BOOK II

ΤΟ

THE MEMORY OF

G. M. H.

I

MUSE.

WILL Love again awake,

That lies asleep so long?

POET.

O hush! ye tongues that shake
The drowsy night with song.

MUSE.

It is a lady fair

Whom once he deigned to praise,

That at the door doth dare

Her sad complaint to raise.

POET.

She must be fair of face, As bold of heart she seems, If she would match her grace With the delight of dreams.

MUSE.

Her beauty would surprise

Gazers on Autumn eves,

Who watched the broad moon rise Upon the scattered sheaves.

POET.

O sweet must be the voice He shall descend to hear, Who doth in Heaven rejoice His most enchanted ear.

MUSE.

The smile, that rests to play

Upon her lip, foretells

What musical array

Tricks her sweet syllables

POET.

And yet her smiles have danced

In vain, if her discourse

Win not the soul entranced

In divine intercourse.

MUSE.

She will encounter all This trial without shame, Her eyes men Beauty call,

And Wisdom is her name.

POET.

Throw back the portals then,

Ye guards, your watch that keep, Love will awake again

That lay so long asleep.

2

A PASSER-BY

WHITHER, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding,
Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West,
That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding,

Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest?
Ah! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest,
When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling,
Wilt thou glide on the blue Pacific, or rest

In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling.

I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest,
Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air:

I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest,
And anchor queen of the strange shipping there,
Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare;

Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, grandest

Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair

Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest.

And yet, O splendid ship, unhailed and nameless,
I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine
That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless,
Thy port assured in a happier land than mine.

But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine,
As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding,

From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line

In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding.

3

LATE SPRING EVENING

I SAW the Virgin-mother clad in green,
Walking the sprinkled meadows at sundown;

While yet the moon's cold flame was hung between
The day and night, above the dusky town:
I saw her brighter than the Western gold,
Whereto she faced in splendour to behold.

Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf
That trembled in the sunset glare aglow:
Herself more delicate than is the brief,
Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low,
And more delicious than's the earliest streak
The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek.

As if to match the sight that so did please,
A music entered, making passion fain:
Three nightingales sat singing in the trees,
And praised the Goddess for the fallen rain;
Which yet their unseen motions did arouse,
Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs.

And o'er the treetops, scattered in mid air,
The exhausted clouds laden with crimson light
Floated, or seemed to sleep; and, highest there,
One planet broke the lingering ranks of night;
Daring day's company, so he might spy
The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye.

And when I saw her, then I worshipped her,
And said, -O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring,
Mother of all my years, thou who dost stir

My heart to adore thee and my tongue to sing,
Flower of my fruit, of my heart's blood the fire,
Of all my satisfaction the desire !

How art thou every year more beautiful,
Younger for all the winters thou hast cast:
And I, for all my love grows, grow more dull,
Decaying with each season overpast!

In vain to teach him love must man employ thec,
The more he learns the less he can enjoy thee.

4

WOOING

I KNOW not how I came,
New on my knightly journey,
To win the fairest dame
That graced my maiden tourney.

Chivalry's lovely prize
With all men's gaze upon her,
Why did she free her eyes
On me, to do me honour?

Ah! ne'er had I my mind
With such high hope delighted,
Had she not first inclined,
And with her eyes invited.

But never doubt I knew,
Having their glance to cheer me,
Until the day joy grew

Too great, too sure, too near me.