Of all the fair things he had meant to say:
Yet, as the incense on the flame he cast,
From stammering lips and pale these words there
passed, -
"O thou forgotten help, dost thou yet know
What thing it is I need, when even I,
Bent down before thee in this shame and woe,
Can frame no set of words to tell thee why
I needs must pray, O help me or I die!
Or slay me, and in slaying take from me
Even a dead man's feeble memory.
Yet soon, indeed, before his door he stood, And, as a man awaking from a dream,
O dear companion of my new-found life,
For I am called thy lover and thy wife?
She reached her hand to him, and with kind eyes
Gazed into his; but he the fingers caught
And drew her to him, and midst ecstasies
Passing all words, yea, wellnigh passing thought,
Felt that sweet breath that he so long had sought,
Felt the warm life within her heaving breast
As in his arms his living love he pressed.
But as his cheek touched hers he heard her say,
"Wilt thou not speak, Olove? why dost thou weep?
Art thou then sorry for this long-wished day,
Or dost thou think perchance thou wilt not keep
Seemed waked from his old folly; naught seemed This that thou holdest, but in dreamy sleep?
In all the things that he before had deemed
At least worth life, and on his heart there streamed
Cold light of day, - he found himself alone,
Reft of desire, all love and madness gone.
Thus to his chamber at the last he came,
And, pushing through the sti'i half-opened door,
He stood within; but there, for very shame
Of all the things that he had done before,
Still kept his eyes bent down upon the floor,
Thinking of all that he had done and said
Since he had wrought that luckless marble maid.
Yet soft his thoughts were, and the very place
Seemed perfumed with some nameless heavenly air.
So gaining courage, did he raise his face
Unto the work his hands had made so fair,
And cried aloud to see the niche all bare
Of that sweet form, while through his heart again
There shot a pang of his old yearning pain.
Yet while he stood, and knew not what to do
With yearning, a strange thrill of hope there came,
A shaft of new desire now pierced him through,
And therewithal a soft voice called his name,
And when he turned, with eager eyes aflame,
He saw betwixt him and the setting sun
The lively image of his loved one.
He trembled at the sight, for though her eyes,
Her very lips, were such as he had made,
And though her tresses fell but in such guise
As he had wrought them, now was she arrayed
In that fair garment that the priests had laid
Upon the goddess on that very morn,
Dyed like the setting sun upon the corn.
Speechless he stood, but she now drew anear,
Simple and sweet as she was wont to be,
And once again her silver voice rang clear,
Filling his soul with great felicity,
And thus she spoke, "Wilt thou not come to me,
Nay, let us do the bidding of the Queen,
And hand in hand walk through thy garden green;
"Then shalt thou tell me, still beholding me,
Full many things whereof I wish to know,
And as we walk from whispering tree to tree
Still more familiar to thee shall I grow,
And such things shalt thou say unto me now
As when thou deemedst thou wast quite alone,
A madman kneeling to a thing of stone."
But at that word a smile lit up his eyes
And therewithal he spake some loving word,
And she at first looked up in grave surprise
And clung to him as somewhat grown afeard;
When his deep voice and musical she heard,
Then cried aloud and said, "O mighty one!
What joy with thee to look upon the sun!"
Then into that fair garden did they pass,
And all the story of his love he told,
And as the twain went o'er the dewy grass,
Beneath the risen moon could he behold
The bright tears trickling down, then, waxen bold,
He stopped and said, "Ah, love, what meaneth
this?
Seest thou how tears still follow earthly bliss?"
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And sobbing said, "O love, what hurteth me?
When first the sweetness of my life I knew,
Not this I felt, but when I first saw thee
A little pain and great felicity
Rose up within me, and thy talk e'en now
Made pain and pleasure ever greater grow."
"O sweet," he said, "this thing is even love,
Whereof I told thee; that all wise men fear,
But yet escape not; nay, to gods above,
Unless the old tales lie, it draweth near.
But let my happy ears, I pray thee, hear
Thy story too, and how thy blessed birth
Has made a heaven of this once lonely earth."
"My sweet," she said, "as yet I am not wise, Or stored with words, aright the tale to tell, But listen when I opened first mine eyes I stood within the niche thou knowest well, And from mine hand a heavy thing there fell Carved like these flowers, nor could I see things clear,
And but a strange confused noise could hear.
"At last mine eyes could see a woman fair, But awful as this round white moon o'erhead, So that I trembled when I saw her there, For with my life was born some touch of dread, And therewithal I heard her voice that said, 'Come down, and learn to love and be alive, For thee, a well-prized gift, to-day I give.'
"Then on the floor I stepped, rejoicing much, Not knowing why, not knowing aught at all, Till she reached out her hand my breast to touch, And when her fingers thereupon did fall, Thought came unto my life, and therewithal I knew her for a goddess, and began To murmur in some tongue unknown to man.
"And then indeed not in this guise was I, No sandals had I, and no saffron gown, But naked as thou knowest utterly, E'en as my limbs beneath thine hand had grown, And this fair perfumed robe then fell adown Over the goddess' feet and swept the ground, And round her loins a glittering belt was bound.
"But when the stammering of my tongue she heard
Upon my trembling lips her hand she laid,
And spoke again, Nay, say not any word,
All that thine heart would say I know unsaid,
Who even now thine heart and voice have made;
But listen rather, for thou knowest now
What these words mean, and still wilt wiser grow.
"Thy body, lifeless till I gave it life,
A certain man, my servant, well hath wrought,
I give thee to him as his love and wife,
With all thy dowry of desire and thought,
Since this his yearning heart hath ever sought;
Now from my temple is he on the way,
Deeming to find thee e'en as yesterday;
"Bide thou his coming by the bed-head there,
And when thou seest him set his eyes upon
Thine empty niche, and hear'st him cry for care,
Then call him by his name, Pygmalion,
And certainly thy lover hast thou won;
But when he stands before thee silently,
Say all these words that I shall teach to thee.'
"With that she said what first I told thee, love,
And then went on, 'Moreover thou shalt say
That I, the daughter of almighty Jove,
| Have wrought for him this long-desired day; In sign whereof, these things that pass away, Wherein mine image men have well arrayed, I give thee for thy wedding gear, O-maid.'
And laid bare all her perfect loveliness,
"Therewith her raiment she put off from her,
And, smiling on me, came yet more anear,
And on my mortal lips her lips did press,
And said, 'Now herewith shalt thou love no less
Than Psyche loved my son in days of old;
Farewell, of thee shall many a tale be told.'
"And even with that last word was she gone, How, I know not, and I my limbs arrayed In her fair gifts, and waited thee alone Ah, love, indeed the word is true she said, For now I love thee So, I grow afraid Of what the gods upon our heads may sendI love thee so, I think upon the end."
What words he said? How can I tell again What words they said beneath the glimmering light,
Some tongue they used unknown to loveless men
As each to each they told their great delight,
Until for stillness of the growing night
Their soft sweet murmuring words seemed grow.
ing loud,
And dim the moon grew, hid by fleecy cloud.
JAMES FITZ-JAMES AND ELLEN.
FROM THE LADY OF THE LAKE."
A FOOTSTEP struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.
"O welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said;
"How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt"-"O, say not so!
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lead his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come; 't is more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half stayed,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till; at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 't was brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright;
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed;
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed:
For him she sought who owned this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate !
She gazed on many a princely port
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,
Then turned bewildered and amazed,
For all stood bare; and in the room
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent,
On him each courtier's eye was bent,
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring,
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the Monarch's feet she lay;
No word her choking voice commands:
She showed the ring, she clasped her hands.
O, not a moment could he brook,
The generous prince, that suppliant look!
Gently he raised her, and the while
Checked with a glance the circle's smile;
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,
And bade her terrors be dismissed :--
"Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James
The fealty of Scotland claims.
To him thy woes, thy wishes bring;
He will redeem his signet-ring.
Ask naught for Douglas; yester even
His prince and he have much forgiven:
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,
I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.
We would not to the vulgar crowd
Yield what they craved with clamor loud;
Calmly we heard and judged his cause,
Our council aided and our laws.
I stanched thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn;
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our Throne.
But, lovely infidel, how now?
What clouds thy misbelieving brow?
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid;
Thou must confirm this doubting maid."
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The Monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, -
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!
Yet would not James the general eye
On nature's raptures long should pry:
He stepped between-"Nay, Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away!
The riddle 't is my right to read,
That brought this happy chance to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way.
'T is under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils, - for Stirling's tower
Of
yore the name of Snowdoun claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James,
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured cause."
Then, in a tone apart and low,
"Ah, little trait'ress! none must know
What idle dream, what lighter thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,
Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Benvenue,
In dangerous hour, and all but gave
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"
Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost hold
That little talisman of gold,
Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring;
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"
Full well the conscious maiden guessed,
He probed the weakness of her breast ;
But with that consciousness there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,
And more she deemed the monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.
"Forbear thy suit; the King of kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings.
I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand;
My fairest earldom would I give
To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!—
Hast thou no other boon to crave?
No other captive friend to save ?”
Blushing, she turned her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wished her sire to speak
The suit that stained her glowing cheek.
"Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,
And stubborn justice holds her course.
Tones of tremulous emotion trailed upon the morning breeze,
Gentle words of heart-devotion whispered 'neath the ancient trees.
But the holy, blessed secrets it becomes me not to tell :
Life had met another meaning, fetching water from the well!
Down the rural lane they sauntered. He the burden-pitcher bore;
She, with dewy eyes downlooking, grew more beauteous than before !
When they neared the silent homestead, up he raised the pitcher light;
Like a fitting crown he placed it on her hair of wavelets bright:
Emblems of the coming burdens that for love of him she'd bear,
Calling every burden blessed, if his love but light
Then, still waving benedictions, further, further off he drew,
While his shadow seemed a glory that across the pathway grew.
Now about her household duties silently the maid
And an ever-radiant halo o'er her daily life was
Little knew the aged matron as her feet like music fell,
What abundant treasure found she fetching water from the well!
A MAIDEN WITH A MILKING-PAIL.
WHAT change has made the pastures sweet, And reached the daisies at my feet,
And cloud that wears a golden hem? This lovely world, the hills, the sward, They all look fresh, as if our Lord
But yesterday had finished them.
And here's the field with light aglow : How fresh its boundary lime-trees show!
And how its wet leaves trembling shine! Between their trunks come through to me The morning sparkles of the sea,
Below the level browzing line.
I see the pool, more clear by half Than pools where other waters laugh
Up at the breasts of coot and rail. There, as she passed it on her way, I saw reflected yesterday
A maiden with a milking-pail.
And what is left that I should tell?
I begged a kiss, I pleaded well :
The rosebud lips did long decline;
But yet, I think I think 't is true-
That, leaned at last into the dew,
One little instant they were mine!
O life! how dear thou hast become !
She laughed at dawn, and I was dumb!
But evening counsels best prevail.
Fair shine the blue that o'er her spreads,
Green be the pastures where she treads,
The maiden with the milking-pail !
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