"This fire will not be granted to distress, To fail in cold dead ash and bitterness: He will not grant true love that yearns to bless The world, that it may only sigh Back into itself and die."

The words here faltering sank to undertone: Her soul was murmuring to itself alone On some wide desolation, dark, unknown; Whose limits, stretched from mortal sight Touch the happy hills of light.

"I, toiling at the task a.s.signed to me, Am summoned from my labour suddenly: The King recalls his handmaiden; and she Submissively herself anoints, Going whither He appoints.

"The sheaves are garnered now, her work is done, The day is waning, and she must be gone, To bend herself before the Holy One, And strictly her appointed meed There accept in very deed."

Dead silence, more than if a thunder-stroke Had crashed the summer air, my sense awoke To sudden apprehension: hard the yoke Of misery was mine to bear; Wrath-befooled, in my despair

I went, and, leaning from the lattice, mused On my immeasurable woe; accused Heaven's King, that, like an earthly king, abused His power omnipotent, and hurled Curses broadcast on the world.

Then glancing toward her danger thought, "A cell Of noxious vapours this dull life; as well She should escape: so pure! she scarce could dwell With sinful creatures who alway Stumbling take the stain of clay

"But I unworthy! How in conscience I-- How could I hazard guidance in her high Cold path of duty leading to the sky!

As well hold torch to light a star Shining, mystic, nebular.

"She yearns to bless the world: just love for all Best shows in love for one; love cannot fall Like sunshine over half this wondrous ball, But her impulses yearn to bless All the world. Strange tenderness!"

This shameful mockery of myself alone Was interrupted by a sobbing moan That brought me to her coach, where low mine own Sweet Love lay swooning ashy white, Eyelids closing from the light.

Ah, coa.r.s.e, hard, bitter, brutal self! A beast In pa.s.sion, nay far worse than such, to feast On baseless anger against her whose least Stray word was kind; her daily food Interest in another's good.

My pa.s.sion then, like an unruly horse Checked by a master's hand, fell slack; its force Unnerved, and stifling me with hot remorse; Frightened, despairing, "Love," I cried, Wildly busy at her side;

And kissed and chafed her brow; I chafed her hand; Audacious grown with fear, released the band That clasped her tender waist, and keenly scanned Each feature, till her opening eyes Met my own in bright surprise

"Ah you! I had from you pa.s.sed and the world Through endless nothing rudely was I hurled While you there hung above, your proud lip curled, Regarding me with piercing hate Crying I deserved my fate."

We met each other, as when waters meet In long continued shock, and muttering, sweet Confusion mixed in unity complete That changing time may not dissever; One in love and one for ever.

Purged by remorse, love knit my strength; and now Came gracious power to still upon her brow Those troubled waves of some dark underflow; Her soul victorious over pain Spoke in golden smiles again.

We sat and read how Prospero closed his strife With evil, wrought his charm, and crowned his life In making two fair beings man and wife: Of brave Count Gismond's happy lot; And the Lady of Shalott.

We ceased; for eve had come by dusky stealth.

I saw, while lifting her, like crimson health Burn in her cheeks, holding the weighted wealth Of all the worlds in heaven to me; Held her long, long, lingeringly:

And laying down more than my life, her weight; Scarce kissed her pallid hands, then moved with great Reluctance, bodeful, from her placid state; But, ere my slow feet reached the door, Turned and caught one last look more,

And awe-struck stood to see portentous loom From her large eyes full gazing through the gloom Love darkly wedded to eternal doom, As she were gazing from the dead: Falling at her feet I said,

"Bless me, dear Love, bless me before I go; With love divine a beam of comfort throw, For guidance and support, that I through woe Be raised and purified in grace Worthy to behold your face."

She bowed her head in stately tenderness Low whispering as her hands my brow did press, "I pray that He will your lone spirit bless, And if to leave you be my fate, Pray you for me while I wait."

A useless pang in her no more to wake, I forced myself away, nor dared to take Another look for her beloved sake; My face had told of the distressed Swollen heart labouring in my breast.

When in the outer air, I felt as one Fresh startled from a dream, wherein the sun Had dying left the earth a dingy, dun Annihilation. The nightjar Only thrilled the air afar:

No other sound was there: a m.u.f.fled breeze Crept in the shrubs, and shuddered up the trees, Then sought the ghost-white vapour of the leas, Where one long sheet of dismal cloud Swathed the distance in a shroud.

A solitary eye of cold stern light Stared threateningly beyond the Western height, Wrapped in the closing shadows of the night; And all the peaceful earth had slept But that eye stern vigil kept.

I wandered wearily I knew not where; Up windy downs far-stretching, bleak and bare; Through swamps that soddened under stagnant air; In blackest woods and brambled mesh, Th.o.r.n.y bushes tore my flesh:

Amid the ripening corn I heard it sigh, Hollow and sad, as night crawled sluggishly: Hollow and sadly sighed the corn while I Moved darkly in the midst, a blight Darkening more the hateful night.

My soul its h.o.a.rded secrets emptied on The vaulted gloom of night: old fancies shone, And consecrated ancient hopes long gone; Old hopes that long had ceased to burn, Gone, and never to return.

No starlight pierced the dense vault over head, And all I loved was pa.s.sing or had fled: So on I wandered where the pathway led; And wandered till my own abode Spectral pale rose from the road.

What time I gained my home I saw the morn Made dimly on the sullen East. Wayworn I went into the echoing house forlorn, Heartsick and weary sought my room, Better had it been my tomb.

I lay, and ever as my lids would close In dull forgetfulness to slumberous doze, Lone sounds of phantom tolling scared repose; Till wearied nature, sore oppressed, Slowly sank and dropped to rest.

X. WILL-O'-THE-WISP.

"Gone the sickness, fled the pain, Health comes bounding back again, And all my pulses tingle for delight.

Together what a pleasant thing To ramble while the blackbirds sing, And pasture lands are sparkling dewy bright!

"Soon will come the clear spring weather, Hand in hand we'll roam together, And hand in hand will talk of springs to come; As on the morning when you played The necromancer with my shade, In senseless shadow gazing darkly dumb.

"Cast away that cloudy care, Or, I vow, in my parterre You shall not enter when the lilies blow, And I go there to stand and sing Songs to the heaven-white wondrous ring; Sir Would-be-Wizard of the crumpled brow!"

XI. GIVEN OVER.

The men of learning say she must Soon pa.s.s and be as if she had not been.

To gratify the barren l.u.s.t Of Death, the roses in her cheeks are seen To blush so brightly, blooming deeper damascene.

All hope and doubt, all fears are vain: The dreams I nursed of honouring her are past, And will not comfort me again.

I see a lurid sunlight throw its last Wild gleam athwart the land whose shadows lengthen fast.

It does not seem so dreadful now The horror stands out naked, stark, and still: I am quite calm, and wonder how My terror played such mad pranks with my will.

The North winds fiercely blow, I do not feel them chill.

All things must die: somewhere I read What wise and solemn men p.r.o.nounce of joy; No sooner born, they say, than dead: The strife of being, but a whirling toy Humming a weary moan spun by capricious boy.

Has my soul reached a starry height Majestically calm? No monster, drear And shapeless, glares me faint at night; I am not in the sunshine checked for fear That monstrous shapeless thing is somewhere crouching near?

No; woe is me! far otherwise: The naked horror numbs me to the bone; In stupor calm its cold blank eyes Set hard at mine. I do not fall or groan, Our island Gorgon's face had changed me into stone.

XII. STORM.