The Home Book of Verse Volume Ii Part 166

"He comes of strangers, and they are rangers, And ill to trust, girl, when out of sight: Fremd folk may blame ye, and e'en defame ye, A gown oft handled looks seldom white."

She raised serenely her eyelids queenly,-- "My innocence is my whitest gown; No harsh tongue grieves me while he believes me, Whether the world go up or down."

"Your man's a frail man, was ne'er a hale man, And sickness knocketh at every door, And death comes making bold hearts cower, breaking--"

Our Lettice trembled;--but once, no more.

"If death should enter, smite to the center Our poor home palace, all crumbling down, He cannot fright us, nor disunite us, Life bears Love's cross, death brings Love's crown."

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]

"IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE, MY LOVE"

If thou wert by my side, my love, How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove, Listening the nightingale!

If thou, my love, wert by my side, My babies at my knee, How gayly would our pinnace glide O'er Gunga's mimic sea!

I miss thee at the dawning gray, When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay And woo the cooler wind.

I miss thee when by Gunga's stream My twilight steps I guide, But most beneath the lamp's pale beam I miss thee from my side.

I spread my books, my pencil try, The lingering noon to cheer, But miss thy kind, approving eye, Thy meek, attentive ear.

But when at morn and eve the star Beholds me on my knee, I feel, though thou art distant far, Thy prayers ascend for me.

Then on! then on! where duty leads, My course be onward still, O'er broad Hindostan's sultry meads, O'er bleak Almorah's hill.

That course nor Delhi's kingly gates, Nor mild Malwah detain; For sweet the bliss us both awaits By yonder western main.

Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they say, Across the dark blue sea; But ne'er were hearts so light and gay As then shall meet in thee!

Reginald Heber [1783-1826]

THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG From "The Mourning Garment"

Ah, what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, And sweeter, too: For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, And cares can make the sweetest love to frown: Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded; he comes home at night As merry as a king in his delight, And merrier, too: For kings bethink them what the state require, Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curds, as doth a king his meat, And blither, too: For kings have often fears when they do sup, Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup:

To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, As is a king in dalliance with a queen; More wanton, too: For kings have many griefs, affects to move, Where shepherds have no greater grief than love:

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his bed of down; More sounder, too: For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:

Thus, with his wife, he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or sithe, And blither, too: For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land: Ah then, ah then, Since country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

"TRUTH DOTH TRUTH DESERVE"

From the "Arcadia"

Who doth desire that chaste his wife should be, First be he true, for truth doth truth deserve: Then such be he as she his worth may see, And one man still credit with her preserve.

Not toying kind, nor causelessly unkind; Not stirring thoughts, nor yet denying right; Not spying faults, nor in plain errors blind; Never hard hand, nor ever reins too light.

As far from want, as far from vain expense (The one doth force, the latter doth entice); Allow good company, but keep from thence All filthy mouths that glory in their vice.

This done, thou hast no more, but leave the rest To virtue, fortune, time, and woman's breast.

Philip Sidney [1554-1586]

THE MARRIED LOVER From "The Angel in the House"

Why, having won her, do I woo?

Because her spirit's vestal grace Provokes me always to pursue, But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; Because her womanhood is such That, as on court-days subjects kiss The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch Affirms no mean familiarness; Nay, rather marks more fair the height Which can with safety so neglect To dread, as lower ladies might, That grace could meet with disrespect; Thus she with happy favor feeds Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds Of difference bridged, or state put by; Because, although in act and word As lowly as a wife can be, Her manners, when they call me lord, Remind me 'tis by courtesy; Not with her least consent of will, Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the n.o.ble style that still Imputes an unattained desert; Because her gay and lofty brows, When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to heaven; because, in short, She's not and never can be mine.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]

MY LOVE

Not as all other women are Is she that to my soul is dear; Her glorious fancies come from far, Beneath the silver evening-star, And yet her heart is ever near.

Great feelings hath she of her own, Which lesser souls may never know; G.o.d giveth them to her alone, And sweet they are as any tone Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

Yet in herself she dwelleth not, Although no home were half so fair; No simplest duty is forgot, Life hath no dim and lowly spot That doth not in her suns.h.i.+ne share.

She doeth little kindnesses, Which most leave undone, or despise: For naught that sets one heart at ease, And giveth happiness or peace, Is low-esteemed in her eyes.

She hath no scorn of common things, And, though she seem of other birth, Round us her heart intwines and clings, And patiently she folds her wings To tread the humble paths of earth.

Blessing she is: G.o.d made her so, And deeds of week-day holiness Fall from her noiseless as the snow, Nor hath she ever chanced to know That aught were easier than to bless.

She is most fair, and thereunto Her life doth rightly harmonize; Feeling or thought that was not true Ne'er made less beautiful the blue Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

She is a woman: one in whom The spring-time of her childish years Hath never lost its fresh perfume, Though knowing well that life hath room For many blights and many tears.

I love her with a love as still As a broad river's peaceful might, Which, by high tower and lowly mill, Seems following its own wayward will, And yet doth ever flow aright.