UNA. UNA. In the whole wide world there was but one; Others for others, but she was mine, The one fair woman beneath the sun. From her gold-flax curls' most marvellous shine Down to the lithe and delicate feet There was not a curve nor a waving line But moved in a harmony firm and sweet With all of passion my life could know. By knowledge perfect and faith complete I was bound to her,—as the planets go Adoring around their central star, Free, but united for weal or woe. She was so near and Heaven so far— She grew my heaven and law and fate, Rounding my life with a mystic bar No thought beyond could violate. Our love to fulness in silence nursed Grew calm as morning, when through the gate Of the glimmering east the sun has burst, With his hot life filling the waiting air. She kissed me once,—that last and first Of her maiden kisses was placid as prayer. Against all comers I sat with lance In rest, and, drunk with my joy, I sware Defiance and scorn to the world's worst chance. In vain! for soon unhorsed I lay At the feet of the strong god Circumstance— And never again shall break the day, And never again shall fall the night, That shall light me, or shield me, on my way To the presence of my sad soul's delight. Her dead love comes like a passionate ghost To mourn the Body it held so light, And Fate, like a hound with a purpose lost, Goes round bewildered with shame and fright. THROUGH THE LONG DAYS. Through the long days and years What will my loved one be, Parted from me? Through the long days and years. Always as then she was, Loveliest, brightest, best, Blessing and blest,— Always as then she was. Never on earth again Shall I before her stand, Touch lip or hand,— Never on earth again. But while my darling lives Peaceful I journey on, Not quite alone, Not while my darling lives. A PHYLACTERY. Wise men I hold those rakes of old Who, as we read in antique story, When lyres were struck and wine was poured, Set the white Death's Head on the board— Memento mori. Love well! love truly! and love fast! True love evades the dilatory. Life's bloom flares like a meteor past; A joy so dazzling cannot last— Memento mori. Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay That greenly deck the path of glory, The wreath will wither if you stay, So pass along your earnest way— Memento mori. Hear but not heed, though wild and shrill, The cries of faction transitory; Cleave to YOUR good, eschew YOUR ill, A Hundred Years and all is still— Memento mori. When Old Age comes with muffled drums, That beat to sleep our tired life's story, On thoughts of dying (Rest is good!), Like old snakes coiled i' the sun, we brood— Memento mori. BLONDINE. I wandered through a careless world Deceived when not deceiving, And never gave an idle heart The rapture of believing. The smiles, the sighs, the glancing eyes, Of many hundred comers Swept by me, light as rose-leaves blown From long-forgotten summers. But never eyes so deep and bright And loyal in their seeming, And never smiles so full of light Have shone upon my dreaming. The looks and lips so gay and wise, The thousand charms that wreathe them, —Almost I dare believe that truth Is safely shrined beneath them. Ah! do they shine, those eyes of thine, But for our own misleading? The fresh young smile, so pure and fine, Does it but mock our reading? Then faith is fled, and trust is dead, And unbelief grows duty, If fraud can wield the triple arm Of youth and wit and beauty. DISTICHES. I. Wisely a woman prefers to a lover a man who neglects her. This one may love her some day, some day the lover will not. II. There are three species of creatures who when they seem coming are going, When they seem going they come: Diplomates, women, and crabs. III. Pleasures too hastily tasted grow sweeter in fond recollection, As the pomegranate plucked green ripens far over the sea. IV. As the meek beasts in the Garden came flocking for Adam to name them, Men for a title to-day crawl to the feet of a king. V. What is a first love worth, except to prepare for a second? What does the second love bring? Only regret for the first. VI. Health was wooed by the Romans in groves of the laurel and myrtle. Happy and long are the lives brightened by glory and love. VII. Wine is like rain: when it falls on the mire it but makes it the fouler, But when it strikes the good soil wakes it to beauty and bloom. VIII. Break not the rose; its fragrance and beauty are surely sufficient: Resting contented with these, never a thorn shall you feel. IX. When you break up housekeeping, you learn the extent of your treasures; Till he begins to reform, no one can number his sins. X. Maidens! why should you worry in choosing whom you shall marry? Choose whom you may, you will find you have got somebody else. XI. Unto each man comes a day when his favourite sins all forsake him, And he complacently thinks he has forsaken his sins. XII. Be not too anxious to gain your next-door neighbour's approval: Live your own life, and let him strive your approval to gain. XIII. Who would succeed in the world should be wise in the use of his pronouns. Utter the You twenty times, where you once utter the I. XIV. The best-loved man or maid in the town would perish with anguish Could they hear all that their friends say in the course of a day. XV. True luck consists not in holding the best of the cards at the table: Luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home. XVI. Pleasant enough it is to hear the world speak of your virtues; But in your secret heart 'tis of your faults you are proud. XVII. Try not to beat back the current, yet be not drowned in its waters; Speak with the speech of the world, think with the thoughts of the few. XVIII. Make all good men your well-wishers, and then, in the years' steady sifting, Some of them turn into friends. Friends are the sunshine of life. REGARDANT. As I lay at your feet that afternoon, Little we spoke,—you sat and mused, Humming a sweet old-fashioned tune, And I worshipped you, with a sense confused Of the good time gone and the bad on the way, While my hungry eyes your face perused, To catch and brand on my soul for aye The subtle smile which had grown my doom. Drinking sweet poison hushed I lay Till the sunset shimmered athwart the room. I rose to go. You stood so fair And dim in the dead day's tender gloom: All at once, or ever I was aware, Flashed from you on me a warm strong wave Of passion and power; in the silence there I fell on my knees, like a lover, or slave, With my wild hands clasping your slender waist; And my lips, with a sudden frenzy brave, A madman's kiss on your girdle pressed, And I felt your calm heart's quickening beat, And your soft hands on me one instant rest. And if God had loved me, how endlessly sweet Had He let my heart in its rapture burst, And throb its last at your firm small feet! And when I was forth, I shuddered at first At my imminent bliss. As a soul in pain, Treading his desolate path accursed, Looks back and dreams through his tears' dim rain That by Heaven's wide gate the angels smile, Relenting, and beckon him back again, And goes on, thrice damned by that devil's wile,— So sometimes burns in my weary brain The thought that you loved me all the while. GUY OF THE TEMPLE. Down the dim west slowly fails the stricken sun, And from his hot face fades the crimson flush Veiled in death's herald-shadows sick and grey. Silent and dark the sombre valley lies Forgotten; happy in the late fond beams Glimmer the constant waves of Galilee. Afar, below, in airy music ring The bugles of my host; the column halts, A wearied serpent glittering in the vale, Where rising mist-like gleam the tented camps. Pitch my pavilion here, where its high cross May catch the last light lingering on the hill. The savage shadows, struggling by the shore, Have conquered in the valley; inch by inch The vanquished light fights bravely to these crags To perish glorious in the sunset fire; Even as our hunted Cause so pressed and torn In Syrian valleys, and the trampled marge Of consecrated streams, displays at last Its narrowing glories from these steadfast walls. Here in God's name we stand, and brighter far Shines the stern virtue of my martyr-host Through these invidious fortunes, than of old, When the still sunshine glinted on their helms, And dallying breezes woke their bridle-bells To tinkling music by the reedy shore Of calm Tiberias, where our angry Lord, Wroth at the deadly sin that cursed our camp, Denied and blinded us, and gave us up To the avenging sword of Saladin. Yet would He not permit His truth to sink To utter loss amid that foundering fight, But led us, scarred and shattered from the spoil Of Paynim rage, the desert's thirsty death, To where beneath the sheltering crags we prayed And rested and grew strong. Heroes and saints To alien peoples shall they be, my brave And patient warriors; for in their stout hearts God's Spirit dwells for ever, and their hands Are swift to do His service on His foes. The swelling music of their vesper-hymn Is rising fragrant from the shadowed vale Familiar to the welcoming gates of heaven. Mother of God! as evening falls Upon the silent sea, And shadows veil the mountain walls, We lift our souls to thee! From lurking perils of the night, The desert's hidden harms, From plagues that waste, from blasts that smite, Defend thy men-at-arms! Ay! Heaven keep them! and ye angel-hosts That wait with fluttering plumes around the great White throne of God, guard them from scath and harm! For in your starry records never shone The memory of desert so great as theirs. I hold not first, though peerless else on earth, That knightly valour, born of gentle blood And war's long tutelage, which hath made their name Blaze like a baleful planet o'er these lands; Firm seat in saddle, lance unmoved, a hand Wedding the hilt with death's persistent grasp; One-minded rush in fight that naught can stay. Not these the highest, though I scorn not these, But rather offer Heaven with humble heart The deeds that Heaven hath given us arms to do. For when God's smile was with us we were strong To go like sudden lightning to our mark: As on that summer day when Saladin— Passing in scorn our host at Antioch, Who spent the days in revel, and shamed the stars With nightly scandal—came with all his host, Its gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Flaunting the banners of the Caliphate Beneath the walls of fair Jerusalem: And white and shaking came the Leper-King, Great Baldwin's blasted scion, and Tripoli And I, and twenty score of Temple Knights, To meet the myriads marshalled by the bright Untarnished flower of Eastern chivalry; A moment paused with level-fronting spears And moveless helms before that shining host, Whose gay attire abashed the morning light, And then struck spur and charged, while from the mass Of rushing terror burst the awful cry, GOD AND THE TEMPLE! As the avalanche slides Down Alpine slopes, precipitous, cold and dark, Unpitying and unwrathful, grinds and crushes The mountain violets and the valley weeds, And drags behind a trail of chaos and death; So burst we on that field, and through and through The gay battalia brave with saffron silks, Crushed and abolished every grace and gleam, And dragged where'er we rode a sinuous track Of chaos and death, till all the plain was filled With battered armour, turbaned trunkless heads, With silken mantles blushing angry gules And Bagdad's banners trampled and forlorn. And Saladin, stunned and bewildered sore,— The greatest prince, save in the grace of God, That now wears sword,—mounted his brother's barb, And, followed by a half-score followers, Sped to his castle Shaubec, over against The cliffs by Ascalon, and there abode: And sullenly made order that no more The royal nouba should be played for him Until he should erase the rusting stain Upon his knightly honour; and no more The nouba sounded by the Sultan's tent, Morning nor evening by the silent tent, Until the headlong greed of Chatillon Spread ruin on our cause from Montreale. But greatest are my warriors, as I deem, In that their hearts, nearer than any else, Keep true the pledge of perfect purity They pledged upon their sword-hilts long ago. For all is possible to the pure in heart. Mother of God! thy starry smile Still bless us from above! Keep pure our souls from passion's guile, Our hearts from earthly love! Still save each soul from guilt apart As stainless as each sword, And guard undimmed in every heart The image of our Lord! O goodliest fellowship that the world has known, True hearts and stalwart arms! above your breasts Glitters no flash of wreathen amulet Forged against sword-stroke by the chanted rhythm Of charms accurst; but in each steadfast heart Blazes the light of cloudless purity, That like a splendid jewel glorifies With restless fire the gold that spheres it round, And marks you children of our God, whose lives He guards with the awful jealousy of love. And even me that generous love has spared,— Me, trustless knight and miserable man,— Sad prey of dark and mutinous thoughts that tempt My sick soul into perjury and death— Since His great love had pity on my pain, Has spared to lead these blameless warriors safe Into the desert from the blazing towns, Out of the desert to the inviolate hills Where God has roofed them with His hollow shield. Through all these days of tempest and eclipse His hand has led me and His wrath has flashed Its lightnings in the pathway of my sword. And so I hope, and so my crescent faith Gains daily power, that all my prayers and tears And toils and blood and anguish borne for Him May blot the accusing of my deadly sin From heavens high compt, and give me rest in death; And lay the pallid ghost of mortal love, That fills with banned and mournful loveliness, Unblest, the haunted chambers of my soul. My misery will atone,—my misery,— Dear God, will surely atone! for not the sting Of lacerating thongs, nor the slow horror Of crowns of thorny iron maddening the brows, Nor all that else pale hermits have devised To scourge the rebel senses in their shade Of caverned desolation, have the power To smart and goad and lash and mortify Like the great love that binds my ruined heart Relentless, as the insidious ivy binds The shattered bulk of some deserted tower, Enlacing slow and riving with strong hands Of pitiless verdure every seam and jut, Till none may tear it forth and save the tower. So binds and masters me my hopeless love. So through the desert, in the silent hills, I' the current of the battle's storm and stress, One thought has driven me,—that though men may call Me stainless Paladin, Knight leal and true To Christ and Our Lady, still I know myself A knight not after God's own heart, a soul Recreant, and whelmed in the forbidden sin. For dearer to my sad heart than the cross I give my heart's best blood for are the eyes That long ago, when youth and hope were mine, I loved in thy still valleys, far Provence! And sweeter to my spirit than the bells Of rescued Salem are the loving tones Of her dear voice, soft echoing o'er the years. They haunt me in the stillness and the glare Of desert noontide when the horizon's line Swims faintly throbbing, and my shadow hides Skulking beneath me from the brassy sky. And when night comes to soothe with breath of balm And pomp of stars the worn and weary world, Her eyes rise in my soul and make its day. And even into the battle comes my love, Snatching the duty that I offer Heaven. At closing of El-Majed's awful day, When the last quivering sunbeams, choked with dust And fume of blood, failed on the level plain, In the last charge, when gathered all our knights The precious handful who from morn had stemmed The fury of the multitudinous hosts Of Islam, where in youth's hot fire and pride Ramped the young lion-whelp, Ben-Saladin; As down the slope we rode at eventide, The dying sunlight faintly smiled to greet Our tattered guidons and our dinted helms And lance-heads blooming with the battle's rose. Into the vale, dusk with the shadow of death, With silent lips and ringing mail we rode. And something in the spirit of the hour, Or fate, or memory, or sorrow, or sin, Or love, which unto me is all of these, Possessed and bound me; for when dashed our troop In stormy clangour on the Paynim lines The soul of my dead youth came into me; Faded away my oath; the woes of Zion, God was forgot; blazed in my leaping heart, With instant flash, life's inextinguished fires; Plunging along each tense limb poured the blood Hot with its years of sleeping-smothered flame. And in a dream I charged, and in a dream I smote resistless; foemen in my path Fell unregarded, like the wayside flowers Clipped by the truant's staff in daisied lanes. For over me burned lustrous the dear eyes Of my beloved; I strove as at a joust To gain at end the guerdon of her smile. And ever, as in the dense melee I dashed, Her name burst from my lips, as lightning breaks Out of the plunging wrack of summer storms. O my lost love! Bright o'er the waste of years— That bliss and beauty shines upon my soul; As far beyond yon desert hangs the sun, Gilding with tender beam the barren stretch Of sands that intervene. In this still light The old sweet memories glimmer back to me, Fair summers of my youth,—the idle days I wandered in the bosky coverts hid In the dim woods that girt my ancient home; The blue young eyes I met and worshipped there; The love that growing turned those gloomy wilds To faery dells, and filled the vernal air With light that bathed the hills of Paradise; The warm, long days of rapturous summer-time, When through the forests thick and lush we strayed, And love made our own sunshine in the shades. And all things fair and graceful in the woods I loved with liberal heart; the violets Were dear for her dear eyes, the quiring birds That caught the musical tremble of her voice. O happy twilights in the leafy glooms! When in the glowing dusk the winsome arts And maiden graces that all day had kept Us twain and separate melted away In blushing silence, and my love was mine Utterly, utterly, with clinging arms And quick, caressing fingers, warm red lips, Where vows, half uttered, drowned in kisses, died; Mine, with the starlight in her passionate eyes; The wild wind of the woodland breathing low To wake the elfin music of the leaves, And free the prisoned odours of the flowers, In honour of young Love come to his throne! While we under the stars, with twining arms And mutual lips insatiate, gave our souls— Madly forgetting earth and heaven—to love! In desert march or battle flame, In fortress and in field, Our war-cry is thy holy name, Thy love our joy and shield! And if we falter, let thy power Thy stern avenger be, And God forget us in the hour We cease to think of thee! Curse me not, God of Justice and of Love! Pitiful God, let my long woe atone! I cannot deem but God has pitied me; Else why with painful care have I been saved, Whenever tossed and drenched in the fierce tide Of Saladin's victories by the walls profaned Of Jaffa, on the sands of far Daroum, Or in the battle thundering on the downs Of Ramlah, or the bloody day that shed Red horrors on high Gaza's parapets? For never a storm of fatal fight has raged In Islam's track of rout and ruin swept From Egypt to Gebail, but when the ebb Of battle came I and my host have lain, Scarred, scorched, safe somewhere on its fiery shore. At Marcab's lingering siege, where day by day We told the Moslem legions toiling slow, Planting their engines, delving in their mines To quench in our destruction this last light Of Christendom, our fortress in the crags, God's beacon swung defiant from the stars; One thunderous night I knew their miners groped Below, and thought ere morn to die, in crush And tumult of the falling citadel. And pondering of my fate—the broken storm Sobbing its life away—I was aware There grew between me and the quieting skies A face and form I knew,—not as in dreams, The sad dishevelled loveliness of earth, But lighter than the thin air where she swayed,— Gold hair flame-fluttered, eyes and mouth aglow With lambent light of spiritual joy. With sweet command she beckoned me away And led me vaguely dreaming, till I saw Where the wild flood in sudden fury had burst A passage through the rocks: and thence I led My host unharmed, following her luminous eyes, Until the east was grey, and with a smile Wooing me heavenward still she passed away Into the rosy trouble of the dawn. And I believe my love is shrived in heaven, And I believe that I shall soon be free. For ever, as I journey on, to me Waking or sleeping come faint whisperings And fancies not of earth, as if the gates Of near eternity stood for me ajar, And ghostly gales come blowing o'er my soul Fraught with the amaranth odours of the skies. I go to join the Lion-Heart at Acre, And there, after due homage to my liege, And after patient penance of the Church, And after final devoir in the fight, If that my God be gracious, I shall die. And so I pray—Lord, pardon if I sin!— That I may lose in death's embittered wave The stain of sinful loving, and may find In glory again the love I lost below, With all of fair and bright and unattained, Beautiful in the cherishing smile of God, By the glad waters of the River of Life! Night hangs above the valley; dies the day In peace, casting his last glance on my cross, And warns me to my prayers. Ave Maria! Mother of God! the evening fades On wave and hill and lea, And in the twilight's deepening shades We lift our souls to thee! In passion's stress—the battle's strife, The desert's lurking harms, Maid-Mother of the Lord of Life Protect thy men-at-arms! TRANSLATIONS. THE WAY TO HEAVEN. FROM THE GERMAN. One day the Sultan, grand and grim, Ordered the Mufti brought to him. "Now let thy wisdom solve for me The question I shall put to thee. "The different tribes beneath my sway Four several sects of priests obey; Now tell me which of all the four Is on the path to Heaven's door." The Sultan spake, and then was dumb. The Mufti looked about the room, And straight made answer to his lord, Fearing the bowstring at each word: "Thou, godlike in thy lofty birth, Who art our Allah upon earth, Illume me with thy favouring ray, And I will answer as I may. "Here, where thou thronest in thy hall, I see there are four doors in all; And through all four thy slaves may gaze Upon the brightness of thy face. "That I came hither safely through Was to thy gracious message due, And, blinded by thy splendour's flame, I cannot tell the way I came." COUNTESS JUTTA. FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINRICH HEINE. The Countess Jutta passed over the Rhine In a light canoe by the moon's pale shine. The handmaid rows and the Countess speaks: "Seest thou not there where the water breaks Seven corpses swim In the moonlight dim? So sorrowful swim the dead! "They were seven knights full of fire and youth, They sank on my heart and swore me truth. I trusted them; but for Truth's sweet sake, Lest they should be tempted their oaths to break, I had them bound, And tenderly drowned! So sorrowful swim the dead!" The merry Countess laughed outright! It rang so wild in the startled night! Up to the waist the dead men rise And stretch lean fingers to the skies. They nod and stare With a glassy glare! So sorrowful swim the dead! A BLESSING. AFTER HEINE. When I look on thee and feel how dear, How pure, and how fair thou art, Into my eyes there steals a tear, And a shadow mingled of love and fear Creeps slowly over my heart. And my very hands feel as if they would lay Themselves on thy fair young head, And pray the good God to keep thee alway As good and lovely, as pure and gay,— When I and my wild love are dead. TO THE YOUNG. AFTER HEINE. Let your feet not falter, your course not alter By golden apples, till victory's won! The sword's sharp clangour, the dart's shrill anger, Swerve not the hero thundering on. A bold beginning is half the winning, An Alexander makes worlds his fee. No long debating! The Queens are waiting In his pavilion on beaded knee. Thus swift pursuing his wars and wooing, He mounts old Darius' bed and throne. O glorious ruin! O blithe undoing! O drunk death-triumph in Babylon! THE GOLDEN CALF. AFTER HEINE. Double flutes and horns resound As they dance the idol round; Jacob's daughters, madly reeling, Whirl about the golden calf. Hear them laugh! Kettledrums and laughter pealing. Dresses tucked above their knees, Maids of noblest families, In the swift dance blindly wheeling, Circle in their wild career Round the steer,— Kettledrums and laughter pealing. Aaron's self, the guardian grey Of the faith, at last gives way, Madness all his senses stealing; Prances in his high priest's coat Like a goat,— Kettledrums and laughter pealing. THE AZRA. AFTER HEINE. Daily walked the fair and lovely Sultan's daughter in the twilight,— In the twilight by the fountain, Where the sparkling waters plash. Daily stood the young slave silent In the twilight by the fountain, Where the plashing waters sparkle, Pale and paler every day. Once by twilight came the princess Up to him with rapid questions: "I would know thy name, thy nation, Whence thou comest, who thou art." And the young slave said, "My name is Mahomet, I come from Yemmen. I am of the sons of Azra, Men who perish if they love." GOOD AND BAD LUCK. AFTER HEINE. Good luck is the gayest of all gay girls, Long in one place she will not stay; Back from your brow she strokes the curls, Kisses you quick and flies away. But Madame Bad Luck soberly comes And stays,—no fancy has she for flitting,— Snatches of true love-songs she hums, And sits by your bed, and brings her knitting. L'AMOUR DU MENSONGE. AFTER CHARLES BAUDELAIRE. When I behold thee, O my indolent love, To the sound of ringing brazen melodies, Through garish halls harmoniously move, Scattering a scornful light from languid eyes; When I see, smitten by the blazing lights, Thy pale front, beauteous in its bloodless glow As the faint fires that deck the Northern nights, And eyes that draw me wheresoe'er I go; I say, She is fair, too coldly strange for speech; A crown of memories, her calm brow above, Shines; and her heart is like a bruised red peach, Ripe as her body for intelligent love. Art thou late fruit of spicy savour and scent? A funeral vase awaiting tearful showers? An Eastern odour, waste and oasis blent? A silken cushion or a bank of flowers? I know there are eyes of melancholy sheen To which no passionate secrets e'er were given; Shrines where no god or saint has ever been, As deep and empty as the vault of Heaven. But what care I if this be all pretence? 'Twill serve a heart that seeks for truth no more. All one thy folly or indifference,— Hail, lovely mask, thy beauty I adore! AMOR MYSTICUS. FROM THE SPANISH OF SOR MARCELA DE CARPIO. Let them say to my Lover That here I lie! The thing of His pleasure, His slave am I. Say that I seek Him Only for love, And welcome are tortures My passion to prove. Love giving gifts Is suspicious and cold; I have all, my Beloved, When Thee I hold. Hope and devotion The good may gain; I am but worthy Of passion and pain. So noble a Lord None serves in vain, For the pay of my love Is my love's sweet pain. I love Thee, to love Thee,— No more I desire; By faith is nourished My love's strong fire. I kiss Thy hands When I feel their blows; In the place of caresses Thou givest me woes. But in Thy chastising Is joy and peace. O Master and Love, Let Thy blows not cease. Thy beauty, Beloved, With scorn is rife, But I know that Thou lovest me, Better than life. And because thou lovest me, Lover of mine, Death can but make me Utterly Thine. I die with longing Thy face to see; Oh! sweet is the anguish Of death to me! *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIKE COUNTY BALLADS AND OTHER POEMS *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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