Lady Jane Wilde

(1826-1896)

Lady Jane Pages1 2 3 4 5

A Warning I II III IV V VI VII VIII
Cassandra I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI
Undine I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X
The Past
The Fisherman I II III IV
The Ideal I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII
The Exile I II
Death Wishes
Hymn to the Cross
Jesus to the Soul
Tristan and Isolde
Why Weepest Thou?
Suleima to Her Lover
A La Sombra De Mis Cabellos
Constancy I II III IV
The Fate of the Lyrist
The Poet's Destiny
Desillusion
The Prisoners I II III IV V VI
The Dawn
An Appeal to Ireland I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV

A Warning

From the Danish

I

FAIR GUNIVER roam'd in the sunset light,
Through wood and wold,
In sweet dreams of love, but her heart was bright
As proven gold.
Yet ever a voice to the maiden spoke,
Beware--beware of the false men-folk!

II

Fair Guniver fished by a lonely stream,
With silken line,
And smiled to see in the silvery gleam
Her image shine.
Yet ever a voice still whispered there,
My child, of the false men-folk beware!

III

Lo! a Merman rose from the sedgy reeds,
With glittering eyes,
And a mantle of pale-green ocean weeds
Draped kingly-wise;
And wreath'd with the mist of his flowing hair,
Was a crown of the river-lotus fair.

IV

Sweet Guniver, said he, in tones that fell
So low and clear,
Like music that breathes from the caverned shell
In the listner's ear:
I've gazed on thy beauty down deep in the sea,
And my heart pines away for the love of thee.

V

Yet I ask thee to grant but one demand,
Oh! let me rest
My burning lips on thy snow-white hand,
One instant blest:
And dream not of harm, for a Merman's truth
Is pure as a maiden's in stainless youth.

VI

Fair Guniver, heed not the tongues that tell
Of man's vain wile,
For our artless souls, thou knowest full well,
Disdain all guile.
Is it much to ask for thy hand to rest
One moment, in love, on thy throbbing breast?

VII

'Tis a gentle prayer, she answered, to sue
For one alone;
So, beautiful Merman, here take the two
Within thine own;
And if, as thou sayest, my hand can bless,
Place both to thy lips in one love caress.

VIII

He took her white hands, and he drew her down,
With laughter hoarse;
But the fishermen weep, for they look upon
Fair Guniver's corse.
And still, by her lone grave, the same voice spoke,
Beware--oh! beware of the false men-folk!

Cassandra

From Schiller

I

JOY in Ilion's hall resoundeth,
    Ere the mighty city fell;
Festive hymns of triumph sounded
    With the gold harp's richest swell.
Each stern warrior rests at last
    From that strife of direst slaughter;
For the brave Pelides weds
    Royal Priam's loveliest daughter.

II

Troop on troop, with laurel garlands,
    Slowly swept the bridal train
Onward to the sacred temple
    Where arose the Thymbrian's fane.
By them ran, with long hair streaming,
    Ivy-crownéd Mænades;
One alone, of sorrow dreaming,
    Wandered in her wretchedness.

III

Joyless, while they chant their praises--
    None to soothe her, none to love--
Did Cassandra tread the mazes
    Of Apollo's laurel grove;
To the wild wood's deepest shadow
    Fled the mystic maiden now,
And she dashed the priestess-fillet
    Wildly from her throbbing brow.

IV

"Everywhere are sounds of gladness,
    From each happy heart awoke;
I alone must rove in sadness,
    I alone must grief invoke.
Joy illumes my father's features,
    Garlanded my sisters stand--
Yet I hear the rushing pinions
    Of Destruction o'er our land.

V

"Wildly high a torch is flashing,
    But 'tis not from Hymen's hand;
Upward see the red stream dashing,
    But 'tis not an altar brand.
Costly viands, festal dances,
    Wait the bridegroom and the bride--
Yet the Avenger's step advances,
    Who will crush them in their pride.

VI

"And they mock my prophet wailing,
    And they scorn my words of woe;
Fatal gift and unavailing--
    Still I've wandered to and fro,
Shunn'd by all the happy round me,
    Scorned by all where'er I trod;
Heavily thou hast foredoomed me,
    Oh! thou mighty Pythian God!

VII

"Why on me was laid the mission:
    Lift the future's mystic shroud?
Why to me the seer's vision
    'Mid a spirit-darkened crowd?
When the mortal arm is weak,
    Wherefore give the prophet's power?
Can it turn the stream, or break
    Clouds of woe that darkly lower?

VIII

"Wherefore lift the pall o'ershading
    Dark and dread Futurity?
Ignorance is joy unfading--
    Knowledge, death and misery.
Oh! recall thy mournful mission--
    Take the future from my sight:
Fatal is the prophet's vision
    To the form that shrines its light.

IX

"Give me back the happy blindness,
    Ere my childhood felt thy spell;
Never sang I in joy's wildness
    Since I heard thy oracle.
Clear the future lies before me,
    But the present veiled away;
Oh! to life and joy restore me--
    Take thy cruel gift away!

X

"Never round my perfumed tresses
    May the bridal wreath entwine;
'Mid thy temple's drear recesses
    Doomed in loneliness to pine.
Never o'er my youth of weeping
    Did one happy moment rise--
Never aught but sorrow reaping
    From thy fatal mysteries.

XI

"See my gay companions round me,
    Blessed with all that love can give;
I alone, my youth consuming,
    Live to weep, and weep to live.
Vain to me the sun, the skies,
    The flowers on the green earth bending;
Who the joys of life would prize
    That could know their bitter ending?

XII

"Thou, Polyxena, art happy
    In thy love's first deep excess,
Hellas gives her bravest hero
    To thy young heart's fond caress.
Proudly is her bosom heaving,
    Conscious of her bridegroom's love,
Whilst her dreams of pleasure weaving,
    Envies not the Gods above.

XIII

"And I, too, have trembled gazing
    Upon one my heart adored--
In his deep eyes' soft appraising
    Reading love's unspoken word.
Bridal vows I'd fain have uttered,
    Oh, to him how willingly!
But there stepped a Stygian spectre
    Nightly between him and me.

XIV

"Pale and hideous phantoms haunt me,
    From the realms of Proserpine;
Ghastly shades of gloom confront me,
    Everywhere my steps incline;
Even in festive scenes of pleasure,
    Stifling bright youth's careless glee--
Oh! that I could know the treasure
    Of a young heart's gaiety!

XV

"Ha! the murderer's steel is beaming!
    The murderer's eye glares wildly bright!
Whither shall I fly the gleaming
    Of the Future's lurid light?
All in vain I turn my glances--
    Still the vision's ghastly hand
Points my doom as it advances:
    Death within the stranger's land."

XVI

Does the phophet-maiden falter?
    Hark! those wild disordered cries!
Slain before the sacred altar,
    Dead the son of Thetis lies.
Eris shakes her wreathed serpents--
    All the Gods their temples shun--
And a thunder-cloud is resting
    Heavily on Ilion!

Undiné

From the Danish

I

UNDINÉ by the lonely shore,
    In lonely grief, is pacing;
The vows her perjured lover swore
    No more with hope retracing.
Yet none in beauty could compare
    With ocean's bright-haired daughter.
Her cheek is like the lotus fair
    That lieth on the water;

II

Her eye is like the azure sky,
    The azure deep reflecteth;
Her smile, the glittering lights on high,
    The glittering wave collecteth.
Her robe of green with many a gem
    And pearl of ocean shineth,
And round her brow a diadem
    Of rosy coral twineth.

III

Like diamonds scattered here and there,
    The crystal drops are glistening
Amid her flowing golden hair,
    As thus she paceth listening--
Listening through the silver light,
    The light that lover loveth;
Listening through the dark midnight,
    But still no lover cometh.

IV

An earthly love her heart enthralls,
    She loves with earth's emotion;
For him she left her crystal halls
    Beneath the crystal ocean.
Abjured them since he placed that day
    The gold ring on her finger,
Though still the sparkling diamond spray
    Around her robe would linger.

V

And she hath gained a human soul,
    The soul of trusting woman;
But love hath only taught her dole,
    Through tears she knows the human.
So from her sisters far apart,
    Her lonely path she taketh,
With human sorrow in the heart
    That human love forsaketh.

VI

She weaves a crown of dripping reeds,
    On which the moon shines ghastly--
"A wedding crown my lover needs,
    My pale hands weave it fastly."
She treads a strange and solemn dance,
    The waves around her groaning,
And mingles, with prophetic sense,
    Her singing with their moaning.

VII

"My bridegroom, nought can save thee now,
    Since plighted troth is broken--
The fatal crown awaits thy brow,
    The fatal spell is spoken.
Thou'rt standing by another bride,
    Before the holy altar--
A shadowy form at thy side
    Will make thy strong heart falter.

VIII

"To her, within the holy church,
    Thy perjured vows art giving;
But never shalt thou cross the porch
    Again amidst the living.
I wait thee 'neath the chill cold waves,
    While marriage-bells are tolling;
Our bridal chant, 'neath ocean's caves,
    Be ocean's billows rolling."

IX

The bridegroom, in his pride of youth,
    Beside the fair bride standeth--
"Now take her hand to plight thy troth,"
    The solemn Priest commandeth.
But lo! a shadowy form is seen
    Betwixt the bridal greeting,
A shadowy hand is placed between,
    To hinder theirs from meeting.

X

The priest is mute, the bridegroom pale--
    He knows the sea-nymph's warning;
The fair bride trembles 'neath her veil,
    The bridal's turned to mourning.
No more within the holy church,
    Love's holy vows are giving;
They bear the bridegrom from the porch--
    The dead amidst the living!

Note to Undiné

        These Undinés, or Ocean Nymphs, according to the Northern Mythology, are gentle, beautiful, harmless creations in the form of woman, but without a soul. They can attain this only by union with a mortal, and as they have a passionate desire to ascend into the higher life of humanity, they seek such earthly unions, not guilefully, like the Sirens, but lovingly, aspiringly, as the human might aspire to the angel. It is a beautiful mythus, and veils a deep and profound meaning. De La Motte Fouqué has made it familiar to all readers by his exquisite romance of "Undiné," and Bulwer has revealed some of the hidden truths shadowed forth by the fable, in his two novels of "Ernest Maltravers" and "Alice"--namely, the power of love to create an intellect, in fact, a soul in woman. For, to the deep-thinking, close-observing psychologist, there is no truth more evident than that, under the influence of love, a woman's intellect, genius, energy, all the powers of her mind seem capable of infinite expansion. And just in proportion as love has need of them, do the particular qualities start into life and unimagined vigour; be it fortitude, heroism, mental energy, even physical courage, love seems to have the power to create them all. Nothing is impossible to a woman that loves, as nothing is impossible to a man who wills. Another truth is symbolised in this ocean hieroglyphic--namely, that it is the instinct of a woman's nature to aspire, while the instinct of a man's nature is to deteriorate--to gravitate towards the animal, to a lower sphere of existence.
Woman always loves heavenward; she has the instinct of ascension like flame and ether. Man always loves earthward; he gravitates to earth, not to spirit: so that we may formulize thus:--Love gives soul to a woman, but takes it from a man. This is assuming what, indeed, is true, that man always bestows his love, by preference, on fair Undinés without souls. When united to such he necessarily divides his soul with her, for all things in nature tend to an equalization, and as he gives half so he loses half. What the result would be if a man of genius wedded a priestess of the eternal fire we have no means of ascertaining; for history contains no solitary instance of a man of genius becoming united to his equal: that true correlative of his soul, of which Plato speaks, but which no one, so destiny seems to decree, shall ever find on earth.

        We may imagine, indeed, the possibility of a beautiful, lofty, soaring spirit, standing ever beside man in the combat of life. A serene influence, almost as invisible, yet as sustaining as the ether of heaven, filling him with all divine impulses, strengthening all his noble aspirations, exciting his spirit upwards by all rich and radiant foreshadowings of glory, as Minerva stood, bright in deity, yet loving as humanity, beside her favourite warrior on the plains of Troy. But this is but a fabulous hypothesis; for, as we have said, man always loves earthward, and when united to the soulless Undiné, quickly vanishes with her into the ocean of inanity. Here is another cryptic meaning in the myth--the union is represented as indissoluble. He leaves the human, and descends to her sphere--to a lower state of existence. A man without the influence of love may rise to any height; love is not the absolute requirement for his elevation, as it is for woman's; but, bound to an inferior nature, he must fall, and does fall invariably, irrecoverably, precisely down to her level. There is no hope for him. He cannot resist the fatal miasma of commonplace. He falls for ever into the dull abyss of mediocrity. We are not proof against any of the daily influences, however trivial, that surround us. Always there is a tendency to assimilation, either by ascension or deterioration, and Tennyson's proposition is as true in the converse, as in the original statement:--
As the wife is so the husband--he will sink down day by day, What is fine within him growing coarse to sympathise with clay. And now, as every fable must have a moral, what shall we learn from this mythus of the fatal termination of men who "herd with narrow foreheads?" The moral is obvious.
Let all genius remain unwed--
All unmated--all unmated
Because so consecrated.

The Past

FROM the far off time of my youthful prime
    A light comes evermore;
Oh! it seems so bright in its far-off light,
    The glory I had of yore.

What the swallow sang with its silvery clang,
    When autumn and spring were near;
What the church bells rung and the choristers sung,
    The chant and the song I hear.

Oh! that parting day when I went away,
    How my heart to joy awoke!
And again I came, but ah! not the same,
    For the trusting heart was broke.

Since that parting day--that parting day--
    Through the fair bright world I've ranged,
And the world is there still as bright and fair--
    But I--'tis I have changed.

Oh! childhood's truth, with its words of sooth,
    And its lips as pure as gold,
Like a bird it sung, and its untaught tongue
    Was wise as the prophets of old.

Bright home and hearth, in this joyless dearth,
    Could thy holy vision gleam
But once, once more from the far-off shore
    Of the past, as a heavenly dream!

Oh! the swallow may come from her southern home,
    The spendthrift regain his gold,
The church bells ring, and the choristers sing
    Again as they did of old;

But the hopes of youth and its trusting truth,
    And bright sunny laughter gleams,
Once passed and o'er, can return no more,
    Except in the land of dreams.

The Fisherman

I

THE water rushes--the water foams--
    A fisherman sat on the bank,
And calmly gazed on his flowing line,
    As it down in the deep wave sank,
The water rushes--the water foams--
    The bright waves part asunder,
And with wondering eyes he sees arise
    A nymph from the caverns under.

II

She sprang to him--she sang to him--
    Ah! wherefore dost thou tempt
With thy deadly food, my bright-scaled brood
    From out their crystal element?
Could'st thou but know our joy below,
    Thou would'st leave the harsh, cold land,
And dwell in our caves 'neath the glittering waves,
    As lord of our sparkling band.

III

See you not now the bright sun bow
    To gaze on his form here;
And the pale moon's face wears a softer grace
    In the depths of our silver sphere.
See the fleecy shroud of the azure cloud
    In the heaven beneath the sea;
And look at thine eyes, what a glory lies
    In their lustre. Come, look with me.

IV

The water rushes--the water foams--
    The cool wave kiss'd his feet.
The maiden's eyes were like azure skies,
    And her voice was low and sweet.

She sung to him--she clung to him--
    O'er the glittering stream they lean;
Half drew she him, half sunk he in,
    And never more was seen.

The Ideal

From Schiller

I

SO wilt thou, Faithless! from me sever,
    With all thy brilliant phantasy?
With all thy joys and sorrows never
    For prayers or tears come back to me?
Oh, golden time of youthful life!
    Can nothing, Swift One, stay thy motion?
In vain! thy waves, with ruthless strife,
    Flow on to the eternal ocean.

II

Quenched are the glorious suns that glowing
    Bright o'er my youthful pathway shone,
And thoughts the prescient heart o'erflowing
    With burning inspirations, gone.
For ever fled the trusting faith
    In visions of my youthful dreaming,
Reality has risen to scathe
    Their all too fair and godlike gleaming.

III

As once with wild desire entreating,
    Pygmalion the stone enclasped,
'Till o'er the marble pale lips fleeting
    Life, hope, and passion glowed at last;

So, around Nature's cold form weaving
    My youthful arms, her lips I pressed,
Until her lifeless bosom heaving,
    Throbbed life-like on my poet-breast.

IV

An answering chord to passion's lyre
    Within her silent frame I woke;
She gave me back my kiss of fire,
    And in my heart's deep language spoke.
Then lived for me the tree, the flower,
    The silver streams in music sang;
All soulless things in that bright hour,
    With echoes of my spirit rang.

V

The while it sought with eager strife,
    To clasp Creation with its arm,
And spring incarnated to life
    In deed, or word, or sound, or form.
How glorious then the world upfolded,
    Within its shrouding calyx seen!
How little when Time's hand unroll'd it!
    That little, oh! how poor and mean!

VI

But, as the wayward, rippling motion
    Of some bright rock-stream gathers strength,
Until, in kingly waves of ocean,
    It dashes down the height at length:
With storm, and sound, and power, crushing
    The granite rock, or giant tree;
Proud in its chainless fury rushing,
    To mingle with the rolling sea.

VII

So, filled with an immortal daring,
    No chains of care around his form,
Hope's impress on his forehead bearing,
    The youth sprang forth amid Life's storm.

Ev'n to dim ether's palest star
    Wing'd fancy bore him on untiring;
Nought was too high, and nought too far,
    For those strong pinions' wild aspiring!

VIII

How swiftly did they bear him, dashing
    Through all youth's fiery heart could dare!
How danced before life's chariot flashing
Bright aërial visions there!
Love in her sweetest beauty gleaming,
    Fortune with golden diadem crown'd,
Truth like the glittering sunlight streaming,
    Fame with her starry circlet bound!

IX

Alas! those bright companions guided
    Through only half of life's dark way;
All false and fleeting, none abided
    With the lone wanderer to stray.
First light, capricious Fortune vanished--
    Still love of lore consumed his youth;
But doubt's dark tempest rose and banished
    The sun-bright form of radiant Truth.

X

I saw the sacred crown degraded,
    Of Fame, upon a common brow--
And, ah! 'ere yet life's summer faded,
    I saw Love's sweetest spring-flowers bow.
And ever silenter, and ever
Lonelier grew the dreary way--
Scarce even could hope, with frail endeavour
    Shed o'er the gloom a ghastly ray.

XI

But who, amid the train false-hearted,
    Stayed lovingly with me to roam--
Still from my side remains unparted,
    And follows to my last dark home?

Thou, who with joys and sorrows blending,
    Thy gentle hand to soothe each wound,
And bear life's burdens, ever lending,
    Thou, Friendship, early sought and found.

XII

And thou, with Friendship wedded ever,
    To calm the tempest of the soul--
Exhaustless study! wearying never,
    Creating while the ages roll.
Still the world-temple calm uprearing,
    Tho' grain on grain thou can'st but lay,
And striking, with a ceaseless daring,
    Time's minutes, days, and years away.

The Exile

I

    SPRING'S sweet odours from the meadow
        Fling their fragrance far and wide,
    And the tall trees cast the shadow
        Of the winter's gloom aside;
But for me no spring is bearing
Gladness to my heart despairing;
    Comes no more with soothing power
        Kindly voice, or friendly hand,
    Song of home, or breath of flower,
        From my own dear native land.

II

    High in Heaven, circling nightly,
        Moon and stars shine overhead;
    Mighty rivers rush on brightly
        To the ocean's distant bed;
But for me, in sorrow pining,
Star and stream in vain are shining,

    Foreign skies are drear above me,
        By a foreign shore I stand,
    Thinking of the friends that love me,
        In my own dear far-off land.

Death Wishes

OH! might I pass as the evening ray
Melts in the deep'ning twilight away;
Calmly and gently thus would I die,
Untainted by ills of mortality.

Oh! might I pass as the silver star
That glitters in radiant light afar.
Thus silent and sorrowless fade from sight,
Lost in the deep blue ether of night.

Oh! might I pass as the fragrant breath
Springing from violets crushed to death,
And rise from the dull, cold earthly sod,
As an incense-cloud to the throne of God.

Oh! might I pass as the morning showers
Drank by the sun from the cups of flowers:
Would that the fire of eternal love
Thus exhaled my life-weary soul above!

Oh! might I pass as Æolian notes,
When over the chords the soft wind floats:
But ere the silver strings are at rest,
Find an echo within the Creator's breast.

"Thou wilt not pass in music or light,
Nor silently sink in the ether of night,
Nor die the gentle death of the flower,
Nor be drank by the sun like a morning shower.

"Thou wilt pass, but not till thy beauty is withered,
Not till thy powers and hopes lie shivered:
Silence and beauty are Nature's death-token;
But the poor human heart, ere it die--must be broken!"

Hymn to the Cross

Savonarola

JESUS, refuge of the weary,
    Object of the spirit's love,
Fountain in life's desert dreary,
    Saviour from the world above!

Oh, how oft Thine eyes, offended,
    Gazed upon the sinner's fall;
Yet, Thou on the Cross extended,
    Bore the penalty of all!

For our human sake enduring
    Tortures infinite in pain;
By Thy death our life assuring,
    Conquerors through Thee we reign.

Still we passed the Cross in scorn,
    Breathing no repentant vow,
Though from 'neath the circling thorn,
    Dropped the blood-sweat off Thy brow.

Yet, Thy sinless death hath brought us
    Life eternal, peace and rest;
What Thy grace alone hath taught us,
    Calms the sinner's stormy breast.

Jesus, would my heart were burning
    With more vivid love for Thee!
Would mine eyes were ever turning
    To Thy Cross of agony!

Would that on that Cross suspended
    I the martyr's palm might win--
Where the Lord, the heaven-descended,
    Sinless suffered for my sin!

Cross of torture! may'st thou rend me
    With thy fierce, unearthly dole;
Welcome be the pangs that lend me
    Strength to crush sin in my soul.

So, in pain and rapture blending,
    Might my fading eyes grow dim,
While the freed heart rose, ascending
    To the circling Seraphim.

Then in glory, parted never
    From the blessed Saviour's side,
Graven on my heart for ever
    Be the Cross, and Crucified!

Jesus to the Soul

Savonarola

FAIR SOUL, created in the primal hour,
        Once pure and grand,
And for whose sake I left my throne and power
        At God's right hand--
By this sad heart, pierced through because I love thee
Let love and mercy to contrition move thee.

Cast off the sins thy holy beauty veiling,
        Spirit divine!
Vain against thee the host of hell assailing--
        My strength is thine.
Drink from my side the wine of life immortal,
And love will lead thee back to Heaven's portal.

Quench in my light the flame of low desire,
        Crush doubt and fear;
Even to my glory may each soul aspire,
        If victor here.
Die now to earth, with earthly vanity,
And live for evermore in Heaven with me.

I, for thy sake, was pierced with many sorrows,
        And bore the Cross;
Yet heeding not the galling of the arrows,
        The shame or loss.
So, faint not thou, whate'er the burden be,
Bear with it bravely, even to Calvary.

Still shall my spirit urge if thou delayest,
        My hand sustain;
My blood wash out thy errors if thou strayest--
        Plead I in vain?
An hour is coming when the judgment loometh;
Repent, fair soul, ere yet that hour cometh. [The Italian original of these two beautiful
Hymns will be found in Doctor Madden's most admirable and interesting life of
Savonarola.]

Tristan and Isolde

The Love Sin

NONE, unless the saints above,
    Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held her queenly place,
Tho' the courtiers' hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise,
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love--so rumour said--
By a magic philtre fed,
Which for ever in their veins
Burn'd with love's consuming pains.

Yet their hands would twine unseen,
    In a clasp 'twere hard to sever;
And whoso watched their glances meet,
    Gazing as they'd gaze for ever,

Might have marked the sudden heat
Crims'ning on each flushing cheek,
As the tell-tale blood would speak
Of love that never should have been--
The love of Tristan and his Queen.

But, what hinders that the two,
    In the spring of their young life,
Love each other as they do?
Thus the tempting thoughts begin--
Little recked they of the sin;
Nature joined them hand in hand,
Is not that a truer band
    Than the formal name of wife?

Ah! what happy hours were theirs!
    One might note them at the feast
Laughing low to loving airs,
    Loving airs that pleased them best;
Or interchanging the swift glance
In the mazes of the dance.
So the sunny moments rolled,
And they wove bright threads of gold
    Through the common web of life;
Never dreaming of annoy,
    Or the wild world's wicked strife;
Painting earth and heaven above
    In the light of their own joy,
In the purple light of love.

Happy moments, which again
Brought sweet torments in their train:
All love's petulance and fears,
Wayward doubts and tender tears;
Little jealousies and pride,
That can loving hearts divide:
Murmured vow and clinging kiss,
Working often bane as bliss;
All the wild, capricious changes
Through which lovers' passion ranges.

Yet would love, in every mood,
Find Heaven's manna for its food;
For love will grow wan and cold,
And die ere ever it is old,
That is never assailed by fears,
Or steeped in repentant tears,
Or passed through the fire like gold.

So loved Tristan and Isolde,
In youth's sunny, golden time,
In the brightness of their prime;
Little dreaming hours would come,
Like pale shadows from the tomb,
When an open death of doom
Had been still less hard to bear,
Than the ghastly, cold despair
Of those hidden vows, whose smart
Pale the cheek, and break the heart.

Why Weepest Thou?

        WHY weepest thou?
    A few more hours dreary,
    And thy spirit, the world weary
Beneath the icy hand of death must bow;
    But the fetters then will fall,
    And the soul redeemed from thrall,
Will upwards mount in joy, tho' chainéd now--
        Why weepest thou?

        The great Eternal One,
    Round whom the planets roll,
    Beholds each suffering soul
Prostrate in mortal grief before His Throne;
    He numbers every tear,
    He stills the throb of fear,
He guides us to our heavenly native zone--
        The great Eternal One.

        Then still thy fears!
    Behold thy glorious home,
    Yon star-roofed azure dome--
How infinite thy Father's house appears!
    There, ah! there we'll rest,
    Poor weak ones, on His breast;
Then, mourner, let thy frail heart break in tears,
        But still thy fears!

Suleima to Her Lover

From the Turkish

THOU reck'nest seven Heavens; I but one:
And thou art it, Beloved! Voice and hand,
And eye and mouth, are but the angel band
Who minister around that highest throne--
Thy godlike heart. And there I reign supreme,
And choose, at will, the angel who I deem
Will sing the sweetest, words I love to hear--
That short, sweet song, whose echo clear
    Will last throughout eternity:
        "I love thee!
        How I love thee!"

La Sombra de Mis Cabellos

From the Spanish--Sixteenth Century

    MY love lay there,
    In the shadow of my hair,
As my glossy raven tresses downard flow;
    And dark as midnight's cloud,
    The fell o'er him like a shroud:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

    With a comb of gold each night
    I combed my tresses bright;
But the sportive zephyr tossed them to and fro;
    So I pressed them in a heap,
    For my love whereon to sleep:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

    He said he loved to gaze
    On my tresses' flowing maze,
And the midnight of my dark Moorish eyes;
    And he vowed 'twould give him pain
    Should his love be all in vain;
So he won me with his praises and his sighs.

    Then I flung my raven hair
    As a mantle o'er him there,
Encircling him within its mazy flow;
    And pillowed on my breast,
    He lay in sweet unrest:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

Constancy

From the Russian

I

A RAVEN on a branch is sitting;
By him comes another flitting--
Brother, where so quickly flying?
Hast thou scented dead or dying?

II

Food and plenty sent to cheer us,
Croaks the other, we have near us.
Yonder there, amid the gorse,
Lies the murdered Baron's corse.

III

Who slew him? Wherefore? Woe the day!
Did the Baron's falcon say?
Or the Baron's steed so wild--
Or the Baron's wife so mild?

IV

Her flight far off the falcon's winging;
On the steed a slave is springing;
And she?--by the pale moonlight hath fled
With the living from the dead.

The Fate of the Lyrist

THE soul is ever clinging unto form;
Action, not abstract thought, alone can warm
The great heart of Humanity--in life's fierce storm
    Pass they the Lyrist by.

The Dramatist may wear triumphant bays;
And see the wondering people's tranc'd amaze,
The while unrolls great Homer to their gaze,
    His gorgeous, many-coloured tapestry.

But lofty Pindar's heaven-directed flight,
Petrarca's song, mystic and sad as night,
Fall dull upon the common ear--their might
    Is to the world a mystery.

Such spirits dwell but with the spiritual--
Their godlike souls disdaining to enthrall;
Within the limits of the actual,
    Men pass, unheeding the divinity.

Their name, indeed, is echoed by the crowd;
But from amidst the masses earthward bowed,
Few lift the head, with kindred soul endowed,
    To list their Orphic melody.

The Poet's Destiny

THE Priest of Beauty, the Anointed One,
Through the wide world passes the Poet on.
All that is noble by his word is crown'd,
But on his brow th' Acanthus wreath is bound.
Eternal temples rise beneath his hand,
While his own griefs are written in the sand;
He plants the blooming gardens, trails the vine--
But others wear the flowers, drink the wine;
He plunges in the depths of life to seek
Rich joys for other hearts--his own may break.
Like the poor diver beneath Indian skies,
He flings the pearl upon the shore--and dies;

Déillusion

TOO soon, alas! too soon I plunged into the world with tone and clang,
And they scarcely comprehended what the Poet wildly sang.
Not the spirit-glance deep gazing into nature's inmost soul,
Not the mystic aspirations that the Poet's words unroll.
Cold and spiritless and silent--yea, with scorn received they me,
Whilst on meaner brows around me wreath'd the laurel crown I see.
And I, who in my bosom felt the godlike nature glow,
I wore the mask of folly while I sang of deepest woe.
But, courage! years may pass--this mortal frame be laid in earth,
But my spirit reign triumphant in the country of my birth!

The Prisoners

Christmas, 1869

I

HAS not vengeance been sated at last?
    Will the holy and beautiful chimes
Ring out the old wrongs of the past,
    Ring in the new glories and times?
Will the eyes of the pale prisoners rest
    Once again on their loved mountain scenes,
When the crimson of East or of West
    Falls o'er them as mantles on Queens?
Will they muse once again by the sea,
    List the thunder of waves on the strand,
As exultant, as fearless and free
    As the foam-flakes that dash on the land?
Will they lift their wan faces to God
    In the radiant, bright, infinite air,
Press their lips to the old native sod
    In a rapture of praise and of prayer?

II

Ah, the years of their young lives pass over,
    Still wept out in dungeons alone,
Where the lips of a wife, child, or mother
    Were never yet pressed to their own;
Years of torture and sorrow and trials,
    In the gloom of the desolate cell,
Where the wrath of the sevenfold vials
    Seem poured to turn Earth to a Hell;
Where strong brains are seared into madness,
    And burning hearts frozen to stone,
And despair surges over life's gladness,
    And young life goes out with a moan.

Go, kneel as at graves, weeping woman--
    When the last fatal sentence was said,
All ties that are tender and human
    Were rent as from those that are dead.

III

They were young then, in youth's glorious fashion
    With a pulse-throb of fire in each vein,
And the glow and the splendours of passion
    Flashing up from the heart to the brain.
Sharp as falchions their keen words reproving--
    Great words moved by no coward breath--
And no crime on their souls save of loving
    Their Country with love strong as death.
Oh, their hearts, how they leaped to the surface,
    As a sword from the scabbard unsheathed,
Their pale faces stern with a purpose,
    Their brows with Fate's cypress enwreathed.
Grave, earnest, the judgment unheeding,
    Or the wreck of their lives lying prone,
From these doomed lips the strong spirits' pleading
    Soared up from man's bar to God's Throne.

IV

"We but taught men," they said, "from the pages
    Graven deep in our history and soil,
From the Litanies poured through the ages
    Of sorrow, and torture, and toil;
By the insults, the mockings, the scornings,
    The bondage on body and soul;
By the ruin, the slaughters, the burnings,
    When death was the patriot's goal;
By the falsehood enthroned in high places,
    By the feeble hearts cowering within,
By the slave-brand read plain on their faces,
    Though the ermine might cover the sin.
We were broken and sundered and shattered,
    Made thrall by the tyrant's strong arm,
To the wild waves and fierce winds were scattered
    As dead leaves swept on by the storm.
For each age gave a traitor or tyrant
    To build up the wrongs that we see,
But each age, too, gives heroes aspirant
    Of the Fame or the death of the Free!"

V

Oh, Chimes ringing out in our city,
    Oh, Angels that walk to and fro,
Oh, Christ-words of pardon and pity,
    Can ye speak to those souls lying low
In a sorrow no festal chime scatters,
    In a night where no Angel appears,
The wasted limbs heavy with fetters,
    The weary heart heavy with tears;
With the ghost of dead youth crushing on them,
    And the gloom of the years yet to be,
With a blackness of darkness upon them
    As of night when it falls on the sea?

VI

When the Christmas bells ring out at even
    The song of the Angels' bright spheres,
Their sad eyes will strain up to Heaven,
    Their bread will be bitter with tears.
Through our laughter will come that sad vision,
    Through the ivy-wreathed wine-cup's red glow,
Through our wassail the wail from their prison,
    Lamentation and mourning and woe.
With sorrow wrapped round like a garment,
    With ashes for joy as their crown,
With bonds tight'ning close as a cerement
    They wait till God's morning comes down;
Yet no echo from their lips will falter
    Of the solemn, sweet carol or song,
But a cry, as of souls 'neath the Altar,
    "How long! oh, our Lord God, how long?"

The Dawn

WHAT of the night, O Watcher on the Tower?
    Is the Day dawning through the golden bars?
Comes it through the midnight, over clouds that lower,
    Trailing robes of crimson mid the fading stars?

"Through the rent clouds I see a splendour gleaming,
    Rolling down the darkness to the far Heaven's rim,
While through the mist the glorious Dawn upstreaming
    Rises like the music of a grand choral hymn."

From the deep valleys where the whirlwind passes,
    Hear you the tramp of the coming hosts of men,
Strong in their manhood, mighty in their masses,
    Swift as rushing torrents down a mountain glen?

"Far as eye can reach, where purple mists are lifted,
    Thousands upon thousands are gathering in might,
Powerful as tempests when giant sails are rifted,
    Beautiful as ocean in the sun's silver light."

See you their Banner in the free air proudly
    Waving, as an oriflamme a king might bear,
Has it no legend--dare we utter loudly
    All that a people may have written there?

"I see their Banner in the red dawn flashing--
    Haughty is the legend, plain to all men's sight,
Traced in their heart's blood, which the breeze upcatching,
    Flings out in flame-words--Liberty and Right!

"Onward they come, still gathering in power,
    Serried ranks of men o'er the crimson-clouded lawn;
Banners glisten brightly in the golden shower
    Pouring through the portals of the golden Dawn.

"Each bears a symbol, glorious in its meaning,
    Holy as the music of the crown'd Bard's Psalm:
Faith gazing upward, on her Anchor leaning,
    Peace with the Olive, and Mercy with the Palm."

Long have we waited, O Watcher, for the vision,
    Splendid in promise we now can see it rise,
Scattering the darkness, while with hero-mission
    Brave hands uplift Hope's banner to the skies.

Not with vain clamour, but the soul's strength revealing
    In the golden silence of all great true deeds,
Banded in strength for human rights appealing,
    Banded in love for our poor human needs.

Bitter was the Past; let it rest, a new Æon
    Preaches a new Gospel to man not in vain,
Earth through all her kingdoms echoes back the Pæan
    Chanted once by Angels on the star-lit plain.

Brotherhood of Nations, disdaining ancient quarrel,
    Brotherhood of Peoples, flushed with a nobler rage,
Palm branch and Olive let us mingle with the Laurel
    In the radiant future of the coming Age!

An Appeal to Ireland

I

THE sin of our race is upon us,
    The pitiless, cruel disdain
Of brother for brother, tho' coiling
    Round both is the one fatal chain;
And aimless and reckless and useless
    Our lives pass along to the grave
In tumults of words that bewilder,
    And the conflicts of slave with slave.

II

Yet shadows are heavy around us,
    The darkness of sin and of shame,
While the souls of the Nation to slumber
    Are lulled by vain visions of fame;
True hearts, passion-wasted, and breaking
    With sense of our infinite wrong,
Oh! wake them, nor dread the awaking,
    We need all the strength of the strong.

III

For we rage with senseless endeavours
    In a fever of wild unrest,
While glory lies trampled, dishonoured,
    Death-pale, with a wound in her breast;
Had we loosened one chain from the spirit,
    Had we strove from the ruin of things
To build up a Temple of Concord,
    More fair than the palace of Kings;

IV

Our name might be heard where the Nations
    Press on to the van of the fight,
Where Progress makes war upon Evil,
    And Darkness is scattered by Light.

They have gold and frankincense and myrrh
    To lay at the feet of their King,
But we--what have we but the wine-cup
    Of wrath and of sorrow to bring?

V

Let us ask of our souls, lying under
    The doom of this bondage and ban,
Why we, made by God high as Angels,
    Should fall so much lower than man;
Some indeed have been with us would scale
    Heav'n's heights for life-fire if they dare--
But the vultures now gnaw at their hearts
    Evermore on the rocks of Despair.

VI

Let us think, when we stand before God,
    On the Day of the Judgment roll,
And He asks of the work we have done
    In the strength of each God-like soul;
Can we answer--"Our prayers have gone up
    As light from the stars and the sun,
And Thy blessing came down on our deeds
    As a crown when the victory's won.

VII

"We fought with wild beasts, wilder passions,
    As of old did the saints of God,
Tho' our life-blood ran red in the dust
    Of the fierce arena we trod;
We led up Thy people triumphant
    From Egypt's dark bondage of sin,
And made the fair land which Thou gavest
    All glorious without and within.

VIII

"We changed to a measure of music
    The discord and wail of her days,
For sorrow gave garments of gladness,
    For scorn of her enemies praise;
We crowned her a Queen in the triumph
    Of noble and beautiful lives,
While her chariot of Freedom rolled on
    Through the crash of her fallen gyves."

IX

I ask of you, Princes, and Rulers,
    I ask of you, Brothers around,
Can ye thus make reply for our people
    When the Nations are judged or crowned?
If not, give the reins of the chariot
    To men who can curb the wild steeds--
They are nearing the gulf, in this hour
    We appeal by our wrongs and our needs.

X

Stand back and give place to new leaders;
    We need them--some strong gifted souls,
From whose lips, never touched by a falsehood,
    The heart's richest eloquence rolls.
True Patriots by grandeur of purpose,
    True men by the power of the brain:
The chosen of God to lift upward
    His Ark with hands clear of all stain.

XI

We need them to tend the Lord's vineyard,
    As shepherds to watch round His fold,
With brave words from pure hearts outpouring,
    As wine from a chalice of gold;
That the souls of the Nation uplifted,
    May shine in new radiance of light,
As of old stood the Prophets transfigured
    In glory with Christ on the height.

XII

Far out where the grand western sunsets
    Flush crimson the mountain and sea,
And the echoes of Liberty mingle
    With the roar of the waves on the lea;
Where over the dim shrouded passes
    The clouds fling a rainbow-hued arch,
And through giant-rent portals a people
    Go forth on their sad, solemn march:

XIII

I had dreams of a future of glory
    For this fair motherland of mine,
When knowledge would bring with its splendours
    The Human more near the Divine.
And as flash follows flash on the mountains,
    When lightnings and thunders are hurled,
So would throb in electrical union
    Her soul with the soul of the world.

XIV

For we stand too apart in our darkness,
    As planets long rent from the sun,
And the mystical breath of the spirit
    Scarce touches our hearts sweeping on.
I appeal from this drear isolation
    To earth, to the mountains, and sky--
Must we die as of thirst in a desert,
    While full tides of life pass us by?

XV

Yet still, through the darkness and sorrow,
    I dream of a time yet to be,
When from mountain and ocean to Heaven
    Will rise up the Hymn of the Free.
When our Country, made perfect through trial,
    White-robed, myrtle-crowned, as a Bride,
Will stand forth, "a Lady of Kingdoms,"
Through Light and through Love glorified.