On a Girdle.

19

THA

ON A GIRDLE.

HAT which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind :
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale that held that lovely deer.
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! And yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair :
Give me but what this ribband bound ;
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Edmund Waller.

BEFORE THE DAYBREAK.

BEFORE the daybreak shines a star
That in the day's great glory fades ;

Too fiercely bright is the full light
That her pale-gleaming lamp upbraids.

Before the daybreak sings a bird

That stills her song ere morning light :
Too loud for her is the day's stir,

The woodland's thousand-tongued delight.

Ah! great the honor is, to shine
A light wherein no traveller errs;
And rich the prize to rank divine
Among the world's loud choristers.

But I would be that paler star,

And I would be that lonelier bird,
To shine with hope, while hope's afar,

And sing of love, when love's unheard.
Francis W. Bourdillon.

FROM "THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE."

THE LOVER.

WHEN ripen'd time and chasten'd will

Have stretch'd and tuned for love's accords

The five-string'd lyre of life, until

It vibrates with the wind of words;

99 66

And "Woman,” “Lady,' She," and "Her "

Are names for perfect Good and Fair, And unknown maidens, talk'd of, stir

From "The Angel in the House."

His thoughts with reverential care; He meets, by heavenly chance express,

His destined wife: some hidden hand
Unveils to him that loveliness

Which others cannot understand.
No songs of love, no summer dreams
Did e'er his longing fancy fire
With vision like to this: she seems
In all things better than desire.
His merits in her presence grow,

To match the promise in her eyes,
And round her happy footsteps blow
The authentic airs of Paradise.
For love of her he cannot sleep;

Her beauty haunts him all the night; It melts his heart, it makes him weep For wonder, worship, and delight.

To her account does he transfer
His pride, a base and barren root
In him, but, grafted into her,

The bearer of Hesperian fruit.
He dresses, dances well: he knows

A small weight turns a heavy scale: Who'd have her care for him, and shows Himself no care, deserves to fail :

The least is well, yet nothing's light

21

In all the lover does; for he Who pitches hope at such a height Will do all things with dignity. She is so perfect, true, and pure,

Her virtue all virtue so endears, That, often, when he thinks of her,

Life's meanness fills his eyes with tears. She's far too lovely to be wrong:

Black, if she pleases, shall be white: Prerogative ties cavil's tongue :

Being a Queen her wrong is right: Defect super-perfection is :

Her great perfections make him grieve, Refusing him the bliss of bliss,

Which is to give, and not receive.
Her graces make him rich, and ask
No guerdon this imperial style
Affronts him he disdains to bask,
'The pensioner of her priceless smile.
He prays for some hard thing to do,

Some work of fame and labor immense,
To stretch the languid bulk and thew
Of love's fresh-born magnipotence.
Coventry Patmore.

If it be True that any Beauteous Thing. 23

IF IT BE TRUE THAT ANY BEAUTEOUS THING.

IF it be true that any beauteous thing

Raises the pure and just desire of man
From earth to God, the eternal Fount of all,
Such I believe my love; for as in her
So fair, in whom I all besides forget,
I view the gentle work of her Creator,
I have no care for any other thing,
Whilst thus I love. Nor is it marvellous,
Since the effect is not of my own power,
If the soul doth, by nature tempted forth,
Enamored through the eyes,

Repose upon the eyes which it resembleth,
And through them riseth to the Primal Love,
As to its end, and honors in admiring;

For who adores the Maker needs must love his

work.

Translated by J. E. Taylor.

Michael Angelo.