Within my heart there fell a hush,
I thought my very soul had died,
When first I saw my lady blush
And own the love she strove to hide.
I thought my very soul had died,
When first I saw my lady blush
And own the love she strove to hide.
I thought my very soul had died
Before affection bade her speak,
And own the love she strove to hide
With silent ways and manners meek.
Before affection bade her speak,
And own the love she strove to hide
With silent ways and manners meek.
Before affection bade her speak,
I watched her as she used to go
With silent ways and manners meek,
Whilst I with love was all aglow.
I watched her as she used to go
With silent ways and manners meek,
Whilst I with love was all aglow.
I watched her as she used to go
To gather simple blossoms fair,
Whilst I with love was all aglow
Yet dared not lay my passion bare.
To gather simple blossoms fair,
Whilst I with love was all aglow
Yet dared not lay my passion bare.
To gather simple blossoms fair
I often went—to give to her,
Yet dared not lay my passion bare
Though all my soul with love did stir.
I often went—to give to her,
Yet dared not lay my passion bare
Though all my soul with love did stir.
I often went to give to her
My life if she would deign to take,
Though all my soul with love did stir
My lips their silence dared not break.
My life if she would deign to take,
Though all my soul with love did stir
My lips their silence dared not break.
My life if she would deign to take
’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell
My lips their silence dared not break,
Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell.
’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell
My lips their silence dared not break,
Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell.
’Twas her’s, not mine—yet strange to tell
Moons waxed and waned and years flew by,
Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell
By touch of hand and glance of eye.
Moons waxed and waned and years flew by,
Ere she had learned love’s sacred spell
By touch of hand and glance of eye.
Moons waxed and waned and years flew by,
I thought she loved, alas! not me;
By touch of hand and glance of eye
The truth was told—ah! ecstasy!
I thought she loved, alas! not me;
By touch of hand and glance of eye
The truth was told—ah! ecstasy!
I thought she loved, alas! not me—
Within my heart there fell a hush,
The truth was told ah! ecstasy!
When first I saw my lady blush.
Within my heart there fell a hush,
The truth was told ah! ecstasy!
When first I saw my lady blush.
THE RONDEAU.
First find your refrain—then build as you go
With delicate touch, neither heavy nor slow,
But dainty and light as a gossamer thread,
Or the fleecy white cloud that is breaking o’erhead,
Or the sea-foam that curls in the soft evening glow;
And your rhyme must be swinging—not all in a row,
But as waves on the sands in fine ebb and quick flow;
Yet of rules for a rondeau I hold this the head—
First find your refrain.
With delicate touch, neither heavy nor slow,
But dainty and light as a gossamer thread,
Or the fleecy white cloud that is breaking o’erhead,
Or the sea-foam that curls in the soft evening glow;
And your rhyme must be swinging—not all in a row,
But as waves on the sands in fine ebb and quick flow;
Yet of rules for a rondeau I hold this the head—
First find your refrain.
For the subject—there’s nothing above or below,
That a poet can learn or a critic may know,
But a rondeau will hold a rhyme-ring that will wed
The thought to the thing; yet whatever is said
Will ne’er be a rondeau till you with one blow—
First find your refrain.
That a poet can learn or a critic may know,
But a rondeau will hold a rhyme-ring that will wed
The thought to the thing; yet whatever is said
Will ne’er be a rondeau till you with one blow—
First find your refrain.
WINTER.
Winter’s blast is coldly sweeping
O’er the pallid face of earth;
All the merry elves are sleeping,
Wearied out with last year’s mirth;
Dismal spirits doomed to wander,
Never resting anywhere,
Chase the sparkling crystals yonder
Through the chill and cheerless air;
Where the birds sang in the branches
Not a sound is heard at all;
Snowy flakes in avalanches
Flutter down with silent fall;
Where the grasses nursed the flowers
Not a sign of life is seen
And the frost has turned the showers
Into sheets of icy sheen;
All the air is sadly sighing,
All the trees with sorrows ring;
All is dying—dying—dying
Winter—go! come back, O Spring.
O’er the pallid face of earth;
All the merry elves are sleeping,
Wearied out with last year’s mirth;
Dismal spirits doomed to wander,
Never resting anywhere,
Chase the sparkling crystals yonder
Through the chill and cheerless air;
Where the birds sang in the branches
Not a sound is heard at all;
Snowy flakes in avalanches
Flutter down with silent fall;
Where the grasses nursed the flowers
Not a sign of life is seen
And the frost has turned the showers
Into sheets of icy sheen;
All the air is sadly sighing,
All the trees with sorrows ring;
All is dying—dying—dying
Winter—go! come back, O Spring.
PURPOSE.
Brother! awake from thy long lethargy;
Walk forth into the world, search out the task
That is allotted thee; tear off the mask
Of morbid thought that ever blindeth thee.
God hath appointed each good man to be
His warrior in the righteous fray; then ask
His benison, and, donning sword and casque,
March forth to meet the common enemy.
Each good deed done shall be a death-blow given
Unto a sin conceived; each true word said
Shall be a javelin that hath not sped
In vain—its force doth come direct from Heaven.
Waste not the time; man’s inmost spirit saith
“Life without purpose is a lingering death.”
Walk forth into the world, search out the task
That is allotted thee; tear off the mask
Of morbid thought that ever blindeth thee.
God hath appointed each good man to be
His warrior in the righteous fray; then ask
His benison, and, donning sword and casque,
March forth to meet the common enemy.
Each good deed done shall be a death-blow given
Unto a sin conceived; each true word said
Shall be a javelin that hath not sped
In vain—its force doth come direct from Heaven.
Waste not the time; man’s inmost spirit saith
“Life without purpose is a lingering death.”
SONNET.
Year after year I see the trees unfold
Their baby leaves to the maturing sun;
Then tender birth of blossoms, one by one,
From parent stems that still their nurture hold;
Later the tall green corn takes on its gold,
Crowned with the glory of a purpose done;
And last, the sands of beauty being run,
All things decline into the common mould.
Age after age whirls on the appointed round
Of mortal destiny; old thoughts take bloom;
And new minds battle in the time-worn strife,
Death’s winter nips before the task is crowned,
And, soon or late, within oblivion’s tomb
Men fall like leaves from God’s great tree of life.
Their baby leaves to the maturing sun;
Then tender birth of blossoms, one by one,
From parent stems that still their nurture hold;
Later the tall green corn takes on its gold,
Crowned with the glory of a purpose done;
And last, the sands of beauty being run,
All things decline into the common mould.
Age after age whirls on the appointed round
Of mortal destiny; old thoughts take bloom;
And new minds battle in the time-worn strife,
Death’s winter nips before the task is crowned,
And, soon or late, within oblivion’s tomb
Men fall like leaves from God’s great tree of life.
A ROMAN GIRL’S PRAYER.
On thy grassy altar, dear,
Pour I out the two-year wine,
And the incense rises clear
From thy holy shrine.
Pour I out the two-year wine,
And the incense rises clear
From thy holy shrine.
Lend me Venus, both thine ears;
Let me whisper unto thee
All the hopes and all the fears
Raging now in me.
Let me whisper unto thee
All the hopes and all the fears
Raging now in me.
He whom I have loved so well—
For whose love my soul hath burned,
Yields to Chloe’s fatal spell
And my vows hath spurned.
For whose love my soul hath burned,
Yields to Chloe’s fatal spell
And my vows hath spurned.
On her beauty now his eyes
Beam as once they beamed on mine—
Broken are the solemn ties
Made beneath the vine.
Beam as once they beamed on mine—
Broken are the solemn ties
Made beneath the vine.
It cannot be that he is born
All my joy to turn to grief,
For if he do prove forsworn—
Death is my relief.
All my joy to turn to grief,
For if he do prove forsworn—
Death is my relief.
Mother Venus, look with smiles,
Lest I lose this joy of love:
Lend me all thy wit and wiles
His cold heart to move.
Lest I lose this joy of love:
Lend me all thy wit and wiles
His cold heart to move.
Bless this philtre I prepare
From the swift and sweet vervain;
Mother Venus, hear my prayer—
Lead him back again!
From the swift and sweet vervain;
Mother Venus, hear my prayer—
Lead him back again!
A BALLADE OF BOCCACCIO.
The length of each day to make short
And friendship to bind by a chain,
Our Queen was appointed to reign
In the realm of a leafy resort.
Strong laws did her ruling support
If need were her wish to maintain;
Though none could Love’s presence profane
When Philomel governed the court.
And friendship to bind by a chain,
Our Queen was appointed to reign
In the realm of a leafy resort.
Strong laws did her ruling support
If need were her wish to maintain;
Though none could Love’s presence profane
When Philomel governed the court.
How fine did our gallants disport
With ladies who followed the train,
Whilst wisdom enlightened each brain
In the wit of each ready retort.
Ah! those were the days of fair sport
The world ne’er will witness again,
For Honour her rights did retain
When Philomel governed the Court.
With ladies who followed the train,
Whilst wisdom enlightened each brain
In the wit of each ready retort.
Ah! those were the days of fair sport
The world ne’er will witness again,
For Honour her rights did retain
When Philomel governed the Court.
What stories our souls did transport
O’er the beauties of Fancy’s domain,
And their morals and meanings were plain,
Though your critics now try to distort.
When Beauty and Truth do consort,
Hypocrisy preacheth in vain,
And Scandal and Slander were slain
When Philomel governed the Court.
O’er the beauties of Fancy’s domain,
And their morals and meanings were plain,
Though your critics now try to distort.
When Beauty and Truth do consort,
Hypocrisy preacheth in vain,
And Scandal and Slander were slain
When Philomel governed the Court.
Ye moderns, who fight, might and main,
For Mammon, believe this report,
Men lived in their castles in Spain
When Philomel governed the Court.
For Mammon, believe this report,
Men lived in their castles in Spain
When Philomel governed the Court.
RELEASE.
He fears to die who knows not how to live,
For Death is friendly, shaping to an end
The woeful accidents which fate doth blend
With high success, to fairer fortunes give;
Who for this close would ask alternative
Unto a further lease of earth to lend
His soul, and clip the wings that would ascend
To God, the source of life infinitive?
Look at the parable of things—the sun
Must some day out—the fairest blossoms die—
Sweet-throated songsters cease their minstrelsy—
And Nature endeth all she hath begun.
So fear ye not to meet the great release,
For direst storms dissolve in lasting peace.
For Death is friendly, shaping to an end
The woeful accidents which fate doth blend
With high success, to fairer fortunes give;
Who for this close would ask alternative
Unto a further lease of earth to lend
His soul, and clip the wings that would ascend
To God, the source of life infinitive?
Look at the parable of things—the sun
Must some day out—the fairest blossoms die—
Sweet-throated songsters cease their minstrelsy—
And Nature endeth all she hath begun.
So fear ye not to meet the great release,
For direst storms dissolve in lasting peace.
THE WHIP-POOR-WILL!
When early shades of evening’s close
The air with solemn darkness fill,
Before the moonlight softly throws
Its fairy mantle o’er the hill,
A sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
The air with solemn darkness fill,
Before the moonlight softly throws
Its fairy mantle o’er the hill,
A sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
The Nightingale unto the rose
Its tale of love may fondly trill;
No love-tale this—’tis grief that flows
With pain that never can be still,
The sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
Its tale of love may fondly trill;
No love-tale this—’tis grief that flows
With pain that never can be still,
The sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
Repeated oft, it never grows
Familiar; but is sadder still,
As though a spirit sought repose
From some pursuing, endless ill,
The sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
Familiar; but is sadder still,
As though a spirit sought repose
From some pursuing, endless ill,
The sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.
THE DEATH OF THE LAUREATE.
Weep, England, weep! if thou hast tears to shed—
Thy master-son of song has passed away;
The Arthur of thy poets far has sped,
As the long-toiling light fades out of day
Into an unseen land; no later lay,
To cheer thy heart and make thy soul more strong,
Shall sound within thy walls of sea-girt gray,
From the rare voice of him who gave so long
The noblest numbers of new English song.
Thy master-son of song has passed away;
The Arthur of thy poets far has sped,
As the long-toiling light fades out of day
Into an unseen land; no later lay,
To cheer thy heart and make thy soul more strong,
Shall sound within thy walls of sea-girt gray,
From the rare voice of him who gave so long
The noblest numbers of new English song.
Around the world the echoes of that song
Swiftly rebound, all English hearts to fill,
And o’er each peak of empire speed along
In roseate splendour, as the sudden thrill
Of sunrise tips with beauty each new hill;
From east and west the glory of his fame
Rolls back to Albion’s shores, and ever will—
For east and west can show no poet’s name
More true and pure, more free from blot and shame.
Swiftly rebound, all English hearts to fill,
And o’er each peak of empire speed along
In roseate splendour, as the sudden thrill
Of sunrise tips with beauty each new hill;
From east and west the glory of his fame
Rolls back to Albion’s shores, and ever will—
For east and west can show no poet’s name
More true and pure, more free from blot and shame.
He died in dear old England—in the land
Where Chaucer first sang tales of jovial cheer;
Where Spenser chanted forth his pæans grand,
And Shakespeare left a word supreme and clear;
Where Milton bade the epic reappear,
And Wordsworth, later, gained a deathless name;
With these great five, this memorable year
Has yielded Tennyson, for future fame
The sixth true English poet to acclaim.
Where Chaucer first sang tales of jovial cheer;
Where Spenser chanted forth his pæans grand,
And Shakespeare left a word supreme and clear;
Where Milton bade the epic reappear,
And Wordsworth, later, gained a deathless name;
With these great five, this memorable year
Has yielded Tennyson, for future fame
The sixth true English poet to acclaim.
The moon streamed through the lattice where he lay,
In that last struggle of the living powers,
And round his brow her glory ’gan to play,
As when he wooed her in sweet English bowers,
’Midst silent birds and open-hearted flowers,
Till scenes of old-time beauty through his brain
Before him passed; thus kindly death endowers
The last sad moments, lulling them from pain,
And memory brings her sweetest stores again.
In that last struggle of the living powers,
And round his brow her glory ’gan to play,
As when he wooed her in sweet English bowers,
’Midst silent birds and open-hearted flowers,
Till scenes of old-time beauty through his brain
Before him passed; thus kindly death endowers
The last sad moments, lulling them from pain,
And memory brings her sweetest stores again.
THE SONNET.
The sonnet is a diamond flashing round
From every facet true rare colored lights;
A gem of thought carved in poetic nights
To grace the brow of art by fancy crowned;
A miniature of soul wherein are found
Marvels of beauty and resplendent sights;
A drop of blood with which a lover writes
His heart’s sad epitaph in its own bound;
A pearl gained from dark waters when the deep
Rocked in its frenzied passion; the last note
Heard from a heaven-saluting skylark’s throat;
A cascade small flung in a canyon steep
With crystal music. At this shrine of song
High priests of poesy have worshipped long.
From every facet true rare colored lights;
A gem of thought carved in poetic nights
To grace the brow of art by fancy crowned;
A miniature of soul wherein are found
Marvels of beauty and resplendent sights;
A drop of blood with which a lover writes
His heart’s sad epitaph in its own bound;
A pearl gained from dark waters when the deep
Rocked in its frenzied passion; the last note
Heard from a heaven-saluting skylark’s throat;
A cascade small flung in a canyon steep
With crystal music. At this shrine of song
High priests of poesy have worshipped long.
THE POET.
Men call him mad because he weaves
The glory of the golden corn
And paints the beauty of the sheaves
They gather night and morn.
The glory of the golden corn
And paints the beauty of the sheaves
They gather night and morn.
They laugh when he in rhapsody,
With eye uplift and soul serene,
Translates the wonders of the sky
Which they have dimly seen.
With eye uplift and soul serene,
Translates the wonders of the sky
Which they have dimly seen.
Or if he pluck a wayside flower
And tell them of its beauty rare,
They smile, not knowing God’s great power
Is manifested there.
And tell them of its beauty rare,
They smile, not knowing God’s great power
Is manifested there.
Or if when tempests rule the sky
He walk and talk with wind and rain,
They call his soul’s great ecstacy
A sickness of the brain.
He walk and talk with wind and rain,
They call his soul’s great ecstacy
A sickness of the brain.
He walks unrecognized of men,
For sense may not discern the soul;
The morrow’s wonders of his pen
Their sympathies control.
For sense may not discern the soul;
The morrow’s wonders of his pen
Their sympathies control.
Along the battle-field of life,
Content to lose if others gain,
He lifts no finger in the strife,
Yet feels its bitter pain.
Content to lose if others gain,
He lifts no finger in the strife,
Yet feels its bitter pain.
He wanders through the crowded street,
Or lingers by the country side,
For all things good his heart doth beat
With love that is world-wide.
Or lingers by the country side,
For all things good his heart doth beat
With love that is world-wide.
The troubles of his fellow men
He shrines with pity in heart,
And prays the time to hasten when
All sorrow shall depart.
He shrines with pity in heart,
And prays the time to hasten when
All sorrow shall depart.
And when the kindly voice of Death
Proclaims life’s journey duly trod,
He blesses all with parting breath
And leaves the rest to God.
Proclaims life’s journey duly trod,
He blesses all with parting breath
And leaves the rest to God.
IN BŒOTIA.
Vine tendrils drooping in the mid-day sun
Take me to Greece, ere Sappho sang those lays,
Whose echoes, falling down this length of days,
Trance us with beauty, sweet and halcyon;
Satyrs, green-garlanded, skip madly on
Through woody wilds, loud shouts of ribald praise
Mingle with merry laughter, and amaze
The peaceful shepherds, who, affrighted, run;
Fair dryads swell the riot-filling song
From every tree trunk, and from each pure spring
Sweet naiad voices rise with silvery ring
To welcome him who leads the dancing throng,
Old Bacchus! reeling ’neath the weight of wine,
Chanting a stave, half drunken, half divine.
Take me to Greece, ere Sappho sang those lays,
Whose echoes, falling down this length of days,
Trance us with beauty, sweet and halcyon;
Satyrs, green-garlanded, skip madly on
Through woody wilds, loud shouts of ribald praise
Mingle with merry laughter, and amaze
The peaceful shepherds, who, affrighted, run;
Fair dryads swell the riot-filling song
From every tree trunk, and from each pure spring
Sweet naiad voices rise with silvery ring
To welcome him who leads the dancing throng,
Old Bacchus! reeling ’neath the weight of wine,
Chanting a stave, half drunken, half divine.
LOVE-LAND.
Ah! Jenny! though life is not over,
Yet the sweetness of living is past;
No longer we walk through the clover
And watch the white clouds sailing fast;
For a darkness has newly arisen
To spread and to spoil our fair sky,
All our days must be spent in a prison
And the black cloud shall never pass by.
Yet the sweetness of living is past;
No longer we walk through the clover
And watch the white clouds sailing fast;
For a darkness has newly arisen
To spread and to spoil our fair sky,
All our days must be spent in a prison
And the black cloud shall never pass by.
Ah! Jenny! though bright the scales glitter,
In the midst of the coil lurks a fang,
The fruit of the almond is bitter
Though the blossoms are fair while they hang;
The rose has a canker within it,
And some day the lark will not sing,
The year that flew by as a minute
Shall bear heavy on Love’s broken wing.
In the midst of the coil lurks a fang,
The fruit of the almond is bitter
Though the blossoms are fair while they hang;
The rose has a canker within it,
And some day the lark will not sing,
The year that flew by as a minute
Shall bear heavy on Love’s broken wing.
Ah! Jenny! our play-book lies broken
Behind us;—before is the page
Hermetic;—and so for a token
To charm away grief in our age
Remember the words of Creation,
Our “Let there be Love,” when Love’s fire
Through our lips like a sacred libation
Drenched our souls with the wine of desire.
Behind us;—before is the page
Hermetic;—and so for a token
To charm away grief in our age
Remember the words of Creation,
Our “Let there be Love,” when Love’s fire
Through our lips like a sacred libation
Drenched our souls with the wine of desire.
Ah! Jenny! we journeyed together
Life’s road for a year and a day,
Bright summer has been all our weather,
Fair blossoms have strewn all our way;
And shall we now part at the corner
Of the cross-roads and meet nevermore,
Because the world leers like a scorner
And mocks when we pass by its door?
Life’s road for a year and a day,
Bright summer has been all our weather,
Fair blossoms have strewn all our way;
And shall we now part at the corner
Of the cross-roads and meet nevermore,
Because the world leers like a scorner
And mocks when we pass by its door?
Ah! Jenny! the hand that I gave you
That night when I promised to keep
Your heart—lo! I stretch out to save you
And to save my own soul from Hell’s deep;
Let the world say its worst;—we shall never
Hear its voice or see aught of its gloom,
For in Love-land the birds sing forever
And the roses are always in bloom.
That night when I promised to keep
Your heart—lo! I stretch out to save you
And to save my own soul from Hell’s deep;
Let the world say its worst;—we shall never
Hear its voice or see aught of its gloom,
For in Love-land the birds sing forever
And the roses are always in bloom.
THE LEGENDS AND LILIES OF FRANCE.
Sad and soft is the dirge on the Gallic shore
By the mournful moan of the ocean made
For the days and the deeds that are now no more
’Ere the last of the Knights in his tomb was laid
In the depth of an old cathedral’s shade;
Above are his casque, shield, banner and lance
With the sword that had struck him the accolade;
But dead are the legends and lillies of France.
By the mournful moan of the ocean made
For the days and the deeds that are now no more
’Ere the last of the Knights in his tomb was laid
In the depth of an old cathedral’s shade;
Above are his casque, shield, banner and lance
With the sword that had struck him the accolade;
But dead are the legends and lillies of France.
Did he pine for the powder and polished floor,
Gay dances, bright glances of masquerade?
When he parleyed of politics, was it not o’er
The lightning-blue gleam of his Damascene blade?
If he sang, was it not of an old Crusade?
If he listened and laughed at a love romance,
Would he rather not look at a carronade?
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
Gay dances, bright glances of masquerade?
When he parleyed of politics, was it not o’er
The lightning-blue gleam of his Damascene blade?
If he sang, was it not of an old Crusade?
If he listened and laughed at a love romance,
Would he rather not look at a carronade?
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
If his lady’s fair favour he sought to implore
By a witty ballade or a sad serenade
Did he write it? Not he, when a troubadour
Was willing to sing all the day if paid
In a bower of bloom or a vine arcade,
Or to sigh all night in the moonbeam’s dance,
While he dreamed of rampart and escalade;
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
By a witty ballade or a sad serenade
Did he write it? Not he, when a troubadour
Was willing to sing all the day if paid
In a bower of bloom or a vine arcade,
Or to sigh all night in the moonbeam’s dance,
While he dreamed of rampart and escalade;
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
The Cathedral still stands with its fine façade;
Some old stones of the rampart remain by chance;
There are diplomats, dances, and gasconade—
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
Some old stones of the rampart remain by chance;
There are diplomats, dances, and gasconade—
But dead are the legends and lilies of France.
HAWTHORN SPRAY.
After the early spring’s dissolving powers
Had eased the earth of winter’s icy weight,
I went into the woods with soul elate
To watch the coming of the first-born flowers;
Fair Flora soon began to build her bowers
Of leaf and bloom in forms both small and great,
The trees put forth their canopies of state,
And from the ground sprang up between the hours
Most beauteous blossoms in a glorious band
Of perfect shapes and colors richly blent,
And all my soul was fill’d with glad content;
But one pink hawthorn in a far-off land
Sent all my thoughts like birds on eager wing
Back to the beauty of Old England’s spring.
Had eased the earth of winter’s icy weight,
I went into the woods with soul elate
To watch the coming of the first-born flowers;
Fair Flora soon began to build her bowers
Of leaf and bloom in forms both small and great,
The trees put forth their canopies of state,
And from the ground sprang up between the hours
Most beauteous blossoms in a glorious band
Of perfect shapes and colors richly blent,
And all my soul was fill’d with glad content;
But one pink hawthorn in a far-off land
Sent all my thoughts like birds on eager wing
Back to the beauty of Old England’s spring.
IF I WERE KING.
If I were King of some great land
With lords and commons to command,
My crown should be with justice bright
Instead of jewels—and Love’s light
Should be the sceptre in my hand.
With lords and commons to command,
My crown should be with justice bright
Instead of jewels—and Love’s light
Should be the sceptre in my hand.
One law of virtue should be planned
That all alike might understand
The simple rule, that right is right—
If I were King.
That all alike might understand
The simple rule, that right is right—
If I were King.
One Church should stand in God’s own sight
Where all who wished to worship, might,
Its ministers should be a band
Of soldiers with a purpose grand
To put all evil thoughts to flight,
If I were King.
Where all who wished to worship, might,
Its ministers should be a band
Of soldiers with a purpose grand
To put all evil thoughts to flight,
If I were King.
WORLD, WIND, LEAVES AND SNOW
World.
Grey wind of the North! with thy burden so chill,
(Oh! for the blast and the blowing,)
Why flyest thou fast over river and rill,
Adown the deep valley and up the steep hill,
(Alas! for the storms that are sowing.)
Through gloom-spreading forest, bare meadow, bleak moor,
Above the sea-surges, along the sea shore,
O! whither, grey wind, art thou going?
(Oh! for the blast and the blowing,)
Why flyest thou fast over river and rill,
Adown the deep valley and up the steep hill,
(Alas! for the storms that are sowing.)
Through gloom-spreading forest, bare meadow, bleak moor,
Above the sea-surges, along the sea shore,
O! whither, grey wind, art thou going?
Wind.
The corpse of my lover my arms do enfold,
(Oh! for the roar and the rattle.)
Whose beauty was rarer and fairer than gold,
Whose joys were bright jewels, unbought and unsold,
(Alas! for the fear-stricken cattle.)
And I chant in thine ear the sad dirge of the dead,
For the summer is slain and the winter so dread
Is hasting to offer thee battle.
(Oh! for the roar and the rattle.)
Whose beauty was rarer and fairer than gold,
Whose joys were bright jewels, unbought and unsold,
(Alas! for the fear-stricken cattle.)
And I chant in thine ear the sad dirge of the dead,
For the summer is slain and the winter so dread
Is hasting to offer thee battle.
World.
Sere leaves of the autumn, resplendent and bright,
(Oh! for the frost and the fading.)
Why fall ye so thickly by day and by night,
With raining of color that dazzles the sight,
(Alas! for the winter’s invading.)
Till heaped on my bosom like relics of love
Ye lie, sad remembrancers, sorrow to move
My spirit with woe overlading.
(Oh! for the frost and the fading.)
Why fall ye so thickly by day and by night,
With raining of color that dazzles the sight,
(Alas! for the winter’s invading.)
Till heaped on my bosom like relics of love
Ye lie, sad remembrancers, sorrow to move
My spirit with woe overlading.
Leaves.
We thought to have woven a garment of grace,
(Oh! for the moon and the veiling.)
Embroidered with beauties bright fancy should trace,
But, alas! we have gazed on his death-stricken face,
(Alas! for the heavens are paling.)
And the robe of our fancy is changed to a pall
And the garlands that lately did crown him must fall;
Love’s labor is all unavailing.
(Oh! for the moon and the veiling.)
Embroidered with beauties bright fancy should trace,
But, alas! we have gazed on his death-stricken face,
(Alas! for the heavens are paling.)
And the robe of our fancy is changed to a pall
And the garlands that lately did crown him must fall;
Love’s labor is all unavailing.
World.
Pale snow, with a touch that is light as the air,
(Oh! for sky’s cloud and earth’s cover.)
Why weighest thou down on my heart filled with care,
On my soul with its anguish too heavy to bear.
(Alas! for the end when ’tis over.)
In thy mantle of gauze why hid’st thou mine eyes,
That would look at fond love e’er forever love lies
In the grave of my newly-slain lover.
(Oh! for sky’s cloud and earth’s cover.)
Why weighest thou down on my heart filled with care,
On my soul with its anguish too heavy to bear.
(Alas! for the end when ’tis over.)
In thy mantle of gauze why hid’st thou mine eyes,
That would look at fond love e’er forever love lies
In the grave of my newly-slain lover.
Snow.
I cover thy face lest the sight of thy dead,
(Oh! for love, sacred and splendid.)
Should strike in thy soul its unnameable dread,
For sympathy now and forever is fled,
(Alas! for lost love, undefended.)
And I wrap up thy breast with the warmth of my heart,
Which shall stay till the spring breaks and bids me depart,
When the time of thy mourning is ended.
(Oh! for love, sacred and splendid.)
Should strike in thy soul its unnameable dread,
For sympathy now and forever is fled,
(Alas! for lost love, undefended.)
And I wrap up thy breast with the warmth of my heart,
Which shall stay till the spring breaks and bids me depart,
When the time of thy mourning is ended.
ROSE.
Know you whence the roses came?
Roses are the queen of flowers;
Rose is my beloved’s name.
Roses are the queen of flowers;
Rose is my beloved’s name.
All my heart was set aflame
As we walked through Cupid’s bowers;
Know you whence the roses came?
As we walked through Cupid’s bowers;
Know you whence the roses came?
Is it sweetness—is it shame—
When the sunshine’s spoiled by showers?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
When the sunshine’s spoiled by showers?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
Duty sits a stern old dame
On a throne of ruined towers;
Know you whence the roses came?
On a throne of ruined towers;
Know you whence the roses came?
Youth must live and who shall blame
If with love it pass the hours?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
If with love it pass the hours?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
Life and love is all a game,
Shine and shadow—gleams and glowers—
Know you whence the roses came?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
Shine and shadow—gleams and glowers—
Know you whence the roses came?
Rose is my beloved’s name.
A SEA DREAM.
My spirit wandered by the ocean shore;
Proud argosies sailed out to Albion’s isle
Deep-laden with a new world’s golden store,
The sun-kissed waves danced lightly, Nature’s smile
Suffused o’er all the scene sweet loveliness awhile.
Proud argosies sailed out to Albion’s isle
Deep-laden with a new world’s golden store,
The sun-kissed waves danced lightly, Nature’s smile
Suffused o’er all the scene sweet loveliness awhile.
Light silver veils, like tender thoughts outspread
When dreaming lovers taste supernal joy,
Floated around Heaven’s azure bridal bed
In listless splendour; others did convoy
Earth’s treasures o’er the deep that plotted to destroy.
When dreaming lovers taste supernal joy,
Floated around Heaven’s azure bridal bed
In listless splendour; others did convoy
Earth’s treasures o’er the deep that plotted to destroy.
There rose as from the sea a strange mirage
Out of the past; the clouds like floating drapes
Each moment changed, and ocean’s long rivage
Was wreathed by magic in a thousand shapes,
Now gemmed with flashing isles, now girt with solemn capes.
Out of the past; the clouds like floating drapes
Each moment changed, and ocean’s long rivage
Was wreathed by magic in a thousand shapes,
Now gemmed with flashing isles, now girt with solemn capes.
And all the cities that have loved the sea
To their destruction, passed along the sky,
And I beheld them, as the drowning see,
In that last moment when they sink to die,
All life’s forgotten scenes unrolled by memory.
To their destruction, passed along the sky,
And I beheld them, as the drowning see,
In that last moment when they sink to die,
All life’s forgotten scenes unrolled by memory.
Time-honoured Greece, whose fingers clutched the wave
And clasped it to a heart that beats no more,
Sank with her wisdom in a silent grave,
Leaving her sons a splendour to deplore
While moans the tideless sea around each classic shore.
And clasped it to a heart that beats no more,
Sank with her wisdom in a silent grave,
Leaving her sons a splendour to deplore
While moans the tideless sea around each classic shore.
Rich Carthage, whose swift keels swam round the world,
Phœnicia’s loveliest daughter. Her fair hand
Was fought for by the nations; Fate hath hurled,
Her and her glory from their sea-throne grand,
Buried like some old palm beneath the burning sand.
Phœnicia’s loveliest daughter. Her fair hand
Was fought for by the nations; Fate hath hurled,
Her and her glory from their sea-throne grand,
Buried like some old palm beneath the burning sand.
Great Venice stood amid the nuptials gay
Blessing as bride the fair but fickle sea;
But all her pride and pomp have passed away,
Dukes, doge, ships, senate, riches, sovereignty,
That once compelled the world to fall on bended knee.
Blessing as bride the fair but fickle sea;
But all her pride and pomp have passed away,
Dukes, doge, ships, senate, riches, sovereignty,
That once compelled the world to fall on bended knee.
Imperial Rome, set like a lustrous gem
Within seven guardian jewels! Tyrant Time
Stole from her thoughtful brow its diadem
And the three wreaths that crowned her all-sublime,
Stained though their golden leaves with many a bloody crime.
Within seven guardian jewels! Tyrant Time
Stole from her thoughtful brow its diadem
And the three wreaths that crowned her all-sublime,
Stained though their golden leaves with many a bloody crime.
Proud Spain! once mistress of the sea, before
The fool Ambition led her ships in vain
Against the bulwarks of old England’s shore,
When God smote down her pride upon the main
And sank her power so low, it never rose again.
The fool Ambition led her ships in vain
Against the bulwarks of old England’s shore,
When God smote down her pride upon the main
And sank her power so low, it never rose again.
Then fell a mist before my wondering sight
Over the past, and slowly there arose
Our blessèd Britain in her glorious might,
The awe and admiration of her foes,
Whose land of liberty protecting seas enclose.
Over the past, and slowly there arose
Our blessèd Britain in her glorious might,
The awe and admiration of her foes,
Whose land of liberty protecting seas enclose.
The diamond of nations, set in gold,
Flashing with truth that sparkles o’er the earth,
Compared to her what empery of old
Hath wrought for suffering man such deeds of worth,
Or filled with living light dark lands of ageless dearth?
Flashing with truth that sparkles o’er the earth,
Compared to her what empery of old
Hath wrought for suffering man such deeds of worth,
Or filled with living light dark lands of ageless dearth?
THE BLACK KNIGHT.
To King Banalin’s court there came
From divers lands beyond the sea
A score of knights, with hearts aflame
With love for lady Ursalie,
Whose wondrous beauty and fair fame
Were sung by Europe’s minstrelsy.
From divers lands beyond the sea
A score of knights, with hearts aflame
With love for lady Ursalie,
Whose wondrous beauty and fair fame
Were sung by Europe’s minstrelsy.
Each lord in retinue did bring
A noble and a princely band,
Whose deeds the troubadours did sing
Through length and breadth of Christian land,
And each by turn besought the King
The favour of his daughter’s hand.
A noble and a princely band,
Whose deeds the troubadours did sing
Through length and breadth of Christian land,
And each by turn besought the King
The favour of his daughter’s hand.
But spake the King to each brave lord,
“When first the sun shall shine in May
A tourney in the palace-yard
We do appoint, and on that day
Who holds his own with spear and sword
Shall take our daughter fair away.”
“When first the sun shall shine in May
A tourney in the palace-yard
We do appoint, and on that day
Who holds his own with spear and sword
Shall take our daughter fair away.”
Whereat the Lady Ursalie
Blanched as a lily of the vale,
For many moons had waned since she
First pledged her love to Sir Verale,
And for that sick to death was he
Her trembling lips turned ashen pale.
Blanched as a lily of the vale,
For many moons had waned since she
First pledged her love to Sir Verale,
And for that sick to death was he
Her trembling lips turned ashen pale.
The heavy scent of musk and myrrh
Hung all about the inner room,
Dim taper lights did faintly stir
To life the arras through the gloom,—
She bade her handmaid bring to her
The treasure-box that held her doom.
Hung all about the inner room,
Dim taper lights did faintly stir
To life the arras through the gloom,—
She bade her handmaid bring to her
The treasure-box that held her doom.
With lightest touch a secret spring
Upraised the silver casket’s lid;
She took therefrom a golden ring,
A broken coin, a heart hair-thrid,
And many a sweet and precious thing
Wherein her plighted troth was hid.
Upraised the silver casket’s lid;
She took therefrom a golden ring,
A broken coin, a heart hair-thrid,
And many a sweet and precious thing
Wherein her plighted troth was hid.
“Then welcome death, if death it prove,”
She said and kissed with lips still pale
Each sweet remembrance of his love;—
“I will not fail thee, Sir Verale,
Though from thy couch thou canst not move
To don for me thy coat of mail.”
She said and kissed with lips still pale
Each sweet remembrance of his love;—
“I will not fail thee, Sir Verale,
Though from thy couch thou canst not move
To don for me thy coat of mail.”
Unto the chapel straight she went
And knelt before the altar-stone;
Her face within her hands she bent
Praying with many a tear and moan
Until the day was well-nigh spent,
When came a beadsman she had known;
And knelt before the altar-stone;
Her face within her hands she bent
Praying with many a tear and moan
Until the day was well-nigh spent,
When came a beadsman she had known;
“O! Father! join thy prayer with mine
The life of Sir Verale to save;
O! plead then at our Lady’s shrine
For health to one so young and brave.
For I will wed, with help divine,
No other lord this side the grave.”
The life of Sir Verale to save;
O! plead then at our Lady’s shrine
For health to one so young and brave.
For I will wed, with help divine,
No other lord this side the grave.”
The holy friar knelt him there
And crossed him, and began to tell
His beads, each counted for a prayer,
Until the sound of vesper-bell
Stole through the darkling twilight air
And warned them of the day’s farewell.
And crossed him, and began to tell
His beads, each counted for a prayer,
Until the sound of vesper-bell
Stole through the darkling twilight air
And warned them of the day’s farewell.
Each day at morn and noon and night
Her trusted handmaid she did send
To learn if her belovèd knight
In life’s estate was like to mend,
And on the eve of April’s flight
This message came her heart to rend.
Her trusted handmaid she did send
To learn if her belovèd knight
In life’s estate was like to mend,
And on the eve of April’s flight
This message came her heart to rend.
“Tell thou my lady fair,” he said,
To her who bore the answer back,
“To-morrow will I leave this bed
And wear my suit of armour black;
To-morrow will I win and wed
Or lose both love and life, alack.”
To her who bore the answer back,
“To-morrow will I leave this bed
And wear my suit of armour black;
To-morrow will I win and wed
Or lose both love and life, alack.”
The Lady Ursalie knew well
He could not rise, so ill he was,
And shuddered as her maid did tell
His dying state, then forth did pass
Unto the chapel, as the bell
Proclaimed the holy evening mass.
He could not rise, so ill he was,
And shuddered as her maid did tell
His dying state, then forth did pass
Unto the chapel, as the bell
Proclaimed the holy evening mass.
The morrow broke with golden rush
And chased the gloom of night away;
The pipe of blackbird, song of thrush,
Rose with the skylark’s roundelay,
The wild flowers started with a blush
To meet the first bright morn of May.
And chased the gloom of night away;
The pipe of blackbird, song of thrush,
Rose with the skylark’s roundelay,
The wild flowers started with a blush
To meet the first bright morn of May.
The palace-yard was all prepared;
Bright-hued pavilions stood around,
The banners waved, the armour glared,
The eager steeds tore up the ground,
And twenty princes who had dared
The tourney in the lists were found.
Bright-hued pavilions stood around,
The banners waved, the armour glared,
The eager steeds tore up the ground,
And twenty princes who had dared
The tourney in the lists were found.
The King and Queen on daïsed throne
Received each knight on bended knee;
But like an image carved in stone
Sat lovely Lady Ursalie
And none who saw her would have known
For her the tourney was to be.
Received each knight on bended knee;
But like an image carved in stone
Sat lovely Lady Ursalie
And none who saw her would have known
For her the tourney was to be.
But one there knelt in sable mail
Of whom the King in accents rude,
Did ask his name, and why this bale
Of armour black, he did intrude;
He answered: “I am Sir Verale,
Long months thy daughter have I wooed.
Of whom the King in accents rude,
Did ask his name, and why this bale
Of armour black, he did intrude;
He answered: “I am Sir Verale,
Long months thy daughter have I wooed.
And by this sable suit I wear,
This sterling blade of Spanish steel,
This iron shield and trusty spear,—
But chiefly by the love I feel,
I ask to wife thy daughter fair
And that, proud King, is why I kneel.”
This sterling blade of Spanish steel,
This iron shield and trusty spear,—
But chiefly by the love I feel,
I ask to wife thy daughter fair
And that, proud King, is why I kneel.”
When Lady Ursalie that voice
Did hear, her heart beat high with fears,
Her troubled soul did half rejoice
And memory filled her eyes with tears;
But as she smiled upon her choice
There fell a clash of shields and spears.
Did hear, her heart beat high with fears,
Her troubled soul did half rejoice
And memory filled her eyes with tears;
But as she smiled upon her choice
There fell a clash of shields and spears.
Knight after knight was overthrown,
Some ready for the bier and shroud,
At last the black knight stood alone—
And in the air applause rang loud
As proudly strode he to the throne
Pursued by all the noble crowd.
Some ready for the bier and shroud,
At last the black knight stood alone—
And in the air applause rang loud
As proudly strode he to the throne
Pursued by all the noble crowd.
Then cried the King: “Right nobly won,
Most puissant, worthy Sir Verale,
I would the words were well undone
That erst in anger I did rail.”
The knight replied, “Words injure none,
And after-grief doth not avail.
Most puissant, worthy Sir Verale,
I would the words were well undone
That erst in anger I did rail.”
The knight replied, “Words injure none,
And after-grief doth not avail.
And now, O King, thou soon shalt wis
Thy daughter is forever mine,
And when thy loving liegemen miss
Both thee and all thou callest thine,
They shall recall the Black Knight’s kiss
And know that love hath power divine.”
Thy daughter is forever mine,
And when thy loving liegemen miss
Both thee and all thou callest thine,
They shall recall the Black Knight’s kiss
And know that love hath power divine.”
Then at the Lady Ursalie
The Black Knight looked and she arose.
But what strange visage she did see
That his raised vizor did disclose—
Is still an awful mystery
Which only that dead lady knows.
The Black Knight looked and she arose.
But what strange visage she did see
That his raised vizor did disclose—
Is still an awful mystery
Which only that dead lady knows.
For when her eyes of lustre rare
Gazed there, where none could see a face,
A flash of lightning rent the air;
And, passing in a moment’s space,
The Black Knight was no longer there
And of his steed there was no trace.
Gazed there, where none could see a face,
A flash of lightning rent the air;
And, passing in a moment’s space,
The Black Knight was no longer there
And of his steed there was no trace.
All looked at Lady Ursalie,
Who blushed with love like any bride:
“No power can take my soul from thee,
I come, I come,” she faintly cried,
And swooned in arms held hastily
And smiling closed her eyes and died.
Who blushed with love like any bride:
“No power can take my soul from thee,
I come, I come,” she faintly cried,
And swooned in arms held hastily
And smiling closed her eyes and died.
But who the Black Knight was none knew,
Though one said who had second sight,
He watched a raven as it flew
In circles slow and did alight
Upon the tourney ground and grew
Into a sable horse and knight.
Though one said who had second sight,
He watched a raven as it flew
In circles slow and did alight
Upon the tourney ground and grew
Into a sable horse and knight.
By some, it is believed and said,
That Sir Verale gave one deep sigh
And turned himself on his sick bed
And muttered a low welcome cry,
And ere the watchers knew, was dead,
As his dear lady’s soul passed by.
That Sir Verale gave one deep sigh
And turned himself on his sick bed
And muttered a low welcome cry,
And ere the watchers knew, was dead,
As his dear lady’s soul passed by.