Part 8

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.

THEKLA.

A SWEDISH SAGA.

THE TEMPTATION.

On the green sward Thekla's lying, Summer winds are round her sighing, At her feet the ocean plays; In that mirror idly gazing She beholds, with inward praising, Her own beauty in amaze.

And with winds and waves attuning Her low voice, in soft communing Said: "If truly I'm so fair, Might the best in our Swedish land Die all for love of my white hand, Azure eyes and golden hair."

And fair Thekla bent down gazing, Light her golden curls upraising From her bosom fair to see, Which, within the azure ocean, Glittered back in soft commotion, Like a lotus tremblingly.

Saying soft, with pleasure trembling, "If so fair is the resembling, How much fairer I must be! Rose-lipped shadow, smiling brightly, Are we angels floating lightly Through the azure air and sea?

"Oh! that beauty never faded, That years passing never shaded Youthful cheek with hues of age! Oh! thou fairest crystal form, Can we not time's hand disarm?" Hark! the winds begin to rage;

And with onward heaving motion Rise the waves in wild commotion-- Spirits mournfullest they seem Round the crystal shadow plaining, Shivered, shattered, fades it waning From the maiden like a dream.

And from midst the drooping oziers Of the sunny banks' enclosures Rose a woman weird to see: Strange her mein and antique vesture, Yet with friendly look and gesture To the trembling girl spake she.

"As the cruel winds bereft thee Of the shadow that hath left thee, Maiden, will thy children steal One by one these treasures from thee, Till all beauty hath foregone thee: Mother's woe is children's weal.

"For the beauty of the mother Is the children's--sister, brother, As she fades away, will bloom. Mother's eyes grow dim by weeping, Wan her cheek, lone vigils keeping: Youthful virgin, 'ware your doom!

"Wifely name is sweet from lover, Yet ere many years are over, From the fatal day you wed, Sore you'll rue the holy altar, And the salt sea will grow salter For the bitter tears you'll shed.

"See the pallid cheek reflected, Hollow, sunken eyes dejected, Look of weary, wasting pain; All changed for thy beauty rarest: Maiden, tell me, if thou darest Then come here, and look again.

"But should lovers' pleading gain thee, Haste thee quick and I will sain thee Ere the marriage vows are said; By the might of magic power, I can save thee from the hour Of a mother's anguish dread."

Answered Thekla: "Save me! save me! Witch or woman, then I crave thee, From a mother's fated doom! So my beauty never fading Thou canst make with magic aiding, Fatal Mother, I shall come."

THE SIN.

'Neath the casement stood a Ritter, Sings by night with sweetest tone. "Thekla, dearest Thekla, listen, Wilt thou be my bride, mine own?

"Castles have I, parks and forests, Mountains veined with the red gold; And a heart that pineth for thee, With a wealth of love untold.

"I will deck my love in jewels, Gold and peril on brow and hand, Broidered robes and costly girdles, From the far-off Paynim land.

"Here I hang upon the rose-tree, Love, a little golden ring; Wilt thou take it? wilt thou wear it, Love?" Thus did the Ritter sing.

Then upon his black steed mounting, Kissed his hand and doffed his plume. Lovely Thekla stole down gently, Sought the gold ring in the gloom.

"Little ring, wilt thou deceive me? Like the rose dost hide a thorn?" As she takes it, close beside her Sounds a ringing laugh of scorn.

And the fatal Mother, mocking, Points her finger to the ring: "What, my maiden! sold thy beauty For that paltry glittering thing?

"Plucked the bauble from a rose-tree? Ring and rose and doom in all; Roses bright from cheek of beauty, Roses bright must fade and fall.

"Wilt thou follow me?" They glided Over heath, through moor and wood, Till beside an ancient windmill, In the lone, dark night they stood.

All the mighty wheels were silent, All the giant arms lay still-- "Bride and wife, but never mother, Maiden, swear, is such thy will?

"Dost swear?" "I swear!" They glided Up the stairs and through the door, With her wand the magic Mother Draws a circle on the floor.

Grains of yellow corn, seven, Takes she from a sack beside, Draws the gold ring of her lover From the finger of the bride.--

"Seven children would have stolen Light and beauty from thine eyes, But as I cast the yellow corn Through thy gold ring, each one dies.

Slowly creaked the mill, then faster Whirled the giant arms on high; Shuddering, hears the trembling maiden Crushing bones, and infant's cry.

Now there is a deathlike silence, Thekla hears her heart alone-- Again the weird one flings the corn, Again that plaintive infant's moan.

Two--three--four--the mill goes faster, Whirling, crushing.--Ah! those cries! "Bride, thou'lt never be a mother; Thy beauty's saved--the seventh dies!"

Seven turns the mill hath taken, Seven moans hath Thekla heard; Then all is still. The moon from Heaven Shines down calm upon the sward.

"Now take back thy ring in safety; Mother's joy or mother's woe, Wasting pain or fading beauty, Maiden, thou shalt never know!

"Home, before the morning hour!" Home in terror Thekla flies, Shuddering, she hears behind her Laugh of scorn, infants' cries.

THE BRIDAL

The guests have met in the castle hall. Who rides through the castle gate, With banner and plume? The young bridegroom And a hundred knights in state.

The guests have met in procession fair, Around the bride they stand; The myrtle wreath on her golden hair, The bride ring on her hand.

So bright her beauty she dazed men's eyes, Like the blinding, glorious sun. "Never knight," they murmured, "gained such prize Since ever the world begun."

Seven maidens held up her train of white, Inwrought with the precious gold, And over it flowed in a stream of light Her long, bright hair unrolled.

Seven pages, each with a lighted torch, Precede her as she moves With the long array to the ancient church Within the beechen groves.

The priest stood mute with the holy book, And scarce could utter a prayer, As that lovely vision of light and youth Knelt down before him there.

She vows the vows. Erick bends to place The gold ring on her hand, Prouder then, as he gazed on her face, Than if King of the Swedish land.

The lights were bright in the hall that night, But brighter Thekla's glance, As in wedded pride, by Erick's side, She led the bridal dance.

"Drink! and wave high the flaming pines; God bless the bride so fair! May a goodly race, like clustering vines, Twine round the wedded pair!"

The "vivas" rung for the noble race, Till they stirred the banners of gold, And the bridegroom bow'd with a stately grace; But the bride sat mute and cold--

For the air seemed heavy as that of graves, And the lights burned lurid and chill; And she hears the dash of the far-off waves, And the creak of the mighty mill.

The "vivas" sound like an infant's wail, Or a demon's laugh of scorn. "Oh! would to God," she murmured, all pale, "That I had never been born!"

THE PUNISHMENT.

Full seven years have passed and flown-- But years o'er Thekla lightly pass, As rose leaves, falling one by one, From roses on the summer grass.

"It is our bridal day," she said; "We're bidden to a christ'ning feast I'll wear the robe I had when wed, The robe I love of all the best.

"I'll wear my crown of jewels rare: On brow and bosom let them shine; Yet diamonds in my golden hair Were dull beside these eyes of mine!"

She laughed aloud before the glass. "Some women's hair would turn to grey With cares, ere half the years did pass I've numbered since my wedding day.

"But they were mothers--fools, I trow. Life's current all too quickly runs; I would not give my beauty now For all their goodly race of sons."

She sprang upon her palfrey white, While Erick held the broidered rein, And showered down her veil of light Upon the flowing, silky mane.

The guests rose up in wonderment-- Such beauty never had been seen-- And bowed before her as she went, As if she were a crownéd queen.

The knights pressed round with words of praise, And murmured homage in her ear, And swore to serve her all their days, E'en die for her--would she but hear.

But vainly, all in vain they sought One answering smile of love to win. Upon her soul there lieth nought Save that one only, deadly sin.

"I pray you now I fain would have So fair an angel hold my child," The mother said; and smiling, gave To Thekla's arms her infant mild.

Advancing slow, with stately air, Beside the font she took her place, The infant, like a rosebud fair, Nestling amid her bosom's lace.

She lays it on the bishop's arm, The while he makes the blessed sign, And sains it safe from ghostly harm By Father, Spirit, Son Divine.

Then reaches out her hands again To take it--but with moaning sound, Like one distraught with sudden pain, Falls pale and fainting to the ground.

"She has no children," Erick said, As pleading for the strange mischance; "This only grief since we were wed Has saddened sore her life, perchance."

"She has no children!" murmured low The happy mothers, gathered near; "No child to love her--bitter woe; No child to kiss her on her bier!"

But graver matrons shook the head: "That witchlike beauty bodes no good; Witch hands can never hold, 'tis said, A child just blessed by holy rood."

They raised her up; she spake no word, But slowly drooped her tearful eyes; The rushing wave was all she heard, The whirling wheels, the infants' cries.

And Erick said, with bitter smile: "You play the mother all too ill; Madonnas do not suit your style." Her thoughts were by the lonely mill.

They set her on her palfrey white; She heeds not all their taunting sneers, But showers down her veil of light, To hide the conscious, guilty tears.

They rode through all his vast estate But rode in silence--he behind, Sore pondering on his childless fate, With ruffled brow and moody mind.

They rode through shadowy forest glades, By meadows filled with lowing kine, By streams that ran like silver threads Down from the dark-fringed hills of pine.

"Alas!" he thought, "no child of mine When I am dead shall take my place; Must all the wealth of all my line Pass to a hated kinsman's race?"

"Now, by my sword, I'd give up all, Wealth, fame, and glory, all I've won, So that within my father's hall Beside me stood a noble son!"

He saw her white veil floating back Along the twilight gray and still, Like ghostly shadows on her track-- Her thoughts were by the lonely mill.

And now they neared the ancient church, The ancient church where they were wed! The moonlight full upon the porch Shone bright, and Erick raised his head.