HE spake not truth, however wise, who said That happy, and that hapless men in sleep Have equal fortune, fallen from care as deep As countless, careless, races of the dead. Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread, And one beholds the faces that he sighs In vain to bring before his daylit eyes, And waking, he remembers on his bed;And one with fainting heart and feeble hand Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land, Where strength and courage were of no avail; And one is borne on fairy breezes far To the bright harbours of a golden star Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale.
FAIRY LAND.
IN light of sunrise and sunsetting, The long days lingered, in forgetting That ever passion, keen to hold What may not tarry, was of old, In lands beyond the weary wold; Beyond the bitter stream whose flood Runs red waist-high with slain men's blood. Was beauty once a thing that died? Was pleasure never satisfied? Was rest still broken by the vain Desire of action, bringing pain, To die in languid rest again? All this was quite forgotten there, Where never winter chilled the year, Nor spring brought promise unfulfilled, Nor, with the eager summer killed, The languid days drooped autumnwards. So magical a season guards The constant prime of a cool June; So slumbrous is the river's tune, That knows no thunder of heavy rains, Nor ever in the summer wanes, Like waters of the summer time In lands far from the Fairy clime.
Yea, there the Fairy maids are kind, With nothing of the changeful mind Of maidens in the days that were; And if no laughter fills the air With sound of silver murmurings, And if no prayer of passion brings A love nigh dead to life again, Yet sighs more subtly sweet remain, And smiles that never satiate, And loves that fear scarce any fate. Alas, no words can bring the bloom Of Fairy Land; the faint perfume, The sweet low light, the magic air, To eyes of who has not been there: Alas, no words, nor any spell Can lull the eyes that know too well, The lost fair world of Fairy Land.
Ah, would that I had never been The lover of the Fairy Queen! Or would that through the sleepy town, The grey old place of Ercildoune, And all along the little street, The soft fall of the white deer's feet Came, with the mystical command That I must back to Fairy Land!
TWO SONNETS OF THE SIRENS.
['Les Sirenes estoient tant intimes amies et fidelles compagnes de Proserpine, qu'elles estoient toujours ensemble. Esmues du juste deuil de la perte de leur chere compagne, et enuyees jusques au desespoir, elles s'arresterent e la mer Sicilienne, ou par leurs chants elles attiroient les navigans, mais l'unique fin de la volupe de leur musique est la Mort.' - PONTUS DE TYARD. 1570.]
I.
THE Sirens once were maidens innocent That through the water- meads with Proserpine Plucked no fire-hearted flowers, but were content Cool fritillaries and flag-flowers to twine, With lilies woven and with wet woodbine; Till once they sought the bright AEtnaean flowers, And their bright mistress fled from summer hours With Hades, down the irremeable decline. And they have sought her all the wide world through Till many years, and wisdom, and much wrong Have filled and changed their song, and o'er the blue Rings deadly sweet the magic of the song, And whoso hears must listen till he die Far on the flowery shores of Sicily.
II.
So is it with this singing art of ours, That once with maids went maidenlike, and played With woven dances in the poplar-shade, And all her song was but of lady's bowers And the returning swallows, and spring- flowers, Till forth to seek a shadow-queen she strayed, A shadowy land; and now hath overweighed Her singing chaplet with the snow and showers. Yea, fair well-water for the bitter brine She left, and by the margin of life's sea Sings, and her song is full of the sea's moan, And wild with dread, and love of Proserpine; And whoso once has listened to her, he His whole life long is slave to her alone.
A LA BELLE HELENE. AFTER RONSARD.
MORE closely than the clinging vine About the wedded tree, Clasp thou thine arms, ah, mistress mine! About the heart of me. Or seem to sleep, and stoop your face Soft on my sleeping eyes, Breathe in your life, your heart, your grace, Through me, in kissing wise. Bow down, bow down your face, I pray, To me, that swoon to death, Breathe back the life you kissed away, Breathe back your kissing breath. So by your eyes I swear and say, My mighty oath and sure, From your kind arms no maiden may My loving heart allure. I'll bear your yoke, that's light enough, And to the Elysian plain, When we are dead of love, my love, One boat shall bear us twain. They'll flock around you, fleet and fair, All true loves that have been, And you of all the shadows there, Shall be the shadow queen. AH SHADOW-LOVES, AND SHADOW-LIPS! AH, WHILE 'TIS CALLED TO-DAY, LOVE ME, MY LOVE, FOR SUMMER SLIPS, AND AUGUST EBBS AWAY.
SYLVIE ET AURELIE.
[IN MEMORY OF GERARD DE NERVAL.]
TWO loves there were, and one was born Between the sunset and the rain; Her singing voice went through the corn, Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn, On grass the fallen blossoms stain; And suns may set, and moons may wane, But this love comes no more again.
There were two loves and one made white Thy singing lips, and golden hair; Born of the city's mire and light, The shame and splendour of the night, She trapped and fled thee unaware; Not through the lamplight and the rain Shalt thou behold this love again.
Go forth and seek, by wood and hill, Thine ancient love of dawn and dew; There comes no voice from mere or rill, Her dance is over, fallen still The ballad burdens that she knew; And thou must wait for her in vain, Till years bring back thy youth again.
That other love, afield, afar Fled the light love, with lighter feet. Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are, And flit in dreams from star to star, That dead love shalt thou never meet, Till through bleak dawn andblowing rain Thy fled soul find her soul again.
A LOST PATH.
