My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale Part 2

They bruit of wars--that thunder heard in dreams; Huge insurrections, and dynastic changes Resolved in blood. I marvel they of thought By apprehensions are so often wrought To state as fact what unto all men seems, Who watch cloud-struggles blown through stormy ranges!

Why fill they not with love the printed page, Illuminating, as yon moon the night, Serenely s.h.i.+ning on a world of beauty, Where love moves ever hand in hand with duty; And life, a long aspiring pilgrimage, Makes labour but a pastime of delight!

It was delightfulness to him I found Whistling this afternoon behind his team, That stepped an easy comfortable pace; While off the mould-iron curved in rolling grace Dark earth, wave lapping wave, without a sound; And all pa.s.sed by me blissful, like a dream.

And those I noticed hoeing on the hill Talking familiarly of homely things, A daughter's marriage-day, a son's first child; How the good Squire at length was reconciled, Had overlooked the pheasant shot by Will:-- Chirruping on as any cricket sings.

And that complete Arcadian pastoral, The piping boy who watched his feeding sheep; And, as a little bird o'erflows with joy, Piped on for hours my happy shepherd boy!

While, coiled below, his faithful animal Basked in the suns.h.i.+ne, blinking, half asleep.

This silent night-wind bloweth heavenly pure; Like dimpled warmth of an infantine face.

Lo, glimmering starlike in yon balmy vale The village lights; each tells a little tale Of humble comfort, where its inmates, sure In hope, feel grateful in their lowly place.

And here My Lady's lighted oriel s.h.i.+nes A giant glowworm in the odorous gloom.

Ah, stands she smiling there in loose white gown, Hearing the music of her future drown The stillness and hushed whispering of the vines, Whose lattice-clasping leaves o'ershade her room!

Or kneels she wors.h.i.+pful beside her bed In large-eyed hope and bended lowliness, To crave that He, the Giver, may impart Enough of strength to bind her trembling heart Steadfast and true; and that her will be led To own His chastening cares pain but to bless?

Or sits she at her mirror, face to face With her own loveliness? (O blessed land That owns such twin perfections both together; If guessed aright!) Ah, me; I wonder whether She now her braided opulent hair unlace And drop it billowing from her moonwhite hand!

Then what a fount of wealth to lover's sight!

Her loosened hair, I heard her mother say, When she is seated, tumbles to the floor And trails the length of her own foot and more: And dare I, lapt in bliss, dream my delight Ere long shall watch its rippling softness play?

Dare I, O vanity! but do I dare Think she now looks upon the sorry rhyme I wrote long ere that well-loved setting sun, What time love conquering dread My Lady won, While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:-- Even now I gave it her at parting time.

"O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart My grieving love to ease this stricken heart; But once, O Love, to fall and rest This wearied head of mine, But once to weep in thine Unutterably tender breast; And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath; To feel it playing sweeter were than death.

"Than death were sweet to one bent down and old, And worn with persecutions manifold; Whose stoutness long endured alone The charge of bitter foes, Till, furious, he rose, When smitten, all were overthrown.

Who then of those, his dearest, none could find, They having fled as leaves before the wind.

"As he would pa.s.s, when to his failing sight Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright; And piercing through his drowsed ears Enters their tuneful cry Of summons, audibly, Thither where flow no mourners' tears: So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed, Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest."

Her window now is darkness, save the sheen Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, And folds contentment babelike to her breast, Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies.

V. WILD ROSE.

To call My Lady where she stood "A Wild-rose blossom of the wood,"

Makes but a poor similitude.

For who by such a sleight would reach An aim, consumes the worth in speech, And sets a crimson rose to bleach.

My Love, whose store of household sense Gives duty golden recompense, And arms her goodness with defence:

The sweet reliance of whose gaze Originates in gracious ways, And wins the trust that trust repays:

Whose stately figure's varying grace Is never seen unless her face Turn beaming toward another place;

For such a halo round it glows Surprised attention only knows A lively wonder in repose.

Can flowers that breathe one little day In odorous sweetness life away, And wavering to the earth decay,

Have any claim to rank with her, Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, Then bloom to goodness, and aver

Her worth through spheral joys shall move When suns and systems cease above, And nothing lives but perfect Love?

VI. MY LADY'S GLORY.

Strong in the regal strength of love, Enthroned by native worth Her sway is held on earth: Whose soul looks downward from above Exalted stars, whose power Brightens the brightest flower.

Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O'er old elm-shadowed lawns.

A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning's glow, Hints a full day below.

When site looks wide around the skies On the sun's dazzling track, And when s.h.i.+nes softly back Its glory to her open eyes, She fills our hearts and sight With wonder and delight.

And when tired thought my sense benumbs, Or when past shadows roll Their memories on my soul, Oft breaking through the darkness comes A solace and surprise, Her wonder-lighted eyes.

How grand and beautiful the love She silently conceals, Nor save in act reveals!

She broods o'er kindness; as a dove Sits musing in the nest Of the life beneath her breast.

The ready freshness that was known In man's authentic prime, The earliest breath of time, Throughout her household ways is shown; Mild greatness subtly wrought With quaint and childlike thought.

She sits to music: fingers fall, Air shakes; her lifted voice Makes flattered hope rejoice, And s.h.i.+vering through Time's phantom pall, Its wavering rents display Dim splendour, far away;

Where her perfection, glory-crowned, Shall rest in love for ever; When mortal systems sever, And the orbed universe is drowned, Leaving the empty skies The blank of death-closed eyes.

Deep in this truth I root my trust; And know the dear One's praise, Her mutely gracious ways, When all her loveliness is dust And mosses rase her name, Will bless our world the same.

As scent of flowers her worth was born Her joyous goodness spread Like music over head, Smiles now as smiles a plain of corn When in the winds of June, Lit by a s.h.i.+ning noon.

A gap of sunlight in the storm; A blossom ere the spring; Immortal whispering; A spirit manifest through form Which we can touch and kiss,-- To life such beauty is.

Ah! who can doubt, though he may doubt Our solid earth will run A future round the sun, That gentle impulse given out Can never fail or die, But throbs eternally!

VII. HER SHADOW.

At matin time where creepers interlace We sauntered slowly, for we loved the place, And talked of pa.s.sing things; I, pleased to trace Through leafy mimicry the true leaves made, The stateliness and beauty of her shade;

A wavering of strange purples dimly seen, It gloomed the daisy's light, the kingcup's sheen, And drank up suns.h.i.+ne from the vital green.

That silent shadow moving on the gra.s.s Struck me with terror it should ever pa.s.s

And be blank nothing in the coming years Where, in the dreadful shadow of my fears, Her shrouded form I saw through blurring tears, My Darling's shrouded form in beauty's bloom Born with funereal sadness to her tomb.

"What idle dreaming," I abruptly cried: My Lady turned, half startled, at my side, And looked inquiry: I, through shame or pride, Bantered the words as mockery of sense, Mere aimless freak of fostered indolence.