And life runs over sands of gold ;
I stray d to lone Fiesole
On many an eve, and thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In Borne, when on the Palatine
Night left the Caesar s palace free
To Time s forgetful foot and mine ;
Or, on the Coliseum s wall,
When moonlight touch d the ivied stone,
Reclining, with a thought of all
That o er this scene has come and gone
The shades of Rome would start and flee
Unconsciously I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In Vallombrosa s holy shade,
Where nobles born the friars be,
By life s rude changes humbler made.
Here Milton framed his Paradise ;
I slept within his very cell ;
And, as I closed my weary eyes,
I thought the cowl would fit me well
The cloisters breathed, it seem d to me,
Of heart s-ease but I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In Venice, on a night in June ;
THE CONFESSIONAL. 241
When, through the city of the sea,
Like dust of silver slept the moon.
Slow turn d his oar the gondolier,
And, as the black barks glided by,
The water to my leaning ear
Bore back the lover s passing sigh
It was no place alone to be
I thought of thee I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In the Ionian isles when straying
With wise Ulysses by the sea
Old Homer s songs around me playing ;
Or, watching the bewitch cl caique,
That o er the star-lit waters flew,
I listen d to the helmsman Greek,
Who sung the song that Sappho knew
The poet s spell, the bark, the sea,
All vanish d as I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In Greece when rose the Parthenon
Majestic o er the Egean sea,
And heroes with it, one by one ;
When, in the grove of Academe,
Where Lais and Leontium stray d
Discussing Plato s mystic theme,
I lay at noontide in the shade
The Egean wind, the whispering tree,
Had voices and I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
In Asia on the Dardanelles ;
Where swiftly as the waters flee,
Each wave some sweet old story tells ;
242 FLORENCE GRAY.
And, seated by the marble tank
Which sleeps by Ilium s ruins old,
(The fount where peerless Helen drank,
And Venus laved her locks of gold,)*
I thrill d such classic haunts to see,
Yet even here I thought of thee.
I thought of thee I thought of thee,
Where glide the Bosphor s lovely waters,
All palace-lined from sea to sea ;
And ever on its shores the daughters
Of the delicious East are seen,
Printing the brink with slipper d feet.
And oh, the snowy folds between,
What eyes of heaven your glances meet !
Peris of light no fairer be
Yet in Stamboul I thought of thee.
I ve thought of thee I ve thought of thee,
Through change that teaches to forget ;
Thy face looks up from every sea,
In every star thine eyes are set,
Though roving beneath Orient skies,
Whose golden beauty breathes of rest,
I envy every bird that flies
Into the far and clouded West :
I think of thee I think of thee !
Oh, dearest ! hast thou thought of me 1
FLORENCE GRAY.
I WAS in Greece. It was the hour of noon,
And the Egean wind had dropp d asleep
* In the Scamander, before contending for the prize of beauty on
Mount Ida. Its head waters fill a beautiful tank near the walls of Troy.
FLORENCE GRAY. 243
Upon Hymettus, and the thymy isles
Of Salamis and Egina lay hung
Like clouds upon the bright and breathless sea.
I had climbed up the Acropolis at morn,
And hours had fled, as time will in a dream,
Amidst its deathless ruins for the air
Is full of spirits in these mighty fanes,
And they walk with you ! As it sultrier grew,
I laid me down within a shadow deep
Of a tall column of the Parthenon,
And, in an absent idleness of thought,
I scrawl d upon the smooth and marble base.
Tell me, memory, what wrote I there ?
The name of a sweet child I knew at Rome !
I was in Asia. Twas a peerless night
Upon the plains of Sardis, and the moon,
Touching my eyelids through the wind-stirr d tent,
Had witch d me from my slumber. I arose
And silently stole forth, and by the brink
Of "gold Pactolus," where his waters bathe
The bases of Cybele s columns fair,
I paced away the hours. In wakeful mood
I mused upon the storied past awhile,
^yatching the moon, that, with the same mild eye,
Had look d upon the mighty Lydian kings
Sleeping around me Cro3sus, who had heap d
Within that mouldering portico his gold,
And Gyges, buried with his viewless ring
Beneath yon swelling tumulus and then
I loiter d up the valley to a small
And humbler ruin, where the undenlecl*
* "Thou hast a few names even in Sardis which have not defiled their
garments : and they shall walk with me in white : for they are worthy."
Revelation iii. 4.
244 FLORENCE GRAY.
Of the Apocalypse their garments kept
Spotless ; and crossing with a conscious awe
The broken threshold, to my spirit s eye
It seem d as if, amid the moonlight, stood
" The angel of the church of Sardis " still !
And I again pass d onward, and as dawn
Paled the bright morning star, I laid me down
Weary and sad beside the river s brink,
And twixt the moonlight and the rosy morn,
Wrote with my finger in the "golden sands."
Tell me, memory, what wrote I there ?
The name of a sweet child I knew at Rome !
The dust is old upon my "sandal-shoon,"
And still I am a pilgrim ; I have roved
From wild America to spicy Ind,
And worshipp d at innumerable shrines
Of beauty ; and the painter s art, to me,
And sculpture, speak as with a living tongue,
And of dead kingdoms I recall the soul,
Sitting amid their ruins. I have stored
My memory with thoughts that can allay
Fever and sadness, and when life gets dim,
And I am overladen in my years,
Minister to me. But when wearily
The mind gives over toiling, and with eyes
Open but seeing not, and senses all
Lying awake within their chambers dim,
Thought settles like a fountain, still and clear
Far in its sleeping depths, as twere a gem,
Tell me, memory, what shines so fair ?
The face of the sweet child I knew at Home !
THE PITY OF THE PARK FOUNTAIN. 245
THE PITY OF THE PARK FOUNTAIN.
TWAS a summery day in the last of May
Pleasant in sun or shade ;
And the hours went by, as the poets say,
Fragrant and fair on their flowery way ;
And a hearse crept slowly through Broadway
And the Fountain gaily play d.
The Fountain play d right merrily,
And the world look d bright and gay ;
And a youth went by, with a restless eye,
Whose heart was sick and whose brain was dry ;
And he pray d to God that he might die
And the Fountain play d away.
Uprose the spray like a diamond throne,
And the drops like music rang
And of those who marvell d how it shone,
Was a proud man, left, in his shame, alone ;
And he shut his teeth with a smother d groan
And the Fountain sweetly sang.
And a rainbow spanned it changefully,
Like a bright ring broke in twain ;
And the pale, fair girl, who stopp d to see,
Was sick with the pangs of poverty
And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee
As the rainbow smiled again.
And all as gay, on another day,
The morning will have shone ;
And at noon, unmark d through bright Broadway,
A hearse will take its silent way ;
And the bard who sings will have pass d away
And the Fountain will play on !
246 "CHAMBER SCENE."
"CHAMBER SCENE."
[An exquisite picture in the studio of a young artist at Rome.]
SHE rose from her untroubled sleep,
And put away her soft brown hair,
And, in a tone as low and deep
As love s first whisper, breathed a prayer
Her snow-white hands together press d,
Her blue eyes shelter d in the lid,
The folded linen on her breast
Just swelling with the charms it hid ;
And from her long and flowing dress
Escaped a bare and slender foot,
Whose shape upon the earth did press
Like a new snow-flake, white and " mute ; "
And there, from slumber pure and warm,
Like a young spirit fresh from heaven,
She bow d her slight and graceful form,
And humbly pray d to be forgiven.
God ! if souls unsoil d as these
Need daily mercy from Thy throne
If she upon her bended knees
Our loveliest and our purest one
She, with a face so clear and bright,
We deem her some stray child of light
If she, with those soft eyes in tears,
Day after day in her first years,
Must kneel and pray for grace from Thee
What far, far deeper need have we ?
How hardly, if she win not heaven,
Will our wild errors be forgiven !
THE WIFE S APPEAL. 247
THE WIFE S APPEAL.
1 Love borrows greatly from opinion. Pride, above all things, strengthens
affection." E. L. BULWEK.
HE sat and read. A book with silver clasps,
All gorgeous with illuminated lines
Of gold and crimson, lay upon a frame
Before him. Twas a volume of old time ;
And in it were fine mysteries of the stars
Solved with a cunning wisdom, and strange thoughts,
Half prophecy, half poetry, and dreams
Clearer than truth, and speculations wild
That touch d the secrets of your very soul,
They were so based on Nature. With a face
Glowing with thought, he pored upon the book.
The cushions of an Indian loom lay soft
Beneath his limbs, and, as he turn d the page,
The sunlight, streaming through the curtain s fold,
Fell from the rose-tint on his jewelFd hand ;
And the rich woods of the quaint furniture
Lay deepening their vein d colours in the sun,
And the stain d marbles on the pedestals
Stood like a silent company Voltaire,
With an infernal sneer upon his lips ;
And Socrates, with godlike human love
Stamp d on his countenance ; and orators,
Of times gone by that made them ; and old bards,
And Medicean Venus, half divine.
Around the room were shelves of dainty lore,
And rich old pictures hung upon the walls
Where the slant light fell on them ; and wrought gems,
Medallions, rare mosaics, and antiques
From Herculaneum, the niches fill d ;
And on the table of enamel, wrought
248 THE WIFE S APPEAL.
With a lost art in Italy, there lay
Prints of fair women, and engravings rare,
And a new poem, and a costly toy ;
And in their midst a massive lamp of bronze
Burning sweet spices constantly. Asleep
Upon the carpet couch d a graceful hound,
Of a rare breed ; and, as his master gave
A murmur of delight at some sweet line,
He raised his slender head, and kept his eye
Upon him till the pleasant smile had pass d
From his mild lips, and then he slept again.
The light beyond the crimson folds grew dusk,
And the clear letters of the pleasant book
Mingled and blurr d, and the lithe hound rose up,
And, with his earnest eye upon the door,
Listen d attentively. It came as wont
The fall of a light foot upon the stair
And the fond animal sprang out to meet
His mistress, and caress the ungloved hand,
He seem d to know was beautiful. She stoop d
Gracefully down and touch d his silken ears
As she pass d in then, with a tenderness,
Half playful and half serious, she knelt
Upon the ottoman and press d her lips
Upon her husband s forehead.
She rose and put the curtain-folds aside
From the high window, and look d out upon
The shining stars in silence. " Look they not
Like Paradises to thine eye ? " he said
But, as he spoke, a tear fell through the light
And starting from his seat he folded her
Close to his heart, and with unsteady voice
Ask d if she was not happy. A faint smile
Broke through her tears ; and pushing off the hair
THE WIFE S APPEAL. 249
From his broad forehead, she held back his head
With her white hand, and, gazing on his face,
Gave to her heart free utterance :
" Happy ? yes, dearest ! blest
Beyond the limit of my wildest dream
Too bright, indeed, my blessings ever seem ;
There lives not in my breast
One of Hope s promises by Love unkept,
And yet forgive me, Ernest I have wept.
" How shall I speak of sadness,
And seem not thankless to my God and thee 1
How can the lightest wish but seem to be
The very whim of madness ?
Yet, oh, there is a boon thy love beside
And I will ask it of thee in my pride !
" List, while my boldness lingers !
If thou hadst won yon twinkling star to hear thee
If thou couldst bid the rainbow s curve bend near thee
If thou couldst charm thy fingers
To weave for thee the sunset s tent of gold
Wouldst in thine own heart treasure it untold ?
"If thou hadst Ariel s gift,
To course the veined metals of the earth
If thou couldst wind a fountain to its birth
If thou couldst know the drift
Of the lost cloud that sail d into the sky
Wouldst keep it for thine own unanswer d eye ?
"It is thy life and mine !
Thou, in thyself and I in thee misprison
Gifts like a circle of bright stars unrisen
For thou whose mind should shine,
250 THE WIFE S APPEAL.
Eminent as a planet s light, art here
Moved with the starting of a woman s tear.
" I have told o er thy powers
In secret, as a miser tells his gold ;
I know thy spirit calm, and true, and bold :
I ve watch d thy lightest hours,
And seen thee, in the wildest flush of youth,
Touch d with the instinct ravishment of truth.
" Thou hast the secret strange
To read that hidden book, the human heart ;
Thou hast the ready writer s practised art ;
Thou hast the thought to range
The broadest circles Intellect hath ran
And thou art God s best work an honest man.
" And yet thou slumberest here
Like a caged bird that never knew its pinions,
And others track in glory the dominions
Where thou hast not thy peer
Setting their weaker eyes unto the sun,
And plucking honour that thou shouldst have won.
" Oh, if thou lovedst me ever,
Ernest, my husband ! if th idolatry
That lets go heaven to fling its all on thee
If to dismiss thee never
In dream or prayer, have given me aught to claim
Heed me oh, heed me ! and awake to fame ! "
Her lips
Closed with an earnest sweetness, and she sat
Gazing into his eyes as if her look
Search d their dark orbs for answer. The hot blood
Into his temples mounted, and across
His countenance the flush of passionate thoughts
THE WIFE S APPEAL. 251
Pass d with irresolute quickness. He rose up
And paced the dim room rapidly awhile,
Calming his troubled mind ; and then he came
And laid his hand upon her orbed brow,
And in a voice of heavenly tenderness
Answer d her :
" Before I knew thee, Mary,
Ambition was my angel. I did hear
For ever its witch d voices in mine ear ;
My days were visionary
My nights were like the slumbers of the mad
And every dream swept o er me glory-clad.
" I read the burning letters
Of warlike pomp, on History s page, alone ;
I counted nothing the struck widow s moan ;
I heard no clank of fetters ;
I only felt the trumpet s stirring blast,
And lean-eyed Famine stalk d unchallenged past !
" I heard with veins of lightning
The utterance of the Statesman s word of power
Binding and loosing nations in an hour
But, while my eye was bright nirig,
A mask d detraction breathed upon his fame,
And a cursed serpent slimed his written name.
"The Poet rapt mine ears
With the transporting music that he sung.
With fibres from his life his lyre he strung,
And bathed the world in tears
And then he turn d away to muse apart,
And Scorn stole after him and broke his heart !
" Yet here and there I saw
One who did set the world at calm defiance,
252 THE WIFE S APPEAL.
And press right onward with a bold reliance ;
And he did seem to awe
The very shadows pressing on his breast,
And, with a strong heart, held himself at rest.
" And then I look d again
And he had shut the door upon the crowd,
And on his face he lay and groan d aloud
Wrestling with hidden pain ;
And in her chamber sat his wife in tears,
And his sweet babes grew sad with whisper d fears.
" And so I turn d sick-hearted
From the bright cup away, and, in my sadness,
Search d mine own bosom for some spring of gladness ;
And lo ! a fountain started
Whose waters even in death flow calm and fast,
And my wild fever-thirst was slaked at last.
" And then I met thee, Mary,
And felt how love may into fulness pour,
Like light into a fountain running o er :
And I did hope to vary
My life but with surprises sweet as this
A dream but for thy waking fill d with bliss.
" Yet now I feel my spirit
Bitterly stirr d, and nay, lift up thy brow !
It is thine own voice echoing to thee now,
And thou didst pray to hear it
I must unto my work and my stern hours !
Take from my room thy harp, and books, and flowers !
, . A year
And in his room again he sat alone.
His frame had lost its fulness in that time ;
His manly features had grown sharp and thin,
THE WIFE S APPEAL. 253
And from his lips the constant smile had faded.
Wild fires had burn d the languor from his eye :
The lids look d fever d, and the brow was bent
With an habitual frown. He was much changed.
His chin was resting on his clenched hand,
And with his foot he beat upon the floor,
Unconsciously, the time of a sad tune.
Thoughts of the past prey d on him bitterly.
He had won power and held it. He had walk d
Steadily upward to the eye of Fame,
And kept his truth unsullied but his home
Had been invaded by envenom d tongues ;
His wife his spotless wife had been assail d
By slander, and his child had grown afraid
To come to him his manner was so stern.
He could not speak beside his own hearth freely.
His friends were half estranged, and vulgar men
Presumed upon their services and grew
Familiar with him. He d small time to sleep,
And none to pray ; and, with his heart in fetters,
He bore harsh insults silently, and bow d
Respectfully to men who knew he loathed them !
And, when his heart was eloquent with truth,
And love of country, and an honest zeal
Burn d for expression, he could find no words
They would not misinterpret with their lies.
What were his many honours to him now ?
The good half doubted, falsehood was so strong
His home was hateful with its cautious fears
His wife lay trembling on his very breast
Frighted with calumny ! And this is FAME !
254 TO A STOLEN RING.
TO A STOLEN RING.
OH for thy history now ! Hadst thou a tongue
To whisper of thy secrets, I could lay
Upon thy jewell d tracery mine ear,
And dream myself in heaven. Thou hast been worn
In that fair creature s pride, and thou hast felt
The bounding of the haughtiest blood that e er
Sprang from the heart of woman ; and thy gold
Has lain upon her forehead in the hour
Of sadness, when the weary thoughts came fast,
And life was but a bitterness with all
Its vividness and beauty. She has gazed
In her fair girlhood on thy snowy pearls,
And mused away the hours, and she has bent
On thee the downcast radiance of her eye
When a deep tone was eloquent in her ear,
And thou hast lain upon her cheek, and press d
Back on her heart its beatings, and put by
From her vein cl temples the luxuriant curls \
And in her peaceful sleep, when she has lain
In her unconscious beauty, and the dreams
Of her high heart came goldenly and soft,
Thou hast been there unchidden, and hast felt
The swelling of the clear transparent veins
As the rich blood rush d through them, warm and fast.
I am impatient as I gaze on thee,
Thou inarticulate jewel ! Thou hast heard
With thy dull ear such music ! the low tone
Of a young sister s tenderness, when night
Has folded them together like one flower
The sudden snatch of a remember d song
Warbled capriciously the careless word
Lightly betraying the inaudible thought
TO HER WHO HAS HOPES OF ME. 255
Working within the heart ; and more, than all,
Thou hast been lifted when the fervent prayer
For a loved mother, or the sleeping one
Lying beside her, trembling on her lip,
And the warm tear that from her eye stole out
As the soft lash fell over it, has lain
Amid thy shining jewels like a star.
TO HER WHO HAS HOPES OF ME.
OH stern, yet lovely monitress !
Thine eye should be of colder hue,
And on thy neck a paler tress
Should toy among those veins of blue !
For thou art to thy mission true
An angel clad in human guise
But sinners sometimes have such eyes,
And braid for love such tresses too ;
And, while thou talk st to me of heaven,
I sigh that thou hast not a siri to be forgiven !
Night comes, with love upon the breeze,
And the calm clock strikes, stilly, " ten."
I start to hear it beat, for then
I know that thou art on thy knees
And, at that hour, where er thou be,
Ascends to heaven a prayer for me !
My heart drops to its bended knee
The mirth upon my lip is dumb
Yet, as a thought of heaven would come,
There glides, before it, one of thee
Thou, in thy white dress, kneeling there !
I fear I could leave heaven to see thee at thy prayer !
256 TO HER WHO HAS HOPES OF ME.
I follow up the sacred aisle,
Thy light step on the Sabbath-day,
And as perhaps thou pray st the while
My light thoughts pass away !
As swells in air the holy hymn,
My breath comes thick, my eyes are dim,
And through my tears I pray !
I do not think my heart is stone
But, while for heaven it beats alone
In heaven would willing stay
One rustle of thy snow-white gown
Sends all my thoughts astray !
The preaching dies upon my ear
What is " the better world " when thy dark eyes are here ?
Yet pray ! my years have been but few
And many a wile the tempter weaves,
And many a saint the sinner grieves
Ere Mercy brings him through !
But oh, when Mercy sits serene
And strives to bend to me,
Pray, that the cloud which comes between
May less resemble thee !
The world that would my soul beguile
Tints all its roses with thy smile !
In heaven twere well to be !
But, to desire that blessed shore
lady ! thy dark eyes must first have gone before !
SHE WAS NOT THERE. 257
"SHE WAS NOT THERE."
" The bird,
Let loose, to his far nest will flee,
And love, though breathed but on a word,
Will find thee, over land and sea."
Tis midnight deep I came but now
From the close air of lighted halls ;
And while I hold my aching brow
I gaze upon my dim-lit walls ;
And, feeling here that I am free
To wear the look that suits my mood,
And let my thoughts flow back to thee,
I bless my tranquil solitude,
And bidding all thoughts else begone,
I muse upon thy love alone.
Yet was the music sweet to-night,
And fragrant odours filPd the air,
And flowers were drooping in the light,
And lovely women wander d there ;
And fruits and wines with lavish waste
Were on the marble tables piled,
And all that tempts the eye and taste,
And sets the haggard pulses wild,
And wins from care, and deadens sadness,
Were there but yet I felt no gladness.
I thought of thee I thought of thee
Each cunning change the music play d,
Each fragrant breath that stole to me,
My wandering thought more truant made.
The lovely women pass d me by,
The wit fell powerless on mine ear,
I look d on all with vacant eye,
I did not see I did not hear !
B
258 FAIL MB NOT THOU/
The skilPd musician s master-tone
Was sweet thy voice were sweeter far !
They were soft eyes the lamps shone on
The eyes I worship gentler are !
The halls were broad, the mirrors tall,
With silver lamps and costly wine
I only thought how poor was all
To one low tone from lips like thine
I only felt how well forgot
Were all the stars look on and thy sweet eyes do not /
FAIL ME NOT THOU/
" Ob, by that little word
How many thoughts are stirr d !
The last, the last, the last ! "
THE star may but a meteor be,
That breaks upon the stormy night ;
And I may err, believing thee
A spark of heaven s own changeless light 1
But if on earth beams aught so fair,
It seems, of all the lights that shine,
Serenest in its truth, tis there,
Burning in those soft eyes of thine.
Yet long-watch d stars from heaven have rush d,
And long-loved friends have dropp d away,
And mine my very heart have crush d 1
And I have hoped this many a day,
It lived no more for love or pain !
But thou hast stirr d its depths again,
And, to its dull, out-wearied ear,
Thy voice of melody has crept,
In tones it cannot choose but hear ;
And now I feel it onlj~ slept,
TO M , FROM ABROAD. 259
And know, at even thy lightest smile,
It gather d fire and strength the while.
Fail me not thou ! This feeling past,
My heart would never rouse again.
Thou art the brightest but the last !
And if this trust, this love is vain
If thou, all peerless as thou art,
Be not less fair than true of heart
My loves are o er ! The sun will shine
Upon no grave so hush d as this dark breast of mine.
TO M , FROM ABROAD.
"The desire of the moth for the star
Of the night for the morrow
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow."
SHELLEY.
"I/ alma, quel che non ha, sogna e figura."