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Title: Idyllic Monologues: Old and New World Verses
Author: Madison Julius Cawein
Release date: April 6, 2010 [eBook #31896]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
Credits: Produced by David Garcia, Carla Foust and the Online
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IDYLLIC MONOLOGUES: OLD AND NEW WORLD VERSES ***
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer errors have been changed and are indicated with a mouse-hover and listed at the end of this book.
IDYLLIC MONOLOGUES
Poems by Madison Cawein
OLD AND NEW WORLD VERSES
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"Undertones" "Garden of Dreams"
John P. Morton and Company
Publishers—Louisville, Kentucky
Copyrighted 1898
BY MADISON CAWEIN
TO
MY FRIEND:
R. E. LEE GIBSON
This collection of poems is entirely new with the exception of three or four which appeared in two earlier volumes, published some ten years ago. The reprinted poems have been carefully re-written, and so changed throughout as to hardly bear any resemblance, except that of subject, to the original.
CONTENTS
| PAGE | |
| The Brothers | 1 |
| Geraldine | 15 |
| The Moated Manse | 20 |
| The Forester | 35 |
| My Lady of Verne | 48 |
| An Old Tale Re-told | 55 |
| The Water Witch | 65 |
| At Nineveh | 70 |
| How They Brought Aid to Bryan's Station | 72 |
| On the Jellico Spur of the Cumberlands | 77 |
| A Confession | 83 |
| Lilith | 84 |
| Content | 86 |
| Berrying | 88 |
| To a Pansy-Violet | 90 |
| Heart of my Heart | 93 |
| Witnesses | 94 |
| Wherefore | 95 |
| Pagan | 96 |
| "The Fathers of our Fathers" | 97 |
| "Mene, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin" | 99 |
| Her Vivien Eyes | 101 |
| There was a Rose | 102 |
| The Artist | 103 |
| Poetry and Philosophy | 103 |
| "Quo Vadis" | 104 |
| To a Critic | 105 |
FOREWORD.
And one, perchance, will read and sigh:
"What aimless songs! Why will he sing
Of nature that drags out her woe
Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
From miserable spring to spring?"
Then put me by.
"What aimless songs! Why will he sing
Of nature that drags out her woe
Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
From miserable spring to spring?"
Then put me by.
And one, perhaps, will read and say:
"Why write of things across the sea;
Of men and women, far and near,
When we of things at home would hear—
Well, who would call this poetry?"
Then toss away.
"Why write of things across the sea;
Of men and women, far and near,
When we of things at home would hear—
Well, who would call this poetry?"
Then toss away.
A hopeless task have we, meseems,
At this late day; whom fate hath made
Sad, bankrupt heirs of song; who, filled
With kindred yearnings, try to build
A tower like theirs, that will not fade,
Out of our dreams.
At this late day; whom fate hath made
Sad, bankrupt heirs of song; who, filled
With kindred yearnings, try to build
A tower like theirs, that will not fade,
Out of our dreams.
Only One Hundred and Fifty Copies Printed for Private Distribution.
A Few Copies For Sale.
IDYLLIC MONOLOGUES
The Brothers
Not far from here, it lies beyond
That low-hilled belt of woods. We'll take
This unused lane where brambles make
A wall of twilight, and the blond
Brier-roses pelt the path and flake
The margin waters of a pond.
That low-hilled belt of woods. We'll take
This unused lane where brambles make
A wall of twilight, and the blond
Brier-roses pelt the path and flake
The margin waters of a pond.
This is its fence—or that which was
Its fence once—now, rock rolled from rock,
One tangle of the vine and dock,
Where bloom the wild petunias;
And this its gate, the iron-weeds block,
Hot with the insects' dusty buzz.
Its fence once—now, rock rolled from rock,
One tangle of the vine and dock,
Where bloom the wild petunias;
And this its gate, the iron-weeds block,
Hot with the insects' dusty buzz.
We enter; and between great rows
Of locusts winds a grass-grown road;
And at its glimmering end,—o'erflowed
With quiet light,—the white front shows
Of an old mansion, grand and broad,
With grave Colonial porticoes.
Of locusts winds a grass-grown road;
And at its glimmering end,—o'erflowed
With quiet light,—the white front shows
Of an old mansion, grand and broad,
With grave Colonial porticoes.
Grown thick around it, dark and deep,
The locust trees make one vast hush;
Their brawny branches crowd and crush
Its very casements, and o'ersweep
Its rotting roofs; their tranquil rush
Haunts all its spacious rooms with sleep.
The locust trees make one vast hush;
Their brawny branches crowd and crush
Its very casements, and o'ersweep
Its rotting roofs; their tranquil rush
Haunts all its spacious rooms with sleep.
Still is it called The Locusts; though
None lives here now. A tale's to tell
Of some dark thing that here befell;
A crime that happened years ago,
When by its walls, with shot and shell,
The war swept on and left it so.
None lives here now. A tale's to tell
Of some dark thing that here befell;
A crime that happened years ago,
When by its walls, with shot and shell,
The war swept on and left it so.
Why should I speak of what has been?
Or what dark part I played in all?
Why ruin sits in porch and hall
Where pride and gladness once were seen;
And why beneath this lichened wall
The grave of Margaret is green.
Or what dark part I played in all?
Why ruin sits in porch and hall
Where pride and gladness once were seen;
And why beneath this lichened wall
The grave of Margaret is green.
Heart-broken Margaret! whose fate
Was sadder yet than his who won
Her hand—my brother Hamilton—
Or mine, who learned to know too late;
Who learned to know, when all was done,
And nothing could exonerate.
Was sadder yet than his who won
Her hand—my brother Hamilton—
Or mine, who learned to know too late;
Who learned to know, when all was done,
And nothing could exonerate.
To expiate is still my lot,—
And, like the Ancient Mariner,
To show to others how things are
And what I am, still helps me blot
A little from that crime's red scar,
That on my soul is branded hot.
And, like the Ancient Mariner,
To show to others how things are
And what I am, still helps me blot
A little from that crime's red scar,
That on my soul is branded hot.
And scarce a year of wedlock when
Its red arms took him from his bride.
With lips by hers thrice sanctified
He left to ride with Morgan's men.
And I—I never could decide—
Remained at home. It happened then.
Its red arms took him from his bride.
With lips by hers thrice sanctified
He left to ride with Morgan's men.
And I—I never could decide—
Remained at home. It happened then.
For days went by. And, oft delayed,
A letter came of loving word
Scrawled by some camp-fire, sabre-stirred,
Or by a pine-knot's fitful aid,
When in the saddle, armed and spurred
And booted for some hurried raid.
A letter came of loving word
Scrawled by some camp-fire, sabre-stirred,
Or by a pine-knot's fitful aid,
When in the saddle, armed and spurred
And booted for some hurried raid.
Then weeks went by. I do not know
How long it was before there came,
Blown from the North, the clarion fame
Of Morgan, who, with blow on blow,
Had drawn a line of blood and flame
From Tennessee to Ohio.
How long it was before there came,
Blown from the North, the clarion fame
Of Morgan, who, with blow on blow,
Had drawn a line of blood and flame
From Tennessee to Ohio.
That hinted death or capture. Yet
No thing was sure; till one day,—fed
By us,—some men rode up who said
They'd been with Morgan and had met
Disaster, and that he was dead,
My brother.—I and Margaret
No thing was sure; till one day,—fed
By us,—some men rode up who said
They'd been with Morgan and had met
Disaster, and that he was dead,
My brother.—I and Margaret
Believed them. Grief was ours too:
But mine was more for her than him;
Grief, that her eyes with tears were dim;
Grief, that became the avenue
For love, who crowned the sombre brim
Of death's dark cup with rose-red hue.
But mine was more for her than him;
Grief, that her eyes with tears were dim;
Grief, that became the avenue
For love, who crowned the sombre brim
Of death's dark cup with rose-red hue.
In sympathy,—unconsciously
Though it be given—I hold, doth dwell
The germ of love that time shall swell
To blossom. Sooner then in me—
When close relations so befell—
That love should spring from sympathy.
Though it be given—I hold, doth dwell
The germ of love that time shall swell
To blossom. Sooner then in me—
When close relations so befell—
That love should spring from sympathy.
These led to talks and dreams: how oft
We sat at some wide window while
The sun sank o'er the hills' far file,
Serene; and of the cloud aloft
Made one vast rose; and mile on mile
Of firmament grew sad and soft.
We sat at some wide window while
The sun sank o'er the hills' far file,
Serene; and of the cloud aloft
Made one vast rose; and mile on mile
Of firmament grew sad and soft.
And all in harmony with these
Dim clemencies of dusk, afar
Our talks and dreams went; while the star
Of evening brightened o'er the trees:
We spoke of home; the end of war:
We dreamed of life and love and peace.
Dim clemencies of dusk, afar
Our talks and dreams went; while the star
Of evening brightened o'er the trees:
We spoke of home; the end of war:
We dreamed of life and love and peace.
How on our walks in listening lanes
Or confidences of the wood,
We paused to hear the dove that cooed;
Or gathered wild-flowers, taking pains
To find the fairest; or her hood
Filled with wild fruit that left deep stains.
Or confidences of the wood,
We paused to hear the dove that cooed;
Or gathered wild-flowers, taking pains
To find the fairest; or her hood
Filled with wild fruit that left deep stains.
Into the past we did not look;
Beyond what was we did not dream;
While onward rushed the thunderous stream
Of war, that, in its torrent, took
One of our own. No crimson gleam
Of its wild course around us shook.
Beyond what was we did not dream;
While onward rushed the thunderous stream
Of war, that, in its torrent, took
One of our own. No crimson gleam
Of its wild course around us shook.
At last we knew. And when we learned
How he had fallen, Margaret
Wept; and, albeit my eyes were wet,
Within my soul I half discerned
A joy that mingled with regret,
A grief that to relief was turned.
How he had fallen, Margaret
Wept; and, albeit my eyes were wet,
Within my soul I half discerned
A joy that mingled with regret,
A grief that to relief was turned.
As time went on and confidence
Drew us more strongly each to each,
Why did no intimation reach
Its warning hand into the dense
Soul-silence, and confuse the speech
Of love's unbroken eloquence!
Drew us more strongly each to each,
Why did no intimation reach
Its warning hand into the dense
Soul-silence, and confuse the speech
Of love's unbroken eloquence!
To me a wall seemed overthrown
That social law had raised between;
And o'er its ruin, broad and green
A path went, I possessed alone;
The sky above seemed all serene;
The land around seemed all my own.
That social law had raised between;
And o'er its ruin, broad and green
A path went, I possessed alone;
The sky above seemed all serene;
The land around seemed all my own.
What shall I say of Margaret
To justify her part in this?
That her young heart was never his?
But had been mine since first we met?
So would you say!—Enough it is
That when he left she loved him yet.
To justify her part in this?
That her young heart was never his?
But had been mine since first we met?
So would you say!—Enough it is
That when he left she loved him yet.
So passed the Spring, and Summer sped;
And early Autumn brought the day
When she her hand in mine should lay,
And I should take her hand and wed.
And still no hint that might gainsay,
No warning word of quick or dead.
And early Autumn brought the day
When she her hand in mine should lay,
And I should take her hand and wed.
And still no hint that might gainsay,
No warning word of quick or dead.
In fierce retreat swept past; now groups;
Now one by one; now sternly white,
Or blood-stained; now with looks whose fright
Said all was lost. Then sullen troops
That, beaten, still kept up the fight.
Then came the victors; shadowy loops
Now one by one; now sternly white,
Or blood-stained; now with looks whose fright
Said all was lost. Then sullen troops
That, beaten, still kept up the fight.
Then came the victors; shadowy loops
Of men and horse, that left a crowd
Of officers in hall and porch....
While through the land around the torch
Circled, and many a fiery cloud
Marked out the army's iron march
In furrows red, that pillage plowed,
Of officers in hall and porch....
While through the land around the torch
Circled, and many a fiery cloud
Marked out the army's iron march
In furrows red, that pillage plowed,
Here we were wedded.—Ask the years
How such could be, while over us
A sword of wrath swung ominous,
And on our cheeks its breath was fierce!
All I remember is—'twas thus,
And Margaret's eyes were wet with tears.
How such could be, while over us
A sword of wrath swung ominous,
And on our cheeks its breath was fierce!
All I remember is—'twas thus,
And Margaret's eyes were wet with tears.
And then it was, when night had passed
There came to me an orderly
With word of a confederate spy
Late taken, who, with head downcast,
Had asked one favor, this: "That I
Would see him ere he breathed his last."
There came to me an orderly
With word of a confederate spy
Late taken, who, with head downcast,
Had asked one favor, this: "That I
Would see him ere he breathed his last."
I stand alone here. Heavily
My thoughts go back. Had I not gone,
The dead had still been dead!—for none
Had yet believed his story—he,
My dead-deemed brother, Hamilton,
Who in the spy confronted me.
My thoughts go back. Had I not gone,
The dead had still been dead!—for none
Had yet believed his story—he,
My dead-deemed brother, Hamilton,
Who in the spy confronted me.
O you who never have been tried,
How can you judge me!—in my place
I saw him standing—who can trace
My heart thoughts then!—I turned aside,
A thing of some unnatural race,
And did not speak; and so he died.
How can you judge me!—in my place
I saw him standing—who can trace
My heart thoughts then!—I turned aside,
A thing of some unnatural race,
And did not speak; and so he died.
No thing I learned. But this I feel—
He who had so returned to life
Was not a spy. Through stress and strife,—
This makes my conscience hard to heal!—
He had escaped; he sought his wife;
He sought his home that should conceal.
He who had so returned to life
Was not a spy. Through stress and strife,—
This makes my conscience hard to heal!—
He had escaped; he sought his wife;
He sought his home that should conceal.
And Margaret! Oh, pity her!
A criminal I sought her side,
Still thinking love was justified
In all for her—whatever were
The price, a brother thrice denied,
Or thrice a brother's murderer.
A criminal I sought her side,
Still thinking love was justified
In all for her—whatever were
The price, a brother thrice denied,
Or thrice a brother's murderer.
Since then long years have passed away.
And through those years, perhaps, you'll ask
How to the world I wore my mask
Of honesty?—I can but say
Beyond my powers it was a task;
Before my time it turned me gray.
And through those years, perhaps, you'll ask
How to the world I wore my mask
Of honesty?—I can but say
Beyond my powers it was a task;
Before my time it turned me gray.
The sweet attentions of a bride:
For each appealing heart's caress
In me, her heart assumed a dress
Of dull indifference; till denied
To me was all responsiveness;
And then I knew her love had died.
For each appealing heart's caress
In me, her heart assumed a dress
Of dull indifference; till denied
To me was all responsiveness;
And then I knew her love had died.
Ah, had she loaded me, perchance,
With wild reproach or even hate,
Such would have helped a hope to wait
Forgiveness and returned romance;
But 'twixt our souls, instead, a gate
She closed of silent tolerance.
With wild reproach or even hate,
Such would have helped a hope to wait
Forgiveness and returned romance;
But 'twixt our souls, instead, a gate
She closed of silent tolerance.
Yet, 't was for love of her I lent
My soul to crime ... I question me
Often, if less entirely
I'd loved her, then, in that event,
She had been justified to see
The deed alone stand prominent.
My soul to crime ... I question me
Often, if less entirely
I'd loved her, then, in that event,
She had been justified to see
The deed alone stand prominent.
Than mine was, though it could not rise
Above itself. And so 't was best,
Perhaps, that she saw manifest
Its crime, that I, as saw her eyes,
Might see; and so, in soul confessed,
Some life atonement might devise.
Above itself. And so 't was best,
Perhaps, that she saw manifest
Its crime, that I, as saw her eyes,
Might see; and so, in soul confessed,
Some life atonement might devise.
Sadly my heart one comfort keeps,
That, towards the end, she took my hands
And said, as one who understands,
"Had I but seen! But love that weeps,
Sees only as its loss commands,"
And sighed. Beneath this stone she sleeps.
That, towards the end, she took my hands
And said, as one who understands,
"Had I but seen! But love that weeps,
Sees only as its loss commands,"
And sighed. Beneath this stone she sleeps.
Yes; I have suffered for that sin;
Yet in no instance would I shun
What I should suffer. Many a one,
Who heard my tale, has tried to win
Me to believe that Hamilton
It was not; and, though proven kin,
Yet in no instance would I shun
What I should suffer. Many a one,
Who heard my tale, has tried to win
Me to believe that Hamilton
It was not; and, though proven kin,
Ah, love at best is insecure,
And lives with doubt and vain regret;
And hope and faith, with faces set
Upon the past, are never sure;
And through their fever, grief, and fret
The heart may fail that should endure.
And lives with doubt and vain regret;
And hope and faith, with faces set
Upon the past, are never sure;
And through their fever, grief, and fret
The heart may fail that should endure.
For in ourselves, however blend
The passions that make heaven and hell,
Is evil not accountable
For most the good we comprehend?
And through these two, or ill, or well,
Man must evolve his spiritual end.
The passions that make heaven and hell,
Is evil not accountable
For most the good we comprehend?
And through these two, or ill, or well,
Man must evolve his spiritual end.
It is with deeds that we must ask
Forgiveness; for upon this earth,
Life walks alone from very birth
With death, hope tells us is a mask
For life beyond of vaster worth,
Where sin no more sets love a task.
Forgiveness; for upon this earth,
Life walks alone from very birth
With death, hope tells us is a mask
For life beyond of vaster worth,
Where sin no more sets love a task.
Geraldine
Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
Ah, Geraldine, sweet Geraldine,
More lovely than that Asian queen,
Scheherazade, the beautiful,
Who in her orient palace cool
Of India, for a thousand nights
And one, beside her monarch lay,
Telling—while sandal-scented lights
And music stole the soul away—
Love tales of old Arabia,
Full of enchantments and emprise—
But no enchantments like your eyes.
More lovely than that Asian queen,
Scheherazade, the beautiful,
Who in her orient palace cool
Of India, for a thousand nights
And one, beside her monarch lay,
Telling—while sandal-scented lights
And music stole the soul away—
Love tales of old Arabia,
Full of enchantments and emprise—
But no enchantments like your eyes.
Ah, Geraldine, loved Geraldine,
More lovely than those maids, I ween,
Pampinea and Lauretta, who,
In gardens old of dusk and dew,
Sat with their lovers, maid and man,
In stately days Italian,
And in quaint stories, that we know
Through grace of good Boccaccio,
Told of fond loves, some false, some true,—
But, Geraldine, none false as you.
More lovely than those maids, I ween,
Pampinea and Lauretta, who,
In gardens old of dusk and dew,
Sat with their lovers, maid and man,
In stately days Italian,
And in quaint stories, that we know
Through grace of good Boccaccio,
Told of fond loves, some false, some true,—
But, Geraldine, none false as you.
Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
'T was summer, and the moon swam high,
A great pale pearl within the sky:
And down that purple night of love
The stars, concurrent spark on spark,
Seemed fiery moths that swarmed above:
And through the roses, o'er the park,
Star-like the fire-flies filled the dark:
A mocking-bird in some deep tree,
Drowsy with dreams and melody,
Like a magnolia bud, that, dim,
Opens and pours its soul in musk,
Gave to the moonlight and the dusk
Its heart's pure song, its evening hymn.
Oh, night of love! when in the dance
Your heart thrilled rapture into mine,
As in a state of necromance
A mortal hears a voice divine.
Oh, night of love! when from your glance
I drank sweet death as men drink wine.
A great pale pearl within the sky:
And down that purple night of love
The stars, concurrent spark on spark,
Seemed fiery moths that swarmed above:
And through the roses, o'er the park,
Star-like the fire-flies filled the dark:
A mocking-bird in some deep tree,
Drowsy with dreams and melody,
Like a magnolia bud, that, dim,
Opens and pours its soul in musk,
Gave to the moonlight and the dusk
Its heart's pure song, its evening hymn.
Oh, night of love! when in the dance
Your heart thrilled rapture into mine,
As in a state of necromance
A mortal hears a voice divine.
Oh, night of love! when from your glance
I drank sweet death as men drink wine.
You wearied of the waltz at last.
I led you out into the night.
Warm in my hand I held yours fast.
I led you out into the night.
Warm in my hand I held yours fast.
Your face was flushed; your eyes were bright.
The moon hung like a shell of light
Above the lake, above the trees:
And borne to us with fragrances
Of roses that were ripe to fall,
The soul of music from the hall
Beat in the moonlight and the breeze,
As youth's wild heart grown weary of
Desire and its dream of love.
The moon hung like a shell of light
Above the lake, above the trees:
And borne to us with fragrances
Of roses that were ripe to fall,
The soul of music from the hall
Beat in the moonlight and the breeze,
As youth's wild heart grown weary of
Desire and its dream of love.
I held your arm and, for awhile,
We walked along the balmy aisle
Of flowers that, like velvet, dips
Unto the lake which lilies tile
Like stars; and hyacinths, like strips
Of heaven: and beside a fall,
That, down a ferned and mossy wall,
Fell in the lake,—deep, woodbine-wound,
A latticed summer-house we found;
A green kiosk,—through which the sound
Of waters and of breezes swayed,
And honeysuckle bugles played
Soft serenades of perfume sweet,—
Around which ran a rustic seat.
And seated in that haunted nook,—
I know not how it was,—a word,
A touch, perhaps, a sigh, a look,
Was father to the kiss I took;
We walked along the balmy aisle
Of flowers that, like velvet, dips
Unto the lake which lilies tile
Like stars; and hyacinths, like strips
Of heaven: and beside a fall,
That, down a ferned and mossy wall,
Fell in the lake,—deep, woodbine-wound,
A latticed summer-house we found;
A green kiosk,—through which the sound
Of waters and of breezes swayed,
And honeysuckle bugles played
Soft serenades of perfume sweet,—
Around which ran a rustic seat.
And seated in that haunted nook,—
I know not how it was,—a word,
A touch, perhaps, a sigh, a look,
Was father to the kiss I took;
Great things grow out of small I've heard.
And then it was I took between
My hands your face, loved Geraldine,
And gazed into your eyes, and told
The story ever new though old.
You did not look away, but met
My eyes with eyes whose lids were wet
With tears of truth; and you did lean
Your cheek to mine, sweet Geraldine,—
I never dreamed you would forget.
And then it was I took between
My hands your face, loved Geraldine,
And gazed into your eyes, and told
The story ever new though old.
You did not look away, but met
My eyes with eyes whose lids were wet
With tears of truth; and you did lean
Your cheek to mine, sweet Geraldine,—
I never dreamed you would forget.
The night-wind and the water sighed:
And through the leaves, that stirred above,
The moonbeams swooned with music of
The dance—soft things in league with love:
I never dreamed that you had lied.
And through the leaves, that stirred above,
The moonbeams swooned with music of
The dance—soft things in league with love:
I never dreamed that you had lied.
How all comes back now, Geraldine!
The melody; the glimmering scene;
Your angel face; and ev'n, between
Your lawny breasts, the heart-shaped jewel,—
To which your breath gave fluctuant fuel,—
A rosy star of stormy fire;
The snowy drift of your attire,
Lace-deep and fragrant: and your hair,
Disordered in the dance, held back
By one gemmed pin,—a moonbeam there,
Half-drowned within its night-like black.
And I who sat beside you then,
Seemed blessed above all mortal men.
The melody; the glimmering scene;
Your angel face; and ev'n, between
Your lawny breasts, the heart-shaped jewel,—
To which your breath gave fluctuant fuel,—
A rosy star of stormy fire;
The snowy drift of your attire,
Lace-deep and fragrant: and your hair,
Disordered in the dance, held back
By one gemmed pin,—a moonbeam there,
Half-drowned within its night-like black.
And I who sat beside you then,
Seemed blessed above all mortal men.
I loved you for the way you sighed;
The way you said, "I love but you;"
The smile with which your lips replied;
Your lips, that from my bosom drew
The soul; your looks, like undenied
Caresses, that seemed naught but true:
I loved you for the violet scent
That clung about you as a flower;
Your moods, where shine and shadow blent,
An April-tide of sun and shower;
You were my creed, my testament,
Wherein I read of God's high power.
The way you said, "I love but you;"
The smile with which your lips replied;
Your lips, that from my bosom drew
The soul; your looks, like undenied
Caresses, that seemed naught but true:
I loved you for the violet scent
That clung about you as a flower;
Your moods, where shine and shadow blent,
An April-tide of sun and shower;
You were my creed, my testament,
Wherein I read of God's high power.
Was it because the loving see
Only what they desire shall be
There in the well-belovéd's soul,
Affection and affinity,
That I beheld in you the whole
Of my love's image? and believed
You loved as I did? nor perceived
'T was but a mask, a mockery!
Only what they desire shall be
There in the well-belovéd's soul,
Affection and affinity,
That I beheld in you the whole
Of my love's image? and believed
You loved as I did? nor perceived
'T was but a mask, a mockery!
Ah, Geraldine, lost Geraldine,
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
That night of love, when first we met,
You have forgotten, Geraldine—
I never dreamed you would forget.
The Moated Manse
I.
And now once more we stood within the walls
Of her old manor near the riverside;
Dead leaves lay rotting in its empty halls,
And here and there the ivy could not hide
The year-old scars, made by the Royalists' balls,
Around the doorway, where so many died
In that last effort to defend the stair,
When Rupert, like a demon, entered there.
Of her old manor near the riverside;
Dead leaves lay rotting in its empty halls,
And here and there the ivy could not hide
The year-old scars, made by the Royalists' balls,
Around the doorway, where so many died
In that last effort to defend the stair,
When Rupert, like a demon, entered there.
II.
The basest Cavalier who yet wore spurs
Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave
Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs
Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave;
And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse
For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and brave!—
Brave?—who would question it! although 't is true
He warred with one weak woman and her few.
Or drew a sword, I count him; with his grave
Eyes 'neath his plumed hat like a wolf's whom curs
Rouse, to their harm, within a forest cave;
And hair like harvest; and a voice like verse
For smoothness. Ay, a handsome man and brave!—
Brave?—who would question it! although 't is true
He warred with one weak woman and her few.
III.
Lady Isolda of the Moated Manse,
Whom here, that very noon, it happened me
To meet near her old home. A single glance
Told me 't was she. I marveled much to see
How lovely still she was! as fair, perchance,
As when Red Rupert thrust her brutally,—
Her long hair loosened,—down the shattered stair,
And cast her, shrieking, 'mid his followers there.
Whom here, that very noon, it happened me
To meet near her old home. A single glance
Told me 't was she. I marveled much to see
How lovely still she was! as fair, perchance,
As when Red Rupert thrust her brutally,—
Her long hair loosened,—down the shattered stair,
And cast her, shrieking, 'mid his followers there.
IV.
"She is for you! Take her! I promised it!
She is for you!"—he shouted, as he flung
Her in their midst. Then, on her poor hands (split,
And beaten by his dagger when she clung
Resisting him) and knees, she crept a bit
Nearer his feet and begged for death. No tongue
Can tell the way he turned from her and cursed,
Then bade his men draw lots for which were first.
She is for you!"—he shouted, as he flung
Her in their midst. Then, on her poor hands (split,
And beaten by his dagger when she clung
Resisting him) and knees, she crept a bit
Nearer his feet and begged for death. No tongue
Can tell the way he turned from her and cursed,
Then bade his men draw lots for which were first.
V.
I saw it all from that low parapet,
Where, bullet-wounded in the hip and head,
I lay face-upward in the whispering wet,
Exhausted 'mid the dead and left for dead.
We had held out two days without a let
Against these bandits. You could trace with red,
From room to room, how we resisted hard
Since the great door crashed in to their petard.
Where, bullet-wounded in the hip and head,
I lay face-upward in the whispering wet,
Exhausted 'mid the dead and left for dead.
We had held out two days without a let
Against these bandits. You could trace with red,
From room to room, how we resisted hard
Since the great door crashed in to their petard.
VI.
The rain revived me, and I leaned with pain
And saw her lying there, all soiled and splashed
And miserable; on her cheek a stain,
A dull red bruise, made when his hand had dashed
Her down upon the stones; the wretched rain
Dripped from her dark hair; and her hands were gashed.—
Oh, for a musket or a petronel
With which to send his devil's soul to hell!
And saw her lying there, all soiled and splashed
And miserable; on her cheek a stain,
A dull red bruise, made when his hand had dashed
Her down upon the stones; the wretched rain
Dripped from her dark hair; and her hands were gashed.—
Oh, for a musket or a petronel
With which to send his devil's soul to hell!
VII.
But helpless there I lay, no weapon near,
Only the useless sword I could not reach
His traitor's heart with, while I chafed to hear
The laugh, the insult and the villain speech
Of him to her. Oh, God! could I but clear
The height between and, hanging like a leech,
My fingers at his throat, there tear his base
Vile tongue out, yea, and lash it in his face!
Only the useless sword I could not reach
His traitor's heart with, while I chafed to hear
The laugh, the insult and the villain speech
Of him to her. Oh, God! could I but clear
The height between and, hanging like a leech,
My fingers at his throat, there tear his base
Vile tongue out, yea, and lash it in his face!