What is it makes the trembling look For 'gainst her will she thinks hard of trouble About her tender mouth and eye lids fair? Ah me, ah me! she feels her heart beat double, Without the mother's prayer, And her wild fears are more than she can bear. To the poor sightless lark new powers are given, Not only with a golden tongue to sing, But still to make her wavering way toward heaven With undiscerning wing; But what to her doth her sick sorrow bring? Her days she turns, and yet keeps overturning, And her flesh shrinks as if she felt the rod; things concerning The everlasting God, And longs to be insensate like the clod. Sweet Heaven, be pitiful! rain down upon her [such; The saintly charities ordained for She was so poor in everything but honor, [much! And she loved much-loved Would, Lord, she had thy garment's hem to touch. Haply, it was the hungry heart within her, The woman's heart, denied its natural right, That made of her the thing which men call sinner, Even in her own despite; Lord, that her judges might receive their sight! No matter who-the deed was done Our love is dead, and our hope is So what does it profit to talk and rave, Whether it perished by my neglect, Or whether your cruelty dug its grave! Why should you say that I am to blame, Or why should I charge the sin on you? Our work is before us all the same, And the guilt of it lies between us two. We have praised our love for its beauty and grace; Now we stand here, and hardly dare To turn the face-cloth back from the face, And, since we cannot lessen the sin By mourning over the deed we did, Let us draw the winding-sheet up to the chin, Ay, up till the death-blind eyes are hid! THE LADY JAQUELINE. "FALSE and fickle, or fair and sweet, I care not for the rest, The lover that knelt last night at my feet Was the bravest and the best. Let them perish all, for their power has waned, And their glory waxed dim; But never was one like him! Again, and call him mine; Said the Lady Jaqueline. And see the thing that is hidden "In the old, old days, when life was there. new, And the world upon me smiled, Yet look! ah, that heart has beat its A pretty, dainty lover I had, last, And the beautiful life of our life is o'er, And when we have buried and left the past, We two, together, can walk no more. You might stretch yourself on the dead, and weep, And pray as the prophet prayed, in pain; But not like him could you break the sleep, And bring the soul to the clay again. Its head in my bosom I can lay, And shower my woe there, kiss on kiss, But there never was resurrection-day| In the world for a love so dead as this. Whom I loved with the heart of a child. When the buried sun of yesterday Comes back from the shadows dim, And the love I had for him! Said the Lady Jaqueline. "And yet it almost makes me weep, And low in homage bent, In our realm of sweet content. But not to the dead may the living cling, Nor kneel at an empty shrine;· The King is dead, long live the King!" Said the Lady Jaqueline. 66 Once, caught by the sheen of stars and lace, I bowed for a single day, ARCHIE. Оn, to be back in the cool summer shadow Of that old maple-tree down in the meadow; Watching the smiles that grew dearer and dearer, Listening to lips that grew nearer and nearer; To a poor pretender, mean and base, Oh, to be back in the crimson-topped Unfit for place or sway. That must have been the work of a spell, For the foolish glamour fled, As the sceptre from his weak hand "By the hand of one I held most dear, And called my liege, my own! I was set aside in a single year, And a new queen shares his throne. To him who is false, and him who is wed, Shall I give my fealty? My faith to the faithful now I bring, Said the Lady Jaqueline. clover, We have been fashioned for earth, and not heaven; Angels are perfect, I am but a woman; "Yea, all my lovers and kings that Saints may be passionless, Archie is were Are dead, and hid away, In the past, as in a sepulchre, And mine eyes no more can be misled, They have looked on loyalty! Then bring me wine, and garlands bring For my king of the right divine; human. Say not that heaven hath tenderer blisses To her on whose brow drops the soft rain of kisses; Preach not the promise of priests or evangels, Love-crowned, who asks for the crown of the angels? Yea, all that the wall of pure jasper encloses, The King is dead, long live the King!" | Takes not the sweetness from sweet Said the Lady Jaqueline. bridal roses! Tell me, that when all this life shall Yea! I said, if a miracle such as this Could be wrought for me, at my be over, I shall still love him, and he be my lover; That 'mid flowers more fragrant than clover or heather My Archie and I shall be always to gether, bidding, still [is, I would choose to have my past as it And to let my future come as it will! And if this had been, and I stood to- And who knows how a life at the night By my children, lying asleep in their beds And could count in my prayers, for a rosary, The shining row of their golden heads; moon from last may show? Why, look at the where we stand! Opaque, uneven, you say; yet it shines, A luminous sphere, complete and grand! As they creaked against the pane: And those orchard trees, oh those orchard trees! I've seen my little brothers rocked In their tops by the summer breeze. The sweet-briar, under the windowsill, Which the early birds made glad, And the damask rose, by the gardenfence, Were all the flowers we had. I THOUGHT to find some healing I've looked at many a flower since [shore, clime For her I loved; she found that That city, whose inhabitants Are sick and sorrowful no more. I asked for human love for her; The Loving knew how best to still The infinite yearning of a heart, Which but infinity could fill. Such sweet communion had been ours I prayed that it might never end; My prayer is more than answered; now I have an angel for my friend. I wished for perfect peace, to soothe The troubled anguish of her breast; [called, And, numbered with the loved and She entered on untroubled rest. Life was so fair a thing to her, I wept and pleaded for its stay; My wish was granted me, for lo! She hath eternal life to-day. OUR HOMESTEAD. OUR old brown homestead reared its walls From the way-side dust aloof, Where the apple-boughs could almost cast Their fruit upon its roof; And the cherry-tree so near it grew That when awake I've lain In the lonesome nights, I've heard the limbs then, Exotics rich and rare, That to other eyes were lovelier For those roses bright, oh, those We had a well, a deep old well, Where the spring was never dry, And the cool drops down from the mossy stones Were falling constantly; And there never was water half so sweet As the draught which filled my cup, Drawn up to the curb by the rude old sweep That my father's hand set up. And that deep old well, oh that deep old well! I remember now the plashing sound Of the bucket as it fell. Our homestead had an ample hearth, Where at night we loved to meet; There my mother's voice was always kind, And her smile was always sweet; And there I've sat on my father's knee, And watched his thoughtful brow, With my childish hand in his raven hair, That hair is silver now! But that broad hearth's light, oh, that broad hearth's light! And my father's look, and my moth er's smile, They are in my heart to-night! |