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EVELYN HOPE.

And one eye's black intelligence-ever that glance

O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance;

And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and

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His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on.

By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur!

Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her;

We'll remember at Aix "-for one heard the

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Beginning to die, too, in the glass.
Little has yet been changed, I think;
The shutters are shut-no light may pass
Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name-
It was not her time to love; beside,
Her life had many a hope and aim,
Duties enough and little cares;

And now was quiet, now astir-
Till God's hand beckoned unawares,
And the sweet white brow is all of her.

Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and stag- Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope?

gering knees,

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Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer

Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;

And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,

As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,

Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent,

What! your soul was pure and true; The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew; And just because I was thrice as old, And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told? We were fellow-mortals-naught beside?

No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love; I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few; Much is to learn, and much to forget,

Ere the time be come for taking you.

But the time will come-at last it will-
In the lower earth-in the years long still-
When Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say,
That body and soul so gay?

Why your hair was amber I shall divine,

And your mouth of your own geranium's redAnd what you would do with me, in fine,

In the new life come in the old one's stead.

I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,
Gained me the gains of various men,
Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes;
Yet one thing-one-in my soul's full scope,
Either I missed or itself missed me-

And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope!

What is the issue? let us see!

I loved you Evelyn, all the while;

My heart seemed full as it could holdThere was place and to spare for the frank young

So,

smile,

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold.

hush! I will give you this leaf to keep; See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep;

You will wake, and remember, and understand

EVELYN HOPE.

BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!

Sit and watch by her side an hour. That is her book-shelf, this her bed;

She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,

MY LAST DUCHESS.

FERRARA.

THAT 's my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive; I call

That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will 't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durɛt,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say, "Her mantle laps
Over my Lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
Must never hope to reproduce the faint
Half-flush that dies along her throat;" such
stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart.. how shall I say? . . too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the west,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace-all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men-good;
but thanked

Somehow.. I know not how . . as if she ranked
My gift of a nine hundred years old name
With anybody's gift.
This sort of trifling?
In speech (which I
will

Who'd stoop to blame
Even had you skill
have not)—to make your

Quite clear to such a one, and say, "Just this
Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss
Or there exceed the mark "-and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse,
-E'en then would be some stooping, and I chuse
Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; put who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave
commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will 't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretence
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir! Notice Neptune though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me.

COUNT GISMOND.

AIX IN PROVENCE.

CHRIST God, who savest men, save most
Of men Count Gismond who saved me!
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,
Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honor, 't was with all his strength.

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THE LOST LEADER.

Till out strode Gismond; then I knew
That I was saved. I never met
His face before, but, at first view,

I felt quite sure that God had set Himself to Satan; who would spend A minute's mistrust on the end?

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat

Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth With one back-handed blow that wrote

In blood men's verdict there. North, south, East, west, I looked. The lie was dead And damned, and truth stood up instead.

This glads me most, that I enjoyed

The heart of the joy with my content In watching Gismond unalloyed

By any doubt of the event:
God took that on him-I was bid
Watch Gismond for my part: I did.

Did I not watch him while he let

His armorer just brace his greaves, Rivet his hauberk, on the fret

The while! His foot.. my memory leaves No least stamp out, nor how anon

He pulled his ringing gauntlets on.

And e'en before the trumpet's sound

Was finished, prone lay the false Knight, Prone as his lie upon the ground:

Gismond flew at him, used no sleight Of the sword, but open-breasted drove, Cleaving till out the truth he clove.

Which done, he dragged him to my feet And said, "Here die, but end thy breath, In full confession, lest thou fleet

From my first to God's second death! Say, hast thou lied?" And, "I have lied To God and her," he said, and died.

Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked

THE LOST LEADER.

439

JUST for a handful of silver he left us,
Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat-
Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
Lost all the others she lets us devote;
They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
So much was theirs who so little allowed;
How all our copper had gone for his service!

Rags were they purple, his heart had been proud!

We that had loved him so, followed him, hon. ored him,

Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents,

Made him our pattern to live and to die! Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us,

Burns, Shelley, were with us-they watch from their graves!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,

He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves!

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Life's night begins; let him never come back to us!

There would be doubt, hesitation, and pain,

What safe my heart holds, though no word Forced praise on our part-the glimmer of twi

Could I repeat now, if I tasked

My powers forever, to a third

Dear even as you are. Pass the rest

Until I sank upon his breast.

Over my head his arm he flung

Against the world; and scarce I felt

His sword, that dripped by me and swung A little shifted in its belt

For he began to say the while

How south our home lay many a mile.

So 'mid the shouting multitude

We two walked forth to never more Return. My cousins have pursued

Their life, untroubled as before

I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place God lighten! May his soul find grace!

Our elder boy has got the clear

Great brow; though when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it . . Gismond here? And have you brought my tercel back?

I just was telling Adela

How many birds it struck since May.

light,

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I was a human creature too,
With flesh and blood like one of you,
A girl that laughed in beauty's pride
Like lilies in your world outside.

I had a lover-shame avaunt!

This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,
Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned
His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in the burning mist.

So, next day when the accustomed train
Of things grew round my sense again,
"That is a sin," I said-and slow
With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair
And tell the old mild father there.

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That head strapped back, that blinding vest,
Those knotted hands and naked breast-
Till near one busy hangman pressed-
And-on the neck these arms.caressed...

No part in aught they hope or fear!
No heaven with them, no hell-and here,
No earth, not so much space as pens
My body in their worst of dens

But shall bear God and man my cry-
Lies-lies, again-and still, they lie!

THE GLOVE.

(PETER RONSARD loquitur.)

HEIGHO," yawned one day King Francis, "Distance all value enhances !

When a man's busy, why, leisure
Strikes him as wonderful pleasure-
'Faith, and at leisure once is be?
Straightway he wants to be busy.

Here we 've got peace; and aghast I'm
Caught thinking war the true pastime !
Is there a reason in metre?

Give us your speech, Master Peter!"
I who, if mortal dare say so,
Ne'er am at loss with my Naso,
"Sire," I replied, "joys prove cloudlets:
Men are the merest Ixions "-

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And so, to the court-yard proceeding,
Our company, Francis was leading,
Increased by new followers tenfold
Before he arrived at the penfold;
Lords, ladies, like clouds which bedizen
At sunset the western horizon.
And Sir De Lorge pressed 'mid the foremost
With the dame he professed to adore most-
Oh, what a face! One by fits eyed
Her, and the horrible pitside;
For the penfold surrounded a hollow
Which led where the eye scarce dared follow,
And shelved to the chamber secluded
Where Bluebeard, the great lion brooded.
The King hailed his keeper, an Arab
As glossy and black as a scarab,
And bade him make sport and at once stir
Up and out of his den the old monster.
They opened a hole in the wire-work
Across it, and dropped there a firework,
And fled; one's heart's beating redoubled;
A pause, while the pit's mouth was troubled,
The blackness and silence so utter,
By the firework's slow sparkling and sputter,
Then earth in a sudden contortion
Gave out to our gaze her abortion !
Such a brute! Were I friend Clement Marot
(Whose experience of Nature 's but narrow,
And whose faculties move in no small mist
When he versifies David the Psalmist)
I should study that brute to describe you
Illum Juda Leonem de Tribu!

THE GLOVE.

One's whole blood grew curdling and creepy
To see the black mane, vast and heapy,
The tail in the air stiff and straining,
The wide eyes, nor waxing nor waning,
As over the barrier which bounded
His platform, and us who surrounded
The barrier, they reached and they rested
On the space that might stand him in best stead;
For who knew, he thought, what the amazement,
The eruption of clatter and blaze meant,
And if, in this minute of wonder,
No outlet 'mid lightning and thunder,
Lay broad, and, his shackles all shivered,
The lion at last was delivered?

Ay, that was the open sky o'erhead!
And you saw by the flash on his forehead,
By the hope in those eyes wide and steady,
He was leagues in the desert already,
Driving the flocks up the mountain,
Or catlike couched hard by the fountain
To waylay the date-gathering negress:
So guarded he entrance or egress.

"How he stands!" quoth the King; "we may well swear,

No novice, we've won our spurs elsewhere,
And so can afford the confession,

We exercise wholesome discretion
In keeping aloof from his threshold;

Once hold you, those jaws want no fresh hold,
Their first would too pleasantly purloin
The visitor's brisket or surloin:
But who's he would prove so foolhardy?
Not the best man of Marignam, pardie!"

The sentence no sooner was uttered,
Than over the rails a glove fluttered,
Fell close to the lion, and rested:
The dame 't was, who flung it and jested
With life so, De Lorge had been wooing
For months past; he sate there pursuing
His suit, weighing out with nonchalance
Fine speeches like gold from a balance.

Sound the trumpet, no true knight's a tarrier!
De Lorge made one leap at the barrier,
Walked straight to the glove-while the lion
Ne'er moved, kept his far-reaching eye on
The palm-tree-edged desert-spring's sapphire,
And the musky oiled skin of the Kaffir-
Picked it up, and as calmly retreated,
Leaped back where the lady was seated,
And full in the face of its owner
Flung the glove-

"Your heart's queen, you dethrone her? So should I"-cried the King" 't was mere vanity,

Not love, set that task to humanity!"
Lords and ladies alike turned with loathing
From such a proved wolf in sheep's clothing.

Not so I; for I caught an expression
In her brow's undisturbed self-possession
Amid the Court's scoffing and merriment-
As if from no pleasing experiment
She rose, yet of pain not much heedful
So long as the process was needful-
As if she had tried in a crucible,

To what "speeches like gold" were reducible,

441

And, finding the finest prove copper,
Felt the smoke in her face was but proper;
To know what she had not to trust to,
Was worth all the ashes, and dust too.
She went out 'mid hooting and laughter;
Clement Marot stayed; I followed after,
And asked, as a grace, what it all meant-
If she wished not the rash deed's recallment ?
"For I"-so I spoke-"am a poet :
Human nature behooves that I know it!"

She told me, "Too long had I heard

Of the deed proved alone by the word:
For my love-what De Lorge would not dare!
With my scorn-what De Lorge could compare!
And the endless descriptions of death
He would brave when my lip formed a breath,
I must reckon as braved, or, of course,
Doubt his word—and moreover, perforce,
For such gifts as no lady could spurn,
Must offer my love in return.
When I looked on your lion, it brought
All the dangers at once to my thought,
Encountered by all sorts of men,

Before he was lodged in his den

From the poor slave whose club or bare hands
Dug the trap, set the snare on the sands,
With no King and no Court to applaud,
By no shame, should he shrink, overawed,
Yet to capture the creature made shift,
That his rude boys might laugh at the gift,
To the page who last leaped o'er the fence
Of the pit, on no greater pretence
Than to get back the bonnet he dropped,
Lest his pay for a week should be stopped-
So, wiser I judged it to make

One trial what death for my sake'
Really meant, while the power was yet mine,
Than to wait until time should define
Such a phrase not so simply as I,
Who took it to mean just 'to die.'
The blow a glove gives is but weak-
Does the mark yet discolor my cheek?
But when the heart suffers a blow,
Will the pain pass so soon, do you know?"

I looked, as away she was sweeping,
And saw a youth eagerly keeping
As close as he dared to the doorway:
No doubt that a noble should more weigh
His life than befits a plebeian;

And yet, had our brute been Nemean-
(I judge by a certain calm fervor
The youth stepped with, forward to serve her)
-He'd have scarce thought you did him the

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