66 Upon which lifted sign, What worship will be mine! "A wind-like joy will rush "Insects, that only may To my whiteness, to my whiteness "And every moth and bee "I ween the very skies The little flies did crawl The nightingale did please The lark, too high or low, Only the bee, forsooth, Came in the place of both- The skies looked coldly down Whereat the earth did seem Said to the rose, "Ha, Snow! "Holla, thou world-wide snow! Poor rose, to be unknown! Would she had ne'er been blown, In her loneness, in her loneness, All the sadder for that oneness. Some word she tried to say, Some sigh-ah, wellaway! And the fair frail leaves dropp'd from her Dropp'd from her, fair and mute, Who beheld them, smiling lowly So chanceth eke with us, "Vaunting to come before "But if alone we be, And if none can reach our stature, "What bell will yield a tone, If no brazen clapper bringing, "What angel but would seem "Alas! what can we do, Who both antedate our mission Drop, leaf-be silent, song- We must warm them, we must warm them, "Howbeit,"-here his face "Whether that form respect Holy in me and thee, Rose fallen from the tree, Though the world stand dumb around us, "Though none us deign to bless, Blessed age and consecrated, "Oh, shame to poets' lays, "Shame, shame to poet's soul, "Sit still upon your thrones, And if, sooth, the world decry you, "Ye to yourselves suffice, "In prayers that upward mount, And, in gushing back upon you, "In thanks for all the good For the sound of seraphs moving "For sights of things away, Through fissures of the clay,Promised things, which shall be given And sung over up in heaven! "For life, so lonely vain, For death, which breaks the chain,— For this sense of present sweetness, And this yearning to completeness!" My little doves have left a nest The tropic flowers look'd up to it, With feathers softly brown, And God them taught, at every close Of water far, and wind, Their chanting voices kind; Their's hath the calmest sound- My little doves were ta'en away And tempest-clouded airs. In mist and chillness pent, The stir without the glow of passion- The gold and silver's dreary clashing The wheeled pomp, the pauper tread- Yet still, as on my human hand Their fearless heads they lean, And almost seem to understand What human musings mean(With such a plaintive gaze their eyne Are fasten'd upwardly to mine!) Their chant is soft as in the nest, For love, that stirr'd it in their breast, And, 'neath the city's shade, can keep And love, that keeps the music, fills All droppings from the skies, So teach ye me the wisest part, And vocal with such songs as own "Twas hard to sing by Babel's stream More hard in Babel's street! Their music not unmeet Who wear immortal wings, within! To me, fair memories belong Of scenes that erst did bless; For no regret-but present song, And lasting thankfulnessAnd very soon to break away, Like types, in purer things than they! I will have hopes that cannot fade, My spirit and my God shall be ROMAUNT OF MARGRET. I PLANT a tree whose leaf The sun may shine and we be cold- Margret, Margret! Sitteth the fair ladye Close to the river side, Which runneth on with a merry tone, It runneth through the trees, It runneth by the hill ; Nathless, the ladye's thoughts have found A way more pleasant still.— Margret, Margret! The night is in her hair, And giveth shade to shade; And the pale moonlight on her forehead white, Her lips part with a smile, I ween she thinketh of a voice, Margret, Margret! All little birds do sit With heads beneath their wings Nature doth seem in a mystic dream, Apart from her living things. That dream by that ladyè I ween is unpartook ; For she looketh to the high cold stars, With a tender human look! Margret, Margret! The ladye's shadow lies It lieth no less, in its quietness, Or as, upon the course of life, The ladye doth not move The ladye doth not dream Yet she seeth her shade no longer laid It shaketh without wind It parteth from the tide It standeth upright, in the cleft moonlightIt sitteth at her side! Margret, Margret ! Look in its face, ladyè, And keep thee from thy swound! With a spirit bold thy pulses hold, And hear its voice's sound! For so will sound thy voice, When thy face is to the wall, And such will be thy face, ladyè, When the maidens work thy pall- "Am I not like to thee?" The voice was calm and low And between each word there seeméd heard The universe's flow! "The like may sway the like! By which mysterious law, Mine eyes from thine, my lips from thine, The light and breath may draw, Margret, Margret! "My lips do need thy breath, My lips do need thy smile, And my pale deep eyne, that light in thine Which met the stars erewhile. Yet go, with light and life If that thou lovest one, In all the earth, who loveth thee Margret, Margret !" Her cheek had waxed white For love's name maketh bold, And sighed she the deep long sigh "Now, sooth, I fear thee not Shall never fear thee now!" (And a noble sight was the sudden light Which lit her lifted brow!) "Can earth be dry of streams, Or hearts of love ?"-she said; "Who doubteth love, can know not love,He is already dead!" Margret, Margret! "I have"-and here her lips Some word in pause did keep; And gave, the while, a quiet smile, As if they paused in sleep! "I have a brother dear, A knight of knightly fame; I broider'd him a knightly scarf With letters of my name." Margret, Margret! "I fed his gray goss-hawk, I kissed his fierce bloodhound, I sate at home when he might come, And caught his horn's far sound: I sang him songs of eld, I pour'd him the red wine, He looked from the cup, and said, IT trembled on the grass, With a low, shadowy laughter! The sounding river, which rolled ever, Thy pouréd wine than chanted song,— Margret, Margret !" The ladye did not heed The river's silence; while Her own thoughts still ran at their will, And calm was still her smile. "My little sister wears The look our mother wore; I smooth her locks with a golden combI bless her evermore!" Margret, Margret ! "I gave her my first bird, When first my voice it knew- And told her where they grew. IT trembled on the grass, With a low, shadowy laughter You could see each bird, as it woke, and stared Through the shrivell'd tree-leaves, after!— "Fair child thy sister is! But better loveth she The ladye did not heed That the far stars did failStill calm her smile, albeit, the whileNay!-but she is not pale !— "I have a more than friend, Across the mountains dim: No other's voice is soft to me, Margret, Margret! "Though louder beats mine heart, I know his tread again; And his far plume aye,-unless turned away, For tears do blind me, then! We brake no gold, a sign Of stronger faith to be; But I wear his last look in my soul, IT trembled on the grass, With a low shadowy laughterThe wind did toll, as a passing soul Were sped by church-bell, after ! And shadows, 'stead of light, Fell from the stars above, In flakes of darkness on her face, "He loved none but thee!! That love is transient too. The wild hawk's bill doth dabble still When tears fall on his brow? Her face was on the ground None saw the agony ! But the men at sea did that night agree And, when the morning brake, With the green trees waving overhead, A knight's bloodhound and he The funeral watch did keep With a thought o' the chase he stroked its face, As it howl'd to see him weep. A fair child kiss'd the dead, But shrank before the cold; And alone, yet proudly, in his hall Margret, Margret! Hang up my harp again— I have no voice for song! Not song, but wail-and mourners pale, Not bards to love belong! Oh, failing human love! Oh, light by darkness known! Oh, false, the while thou treadest earth! Oh, deaf, beneath the stone! Margret, Margret! The trees were interwoven wild, And spread their boughs enough about To keep both sheep and shepherd out, But not a happy child. Adventurous joy it was for me! I crept beneath the boughs, and found A circle smooth of mossy ground Beneath a poplar-tree. Old garden rose-trees hedged it in, Bedropt with roses waxen-white, Well satisfied with dew and light, And careless to be seen. Long years ago it might befall, When all the garden flowers were trim, The grave old gardener prided him On these the most of all; And lady stately overmuch, Who moved with a silken noise, Blush'd near them, dreaming of the voice That liken'd her to such ! And these, to make a diadem, She may have often pluck'd and twined,— Half-smiling as it came to mind, That few would look at them. Oh! little thought that lady proud, A child would watch her fair white rose, When buried lay her whiter brows, And silk was changed for shroud! |