Betrayal

I.

There is a scent of roses and spilt wine
Between the moonlight and the laurel coppice;
The marble idol glimmers on its shrine,
White as a star, among a heaven of poppies.
Here all my life lies like a spilth of wine.
There is a mouth of music like a lute,
A nightingale that sigheth to one flower;
Between the falling flower and the fruit,
Where love hath died, the music of an hour.

II.

To sit alone with memory and a rose;
To dwell with shadows of whilom romances;
To make one hour of a year of woes
And walk on starlight, in ethereal trances,
With love's lost face fair as a moon-white rose,
To shape from music and the scent of buds
Love's spirit and its presence of sweet fire,
Between the heart's wild burning and the blood's,
Is...

You see that porcelain ranged there in the window,
Platters and soup-plates done with pale pink rosebuds,
And tiny violets, and wreaths of ivy?
See how the pattern clings to the gleaming edges!
They’re works of art, minutely seen and felt,
Each petal done devoutly. Is it failure
To spend your blood like this?

Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,
If you stare hard enough, a sort of swimming
Of lights and shadows, ghosts within a crystal,
My brain unfolding! There you’ll see me sitting
Day after day, close to a certain window,
Looking down, sometimes, to see the people . . .

Sometimes my wife comes there to speak to me . . .
Sometimes the grey cat waves his tail around me . . .
Goldfish swim in a bowl, glisten in sunlight,
Dilate to...

On western plain and eastern hill
Where once my fancy ranged,
The station hands are riding still
And they are little changed.
But I have lost in London gloom
The glory of the day,
The grand perfume of wattle bloom
Is faint and far away.
Brown faces under broad-brimmed hats
The grip of wiry hands,
The gallops on the frosty flats,
Seem dreams of other lands;
The camp fire and the stars that blaze
Above the mystic plain
Are but the thoughts of vanished days
That never come again.

The evening star I seldom view,
That led me on to roam,
I never see the morning star
That used to draw me home.
But I have often longed for day
To hide the few I see,
Because they only point and say
Most bitter things to me.

I wear my l...

    It was the morning; through the shutters closed,
    Along the balcony, the earliest rays
    Of sunlight my dark room were entering;
    When, at the time that sleep upon our eyes
    Its softest and most grateful shadows casts,
    There stood beside me, looking in my face,
    The image dear of her, who taught me first
    To love, then left me to lament her loss.
    To me she seemed not dead, but sad, with such
    A countenance as the unhappy wear.
    Her right hand near my head she sighing placed;
    "Dost thou still live," she said to me, "and dost
    Thou still remember what we were and are?"
    And I replied: "Whence comest thou, and how,
    Beloved and beautiful? Oh how, how I
    Have grieved, still grieve for thee! Nor did I think
...

When all works that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread;
When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love.

A.
You blame me that I ran away?
Why, Sir, the enemy advanced:
Balls flew about, and who can say
But one, if I stood firm, had glanced
In my direction? Cowardice?
I only know we don’t live twice,
Therefore, shun death, is my advice.

B.
Shun death at all risks? Well, at some
True, I myself, Sir, though I scold
The cowardly, by no means come
Under reproof as overbold
I, who would have no end of brutes
Cut up alive to guess what suits
My case and saves my toe from shoots.

Ask not the pallid stranger's woe,
With beating heart and throbbing breast,
Whose step is faltering, weak, and slow,
As though the body needed rest. -

Whose 'wildered eye no object meets,
Nor cares to ken a friendly glance,
With silent grief his bosom beats, -
Now fixed, as in a deathlike trance.

Who looks around with fearful eye,
And shuns all converse with man kind,
As though some one his griefs might spy,
And soothe them with a kindred mind.

A friend or foe to him the same,
He looks on each with equal eye;
The difference lies but in the name,
To none for comfort can he fly. -

'Twas deep despair, and sorrow's trace,
To him too keenly given,
Whose memory, time could not efface -
His peace was lodged in Heaven. -

As roam'd a pilgrim o'er the mountain drear,
    On whose lone verge the foaming billows roar;
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc'd his ear,
    And swell'd at distance on the sounding shore.

The mourner breath'd her deep complaint to night,
    Her moan she mingled with the rapid blast;
That bar'd her bosom in its wasting flight,
    And o'er the earth her scatter'd tresses cast!

"Ye winds, she cried, still heave the lab'ring deep,
    "The mountain shake, the howling forest rend;
"Still dash the shiv'ring fragment from the steep,
    "Nor for a wretch like me the storm suspend.

"Ah, wherefore wish the rising storm to spare?
    "Ah, why implore the raging winds to save?
"What refuge can the breast where lives despair
    "Desire but death? what s...

She loved him--but she heeded not--
    Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
    When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
    To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
    That made her drear and desolate!

She loved him--but the sland'rer came,
    With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name--
    But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
    That drove her lover from her side--
Who hied him to a distant land,
    Where, battling for a name, he died!

She loved him--and his memory now
    Was treasured from the world apart:
The calm of thought was on her brow,
    The seeds of death were in her heart.

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!
The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurled
Above the tide of hours, trouble the air,
And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;
While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a band
With blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand,
i(Turn if you may from battles never done,)
I call, as they go by me one by one,
i(Danger no refuge holds, and war no peace,)
i(For him who hears love sing and never cease,)
i(Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:)
i(But gather all for whom no love hath made)
i(A woven silence, or but came to cast)
i(A song into the air, and singing passed)
i(To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you)
i(Who have sought more than is in rain or dew,)
i(Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,)

I hate this City, seated on the Plain,
    The clang and clamour of the hot Bazar,
Knowing, amid the pauses of my pain,
    This month the Almonds bloom in Kandahar.

The Almond-trees, that sheltered my Delight,
    Screening my happiness as evening fell.
It was well worth - that most Enchanted Night -
    This life in torment, and the next in Hell!

People are kind to me; one More than Kind,
    Her lashes lie like fans upon her cheek,
But kindness is a burden on my mind,
    And it is weariness to hear her speak.

For though that Kaffir's bullet holds me here,
    My thoughts are ever free, and wander far,
To where the Lilac Hills rise, soft and clear,
    Beyond the Almond Groves of Kandahar.

He followed me to Sibi, to the Fair,
  ...

Four summers coined their golden light in leaves,
Four wasteful autumns flung them to the gale,
Four winters wore the shroud the tempest weaves,
The fourth wan April weeps o'er hill and vale;

And still the war-clouds scowl on sea and land,
With the red gleams of battle staining through,
When lo! as parted by an angel's hand,
They open, and the heavens again are blue!

Which is the dream, the present or the past?
The night of anguish or the joyous morn?
The long, long years with horrors overcast,
Or the sweet promise of the day new-born?

Tell us, O father, as thine arms infold
Thy belted first-born in their fast embrace,
Murmuring the prayer the patriarch breathed of old, -
"Now let me die, for I have seen thy face!"

Tell us, O mother, - ...

Spring watched her last moon burn and fade with May
While the days deepened toward a bridal day.
And on her snowbright hand the ring was set
While in the maiden’s ear the song’s word yet
Hovered, that hailed as love’s own queen by name
Iseult: and in her heart the word was flame;
A pulse of light, a breath of tender fire,
Too dear for doubt, too driftless for desire.
Between her father’s hand and brother’s led
From hall to shrine, from shrine to marriage-bed,
She saw not how by hap at home-coming
Fell from her new lord’s hand a royal ring,
Whereon he looked, and felt the pulse astart
Speak passion in his faith-forsaken heart.
For this was given him of the hand wherein
That heart’s pledge lay for ever: so the sin
That should be done if truly he should take

Scene I
“Discontent”

LAURENCE RABY.

Laurence:
I said to young Allan M’Ilveray,
Beside the swift swirls of the North,
When, in lilac shot through with a silver ray,
We haul’d the strong salmon fish forth,
Said only, “He gave us some trouble
To land him, and what does he weigh?
Our friend has caught one that weighs double,
The game for the candle won’t pay
Us to-day,
We may tie up our rods and away.”

I said to old Norman M’Gregor,
Three leagues to the west of Glen Dhu,
I had drawn, with a touch of the trigger,
The best bead that ever I drew,
Said merely, “For birds in the stubble
I once had an eye, I could swear
He’s down, but he’s not worth the trouble
Of seeking. You once shot a bear
In his l...

Sunlight upon Judha's hills!
And on the waves of Galilee;
On Jordan's stream, and on the rills
That feed the dead and sleeping sea!
Most freshly from the green wood springs
The light breeze on its scented wings;
And gayly quiver in the sun
The cedar tops of Lebanon!

A few more hours, a change hath come!
The sky is dark without a cloud!
The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb,
And proud knees unto earth are bowed.
A change is on the hill of Death,
The helmed watchers pant for breath,
And turn with wild and maniac eyes
From the dark scene of sacrifice!

That Sacrifice! the death of Him,
The Christ of God, the holy One!
Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim,
And blacken the beholding, Sun.
The wonted light hath fled away,
Night s...

Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.
No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:-
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
An...

Said lady once to lover,
"None can rely upon
A love that lacks its proper food;
And if your love were gone
How could you sing those songs of love?
I should be blamed, young man.
i(O my dear, O my dear.)

Have no lit candles in your room,"
That lovely lady said,
"That I at midnight by the clock
May creep into your bed,
For if I saw myself creep in
I think I should drop dead."
i(O my dear, O my dear.)

"I love a man in secret,
Dear chambermaid," said she.
"I know that I must drop down dead
If he stop loving me,
Yet what could I but drop down dead
If I lost my chastity?
i(O my dear, O my dear.)

"So you must lie beside him
And let him think me there.
And maybe we are all the same
Where no candles are,
An...

I am all alone in the house to-night;
    They would not have gone away
Had they known of the terrible, bloodless fight
    I have held with my heart to-day.
With the old sweet love and the old fierce pain
    I have battled hour by hour;
But the fates have willed that the strife is vain.
Alone in the hour my thoughts have reign,
    And I yield myself to their power.

Yield myself to the old time charm
    Of a dream of vanished bliss,
The thrill of a voice, and the fold of an arm,
    And a red lip's lingering kiss.
It all comes back like a flowing tide;
    That brief, but beautiful day.
Though it oft is checked by the dam of pride,
Till the waters flow back to the other side,
    To-night it has broken away.

I gave you all that I had t...