Chapter 2

It were a goodly thing to spare a foe And kill his hate. And I would e'en do so! For I would kill the coyness of thy face. I would enfold thee in my spurn'd embrace And kiss the kiss that gladdens as with wine. Yea, I would wrestle with those arms of thine, And, like a victor, I would vanquish thee, And, tyrant-like, I'd teach thee to be mine.

v.

For, what is peace that we should cling thereto If war be wisest? If the death we woo Be fraught with fervor there's delight in death! There is persuasion in the tempest's breath Not known in calm; and raptures round us flow When, like an arrow through the bended bow Of two fond lips, the quivering dart of love Brings down the kiss which saints shall not bestow.

vi.

The soldier dies for country and for kin; He dies for fame that is so sweet to win; And, part for duty, part for battle-doom, He wends his way to where the myrtles bloom; He gains a grave, perchance a recompense Beyond his seeking, and a restful sense Of soul-completion, far from any strife, And far from memory of his land's defence.

vii.

Be this my meed,--to die for love of thee, As when the sun goes down upon the sea And finds no mate in all the realms of earth. I, too, have look'd on Nature in its worth And found no resting-place in all the spheres, And no relief beyond my sonnet-tears,-- The soul-fed shudderings of my lonely harp That knows the gamut now of all my fears.

viii.

I wear thy colours till the day I die: A glove, a ribbon, and a rose thereby, All join'd in one. I revel in these things; For, once an angel, unarray'd in wings, Came to my side, and beam'd on me, and said: "I love thee, friend!" and then, with lifted head, Gave me a rose on which the dew had fallen; And, like the flower, she blush'd a virgin-red.

ix.

I found the glove down yonder in the dale. I knew 'twas thine; its color, creamy-pale, Fill'd me with joy. "A prize!" I cried aloud, And snatch'd it up, as zealous then, and proud, As one who wins a knighthood in his youth; And I was moved thereat, in very sooth, And kiss'd it oft, and call'd on kindly Heaven To be the sponsor of mine amorous truth.

x.

I Earn'd the ribbon as we earn a smile For service done. I help'd thee at the stile; And so 'twas mine, my trophy, as of right. Oh, never yet was ribbon half so bright! It seem'd of sky-descent,--a strip of morn Thrown on the sod,--a something summer-worn To be my guerdon; and, enriched therewith, I follow'd thee, thy suitor, through the corn.

xi.

I trod on air. I seem'd to hear the sound Of fifes and trumpets and the quick rebound Of bells unseen,--the storming of a tower By imps audacious, and the sovereign power Of some arch-fairy, thine acquaintance sure In days gone by; for, all the land was pure, As if new-blest,--the land and all the sea And all the welkin where the stars endure.

xii.

We journey'd on through fields that were a-glow With cowslip buds and daisies white as snow; And, hand in hand, we stood beside a shrine At which a bard whom lovers deem divine, Laid down his life; and, as we gazed at this, There seem'd to issue from the wood's abyss A sound of trills, as if, in its wild way, A nightingale were pondering on a kiss.

xiii.

A lane was reached that led I know not where, Unless to Heaven,--for Heaven was surely there And thou so near it! And within a nook A-down whose covertness a noisy brook Did talk of peace, I learnt of thee my fate; The word of pity that was kin to hate,-- The voice of reason that was reason's foe Because it spurn'd the love that was so great!

xiv.

But I must pause. I must, from day to day, Keep back my tears, and seek a surer way Than Memory's track. I must, with lifted eyes, Re-shape my life, and heed the battle-cries Of prompt ambition, and be braced at call To do such deeds as haply may befall, If, freed of thee, and charter'd to myself, I may undo the bonds that now enthrall.

xv.

Shall I do this? I shall; and thou shalt see Signs of rebellion. I will turn to thee And claim obedience. I will make it plain How many a link may go to form a chain, And each a circlet, each a ring to wear. I will extract the sting from my despair And toy therewith, as with a charmed snake, That, Lamia-like, uprears itself in air.

xvi.

Or is my boast a vain, an empty one, And shall I rue it ere the day is done? Will hope revive betimes? Or must I stand For evermore outside the fairyland Of thy good will? Alas! my place is here, To muse and moan and sigh and shed my tear, My paltry tear for one who loves me not, And would not mourn for me on my death-bier.

xvii.

Oh, get thee hence, thou harbinger of light! That, like a dream, dost come to me at night To haunt my sleep, and rob me of content, So true-untrue, so deaf to my lament, I must forego the pride I felt therein. Aye, get thee hence! And I will crush the sin, If sin it be, that prompts me, night and day, To seek in thee the bliss I cannot win.

xviii.

Or, if thou needs must haunt me after dark, Come when I wake. The oriole and the lark Are friends of thine; and oft, I know, the thrush Has trill'd of thee at morn and even-blush. And flowers have made confessions unto me At which I marvel; for they rail at thee And call thee heartless in thy seemlihood, Though queen-elect of all the flowers that be.

xix.

Nay, heed me not! I rave; I am possess'd By utmost longing. I am sore oppress'd By thoughts of woe; and in my heart I feel A something keener than the touch of steel, As if, to-day, a danger unforeseen Had track'd thy path,--as if my prayers had been Misjudged in Heaven, or drown'd in demon-shouts Beyond the boundaries of the coasts terrene.

xx.

But this is clear; this much at least is true: I am thine own! I doat upon the blue Of thy kind eyes, well knowing that in these Are proofs of God; and down upon my knees I fall subservient, as a man in shame May own a fault; albeit, as with a flame, I burn all day, abash'd and unforgiven, And all unfit to touch the hand I claim!

Fifth Litany.

_SALVE REGINA_.

Fifth Litany.

Salve Regina.

i.

Glory to thee, my Queen! whom far away My thoughts aspire to,--as the birds of May Aspire o' mornings,--as in lonely nooks The gurgling murmurs of neglected brooks Aspire to moonlight,--aye! as earth aspires When through the East, alert with wild desires, The rapturous sun surveys the welkin's height, And flecks the world with witcheries of his fires.

ii.

Oh, I should curb my grief. I should entone No plaint to thee; no loss should I bemoan! I should be patient, I, though full of care, And not attempt, by bias of a prayer, To sway thy spirit, or to urge anew A claim contested. For my days are few; My days, I think, are few upon the earth Since I must shun the joys I would pursue.

iii.

I am not worthy of the Heaven I name When I name thee; and yet to win the same Is still my dream. I strive as best I can To live uprightly on the vaunted plan Of old-world sages. But I strive not well; And thoughts conflicting which I cannot quell Make me despondent; and I quake thereat, As at the shuddering of a doomsday bell.

iv.

To die for thee were more than my desert; To live for thee to keep thee out of hurt And, like a slave, to wait upon thy will Were more than fame. And lo! I nourish still A sense of calm to feel that thou, at least, Art sorrow-free and honor'd at the feast Which Nature spreads for all contented minds; And that for thee its splendours have increased.

v.

I stand alone. I stand beneath the trees, I guess their thoughts; I hear them to the breeze Say tender nothings; and I dream the while Of thy white arms, and thy remember'd smile, When, in a spot like this, a year a-gone, I saw thee stoop to pluck from off the lawn A wounded bird that peer'd into thy face As if it took thee for the nymph of dawn!

vi.

Oh, can it be, as friends of thine affirm That thou'rt a fairy,--that, from term to term, Month after month, belov'd of all good things, Thou'rt seen in forests and in meadow rings Girt for the dance? or like an Oread queen Array'd for council? For the woods convene Their dryad forces when the nights are clear, And nymphs and fawns carouse upon the green.

vii.

The crescent moon, the Argosy of heaven, Veers for the west across the Pleiads seven, And, out beyond the ridge of Charles's Wain, It seems to come to mooring on the main Of that deep sky, as if awaiting there An angel-guest with sunlight in her hair, A seraph's cousin, or the foster-child Of some centurion of the upper air.

viii.

Is it thy soul? Has Cynthia call'd for thee In her white boat, to take thee o'er the sea Where suns and stars and constellations bright Are isles of glory,--where a seraph's right Surpasses mine, and makes me seem indeed A base intruder, with a coward's creed And not an angel's, though a Christian born And pledged always to serve thee at thy need?

ix.

Thou'rt sleeping now; and in thy snowy rest,-- In that seclusion which is like a nest For blameless human maids beheld of those Who come from God,--thou hast in thy repose No thought of me,--no thought of pairing-time. For thou'rt the sworn opponent of the rhyme That lovers make in kissing; and anon My very love will vex thee like a crime.

x.

But day and night, and winter-tide and spring, Change at thy voice; and when I hear thee sing I know 'tis May; and when I see thy face I know 'tis Summer. Thou'rt the youngest Grace, And all the Muses praise thee evermore. And there are birds who name thee as they soar; And some of these,--the best and brightest ones,-- Have guess'd the pangs that pierce me to the core.

xi.

Thou art the month of May with all its nights And all its days transfigured in the lights Of love-lit smiles and glances multiform; And, like a lark that sings above a storm, Thy voice o'er-rides the tumult of my mind. Oh, give me back the peace I strove to find In my last prayer, and I'll believe that Hope Will dry anon the tears that make it blind.

xii.

There's none like thee, not one in all the world; No face so fair, no smile so sweet-impearl'd, And no such music on the hills and plains As thy young voice whereof the thrill remains For hours and hours,--belike to keep alive The sense of beauty that the flowers may thrive. Or is't thy wish that birds should fly to thee Before the days of April's quest arrive?

xiii.

Thou'rt noble-natured; and there's none to stand So meek as thou, or with so dear a hand To ward off wrong. For Psyche of the Greeks Is dead and gone; and Eros with his freaks Has bow'd to thee, and turn'd aside, for shame, His useless shaft, not daring to proclaim His amorous laws, and thou so maiden-coy Beneath the halo of thy spotless name!

xiv.

But dreams are idle, and I must forget All that they tend to. I must cease to fret, Moth as I am, for stars beyond the reach Of mine up-soaring; and in milder speech I must invoke thy blessing on the road That lies before me,--far from thine abode, And far from all persuasion that again Thou wilt accept the terms of my love-code.

xv.

O Sweet! forgive me that from day to day I dream such dreams, and teach me how to sway My fluttering self, that, in forsaken hours, I may be valiant, and eschew the powers Of death and doubt! I need the certitude Of thine esteem that I may check the feud Of mine own thoughts that rend and anger me Because denied the boon for which I sued.

xvi.

Teach me to wait with patience for a word, And be the sight of thee no more deferr'd Than one up-rising of the vesper star That waits on Dian when, supreme, afar, She eyes the sunset. And of this be sure, As I'm a man and thou a maid demure, Thou shalt be ta'en aside and wonder'd at, Before the gloaming leaves the land obscure.

xvii.

Thou shalt be bow'd to as we bow to saints In window'd shrines; and, far from all attaints Of ribald passion, thou, as seemeth good, Wilt smile serenely in thy virginhood. Nor shall I know, of mine own poor accord, Which thing in all the world is best to hoard, Or which is worst of all the things that slay: A woman's beauty or a soldier's sword.

xviii.

I grieve in sleep. I pine away at night. I wake, uncared for, in the morning light; And, hour by hour, I marvel that for me The wandering wind should make its minstrelsy So sweet and calm. I marvel that the sun, So round and red, with all his hair undone, Should smile at me and yet begrudge me still The sight of thee that art my worshipp'd one!

xix.

I count my moments as a cloister'd man May count his beads; and through the weary span Of each long day I peer into my heart For hints of comfort; and I find, in part, A self-committal, and a glimpse withal Of some new menace in the rise and fall Of days and nights that are the test of Time Though Fate would make a mockery of them all.

xx.

There's a disaster worse than loss of gold, Worse than remorse, and worse a thousand-fold, Than pangs of hunger. 'Tis the thirst of love, The rage and rapture of the ravening dove We name Desire. Ah, pardon! I offend; My fervor blinds me to the withering end Of all good council, and, accurst thereby, I vaunt anew the faults I cannot mend.

Sixth Litany.

_BENEDICTA TU_.

Sixth Litany.

Benedicta Tu.

i.

I tell thee Sweet! there lives not on the earth A love like mine in all the height and girth And all the vast completion of the sphere. I should be proud, to-day, to shed a tear If I could weep. But tears are most denied When most besought; and joys are sanctified By joys' undoing in this world of ours From dusk to dawn and dawn to eventide.

ii.

Wert thou a marble maid and I endow'd With power to move thee from thy seeming shroud Of frozen splendour,--all thy whiteness mine And all the glamour, all the tender shine Of thy glad eyes,--ah God! if this were so, And I the loosener, in the summer-glow, Of thy long tresses! I were licensed then To gaze, unchidden, on thy limbs of snow.

iii.

I would prepare for thee a holy niche In some new temple, and with draperies rich, And flowers and lamps and incense of the best, I would with something of mine own unrest Imbue thy blood and prompt thee to be just. I would endow thee with a fairer trust Than mere contentment, and a dearer joy Than mere revulsion from the sins of dust.

iv.

A band of boys, with psaltery and with lyre, And Cyprian girls, the slaves of thy desire, Would chant and pray and raise so wild a storm Of golden notes around thy sculptured form That saints would hear the chorus up in Heaven, And intermingle with their holy steven The sighs of earth, and long for other cares Than those ordain'd them by the Lord's Eleven.

v.

I would approach thee with a master's tread And claim thy hand and have the service read By youthful priests resplendent every one; And in thy frame the blood of thee would run As warm and sound as wine of Syracuse. And all that day the birds would bear the news In far directions, and the meadow-flowers Would dream thereof, love-laden, in the dews.

vi.

Then, by magnetic force,--the greatest known This side the tomb,--I would athwart the stone Of thy white body, in a trice of time, Call forth thy soul, and woo thee to the chime Of tinkling bells, and make thee half afraid, And half aggrieved, to find thyself array'd In such enthralment, and in such attire, In sight of one whose will should not be stay'd.

vii.

And, like Pygmalion, I would claim anon A bride's submission; and my talk thereon Would not perplex thee; for the sense of life Would warm thy heart, and urge thee to the strife Of lip with lip, and kiss with pulsing kiss, Which gives the clue to all we know of bliss, And all we know of heights we long to climb Beyond the boundaries of the grave's abyss.

viii.

The dear old deeds chivalrous once again Would find fulfilment; and the curse of Cain Which fell on woman, as on men it fell, Would fly from us, as at a sorcerer's spell, And leave us wiser than the sophists are Who love not folly. Night should not debar, Nor day dissuade us, from those ecstacies That have Anacreon's fame for guiding-star.

ix.

Aye! thou wouldst kneel and seek in me apace A transient shelter for thine amorous face Which then I'd screen; and thou to me wouldst turn With awe-struck eyes, and cling to me and yearn, With sighs full tender and a touch of fear. And, like a bird which knows that spring is near, And, after spring, the summer of sweet days, Thou wouldst attune thy love-notes in mine ear.

x.

Or, fraught with feelings near akin to hate, Thou wouldst denounce me; and, like one elate, Thou wouldst entwine me in thine arms so white, As soldier-nymphs, with rapt and raging sight, Made war with spearsmen in the vales of song, The vales of Sparta where, for right or wrong, The gods were potent, and, for beauty's sake, Upheld the tourneys of the fair and strong.

xi.

I would not seem too wilful in the heat Of our encounter, or with sighs repeat Too fierce a vow. I would throughout confess Thy murderous mirth, thy conquering loveliness, And then subdue thee! Tears would not avail Nor prayer, nor praise; and, flush'd the while or pale, Thou shouldst be mine, my hostage in the night, Without the option of a moment's bail.

xii.

Thou shouldst be mine! My hopes, from first to last, Would win their way; and, lithe and love-aghast, And all unnerv'd, thou wouldst, as in a dream Entreat my pardon! I would callous seem To thine out-yearning. I would cast on thee A questioning look, and then, upon my knee, I would surrender to that face of thine Which is the great world's wonder unto me.

xiii.

O Heaven! could this be done, and I fulfil One half my wish, and curb thee to my will, I were a prompter and a prouder man Than earth has known since light-foot lovers ran For Atalanta, lov'd of men and boys. I were a kaiser then, a king of joys, And fit to play with high-begotten pomps As children play with pebbles or with toys.

xiv.

O Golden Hair! O Gladness of an Hour Made flesh and blood! O beauteous Human Flower Too sweet to pluck, and yet, though seeming-cold, Ordain'd to love! I pray thee, as of old, Be kind to me. I saw thee yesternight, And for an instant I was urged to plight My troth again; for in thy face I saw What seem'd a smile evoked for my delight.

xv.

Re-grant thy favour! Take me by the hand And lead me back again to thine own land, The nook supreme, the sanctum in the glen Where pixies walk,--unknown to peevish men And shrew-like women whom no faith uplifts! Show me the place where Nature keeps the gifts She most approves, and where the song-birds dwell, And I'll forego the land of little thrifts.

xvi.

The moon is mother and the sun is sire Of those young planets which, with infant fire, Have late been found in regions too remote For quicklier search; and these, in time, will dote And whirl and wanton in the realms of space. For there are comets in the nightly chase Who see strange things untalk'd of by the bards; And earth herself has found a trysting-place.

xvii.

And so 'tis clear that sun and moon and stars Are link'd by love! The marriage-feast of Mars Was fixt long since. 'Tis Venus whom he weds. 'Tis she alone for whom he gaily treads His path of splendour; and of Saturn's ring He knows the symbol, and will have, in spring, A night-betrothal, near the Southern Cross; And all the stars will pause thereat and sing.

xviii.

What wonder, then, what wonder if to-day I, too, assert my right, in roundelay, To talk of rings and posies and the vows That wait on marriage? 'Tis the wild carouse Of soul with soul athwart the sense of touch. 'Tis this uplifts us when, with fever-clutch, The world would claim us; and our hopes revive In spite of fears that daunt us over-much.

xix.

Lips may be coy; but eyes are quick, at times, To note the throbbings that are hot as crimes, And fond as flutterings of the wings of doves. For he is blind indeed who, when he loves, Doubts all he sees:--the flickering of a smile, The Parthian glance, the nod that, for a while, Outbids Elysium, and is half a jest, And half a truth, to tempt us and beguile.

xx.

Thine eyes have told me things I dare not speak; And I will trust the track they bid me seek, Yea, though it lead me to the gates of death! The wind is labouring:--it is out of breath; Belike for scampering up the hill so fast To say all's well with thee; and, down the blast, I seem to hear the sounds of serenades That swell from out the song-fields of the past.

Seventh Litany.

STELLA MATUTINA.

Seventh Litany.

Stella Matutina.

i.

Arise, fair Phoebus! and with looks serene Survey the world which late the orbed Queen Did pave with pearl to please enamour'd swains. Arise! Arise! The Dark is bound in chains, And thou'rt immortal, and thy throne is here To sway the seasons, and to make it clear How much we need thee, O thou silent god! That art the crown'd controller of the year.

ii.

And while the breezes re-construct for thee The shimmering clouds; and while, from lea to lea, The great earth reddens with a maid's delight, Behold! I bring to thee, as yesternight, My subject song. Do thou protect apace My peerless one, my Peri with the face That is a marvel to the minds of men, And like a flower for humbleness of grace.

iii.

The earth which loves thee, or I much have err'd, The glad, green earth which waits, as for a word, The sound of thee, up-shuddering through the morn, The restive earth is pleased when Day is born, And soon will take each separate silent beam As proof of sex,--exulting in the dream Of joys to come, and quicken'd and convuls'd, Year after year, by love's triumphant theme.

iv.

A thousand times the flowers in all the fields Will bow to thee; and with their little shields The daisy-folk will muster on the plain. A thousand songs the birds will sing again, As sweet to hear as quiverings of a lute; And she I love will sing, for thy repute, Full many a song. She sings when she but speaks; And when she's near the birds should all be mute.

v.

O my Beloved! from thy curtain'd bed Arise, rejoice, uplift thy golden head, And be an instant, while I muse on this, As nude as statues, and as good to kiss As dear St. Agnes when she met her death, Unclad and pure and patient of her breath, And with the grace of God for wedding-gown, As many an ancient story witnesseth.

vi.

The bath, the plunge, the combing of the hair, All this I view,--a sight beyond compare Since Daphne died in all the varied charms Of her chaste body,--rounded regal arms, And shape supreme, too fair for human gaze, But not too fair to win the mirror's praise That throbs to see thee in thy deshabille And loves thee well through all the nights and days.

vii.

I see thee thus in fancy, as in books A man may see the naiads of the brooks;-- As one entranced by potions aptly given May see the angels where they walk in Heaven, And may not greet them in their high estate. For who shall guess the riddle wrought of Fate Till he be dead? And who that lives a span Shall thwart the Future where it lies in wait?

viii.

And now to-day a word I dare not write Starts to my lips, as when a baffled knight Witholds a song which fain he would repeat; For lo! the sense thereof is passing sweet. And, like a cup that's full, my heart is fill'd With new desires and quiverings new-distill'd From old delights; and all my pulses throb As at the touch of dreams divinely-will'd.

ix.

Who talks of comfort when he sees thee not And feels no fragrance of the happy lot Which violets feel, when call'd upon to lie On thy white breast? And who with amorous eye Looks at the dear tomb of the shuddering flowers, The two-fold tomb where daintily for hours They droop and muse,--who looks, I say, at these And will not own the witchery of thy powers?

x.