THE IDEAL.

Thee have I seen in some waste Arden old, A white-browed maiden by a foaming stream, With eyes profound and looks like threaded gold, And features like a dream.

Upon thy wrist the jessied falcon fleet, A silver poniard chased with imageries Hung at a buckled belt, while at thy feet The gasping heron dies.

Have fancied thee in some quaint ruined keep A maiden in chaste samite, and her mien Like that of loved ones visiting our sleep, Or of a fairy queen.

She, where the cushioned ivy dangling h.o.a.r Disturbs the quiet of her sable hair, Pores o'er a volume of romantic lore, Or hums an olden air.

Or a fair Bradamant both brave and just, Intense with steel, her proud face lit with scorn, At heathen castles, demons' dens of l.u.s.t, Winding her bugle horn.

Just as stern Artegal; in chast.i.ty A second Britomart; in hardihood Like him who 'mid King Charles' chivalry A pillared sunbeam stood.

Or one in Avalon's deep-dingled bowers, On which old yellow stars and waneless moons Look softly, while white downy-lipped flowers Lisp faint and fragrant tunes.

Where haze-like creatures with smooth houri forms Stoop thro' the curling clouds and float and smile, While calm as hope in all her dreamy charms Sleeps the enchanted isle.

And where cool, heavy bow'rs unstirred entwine, Upon a headland breasting purple seas, A crystal castle like a thought divine Rises in mysteries.

And there a sorceress full beautiful Looks down the surgeless reaches of the deep, And, bubbling from her lily throat, songs lull The languid air to sleep.

About her brow a diadem of spars, At her fair cas.e.m.e.nt seated fleecy white Heark'ning wild sirens choiring to the stars Thro' all the raven night.

And when she bends above the glow-lit waves She sees the sea-king's templed city old Wrought from huge sh.e.l.ls and labyrinthine caves Ribbed red with rusty gold.

But nor the sirens' nor the ocean king's Love will she heed, but still sits yearning there To have the secret bird that vaguely sings Her aching heart to share.

TREACHERY.

I.

Came a spicy smell of showers On the purple wings of night, And a pearl-encrusted crescent On the lake looked still and white, While a sound of distant singing From the vales rose sad and light.

II.

Dripped the musk of sodden roses From their million heavy sprays, And the nightingales were sobbing Of the roses amorous praise Where the raven down of even Caught the moonlight's bleaching rays.

III.

And the turrets of the palace, From its belt of ancient trees, On the mountain rose romantic White as foam from troubled seas; And the murmur of an ocean Smote the chords of ev'ry breeze.

IV.

Where the moon shone on the terrace And its fountain's lisping foam; Where the bronzen urns of flowers Breathed faint perfume thro' the gloam, By the alabaster Venus 'Neath the quiet stars we'd roam.

V.

And we stopped beside the statue Of the marble Venus there Deeply pedestaled 'mid roses, Who their crimson hearts laid bare, Breathing out their lives in fragrance At her naked feet and fair.

VI.

And we marked the purple dingles Where the lazy vapors lolled, Like thin, fleecy ribs of moonlight Touched with amethyst and gold; And we marked the wild deer glimmer Like dim specters where they strolled....

VII.

But from out those treach'rous roses Crept a serpent and it stung, Poisoned him who'd tuned my heart-strings Till for him alone they sung, Froze the nerves of hands that only From its chords a note had wrung.

VIII.

Now the nightingales in anguish To cold, ashen roses moan; Now a sound of desolate wailing In the darkened palace lone From a harp aeolian quavers Broken on an empty throne.

ORLANDO MAD.

I.

In mail of black my limbs I girt, Angelica!

And when the bugles clanged the charge, The rolling battle's bristling marge Beheld me a black storm of war Dash on the foe; While Durindana glitt'ring far Made many a foeman mouth the dirt In bleeding woe:-- For thou didst fire me to the war 'Mid many a Paynim scimetar, Angelica!

II.

No more the battle fires my blood, Angelica!

No more gay lists flaunt all their guiles, And chivalry's charge, and beauty's smiles!

I wander lone the thistly wold When night-snows fall, And crispy frosts the wild gra.s.s hold.

Great knights go glimmering thro' the wood, The clarion's call Wakes War upon his desert wold-- I see the dawning breaking cold, Angelica!

III.

When Southern winds sowed all the skies, Angelica!

With bloom-storms of the flowering May; When all the battle-field was gay With scented garb of sainted flowers, I found a stream Cold as thy heart to paramours!

Deep as the depth of thy blue eyes!