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 G.o.d; 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!

[Ill.u.s.tration: cherub]

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 Pleads 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 Surpa.s.ses 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 G.o.d,--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 n.o.ble-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.