland Majesty doth keep
A world of wonders—if one dared to peep—
Of things that burrow, elide, spin webs, or creep;
Strange creatures, which before they live must die,
And plants that hunt for prey, and flowers that fly!"