Go pattering through the house; a pleasant noise,
Full of an elfin gladness. Large, round eyes,
Dark as the night, and bright as night's first star,
And softer than all things that softest are.
Her waves of tresses form a natural crown,
Whose shadow on her forehead trembles down.
Her laugh more musical than music is,
Her smile more sweet than sweetness, and her kiss,
And every little lisping word she says,
So dear; she is the brightness of our days.
Low in prayer devoutly bending,
I beheld the pale Madonna ;
Sunshine falling soft upon her,
With the halo round her blending.
She within her hand was grasping,
With a tremor in her fingers,
As in trees at evening lingers,——
To her holy bosom clasping
That symbolical white flower
Of her agony the meetest
Allegory and the sweetest,
Which within their southern bower
Christian maids behold with weeping,
By the sweet remembrance painèd ;—
Pure white flower,* with purple stainèd,
From the triple leaflet leaping.
"AND THE BEGGAR DIED."
AN ancient beggar, travel-stained and weary,
Enters the temple, sinks down with a groan;
The place is mournful with the Miserere,
And that great sorrowful voice, it seems his own ;
And his eyes flash, but not that he rejoices :-
He tries to sing his feeble murmurs cease;
The chant subsides, the mournful choral voices
Sob into quiet, and an awful peace.
The beggar passes through the glittering portals, Though there he seems to stay upon his knees; His soul goes forth and mingles with immortals ;— Those earthly changed for heavenly harmonies.
THE ASHAMED ONE.
SLOWLY roaming in the gloaming,
Went I through our little town;
Brightly gleaming hues were streaming
From church-windows softly down.
Music billows 'mid the pillars,
Surged and floated o'er and o'er :-
Looking, listening, faint eyes glistening,
Stood a woman by the door :—
Tall and slender, fair and tender;
Yet her face was worn and wan;
Gay her clothing, but a loathing
Shook her as she looked thereon;
Weeping, weeping, nearer creeping,
To that holiness within ;
Half-despairing, never daring
In to take her shame and sin.
Was I dreaming ?-Brightly gleaming,
Came a form with white wings near-
"Hope, poor sister."-Then it kissed her,
And she entered, free from fear.
FAREWELL! Thy love is all too weak
To throb responsive to my passion.
Farewell my lips can only speak
Strong words that swell in bitter fashion.
I, who would yield a world for thee,
And make my life a willing duty :-
While thou canst only think of me
As idle singer of thy beauty.
Thy chain has bound me all too long;
No foolish dream can last for ever:
Thy beauty's power is not so strong
That I its bonds can ne'er dissever.
It will not grieve thee much to part;
Next ball will bring another lover :Thou canst not guage a human heart;
Nor would it move thee to discover
The clash of feelings at their height,
Such love as time can lessen never, Its glory, tenderness, and might ;And so farewell, farewell for ever.
Yet must I thank thee for a bliss,
A blessing ignorantly given,
Of love, which, though it won no kiss,
Has given me a sight of heaven.
Love made a music in my heart,
And brought a gain, if not possession;
It taught me that earth did not part
With all its joy at man's transgression.
Love made me richer than before,
Though thou may'st be my treasure never; In pain, in pity, but no more
In wrath, I say-Farewell for ever.
MEN who spend life studiously
Turn the soonest gray;
Them doth wisdom sanctify
With her silver ray.
IN the calm of the solemn sunset hour,
While gold light slept upon the convent tower,
And voices of sweet bells filled all the air,
Calling the maidens to their vesper prayer;
Gray with the dust, and with a drooping crest,
Bent with the pain of all my fruitless quest,
I, worn and weary with my awful throng
Of sorrows and of passions, rode along ;
But when the silver tremor of the bell
Upon my ear from the soft distance fell,
I raised my head, and saw the convent roof
Shining with glory, from the world aloof,
And said, "O loved and lovely Guenever,
My mistress and my queen, dost linger there?
The week is ending of my fruitless quest;
Do I find thee, and, finding thee, find rest?"
* Published in the Cambridge Terminal Magazine, April, 1859, with the following playful foot note:- "I hear that the Laureate is preparing a poem founded on the same portion of "Morte d'Arthur.' He is requested not to plagiarise."
The convent reached across the level glade,
With swiftest steps I trod the cloistral shade;
Queen Guenever was 'ware of me, and swooned,
So vast the keenness of her loving wound,
So great her sorrow for our hapless love.
Then, to the tender maids who leant above
Her weakness, their meek eyes with pity filled,
She said in tremulous words by sorrow thrilled,—
"Ye wonder at my sorrow and my pain ;-
I tremble to behold you knight again ;
I pray you bring him to me."
To bring me to her. I would fain have bent
My knees unto my peerless love and queen;
But ah! no rapture in her eyes was seen;
No arms stretched out to clasp me to her breast,
And in her tearful eyes no joy confessed.
I stood. In accents cruel in their calm,
That gave not to my soul one blessèd alm
Of hope or comfort,-" Of this knight," said she,
"And of his love, came all calamity
Upon this weeping realm :-my Arthur bled;
The nobliest knight-hood of the world lies dead;
The earth is red with blood our love has spilt,
And know, Sir Launcelot, my utter guilt
Draggeth me hellwards, and I only live
To pray that God may pity and forgive :—
With penance and with prayers, by His good grace,
To win the vision of Christ's blessèd face,
When death shall come; and through His favour stand
Among the saved and blessed at His right hand;
For sinners such as I, by Him forgiven,
Are high in glory, happy saints in heaven.
Therefore, O knight, by all our love of yore,
I pray that I may never see thee more;
By all the passion trembling in thine eyes,
I ask of thee love's highest,-Sacrifice;
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