How depths of blue sublimed some pall Yet there's the dye, in that rough mesh, As if they still the water's lisp heard Through foam the rock-weeds thresh. Enough to furnish Solomon Such hangings for his cedar-house, That, when gold-robed he took the throne In that abyss of blue, the Spouse Might swear his presence shone The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway, The church-spires flamed, such flags they had, A year ago on this very day. The air broke into a mist with bells, and cries. Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels But give me your sun from yonder skies!" They had answered, "And afterward, what else?" Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun To give it my loving friends to keep! Naught man could do, have I left undone : And you see my harvest, what I reap This very day, now a year is run. There's nobody on the house-tops nowJust a palsied few at the windows set; For the best of the sight is, all allow, At the Shambles' Gate-or, better yet, By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. I go in the rain, and, more than needs, A rope cuts both my wrists behind; And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, For they fling, whoever has a mind, Stones at me for my year's misdeeds. Till flesh must fade for heaven was here ! Thus leant she and lingered-joy and fear! Thus lay she a moment on my breast. Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes already lay behind. What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this? So might I gain, so might I miss. Might she have loved me? just as well She might have hated, who can tell! Where had I been now if the worst befell? And here we are riding, she and I. Fail I alone, in words and deeds? As the world rushed by on either side. I hoped she would love me; here we ride. What hand and brain went ever paired? What heart alike conceived and dared? What act proved all its thought had been? What will but felt the fleshly screen? We ride and I see her bosom heave. There's many a crown for us who can reach. Ten lines, a statesman's life in each! stones. My riding is better, by their leave. What does it all mean, poet? Well, And place them in rhyme so, side by side. 'Tis something, nay 't is much: but then, Have you yourself what's best for men? Are you-poor, sick, old ere your timeNearer one whit your own sublime Than we who never have turned a rhyme? Sing, riding's a joy. For me, I ride. And you, great sculptor-so, you gave A score of years to Art, her slave, And that's your Venus, whence we turn To yonder girl that fords the burn! You acquiesce, and shall I repine? What, man of music, you grown gray With notes and nothing else to say, Is this your sole praise from a friend, Greatly his opera's strains intend, But in music we know how fashions end!" 66 I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. Who knows what's fit for us? Had fate Proposed bliss here should sublimate My being-had I signed the bondStill one must lead some life beyond, Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. This foot once planted on the goal, This glory-garland round my soul, Could I descry such? Try and test! I sink back shuddering from the quest. Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? Now, heaven and she are beyond this ride. And yet she has not spoke so long! We, fixed so, ever should so abide? Step two abreast, the way winds nar rowly!) Not a whit troubled, Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain, Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Bad is our bargain! Was it not great? did not he throw on God, (He loves the burthen) God's task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen? Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life, as fools do here, Paid by instalment. He ventured neck or nothing-heaven's success Found, or earth's failure: "Wilt thou trust death or not?" He answered Yes! Hence with life's pale lure!" That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it: This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. That low man goes on adding one to one, This high man, aiming at a million, That, has the world here-should he need the next, Let the world mind him! This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find him. So, with the throttling hands of death at strife. Ground he at grammar; Still, through the rattle, parts of speech were rife: While he could stammer He settled Hoti's business-let it be !— Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Hail to your purlieus, All ye highfliers of the feathered race, That selfsame instant, underneath, Gay he rode, with a friend as gay, Till he threw his head back-- Who is she?" -"A bride the Riccardi brings home to-day." Hair in heaps lay heavily Over a pale brow spirit-pure Carved like the heart of the coal-black tree, Crisped like a war steed's encolureAnd vainly sought to dissemble her eyes Of the blackest black our eyes endure, And lo, a blade for a knight's emprise Filled the fine empty sheath of a man,The Duke grew straightway brave and wise. |