She did not urge me; gentle, wise, and kind!

But clasped my hand and talked: her beaming mind Arrayed in brightness all it touched. Behind, Her shadow fell forgot, as she and I Went homeward musing, smiling at the sky.

Thro' pastures and thro' fields where corn grew strong; By cottage nests that could not harbour wrong; Across the bridge where laughed the stream; along The road to where her gabled mansion stood, Old, tall, and s.p.a.cious, in a ma.s.sy wood.

We loitered toward the porch; but paused meanwhile Where Psyche holds a dial to beguile The hours of sunshine by her golden smile; And holds it like a goblet brimmed with wine, Nigh clad in trails of tangled eglantine.

In the deep peacefulness which shone around My soul was soothed: no darksome vision frowned Before my sight while cast upon the ground Where Psyche's and My Lady's shadows lay, Twin graces on the flower-edged gravel way.

I then but yearned for t.i.tian's glorious power, That I by toiling one devoted hour, Might check the march of Time, and leave a dower Of rich delight that beauty I could see, For broadening generations yet to be.

VIII. HER GARDEN.

The wind that's good for neither man nor beast Weeks long incessant from the blighting East Drove gloom and havoc through the land and ceased.

When swaying mildly over wide Atlantic seas, Bland and dewy soft streamed the Western breeze.

In walking forth, I felt with vague alarm, Closer than wont her pressure on my arm, As through morn's fragrant air we sought what harm That Eastern wind's despite had done the garden growth; Where much lay dead or languished low for drouth.

Her own parterre was bounded by a red Old b.u.t.tressed wall of brick, moss-broidered; Where grew mid pink and azure plots a bed Of shining lilies intermixed in wondrous light; She called them "Radiant spirits robed in white."

Here the mad gale had rioted and thrown Far drifts of snowy petals, fiercely blown The stalks in twisted heaps: one flower alone Yet hung and lit the waste, the latest blossom born Among its fallen kinsmen left forlorn.

"Thy pallid droop," cried I, "but more than all, Thy lonely sweetness takes my soul in thrall, O Seraph Lily Blanch! so stately tall: By violets adored, regarded by the rose, Well loved by every gentle flower that blows!"

My Lady dovelike to the lily went, Took in curved palms a cup, and forward leant, Deep draining to the gold its dreamy scent.

I see her now, pale beauty, as she bending stands, The wind-worn blossom resting in her hands!

Then slowly rising, she in gazing trance Affrayed, long pored on vacancy. A glance Of chilly splendour tinged her countenance And told the saddened truth, that stress of blighting weather, Had made her lilies and My Lady droop together.

IX. TOLLING BELL.

"Weak, but her spirits good," the letter said: A bell was tolling, while these words I read, A dull sepulchral summons for the dead.

Fear grew in every pace I strode Hurrying on that endless road.

And when I reached the house a terror came That wrought in me a hidden sense of blame, And entering I scarce dared to speak her name, Who lay, sweet singer, warbling low Rhymes I made her long ago.

"The sun exhales the morning dew, The dew returns again At eve refreshing rain: The forest flowers bloom bravely new, They drooping fade and die, The seeds that in them lie Will blossom as the others blew."

"And ever rove among the flowers Bright children who ere long Are men and women strong: When on they pa.s.s through sun and showers, And glancing sideways watch Their children run to catch A rainbow with the laughing Hours."

I watched in awkward wonder for a time As there she listless lay and sang my rhyme, Wrapped up in fabrics of an Indian clime She seemed a Bird of Paradise Languid from the traversed skies.

A dawn-bright snowy peak her smile . . . Strange I Should dawdle near her grace admiringly, When love alarmed and challenged sympathy, Announced in chills of creeping fear Danger surely threatening near.

I shrank from searching the abyss I felt Yawned by; whose verge voluptuous blossoms belt With dazzling hues:--she speaks! I fall and melt, One sacred moment drawn to rest, Deeply weeping in her breast:

Within the throbbing treasure wept? But brief Those loosening tears of blessed deep relief, That won triumphant ransom from my grief, While loving words and comfort she Breathed in angel tones to me.

Our visions met, when pityingly she flung Her pa.s.sionate arms about me, kissing clung, Close kisses, stifling kisses; till each wrung, With welded mouths, the other's bliss Out in one long sighing kiss.

Love-flower that burst in kisses and sweet tears, Scattering its roseate dreamflakes, disappears Into cold truth: for, loud with brazen jeers, That bell's toll, clanging in my brain, Beat me, loth, to earth again:

Where, looking on my Love's endangered state, Wrought by keen anguish mad, I struck at fate, Prostrating mockingly in sport or hate The aspirations, darkling, we Cherish and resolve to be.

She spoke, but sharply checked; then as her zone A lady's hands would clasp, My Lady's own Pressed at her yielding side; her solemn tone And forward eager face implored Me to kneel where she adored.

Despite her pain, with tender woman's phrase She solaced me, whose part it was to raise Anew the gladness to her weakened gaze, And wisely in man's firmness be To my drooping vine a tree.

But no; sunk, dwindled, dwarfed, and mean, beside Her couch I sitting saw her eyes grow wide With awe, and heard her voice move as the tide Of steady music rich and calm In some high cathedral psalm.

Then, as that high cathedral psalm o'erflows The dusky, vaulted aisles, and slowly grows A burst of harmony the hearer knows, Her voice a.s.sailed by rage, and I Took its purport wonderingly.

"Ah, pause for dread, before you charge in haste The ways of fate; for how can those be traced That in the life Omnipotent lie based?

Or earth-grown atom's bounded soul Grasp the universal whole?

"The more he chafes, the worse his fetter galls The luckless captive closed in dungeon walls, And fighting chains and stones, he fighting falls.

Nor will that wasteful immolation Touch his lofty victor's station.

"Woe be to him perverse, who, weak and blind, In pride refusing to behold, shall find The ponderous roll of circ.u.mstance will grind His steps; and if he turn not, must Bruise and crush him into dust.

"We are the Lord's, not ours, His angels sing; So you, mine own, bow meekly to your King, And striving hard and long His grace will bring: His voice shall through the battle cry, When the strife is raging high."

She fluttering paused: awhile her surging zeal All utterance overwhelmed to mute appeal: I felt as men who fallen in battle feel, When far their chief's sword, like a gem, Points to glory not for them.

"When naked heaven is azure to your eyes, And light shines everywhere, you can be wise; But, when its storms in common course arise, To you the wind but sobs and grieves Wailing with the streaming leaves.

"Rust eats the steel, and moths corrupt the cloth, And peevish doubts destroy the soul that's loth To strive for duty, merged in shameful sloth, And lolls a weary wretch forlorn, While men reap the mellow corn.

"It is not man's to dream in sweet repose; He toils and murmurs, as he wondering goes, Poor changeful glitter on the stream that flows In lapses huge and solemn roar, Ever on without a sh.o.r.e.

"The plantlet grown in darkness puts forth spray; Through loaded gloom yearns feebly toward some ray Of bounty golden from the outer day That shines eternally sublime On the dancing motes of time."

The music stopped, and pa.s.sed into a smile Of tenderness, which she impressed to guile Her pain from me: I gazed as one awhile Escaped, who sees twin rainbows shine O'er his wrecked ship gulfed in brine.

My lost soul sank adown in soundless seas To ruined heaps besprent with ancient lees Of wealth: by soft stupendous ocean-trees; By anchors forged in early time, Changed to trails of rusted slime:

To where, what seemed a tomb, in this deep h.e.l.l Of night, bore a dim name I dread to tell: And there I heard sound some gigantic bell, Whose thunder laughing through my brain Mocked me back to flesh again.

Here all was emptier than the empty shade Of mist before a midnight moon decayed: Here life was strange as death, and more dismayed My spirit, now scarce conscious she Urged entreaty yet to me.

"'Tis life in life to know the King is just, And will not animate his helpless dust With fire unquenchable whose ardour must Achieve majestic deeds that raise Universal shouts of praise:

"Shouts of acclaim that gather into story, Chanted by one on some high promontory Who glowing in the dawn's advancing glory, Far down upon the listening crowd Shines through swathes of lingering cloud:

"And fires, by what he sings, to n.o.ble feud With grosser instincts, the charged mult.i.tude, That grow in temper and similitude To those great souls whose victories Triumph still in melodies: