Moments of mutual mute surprise Made converse of our glancing eyes, As we went onward, all things seeming Strange, and rich, and fair, while dreaming Transient glimpses of what alone Is ever by great-winged angels known.

We knew not whether you or I First saw the splendid b.u.t.terfly Trembling about us as we turned To watch how blue and crimson burned In flashes 'twixt those blushing wings!

Nelly, I see you watch the lark That fluttering high, aspiring sings; We both watch till our sight grows dark, And wonder whither he is fled In sapphire ether overhead.

Tho' vanished, still his rapture rings And thrills our bosoms, marching slow Our winding way; when brilliant, lo From somewhere starting, re-appears Our friendly b.u.t.terfly, and nears A spider-web, in holly spun With rainbow hues that net the sun, Making coy circles ere he alight Entangled in the toil of death!

Forward I spring, without my breath, To see the fiend, high-elbowed, whirl Around those limbs and wings, and twirl His thread to thwart the chance of flight.

Fate on a single instant hangs, And ready the demon's eager fangs To penetrate that sylphic breast!

Nipping the wing-tips gently I Flirt him from danger suddenly; Strike with my cap a rapid blow, Dashing the enemy down below Thro' gra.s.s crushed safely into dust.

There shivering on my stretched forefinger A little while his terrors linger, Doubting if yet his wings to trust, Ere, with a bolder flap or two, He flutters into airy blue.

Could any mortal boy resist, When heavenward, in a rosy pout Your lips you offered to be kissed; Fresh as carnations breaking out Of dewy sheaths, on summer dawns Yet pale upon the misty lawns!

We pa.s.s from shadowy splendour soon To face the blazoned afternoon, Where wide around the basking sun Lies on the meadow fast asleep.

Near random bushes, one by one, Nestled around a pond, the sheep Are scattered and doze in graceful shade; And hazed cornfields beyond the glade, Undulating and dazzling sight, Seem quivering for predestined flight To worlds of unrevealed delight.

In l.u.s.trous sheen, their stately looks Sedate as parsons reading books, Flock grey-billed, see-saw-gaited rooks Strutting; or when they wings a.s.sume Pluck the warm air with fingered plume, Labouring, anxious if weight and size Make flight most hazardous or wise!

Nelly we sauntered on and on By hedgerows, brightly overhung And sprinkled thick with snowy showers Of woodbine stars; where bindweed flowers Ample and moon-white n.o.bly shone, And over green abysses slung, Mid honey-haunted sound of bees, Swayed lightly to the scented breeze.

In pa.s.sing starwort's silvery gems, By maple's warm fawn-tinted stems, Caprices that gnarled the oak and thorn, A sudden scream of rageful scorn Startles us from the hedgerow nigh; Whence two disturbed fierce blackbirds fly Uttering threats of vengeance dire!

While we, who lit this angry fire, Are wondering such discordant throats Can tune those soft melodious notes The fondest lover's listening ear, At even, turns entranced to hear!

But if I sang of every sight That afternoon which gave delight, Those treasures would my numbers throng Beyond the compa.s.s of my song; Therefore, Nelly, to be precise, We bought the milk, and paid the price Charged in that rural paradise.

The rolls of b.u.t.ter, the jars of cream, Churn, and cleanly pans, now seem, Thro' fifty years of vanished time, The memories of a nursery rhyme; Or story, like The "Babes in the Wood,"

Written for children to make them good.

Homeward we went in soberer mood; Haply the weight we had to carry, By stile and gate oft made us tarry To change our hands, and ease the weight By making both co-operate.

At length we knew the hour grew late, Because we saw our shadows rise, Mocking our motions, thrice our size; And keeping faithful phantom pace, Tempting us to an elfin race For fairy treasure; all in play!

For which, whatever they might say, We knew our lives would have to pay!

Both breaking into prattle showed How pleased we trod the dusty road Once more; and rested where the rill Sings issuing, halfway up the hill; Where maids and wives their pitchers bring To fill, and gossip at the spring.

To gossip ourselves we durst not stop, As we had yet to reach the top Where, starting from before the moon, Our church spire quickened, rose, and danced Higher and higher as we advanced, And on a sudden ceased, as soon As we were on the level; then, There your mother stood at the gate Impatient we were out so late; Inquiring how, and why, and when; She thought we had been drowned, and lost, And by some savage mad bull tossed; So long had she been looking out!

Whatever had we been about?

Altho' we saw so much that day, But little then had we to say, And told her a bewildered tale Of garment torn by splintered rail; Of spiders, blackbirds, b.u.t.terflies; Of rooks so near that looked so wise!

Of ghostly shadows, some of the way, That had been tempting us to play, Tho' sure they must have known we should Be making all the haste we could!

The gentle scolding given and past, We bade each other good-night at last When floating in the stillness by Came sounds like "late," and "supper," and "bed;"

And brighter through a deepening sky A million stars shone o'er my head, And bats flew fast and silently.

When memory wings her way to you, I nurse my faith to think it true For one day, Nelly, you were mine!

Ah, Dearest, had that day divine Made us two one for good and all!

The nursery words I now recall, Of Tom the Piper's Son's one tune, Mused over in that day of June, Have proved the prelude to my fate!

We were not fashioned to translate Each other's will as man and wife: And tho' I was not broken-hearted, As Burns when from his Mary parted, And fled the fragrance of his life; Yet are you near and dear to me!

For on the bridge below the hill I see you smile as sweetly still; And in your clear wide-opened eyes The s.p.a.cious wonder of the skies.

While every thoughtful dainty grace Rests well contented in your face, All fascinations of the rose, Uniting in your presence close.

Indeed, from glowing hair to feet, So lightly poised, shaped so complete You seem a being 'twixt a flower, The glory of a shining hour, And one ordained to satisfy The claims of immortality.

Your beauty, like a queen's or king's Good word, gives price to common things: That can your ruddy fingers hold Hangs lovelier there than purest gold; And, as the poor, grown rich by chance, Run raptured in extravagance, My fancy riots in the fields'

Increasing wealth its charter yields: And at your lintel, by the bower Of vine leaves screening noonday heat; The grapes, that hang there small and sour, Are soft in bloom and more than sweet!

Beholding kittens as they play, Black, tortoise, white, or silver grey; Or ducklings on the water glide, Yellow and soft, and artless eyed: Or neatly-shapen chicks astray, Pecking incessantly on their way; Each such a trim completed creature, In perfect movement, hue, and feature: A foolish sadness makes me sigh They lack immutability.

But you, my Nelly, are ever young.

Fresh and happy you dwell among The brightest flowers, and flourish where Meadows are ever fresh and fair.

As you were then I see you now, Standing beneath an apple bough; Your face amid its blossoms, bright With rosy laughter and delight, You seem a blossom the partial sun Has chosen to make a larger one.

What may your pilgrimage have been, Since both of us lost our Eden days, I never rashly tried to glean; And know not if your childhood ways Were trodden by your maiden feet When, flushed and shy with hope and fear, You went your loitering swain to meet And listen to sounds you loved to hear!

But if sometimes your heart was fain Along our honeysuckle lane Again to roam, in gracious flight Your memory would have found delight In wandering there a child again!

And if a matron you became, With a matron's worries and daily strife; The pain and sorrow, the hurt and blame Mixed with pleasure, of being a wife, I know not. But of this am sure, That if with daughters you were blessed, They found your bright example lure, Thro' ways by wisdom proven best, And sympathetic, generous trust To kindly conduct more than just.

If old experience yet holds true, And by a generation's lapse Your daughter's child resembles you, Then by that happy law perhaps Another Nelly may be seen To grace some other village green; As native there as morning dew; Or larks aloft, when lost to view They lift us thro' the trembling blue To soar with them in ecstasy; Or primroses, whose welcome faces From sunny banks and shady places, Tenderly glimmer in pallid gold Caught as early morning broke, When, dreaming daylight they awoke Enamoured from the moistened mold.

And if a Nelly, tho' changed in name, Her fair endowments will the same Point every grace that charmed before Thro' unrenowned ancestresses, Then still there beams a joy that blesses The traveller by your cottage door; Who, pleased in after years to trace Remembrance of your playful face, May linger on your presence while Before him still you turn to smile.

NOTE.

The two portions of "My Beautiful Lady," ent.i.tled "My Beautiful Lady,"

and "My Lady in Death," were written in 1849, and published on the 1st of January, 1850, in "The Germ," a magazine which ran to only four numbers.

"Dawn," and "My Lady's Glory," were written about the same time; but all the other poems were written between 1857 and 1861. The first complete edition appeared in 1863; the second in 1864; and the third in 1866.

"Nelly Dale" was written in 1886.

T. W.