SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore,..
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
THE face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, O still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shall be, there or here; And this...this lute and song... loved yesterday, (The singing angels know) are only dear,
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were
crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own.
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek !)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.
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I NEVER gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully
"Take it." My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee.
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle tree,
As girls do, any more. It only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks, the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs asid
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-
shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,
Take it thou,... finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.
THE Soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poet's forehead to my heart,
As purely black, as erst, to Pindar's eyes,
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart,
Thy bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Because thy name moves right in what they say. Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
INDEED this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadow safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth,
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
SAY over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word re-
peated
Who art dearer, better! rather instantly
Renew thy presence. As a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down, burst, shattered, every-
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain,
Comes the fresh spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry: "Speak once more thou lovest!" Who
can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,-
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the
year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me, - toll
The silver iterance ! only minding, dear,
To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine,
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Belovéd, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine
But... so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me... breathe on
me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!
My letters! all dead paper,... mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,... he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand... a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it! this, ... the paper's light...
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine, — and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this... O Love, thy words have ill availed,
If what this said, I dared repeat at last!
I THINK of thee! my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's naught to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee, I am too near thee.
THE first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly
loathe ;
FIRST time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write ;
And, ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "O list!'
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O, beyond meed !
That was the chrism of love, which love's own
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace,
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
"But there is in yon castle, Helen,
That stands on yonder lea,
There is a lady in yon castle,
Will sinder* you and me."
"I wish nae ill to that ladye,
She comes na in my thocht:
But I wish the maid maist o' your love,.
That dearest has you bocht."
When he cam to the porter's yett, +
He tirled at the pin ; ‡
And wha sae ready as the bauld porter,
To open and let him in?
Many a lord and lady bright
Met Lord John in the closs; But the bonniest lady among them a' Was hauding Lord John's horse.
Four and twenty gay ladyes
Led him through bouir and ha'; But the fairest lady that was there Led his horse to the sta'.
Then up bespak Lord John's sister;
These were the words spak she:
"You have the prettiest foot-page, brother, My eyes did ever see —
"But that his middle is sae thick,
His girdle sae wond'rous hie:
Let him, I pray thee, good Lord John,
To chamber go with me."
"It is not fit for a little foot-page,
That has run through moss and mire,
To go into chamber with any ladye
That wears so rich attire.
"It were more meet for a little foot-page, That has run through moss and mire, To take his supper upon his knee,
And sit doun by the kitchen fire."
When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun' to meat,
Burd Helen was, at the bye-table, §
Amang the pages set.
"O, eat and drink, my bonnie boy,
The white breid and the beer."
"The never a bit can I eat or drink;
My heart's sae fu' o' fear."
"O, eat and drink, my bonnie boy,
The white breid and the wine."
"O the never a bit can I eat or drink;
My heart's sae fu' o' pyne." ||
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But out and spak Lord John his mother,
And a skeely* woman was she : "Where met ye, my son, wi' that bonnie boy, That looks sae sad on thee?
"Sometimes his cheek is rosy red,
And sometimes deidly wan: He's liker a woman grit wi' child,
Than a young lord's serving man."
"O, it maks me laugh, my mother dear,
Sic words to hear frae thee;
He is a squire's ae dearest son,
That for love has followed me.
"Rise up, rise up, my bonnie boy; Gi'e my horse corn and hay." "O that I will, my master deir, As quickly as I may.”
She took the hay aneath her arm,
The corn intill her hand;
But atween the stable door and the sta'
Burd Helen made a stand.
"O room ye round, my bonnie broun steids; O room ye near the wa';
For the pain that strikes through my twa sides,
I fear, will gar me fa'."
She leaned her back again' the wa';
Strong travail came her on;
And, e'en among the great horse' feet,
She has brought forth her son.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men boun' for bed,
Lord John's mother and sister gay
In ae bouir they were laid.
Lord John hadna weel got aff his claes,
Nor was he weel laid doun,
Till his mother heard a bairn greet,
And a woman's heavy moan.
"Win up, win up, Lord John," she said;
"Seek neither stockings nor shoen:
For I ha'e heard a bairn loud greet,
And a woman's heavy moan!"
"Richt hastilie he rase him up,
Socht neither hose nor shoen;
And he's doen him to the stable door,
By the lee licht o' the mune.
"O, open the door, Burd Helen," he said,
"O, open and let me in;
I want to see if my steed be fed,
Or my greyhounds fit to rin."
"O lullaby, my own deir child! Lullaby, deir child, deir!
I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother laid on a bier!"
"O, open the door, Burd Helen," he says, "O, open the door to me;
Or, as my sword hangs by my gair,*
I'll gar it gang in three !”
"That never was my mother's custome,
And I hope it's ne'er be mine;
A knicht into her companie,
When she dries a' her pyne."
He hit the door then wi' his foot, Sae did he wi' his knee;
Till door o' deal, and locks o' steel, In splinders he gart * flee.
"An askin', an askin', Lord John," she says, "An askin' ye 'll grant me ;
The meanest maid about your house,
To bring a drink to me.
"An askin', an askin', my dear Lord John, An askin' ye'll grant me;
The warsten bouir in a' your tours,
For thy young son and me!"
"I grant, I grant your askins, Helen,
An' that and mair frae me;
The very best bouir in a' my touirs,
For my young son and thee.
"O, have thou comfort, fair Helen,
Be of good cheer, I pray ;
And your bridal and your kirking baith
Shall stand upon ae day."
And he has ta'en her Burd Helen,
And rowed her in the silk;
And he has ta'en his ain young son,
And washed him in the milk.
And there was ne'er a gayer bridegroom,
Nor yet a blyther bride,
As they, Lord John and Lady Helen,
Neist day to kirk did ride.
She'll weep for naught for his dear sake ; She clasps her sister in her sleep;
Her love in dreams is most awake.
Her soul, that once with pleasure shook
Did any eyes her beauty own,
Now wonders how they dare to look
On what belongs to him alone.
The indignity of taking gifts
Exhilarates her loving breast;
A rapture of submission lifts
Her life into celestial rest.
There's nothing left of what she was,
Back to the babe the woman dies;
And all the wisdom that she has
Is to love him for being wise.
She's confident because she fears;
And, though discreet when he's away,
If none but her dear despot hears,
She'll prattle like a child at play.
Perchance, when all her praise is said,
He tells the news, --a battle won -
On either side ten thousand dead -
Describing how the whole was done :
She thinks, "He's looking on my face!
I am his joy; whate'er I do,
He sees such time-contenting grace
In that, he'd have me always so!"
And, evermore, for either's sake,
To the sweet folly of the dove
She joins the cunning of the snake,
To rivet and exalt his love.
Her mode of candor is deceit ;
And what she thinks from what she'll say, (Although I'll never call her cheat,)
Lies far as Scotland from Cathay. Without his knowledge he was won,
Against his nature kept devout; She'll never tell him how 't was done, And he will never find it out.
If, sudden, he suspects her wiles,
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If he's capricious, she 'll be so ; But, if his duties constant are,
She lets her loving favor glow
As steady as a tropic star.
BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS.
BELIEVE me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Appears there naught for which to weep, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away!
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