No More Learning

When her he would despise,
She kept him captive bound;


## p. 16632 (#332) ##########################################

16632
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Forbidding her to rise,
By many cords and ties
She held him to the ground.
At length, in stature grown,
He stands erect and free;
Yet stands he not alone,
For his beloved would be
Like him she loveth, wise, like him she loveth, free.
So wins she her desire;
Yet stand they not apart:
For as she doth aspire
He grows; nor stands she higher
Than her Beloved's heart.
DORA GREENWELL.
1
UNDER THE KING
Lº
OVE with the deep eyes and soft hair,
Love with the lily throat and hands,
Is done to death, and free as air
Am I of all my King's commands.
!
How shall I celebrate my joy?
Or dance with feet that once were fleet
In his adorable employ?
Or laugh with lips that felt his sweet?
1
How can I at his lifeless face
Aim any sharp or bitter jest,
Since roguish destiny did place
That tender target in my breast?
1
Nay, let me be sincere and strong:
I cannot rid me of my chains,
I cannot to myself belong:
My King is dead — his soul still reigns.
ETHELWYN WETHERALD.


## p. 16633 (#333) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16633
LIGHT
TH
He night has a thousand eyes,
The day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
F. W. BOURDILLON.
“A THOUSAND YEARS IN THY SIGHT ARE BUT AS ONE DAY »
EITHER joy nor sorrow move
The figure at the feet of Love;
Light of breathing life is she,
Spirit of immortality.
N"
Lead me up thy stony stair,
O Spirit, into thy great air!
For his day of pain and tears
Is to man a thousand years.
ANNIE FIELDS.
FOR A NOVEMBER BIRTHDAY
W*
HEN first our rose of love disclosed its heart,
Thy natal day (I thought) comes with the spring,
When from the sky the doubting clouds depart,
And rare, rathe blossoms o'er the woodland Aing
A mystic sense of joy.
Yet bitter tears
Will start unbidden at the touch of May.
Love's ecstasy begets love's longing and love's fears,
And naught of these may mar thy natal day.


## p. 16634 (#334) ##########################################

16634
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
When I had learned the richness of thy gift,
Surely the happy month (I thought) is June,
When full and strong the waves of life uplift
The heart upon their surges.
Yet too soon
The ebbing tide will leave the lonely shore;
Full soon the rose must let her beauty fall;
Love's torch will burn to ashes. But no more
May any change our changeless love befall.
Lo! spring and summer faded, and the year
In all their sunny round brought not the morn;
But now, 'mid autumn's melancholy cheer,
'Mid soughing boughs and pallid light, 'tis born.
So drear, thou sayest ?
- Love may the clouds dispel.
So brief?
- With eve our passion shall not cease.
So still?
- Oh let the day this message tell:
Not rapture is love's crowning gift, but peace.
GEORGE M. WHICHER.
THE SURFACE AND THE DEPTHS
LO"
OVE took my life and thrilled it
Through all its strings,
Played round my mind and filled it
With sound of wings;
But to my heart he never came
To touch it with his golden flame.
Therefore it is that singing
I do rejoice,
Nor heed the slow years bringing
A harsher voice;
Because the songs which he has sung
Still leave the untouched singer young.
But whom in fuller fashion
The Master sways,


## p. 16635 (#335) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16635
For him, swift-winged with passion,
Fleet the brief days.
Betimes the enforced accents come,
And leave him ever after dumb.
LEWIS MORRIS.
LOVE BRINGETH LIFE
F
OND hands laid sweet Ophelia softly low
In that small straitened grave beneath the yew;
Thenceforth the world a little sadder grew,
Seeing one lover's footsteps come and go,
And wander in a sudden drear amaze
Through all the winter days.
In darkness lies white-robèd Juliet,
With slender hands close folded on her breast,
On the quick-throbbing heart at length at rest
In the forsaken tomb of Capulet;
And earth hath one more mourning for, a bride,
One other grief to hide.
And what of thee, O tender Marguerite ?
Long dead thou art, and thy lone grave is deep,
But scant to hide from us thy maiden sleep
Loose held within a moldered winding-sheet;
Thou still awakest, and canst not forget,
And pray'st assoilment yet.
And thou, Francesca ? On the open page
Of thy dark history a rose-spray lies,
As though to hide thee from unrighteous eyes,
Whose evil looks are all thy heritage.
Thou art love's victim. On thy pensive face
Grief finds abiding place.
These died for love's sake. Many such there be:
Yet best for thee, O little maid, whose vows
Were made last eve 'neath blossomed cherry-boughs,
Were love, though death shall follow. Best for thee!
Love bringeth sorrow, yet unto our need
Love bringeth life indeed.
CAROLINE WILDER FELLOWES.


## p. 16636 (#336) ##########################################

16636
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE POWER OF BEAUTY
T
HOU needst not weave nor spin,
Nor bring the wheat-sheaves in,
Nor, forth afield at morn,
At eve bring home the corn,
Nor on a winter's night
Make blaze the fagots bright.
So lithe and delicate,
So slender is thy state,
So pale and pure thy face,
So deer-like in their grace
Thy limbs, that all do vie
To take and charm the eye.
Thus, toiling where thou'rt not
Is but the common lot:
Three men mayhap alone
By strength may move a stone
But, toiling near to thee,
One man may work as three,
If thou but bend a smile
To fall on him the while;
Or if one tender glance -
Though coy and shot askance -
His eyes discover, then
One man may work as ten.
Men commonly but ask,
“When shall I end my task? ”
But seeing thee come in,
'Tis, “When may I begin ? »
Such power does beauty bring
To take from toil its sting.
-
If then thou'lt do but this,-
Fling o'er the work a bliss
From thy mere presence,- none
Shall think thou'st nothing done:
Thou needst not weave nor spin,
Nor bring the wheat-sheaves in.
JAMES HERBERT MORSE.


## p. 16637 (#337) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16637
A DANCER
I
N THE lamplight's glare she stood, -
The dancer, the octoroon, —
On a space of polished wood
With glittering sand-grains strewn;
And a rapid rhythmic tune
From the strings of a mandolin
[din.
Leaped up through the air in viewless flight and passed in a strident
Her eyes like a fawn's were dark,
But her hair was black as night,
And a diamond's bluish spark
From its masses darted bright,
While around her figure slight
Clung a web of lace she wore,
In curving lines of unhidden grace as she paused on the sanded floor.
Then the clashing music sprang
From the frets of the mandolin,
While the shadowy arches rang
With insistent echoes thin;
And there, as the spiders spin
Dim threads in a ring complete,
A labyrinthine wheel she wove with the touch of her Aying feet.
To the right she swayed,- to the left, -
Then swung in a circle round,
Fast weaving a changing weft
To the changing music's sound,
As light as a leaf unbound
From the grasp of its parent tree,
That falls and dips with the thistle-down afloat on a windy sea.
And wilder the music spell
Swept on in jarring sound, -
Advanced and rose and fell,
By gathering echoes crowned;
And the lights whirled round and round
O'er the woman dancing there,
With her Circe grace and passionate face and a diamond in her hair.
ERNEST MCGAFFEY.


## p. 16638 (#338) ##########################################

16638
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE LONGING OF CIRCE
T"
THE rapid years drag by, and bring not here
The man for whom I wait;
All things pall on me: in my heart grows fear
Lest I may miss my fate.
I weary of the heavy wealth and ease
Which all my isle enfold;
The fountain's sleepy plash, the summer breeze
That bears not heat nor cold.
With dull, unvaried mien, my maid and I
Plod through our daily tasks:
Gather strange herbs, weave purple tapestry.
Distill in magic flasks.
Most weary am I of these men who yield
So quickly to my spell,
The beastly rout now wandering afield,
With grunt and snarl and yell.
Ah, when, in place of tigers and of swine,
Shall he confront me whom
My song cannot enslave, nor that bright wine
Where rank enchantments fume ?
Then with what utter gladness will I cast
My sorceries away,
And kneel to him, my lord revealed at last,
And serve him night and day!
CAMERON MANN.
CIRCE
W"
a
THAT fate is mine, who, far apart from pains
And fears and turmoils of the cross-grained world,
Dwell, like a lonely god, in a charmed isle
Where I am first and only, and like one
Who should love poisonous savors more than mead,
Long for a tempest on me, and grow sick
Of resting and divine free carelessness!
O me! I am a woman, not a god;
Yea, those who tend me even are more than 1,-


## p. 16639 (#339) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16639
My nymphs who have the souls of flowers and birds
Singing and blossoming immortally.
Ah me! these love a day and laugh again,
And loving, laughing, find a full content;
But I know naught of peace, and have not loved.
Where is my love ? Does some one cry for me,
Not knowing whom he calls ? does his soul cry
For mine to grow beside it, grow in it ?
Does he beseech the gods to give him me,
The yet unknown rare woman by whose side
No other woman, thrice as beautiful,
Should once seem fair to him; to whose voice heard
In any common tones no sweeter sound
Of love made melody on silver lutes,
Or singing like Apollo's when the gods
Grow pale with happy listening, might be peered
For making music to him; whom once found
There will be no more seeking anything?
O love, O love, O love, art not yet come
Out of the waiting shadows into life?
Art not yet come after so many years
That I have longed for thee? Come! I am here.
.
Nay, but he will come. Why am I so fair,
And marvelously minded, and with sight
Which flashes suddenly on hidden things,
As the gods see who do not need to look ?
Why wear I in my eyes that stronger power
Than basilisks, whose gaze can only kill,
To draw men's souls to me to live or die
As I would have them? Why am I given pride
Which yet longs to be broken, and this scorn
Cruel and vengeful for the lesser men
Who meet the smiles I waste for lack of him,
And grow too glad ? Why am I who I am,
But for the sake of him whom fate will send
One day to be my master utterly,
That he should take me, the desire of all,
Whom only he in all the world could bow to him?
O sunlike glory of pale glittering hairs,
Bright as the filmy wires my weavers take
To make me golden gauzes; O deep eyes,


## p. 16640 (#340) ##########################################

16640
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Darker and softer than the bluest dusk
Of August violets, darker and deep
Like crystal fathomless lakes in summer moons;
O sad sweet longing smile; O lips that tempt
My very self to kisses; O round cheeks,
Tenderly radiant with the even Aush
Of pale smoothed coral; perfect lovely face
Answering my gaze from out this fleckless pool;
Wonder of glossy shoulders, chiseled limbs, -
Should I be so your lover as I am,
Drinking an exquisite joy to watch you thus
In all a hundred changes through the day,
But that I love you for him till he comes,
But that my beauty means his loving it? .
1
1
1
Too cruel am I? And the silly beasts,
Crowding around me when I pass their way,
Glower on me, and although they love me still
(With their poor sorts of love such as they could),
Call wrath and vengeance to their humid eyes
To scare me into mercy, or creep near
With piteous fawnings, supplicating bleats.
Too cruel? Did I choose them what they are ?
Or change them from themselves by poisonous charms ?
But any draught - pure water, natural wine –
Out of my cup, revealed them to themselves
And to each other. Change ? There was no change;
Only disguise gone from them unawares:
And had there been one right true man of them,
He would have drunk the draught as I had drunk,
And stood unchanged, and looked me in the eyes,
Abashing me before him. But these things -
Why, which of them has ever shown the kind
Of some one nobler beast ? Pah! yapping wolves
And pitiless stealthy wild-cats, curs and apes
And gorging swine and stinking venomous snakes, —
All false and ravenous and sensual brutes
That shame the earth that bore them,- these they are.
1
1
AUGUSTA WEBSTER.


## 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!