No More Learning



## p. 16641 (#341) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16641
A FORECAST
W"
HAT days await this woman, whose strange feet
Breathe spells; whose presence makes men dream
like wine;
Tall, free, and slender as the forest pine ;
Whose form is molded music; through whose sweet
Frank eyes I feel the very heart's least beat,
Keen, passionate, and full of dreams and fire:
How in the end, and to what man's desire,
Shall all this yield — whose lips shall these lips meet?
One thing I know: if he be great and pure,
This love, this fire, this beauty, shall endure;
Triumph and hope shall lead him by the palm:
But if not this, some differing thing he be,
That dream shall break in terror; he shall see
The whirlwind ripen, where he sowed the calm.
ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN.
CROSS OF GOLD
T"
he fifth from the north wall;
Row innermost; and the pall
Plain black - all black - except
The cross on which she wept,
Ere she lay down and slept.
This one is hers, and this
The marble next it - his:
So lie in brave accord
The lady and her lord,
Her cross and his red sword.
And now, what seek'st thou here,
Having no care nor fear
To vex with thy hot tread
These halls of the long dead, -
To flash the torch's light
Upon their utter night?
What word hast thou to thrust
Into her ear of dust?
Spake then the haggard priest:
In lands of the far East
XXVIII-1041


## p. 16642 (#342) ##########################################

16642
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
I dreamed of finding rest —
What time my lips had prest
The cross on this dead breast.
-
And if my sin be shriven,
And mercy live in heaven,
Surely this hour, and here,
My long woe's end is near
Is near — and I am brought
To peace, and painless thought
Of her who lies at rest,
This cross upon her breast,-
Whose passionate heart is cold
Beneath this cross of gold;
Who lieth, still and mute,
In sleep so absolute.
Yea, by the precious sign
Shall sleep most sweet be mine;
And I at last am blest,
Knowing she went to rest
This cross upon her breast.
DAVID GRAY.
THE WEB
O
MOONLIGHT spider-web,
Filmy and fine and fair!
A cloud of dewdrops blown
From rose-hearts overgrown
Transfixed upon the bosom of the air.
O moonlight-colored web,
That some rude hand has torn!
Each broken, lifeless thread
Hangs downward, gray and dead,
Caught on the sharp edge of a red-rose thorn.
O frail, fine web of Life,
Woven 'mid stars above,
Shattered on earth one day!
Mine lieth dead and gray,
Caught on the sharp edge of the Thorn of Love.
CORA FABBRI


## p. 16643 (#343) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16643
DOUBT
TH
HOUGH that which made my life is fled,
I still could live and still could smile,
Were I but sure thy love now dead
Once lived a little while.
The future I can bear to lose,
But not the past – oh, not the past !
Ah, love! do not this prayer refuse,
And it shall be my last.
Ah, love! when 'neath the oak we stood,
The moon pale-gleaming through her tears
Showed your stern face and altered mood,
Which first awoke my fears.
As grows the storm-cloud on the blast,
My darkening fears have grown and grown;
But let, oh, let me keep the past,
Though hope and love have flown.
Again in dreams I silent stand,
As that pale night, black leaves beneath;
Against your side you press my hand,
I feel each throbbing breath.
The night wind moans in the long grass;
By it, or thee, was the tale told
Which niade the ghost of true love pass
Wringing her white hands cold ?
Though side by side, arm linked in arm,
It swept between us bitter chill;
And now in blinding sunshine warm
I shiver with it still.
Here in the same long grass I lie,
The selfsame branches overhead;
I watch the pitiless blue sky;
Would it shone o'er me dead!
Author Unknown.


## p. 16644 (#344) ##########################################

16644
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
TWO ROBBERS
WEN
'HEN Death from some fair face
Is stealing life away,
All weep, save her, the grace
That earth shall lose to-day.
When Time from some fair face
Steals beauty, year by year,
For her slow-fading grace
Who sheds, save her, a tear ?
And Death not often dares
To wake the world's distress;
While Time, the cunning, mars
Surely all loveliness.
Yet though by breath and breath
Fades all our fairest prime,
Men shrink from cruel Death,
And honor crafty Time.
F. W. BOURDILLON
LOVE AND DEATH
A
LAS! that men must see
Love, before Death!
Else they content might be
With their short breath;
Aye, glad when the pale sun
Showed restless Day was done,
And endless Rest begun!
Glad when with strong, cool hand
Death clasped their own,
And with a strange command
Hushed every moan;
Glad to have finished pain
And labor wrought in vain,
Blurred by Sin's deepening stain.
But Love's insistent voice
Bids Self to flee:-
«Live that I may rejoice;
Live on for me! »


## p. 16645 (#345) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16645
So, for Love's cruel mind,
Men fear this Rest to find,
Nor know great Death is kind!
MARGARET DELAND.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH
O"
H, LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers' ears in hearing;
And love, in life's extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits in Neidpath's tower
To watch her love's returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decayed by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.
By fits a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying;
By fits so ashy pale she grew
Her maidens thought her dying.
Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seemed in her frame residing:
Before the watch-dog pricked his ear
She heard her lover's riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned
She knew and waved to greet him,
And o'er the battlement did bend
As on the wing to meet him.
He came – he passed
an heedless gaze
As o'er some stranger glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser's prancing. –
The castle arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.
SIR WALTER SCOTT


## p. 16646 (#346) ##########################################

16646
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
MADRIGAL TRISTE
I
f we should meet,
You and I,
My sweet,
In some fair land where under the blue sky
The scents of the fresh violets never die,
And Spring is deathless under deathless feet,
Should we clasp hands and kiss,
My sweet,
With the old bliss ?
Would our eyes meet
With the same passionate frankness as of old,
When the fresh Spring was in the Summer's gold ?
Ah, no, my dear!
Woe's me! our kisses are but frore;
The blossoms of our early love are sere,
And will be fresh no more.
II
1
If we should stand,
You and I,
My sweet,
On that bright strand
Where day fades never, and the golden street
Rings to the music of the angels' feet,
Would our rent hearts find solace in the sky ?
Should we lose heed,
My dear,
Of the sad years?
Would our souls cease to bleed
For the past anguish, and our eyes grow clear
In heaven from all the furrows of the tears?
Ah, no, my dear!
Needs must we sigh and stand aloof!
Once riven,
God could not heal our love,
Even in heaven.
JOHN Payne.


## p. 16647 (#347) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16647
PARTING OF GODFRID AND OLYMPIA
From Madonna's Child)
S°
O ONCE again they fled without delay,
On wings of wind through leagues of dim-seen land;
Night and the stars accompanying their way,
And roar and blackness close on either hand :
Until the dark drew off, and with the day
They saw the sparkling bay and joyous strand,
White sails, brown oars, huge coils of briny ropes,
And fair proud city throned on regal slopes.
And soon the road they came by, which doth run
'Twixt hill and sea, now smooth as woodland pond,
Saw them once more, with all their dreams unspun,
Facing farewell. A little way beyond,
A big brown mule stood blinking in the sun,
For a long march rudely caparisoned;
And at its side a gentle mountaineer,
Who to their grief lent neither eye nor ear.
« Hear me once more, Olympia! Must we part?
Is Heaven so stern, and can a gentle breast
Inflict and aye endure so keen a smart,
When pity's voice could lull our pain to rest ?
Is there no common Eden of the heart,
Where each fond bosom is a welcome guest ?
No comprehensive paradise to hold
All loving souls in one celestial fold ?
« For Love is older far than all the gods,
And will survive both gods and men, and be
The sovereign ruler still, when Nature nods,
And the scared stars through misty chaos flee.
Take love away, and we are brutish clods,
Blind, spelling out our fate without the key;
Love, love is our immortal part, and they
Who own it not are only walking clay.
(
“But they who in this cold contentious sphere
Deep in their heart cherish love's sacred fire,
Can smile at pain, and all that mortals fear,
And tranquil keep when time and death conspire.


## p. 16648 (#348) ##########################################

16648
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Though fickle winds should vex, they do not veer;
No threats can daunt them, weary waitings tire:
Their feet are planted on the clouds; their eyes
Glare cannot blind, scan the eternal skies.
“This is my creed, and that the heaven I seek;
Which even here, Olympia! may be ours,
Unless my lips, or else thine ears, be weak,
Or we have outraged the supernal powers.
Oh, but that cannot be! Would Nature wreak
Her wrath on thee, most precious of her flowers ?
The sin, if sin there be, is mine, is mine; -
Wrong never was, can pain be ever, thine ?
« Here 'twixt the mountains and the sea I swear
That I thy faith will reverence as thy soul;
And as on that bright morning when thy fair
Entrancing form upon my senses stole,
Still every dewy dawn fresh gifts will bear
Unto Madonna's shrine,- that happy goal
Where our first journey ended, and I fain
Would have this end — not snapped, as now, in pain!
»
The foam-fringe at their feet was not more white
Than her pale cheeks, as downcast she replied:-
“No, Godfrid! no. Farewell, farewell! You might
Have been my star;- - a star once fell by pride;
But since you furl your wings, and veil your light,
I cling to Mary and Christ crucified.
Leave me, nay, leave me, ere it be too late!
Better part here than part at heaven's gate! »
Thereat he kissed her forehead, she his hand,
And on the mule he mounted her, and then,
Along the road that skirts the devious strand,
Watched her, until she vanished from his ken.
Tears all in vain as water upon sand,
Or words of grace to hearts of hardened men,
Coursed down her cheeks, whilst, half her grief divined,
The mountain guide walked sad and mute behind.
But never more as in the simple days
When prayer was all her thought, her heart shall be;
For she is burdened with the grief that stays,
And by a shadow vexed that will not flee.


## p. 16649 (#349) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16649
Pure, but not spared, she passes from our gaze,-
Victim, not vanquisher, of love. And he ?
Once more a traveler o'er land and main ;-
Ah! life is sad and scarcely worth the pain!
ALFRED AUSTIN.
THE LADY BLANCHE
THE
HE Lady Blanche was saintly fair;
Not proud, but meek, her look;
In her hazel eyes her thoughts lay clear
As pebbles in a brook.
Her father's veins ran noble blood,
His hall rose 'mid the trees;
Like a sunbeam she came and went
'Mong the white cottages.
The peasants thanked her with their tears
When food and clothes were given:
« This is a joy,” the lady said,
« Saints cannot taste in heaven. ”
»
They met: the poet told his love,
His hopes, despairs, and pains;
The lady with her calın eyes mocked
The tumult in his veins.
He passed away;- a fierce song leapt
From cloud of his despair,
As lightning like a bright wild beast
Leaps from its thunder-lair.
He poured his frenzy forth in song,-
Bright heirs of tears and praises!
Now resteth that unquiet heart
Beneath the quiet daisies.
The world is old, -oh! very old, -
The wild winds weep and rave;
The world is old, and gray, and cold, -
Let it drop into its grave.
ALEXANDER SMITH.


## p. 16650 (#350) ##########################################

16650
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE
WORD
was brought to the Danish king
(Hurry! )
That the love of his heart lay suffering,
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring;
(Oh, ride as though you were flying! )
Better he loves each golden curl
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;
And his rose of the isles is dying!
Thirty nobles saddled with speed,
(Hurry! )
Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of need:
(Oh, ride as though you were flying ! )
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his rose of the isles lay dying!
His nobles are beaten, one by one;
(Hurry! )
They have fainted and faltered, and homeward gone:
His little fair page now follows alone,
For strength and for courage trying.
The king looked back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smiled:
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped; and only the king rode in
Where his rose of the isles lay dying!
The king blew a blast on his bugle horn:
(Silence! )
No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcomed the king from that weary ride:
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearned for his voice while dying!


## p. 16651 (#351) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16651
The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary.
The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;
And, that dumb companion eyeing,
The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:-
“O steed — that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls ere my love lay dying! ”
CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORTON.
HANNAH BINDING SHOES
Pºo
OOR lone Hannah,
Sitting at the window, binding shoes!
Faded, wrinkled,
Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse!
Bright-eyed beauty once was she,
When the bloom was on the tree:
Spring and winter
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Not a neighbor
Passing nod or answer will refuse
To her whisper,
“Is there from the fishers any news ? »
Oh, her heart's adrift with one
On an endless voyage gone!
Night and morning
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Fair young Hannah,
Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly wooes;
Hale and clever,
For a willing heart and hand he sues.
May-day skies are all aglow,
And the waves are laughing so!
For her wedding
Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.
May is passing:
Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon cooes.


## p. 16652 (#352) ##########################################

16652
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Hannah shudders,
For the mild southwester mischief brews.
Round the rocks of Marblehead,
Outward bound a schooner sped:
Silent, lonesome,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
'Tis November.
Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews.
From Newfoundland
Not a sail returning will she lose,
Whispering hoarsely, “Fisherman,
Have you, have you heard of Ben ? )
Old with watching,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Twenty winters
Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views,
Twenty seasons;
Never one has brought her any news.
Still her dim eyes silently
Chase the white sail o'er the sea :
Hopeless, faithful,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
LUCY LARCOM.
EILY CONSIDINE
AT
T THE barrack gate she sits,
Eily Considine;
Now she dozes, now she knits,
While the sunshine, through the slits
In the trellised trumpet-vine,
Warms old Eily Considine —
Warms her heart that long ago
Set the Regiment aglow!
Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine -
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considire ?


## p. 16653 (#353) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16653
I remember your first beau,
Eily Considine;
That was years ago, I know.
Do you ever think of Stowe
Stowe, lieutenant in the line
Shot by Sioux in '59 ?
Do you sometimes think of Gray ?
I can almost hear him say:-
«Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flame like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine – »
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine ?
First came Fairfax of the Staff,
Eily Considine:
You forgave him with a laugh -
You're too generous by half.
Years ago he died — 'twas wine
Killed him, Eily Considine -
Killed him - 'twas a death of shame,
Yet in death he cried your name!
Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips of flame, like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine -
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine ?
If you wept when Fairfax left,
Eily Considine,
Surely Donaldson was deft
To console a soul bereft
In so very brief a time
Lonely Eily Considine.
After Donaldson came Hurse;
He it was who wrote this verse:-
« Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;


## p. 16654 (#354) ##########################################

16654
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Lips that flame like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine - »
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine ?
Santa Anna settled Hurse,
Eily Considine;
Then it went from bad to worse.
Yet if loving was your curse,
Bless me with this curse divine,
Bless me, Eily Considine !
Phantom dim of long ago,
Misty, faint, and sweet-I know
Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine –
Is that you,
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine ?
At the barrack gate she sits,
Eily Considine;
Now she dozes, now she knits,
And the sunshine through the slits
In the trellised trumpet-vine
Falls on Eily Considine,
On her thin hair, silver-bright:-
God may wash her soul as white.
Sweeter colleen ne'er was seen
Than Eileen;
Lips that flamed like scarlet wine,
Eyes of azure, smile divine -
Peace to you
Selling apples
Where the golden sunlight dapples,
Eily Considine!
ROBERT W. CHAMBERS.


## p. 16655 (#355) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16655
THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA
'R
ISE up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,
And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpets' lordly
blowing;
And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,
And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly
in the air:
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
(
"Arise, arise, Xarifa! I see Andalla's face;
He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace:
Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir
Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely, never.
Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow, of purple mixed with white,
I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night.
Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down;
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town!
“What aileth thee, Xarifa? what makes thine eyes look down?
Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town?
I've heard you say on many a day — and sure you said the
truth-
Andalla rides without a peer 'mong all Granada's youth;
Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go,
Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow.
Then rise - oh rise, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down:
Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town! »
The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down,
Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town;
But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove,
And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove:
One bonny rosebud she had traced before the noise drew nigh, —
That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow dropping from her eye.
“No— no,” she sighs: “bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town! ”.
«Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down?
Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town?
Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry!
He stops at Zara's palace-gate; - why sit ye still — oh why? ” —


## p. 16656 (#356) ##########################################

16656
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate: in him shall I discover
The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was
my lover?
I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down,
To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!
Spanish: Author Unknown.
Translation of John Gibson Lockhart.
RIVALS
GRY
RAY in the east,
Gray in the west, and a moon.
Dim gleam the lamps of the ended feast
Through the misty dawn of June;
And I turn to watch her go
Swift as the swallows flee,
Side by side with Joaquin Castro,
Heart by heart with me.
Jasmine star afloat
In her soft hair's dusky strands;
Jasmine white is her swelling throat,
And jasmine white her hands.
Ah, the plea of that clinging hand
Through the whirl of that wild waltz tune!
Lost — lost for a league of land,
Lying dark 'neath the sinking moon!
Over yon stream
The casa rests on its hard clay floor,
Its red tiles dim in the misty gleam;
Old Pedro Vidal at the door,
And his small eye ranges keen
Over vistas of goodly land –
Brown hills, with wild-oat sweeps between,
Bought with his daughter's hand.
Tangled and wreathed,
The wild boughs over the wild streams meet;
And over the swamp flowers musky-breathed,
And the cresses at their feet;
And over the dimpled springs,
Where the deep brown shadows flaunt,


## p. 16657 (#357) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16657
And the heron folds his ivory wings
And waits in his ferny haunt.
Side-scarred peaks
Where the gray sage hangs like a smoke,
And the vultures wipe their bloody beaks,
From the feast in the crotched oak,-
You are Castro's, hemming his acres in;
And I his vaquero, who o'er you rove,
Hold wealth he would barter you all to win,–
The wealth of her broad sweet love.
Joaquin Castro
Rides up from her home where the stream-mists hang,
And the cañon sides toss to and fro
The tread of his black mustang -
Half wild, a haughty beast,
Scarce held by the taut-drawn rein;
And a madness leaps into my breast,
And that wild waltz whirls in my brain.
By his mountain streams
We meet, and the waves glint through the shades;
And we light the morn with long thin gleams,
And wake it with clash of blades.
From some pale crag is borne
The owl's derisive laugh;
And the gray deer flies, like a shadow of dawn,
From the tide it fain would quaff.
A sudden wheel,
Then away, away, and the far hush rings
With hoof-beat, and chime of spurred heel;
And the blue air winds and sings
In the coils from each round gathering strength,
Ere I rise in my saddle for truer throw,
That the rope may spring its serpent length,
And drag from his seat my foe.
Was it an owl
Speedily fitting the trail across,
Or a twisted bough in its monk-like cowl
And robe of the long gray moss ?
Or the race has frenzied the black's wild brain ?
He rears, to the stout rein gives no heed,
XXVIII-1042


## p. 16658 (#358) ##########################################

16658
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Then backward, backward - curls and mane
Intermingled, necks broken, rider and steed.
Ah, señor,
She is mine. It was all long years ago:
And at eve, when we sit in our vine-hung door,
She speaks of Joaquin Castro,
How they found him there; and sweet drops start
From sweeter eyes. And who shall know
That the brand of Cain burns red on my heart,
Since the scar was spared my brow ?
VIRGINIA PEYTON FAUNTLEROY.
CARMEN
L
A GITANILLA! Tall dragoons,
In Andalusian afternoons,
With ogling eye and compliment
Smiled on you, as along you went
Some sleepy street of old Seville-
Twirled with military skill
Mustaches; buttoned uniforms
Of Spanish yellow bowed your charms.
Proud, wicked head, and hair blue-black!
Whence your mantilla, half thrown back,
Discovered shoulders and bold breast
Bohemian brown! And you were dressed
In some short skirt of gipsy red
Of smuggled stuff; thence stockings dead
White silk, exposed with many a hole,
Through which your plump legs roguish stole
A fleshly look; and tiny toes
In red morocco shoes with bows
Of scarlet ribbons. Daintily
You walked by me, and I did see
Your oblique eyes, your sensuous lip,
That gnawed the rose you once did flip
At bashful José's nose, while loud
Laughed the gaunt guards among the crowd.
And in your brazen chemise thrust,
Heaved with the swelling of your bust,


## p. 16659 (#359) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16659
The bunch of white acacia blooms
Whiffed past my nostrils hot perfumes.
As in a cool neveria
I ate an ice with Mérimée,
Dark Carmencita, you passed gay,
All holiday-bеdizened,
A new mantilla on your head;
A crimson dress bespangled fierce;
And crescent gold hung in your ears,
Shone, wrought morisco; and each shoe,
Cordovan leather spangled blue,
Glanced merriment; and from large arms
To well-turned ankles all your charms
Blew flutterings and glitterings
Of satin bands and beaded strings;
And round each arm's fair thigh one fold,
And graceful wrists, a twisted gold
Coiled serpents' tails fixed in each head,
Convulsive-jeweled glossy red.
In flowers and trimmings, to the jar
Of mandolin and low guitar,
You in the grated patio
Danced: the curled coxcombs' flirting row
Rang pleased applause. I saw you dance,
With wily motion and glad glance
Voluptuous, the wild romalis,
Where every movement was a kiss
Of elegance delicious, wound
In your Basque tambourine's dull sound;
Or as the ebon castanets
Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets,
Saw angry José through the grate
Glare on us a pale face of hate,
When some indecent colonel there
Presumed too lewdly for his ear.
Some still night in Seville, the street
Candilejo, two shadows meet -
Flash sabres crossed within the moon
Clash rapidly - a dead dragoon.
MADISON J. CAWEIN.


## p. 16660 (#360) ##########################################

16660
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
À OUTRANCE
(FRANCE, SEVENTEENTH CENTURY)
H
EIGHO! Why the plague did you wake me ?
It's barely a half after four;
My head, too, is - ah! I remember
That little affair at the shore.
Well, I had forgotten completely!
I must have been drinking last night. -
Rapiers, West Sands, and sunrise ;-
But whom, by the way, do I fight?
De Genlis! Ah, now I recall it! -
He started it all, did he not?
I drank to his wife — but, the devil!
He needn't have gotten so hot.
Just see what a ruffler that man is,
To give me a challenge to fight,
And only for pledging milady
A half-dozen times in a night.
Ah, well! it's a beautiful morning, --
The sun just beginning to rise, -
A glorious day for one's spirit
To pilgrimage off to the skies -
God keep mine from any such notion ;-
This dual's à outrance, you see. —
I haven't confessed for a month back,
And haven't had breakfast, tant pis!
Well, here we are, first at the West Sands!
The tide is well out; and how red
The sunrise is painting the ocean;-
Is that a sea-gull overhead ?
And here come De Genlis and Virron:
Messieurs, we were waiting for you
To complete, with the sea and the sunrise,
The charming effect of the view.
Are we ready? Indeed we were waiting
Your orders, Marigny and I.
On guard then it is, — we must hasten:
The sun is already quite high.


## p. 16661 (#361) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16661
Where now would you like me to pink you?
I've no choice at all, don't you see;
And any spot you may desire
Will be convenable for me.
From this hand-shake I judge I was drinking
Last night, with the thirst of a fish;
I've vigor enough though to kill you,
Mon ami, and that's all I wish.
Keep cool, keep your temper, I beg you,-
Don't fret yourself - Now by your leave
I'll finish you off — Help, Marigny!
His sword's in my heart, I believe.
God! God! What a mortification !
The Amontillado last night -
Was drinking, you know, and my hand shook;—
My head, too, was dizzy and light.
And I the best swordsman in Paris!
No priest, please, for such as I am --
I'm going - Good-by, my Marigny;
-
De Genlis, my love to Madame.
ROBERT CAMERON ROGERS.
A CONQUEST
I
FOUND him openly wearing her token;
I knew that her troth could never be broken:
I laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, —
He did the same, and he spoke no word.
I faced him with his villainy;
He laughed, and said, “She gave it me. ”
We searched for seconds, they soon were found:
They measured our swords; they measured the ground:
They held to the deadly work too fast —
They thought to gain our place at last.
We fought in the sheen of a wintry wood;
The fair white snow was red with his blood :
But his was the victory, for, as he died,
He swore by the rood that he had not lied.
WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK.


## p. 16662 (#362) ##########################################

16662
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
BALLAD OF A BRIDAL
“O
H, FILL me flagons full and fair
Of red wine and of white,
And, maidens mine, my bower prepare:
It is my wedding night!
“Braid up my hair with gem and flower,
And make me fair and fine:
The day has dawned that brings the hour
When my desire is mine! »
They decked her bower with roses blown,
With rushes strewed the floor;
And sewed more jewels on her gown
Than ever she wore before.
She wore two roses in her face,
Two jewels in her e'en;
Her hair was crowned with sunset rays,
Her brows shone white between.
(
« Tapers at the bed's foot,” she saith,
« Two tapers at the head! ”
(It seemed more like the bed of death
Than like a bridal bed. )
He came. He took her hands in his;
He kissed her on the face:
“There is more heaven in thy kiss
Than in Our Lady's grace! ”
He kissed her once, he kissed her twice,
He kissed her three times o'er,
He kissed her brow, he kissed her eyes,
He kissed her mouth's red flower.
“O love! What is it ails thy knight?
I sicken and I pine:
Is it the red wine or the white,
Or that sweet kiss of thine ? »
«No kiss, no wine or white or red
Can make such sickness be:
Lie down and die on thy bride-bed,
For I have poisoned thee!


## p. 16663 (#363) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16663
«And though the curse of saints and men
Be for the deed on me,
I would it were to do again,
Since thou wert false to me!
« Thou shouldst have loved or one or none,
Nor she nor I loved twain;
But we are twain thou hast undone
And therefore art thou slain.
“And when before my God I stand,
With no base flesh between,
I shall hold up my guilty hand,
And he shall judge it clean!
>>
He fell across the bridal bed,
Between the tapers pale.
“I first shall see our God,” he said,
“And I will tell thy tale:
«And if God judge thee as I do,
Then art thou justified;
I love thee, and I was not true,
And that was why I died.
“If I might judge thee, thou shouldst be
First of the saints on high;
But ah, I fear God loveth thee
Not half so dear as I! »
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.
HER CREED
le stood before a chosen few,
With modest air and eyes of blue;
A gentle creature, in whose face
Were mingled tenderness and grace.
S"
« You wish to join our fold,” they said:
“Do you believe in all that's read
From ritual and written creed,
Essential to our human need ? »


## p. 16664 (#364) ##########################################

16664
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
A troubled look was in her eyes;
She answered, as in vague surprise,
As though the sense to her were dim,
“I only strive to follow Him. ”
They knew her life; how, oft she stood,
Sweet in her guileless maidenhood,
By dying bed, in hovel lone,
Whose sorrow she had made her own.
Oft had her voice in prayer been heard,
Sweet as the voice of singing bird;
Her hand been open in distress;
Her joy to brighten and to bless.
Yet still she answered, when they sought
To know her inmost earnest thought,
With look as of the seraphim,
"I only strive to follow Him. "
Creeds change as ages come and go;
We see by faith, but little know:
Perchance the sense was not so dim
To her who <strove to follow Him. ”
SARAH KNOWLES Bolton.
A SAINT OF YORE
IN MEM. , E. V.
W**
ho brings it, now, her sweet accord
To every precept of her Lord ?
In quaintly fashioned bonnet
With simplest ribbons on it,
The older folk remember well
How prompt she was at Sabbath bell.
I see her yet; her decent shawl,
Her sober gown, silk mitts, and all.
The deacons courtly meet her,
The pastor turns to greet her,
And maid and matron quit their place
To find her fan or smooth her lace.


## p. 16665 (#365) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16665
I see her yet, with saintly smile,
Pass slowly up the quiet aisle:
Her mien, her every motion,
Is melody, devotion;
Contagious grace spreads round her way,
The prayer that words can never pray.
Old Groveland Church! the good folk fill
It yet, up on the windy hill:
The grass is round it growing
For nearest neighbors' mowing;
The weathered, battered sheds, behind,
Still rattle, rattle, with the wind.
All is the same; but in yon ground.
Have thickened fast the slab and mound.
Hark! Shall I join the praises ?
Rather, among the daisies,
Let me, in peaceful thought, once more
Be silent with the saint of yore.
JOHN VANCE CHENEY.
WITHIN
T°
O Fail in finding gifts, and still to give;
To count all trouble ease, all loss as gain;
To learn in dying as a self to live --
This dost thou do, and seek thy joy in pain ?
Rejoice that not unworthy thou art found
For Love to touch thee with his hand divine.
Put off thy shoes, - thou art on holy ground;
Thou standest on the threshold of his shrine.
But canst thou wait in patience, make no sign,
And where in power thou fail'st, - oh, not in will! -
See sore need served by other hands than thine,
And other hands the dear desires fulfill,
Hear others gain the thanks that thou wouldst win,
Yet be all joy? Then hast thou entered in.
ANNA CALLENDER BRACKETT.


## p. 16666 (#366) ##########################################

16666
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DORIS: A PASTORAL
I
sat with Doris, the shepherd-maiden -
Her crook was laden with wreathèd flowers;
I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling
And shadows stealing, for hours and hours.
And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses
Wild summer-roses of sweet perfume,
The while I sued her, kept hushed and hearkened,
Till shades had darkened from gloss to gloom.
She touched my shoulder with fearful finger;
She said, “We linger,- we must not stay:
My fock's in danger, my sheep will wander;
Behold them yonder, how far they stray! ”
I answered bolder, “Nay, let me hear you,
And still be near you, and still adore !
No wolf nor stranger will touch one yearling:
Ah! stay, my darling, a moment more ! »
She whispered, sighing, “There will be sorrow
Beyond to-morrow, if I lose to-day:
My fold unguarded, my flock unfolded,
I shall be scolded and sent away. ”
Said I, denying, “If they do miss you,
They ought to kiss you when you get home;
And well rewarded by friend and neighbor
Should be the labor from which you come. ”
»
« They might remember,” she answered meekly,
“That lambs are weakly, and sheep are wild;
But if they love me, it's none so fervent, –
I am a servant, and not a child. ”
Then each hot ember glowed within me,
And love did win me to swift reply:
"Ah! do but prove me; and none shall bind you,
Nor fray nor find you, until I die. ”
She blushed and started, and stood awaiting,
As if debating in dreams divine:
But I did brave them; I told her plainly
She doubted vainly,- she must be mine.


## p. 16667 (#367) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16667
So we, twin-hearted, from all the valley
Did rouse and rally her nibbling ewes;
And homeward drave them, we two together,
Through blooming heather and gleaming dews.
That simple duty fresh grace did lend her,
My Doris tender, my Doris true;
That I, her warder, did always bless her,
And often press her to take her due.
And now in beauty she fills my dwelling
With love excelling and undefiled;
And love doth guard her, both fast and fervent,-
No more a servant, nor yet a child.
ARTHUR JOSEPH MUNBY.
A TRAGEDY
AHON
MONG his books he sits all day
To think and read and write;
He does not smell the new-mown hay,
The roses red and white.
I walk among them all alone,
His silly, stupid wife;
The world seems tasteless, dead and done -
An empty thing is life.
At night his window casts a square
Of light upon the lawn;
I sometimes walk and watch it there
Until the chill of dawn.
I have no brain to understand
The books he loves to read;
I only have a heart and hand
He does not seem to need.
He calls me “Child” – lays on my hair
Thin fingers, cold and mild;
O God of love, who answers prayer,
I wish I were a child!
And no one sees and no one knows
(He least would know or see)


## p. 16668 (#368) ##########################################

16668
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
That ere love gathers next year's rose,
Death will have gathered me;
And on my grave will bindweed pink
And round-faced daisies grow:
He still will read and write and think,
And never, never know!
II
It's lonely in my study here alone,
Now you are gone:
I loved to see your white gown 'mid the flowers,
While hours on hours
I studied toiled to weave a crown of fame
About your name.
I liked to hear your sweet, low laughter ring;
To hear you sing
About the house while I sat reading here,
My child, my dear;
To know you glad with all the life-joys fair
I dared not share.
I thought there would be time enough to show
My love, you know,
When I could lay with laurels at your feet
Love's roses sweet;
I thought I could taste love when fame was won
Now both are done!
Thank God, your child-heart knew not how to miss
The passionate kiss
Which I dared never give, lest love should rise
Mighty, unwise,
And bind me, with my life-work incomplete,
Beside your feet.
You never knew, you lived and were content:
My one chance went;
You died, my little one, and are at rest
And I, unblest,
Look at these broken fragments of my life,
My child, my wife.
EDITH (NESBIT) BLAND.


## p. 16669 (#369) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16669
HERMIONE
W*
"HEREVER I wander, up and about,
This is the puzzle I can't inake out -
Because I care little for books, no doubt:
I have a wife, and she is wise,
Deep in philosophy, strong in Greek;
Spectacles shadow her pretty eyes,
Coteries rustle to hear her speak;
She writes a little — for love, not fame;
Has published a book with a dreary name:
And yet (God bless her! ) is mild and meek.
And how I happened to woo and wed
A wife so pretty and wise withal,
Is part of the puzzle that fills my head
Plagues me at daytime, racks me in bed,
Haunts me, and makes me appear so small.
The only answer that I can see
Is — I could not have married Hermione
(That is her fine wise name), but she
Stooped in her wisdom and married me.
For I am a fellow of no degree,
Given to romping and jollity;
The Latin they thrashed into me at school
The world and its fights have thrashed away:
At figures alone I am no fool,
And in city circles I say my say.
But I am a dunce at twenty-nine,
And the kind of study that I think fine
Is a chapter of Dickens, a sheet of the Times,
When I lounge, after work, in my easy-chair;
Punch for humor, and Praed for rhymes,
And the butterfly mots blown here and there
By the idle breath of the social air.
A little French is my only gift,
Wherewith at times I can make a shift,
Guessing at meanings, to flutter over
A filigree tale in a paper cover.
Hermione, my Hermione!
What could your wisdom perceive in me?
And Hermione, my Hermione!
How does it happen at all that we
Love one another so utterly?


## p. 16670 (#370) ##########################################

16670
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Well, I have a bright-eyed boy of two,
A darling who cries with lung and tongue about;
As fine a fellow, I swear to you,
As ever poet of sentiment sung about!
And my lady-wife with the serious eyes
Brightens and lightens when he is nigh,
And looks, although she is deep and wise,
As foolish and happy as he or I!
And I have the courage just then, you see,
To kiss the lips of Hermione -
Those learned lips that the learned praise –
And to clasp her close as in sillier days;
To talk and joke in a frolic vein,
To tell her my stories of things and men:
And it never strikes me that I'm profane,
For she laughs and blushes, and kisses again;
And presto! Aly! goes her wisdom then!
For boy claps hands, and is up on her breast,
Roaring to see er so bright with mirth,
And I know she deems me (oh the jest! )
The cleverest fellow on all the earth!
And Hermione, my Hermione,
Nurses her boy and defers to me;
Does not seem to see I'm small
Even to think me a dunce at all!
And wherever I wander, up and about,
Here is the puzzle I can't make out:
That Hermione, my Hermione,
In spite of her Greek and philosophy,
When sporting at night with her boy and me,
Seems sweeter and wiser, I assever -
Sweeter and wiser and far more clever,
And makes me feel more foolish than ever,
Through her childish, girlish, joyous grace,
And the silly pride in her learned face!
This is the puzzle I can't make out
Because I care little for books, no doubt;
But the puzzle is pleasant, I know not why,
For whenever I think of it, night or morn,
I thank my God she is wise, and I
The happiest fool that was ever born!
ROBERT BUCHANAN.


## p. 16671 (#371) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16671
BETSEY AND I ARE OUT
From (Farm Ballads. Copyright 1882, by Harper & Brothers
D.
RAW up the papers, lawyer, and make 'em good and stout;
For things at home are crossways, and Betsey and I are
out.
We, who have worked together so long as man and wife,
Must pull in single harness for the rest of our nat’ral life.
«What is the matter? ” say you. I swan, it's hard to tell!
Most of the years behind us we've passed by very well;
I have no other woman, she has no other man
Only we've lived together as long as we ever can.
So I have talked with Betsey, and Betsey has talked with me,
And so we've agreed together that we can't never agree;.
Not that we've catched each other in any terrible crime:
We've been a-gathering this for years, a little at a time.
There was a stock of temper we both had for a start,
Although we never suspected 'twould take us two apart:
I had my various failings, bred in the flesh and bone;
And Betsey, like all good women, had a temper of her own.
The first thing I remember whereon we disagreed
Was something concerning heaven - a difference in our creed:
We arg'ed the thing at breakfast, we arg'ed the thing at tea;
And the more we arg'ed the question the more we didn't agree.
And the next that I remember was when we lost a cow:
She had kicked the bucket for certain, the question was only -
How ?
I held my own opinion, and Betsey another had;
And when we were done a-talkin', we both of us was mad.
And the next that I remember, it started in a joke;
But full for a week it lasted, and neither of us spoke.
And the next was when I scolded because she broke a bowl,
And she said I was mean and stingy, and hadn't any soul.
And so that bowl kept pourin' dissensions in our cup;
And so that blamed cow-critter was always a-comin' up;
And so that heaven we arg'ed no nearer to us got,
But it gave us a taste of somethin' a thousand times as hot.