Heartbreak

I.

I see thy house, but I am blown about,
    A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky,
All out of doors--alas! of thy doors out,
    And drenched in dews no summer suns can dry.

For every blast is passion of my own;
    The dews cold sweats of selfish agony;
Dank vapour steams from memories lying prone;
    And all my soul is but a stifled cry.

II.

Lord, thou dost hold my string, else were I driven
    Down to some gulf where I were tossed no more,
No turmoil telling I was not in heaven,
    No billows raving on a blessed shore.

Thou standest on thy door-sill, calm as day,
    And all my throbs and pangs are pulls from thee;
Hold fast the string, lest I should break away
    And outer dark and silence swallow me.
<...

The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded,
And sad pale Adelgitha came,
When forth a valiant champion bounded,
And slew the slanderer of her fame.

She wept, delivered from her danger;
But when he knelt to claim her glove
"Seek not!" she cried, "oh, gallant stranger,
For hapless Adelgitha's love.

For he is dead and in a foreign land
Whose arm should now have set me free;
And I must wear the willow garland
For him that's dead, or false to me."

"Nay! say not that his faith is tainted!"
He raised his visor. At the sight
She fell into his arms and fainted;
It was indeed her one true knight!

    Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
    How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
    Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
    So rich, so strange, so all unlike my sea.
    After the temper of my sails, my lean
    Tall masts, you were the lure of harbour hours, -
    A sleepy landscape warm and very green,
    Where browsing creatures stare above still flowers.
    These salt hands holding sweetness, the leader led,
    A slave, too happy and too crazed to rule,
    Sea land-locked, brine and honey in one bed,
    And England's man your servant and your fool!
    My banqueting eyes foreswore my waiting ships;
    I was a silly landsman at your lips.

Still in thy streets, O Paris! doth the stain
Of blood defy the cleansing autumn rain;
Still breaks the smoke Messina's ruins through,
And Naples mourns that new Bartholomew,
When squalid beggary, for a dole of bread,
At a crowned murderer's beck of license, fed
The yawning trenches with her noble dead;
Still, doomed Vienna, through thy stately halls
The shell goes crashing and the red shot falls,
And, leagued to crush thee, on the Danube's side,
The bearded Croat and Bosniak spearman ride;
Still in that vale where Himalaya's snow
Melts round the cornfields and the vines below,
The Sikh's hot cannon, answering ball for ball,
Flames in the breach of Moultan's shattered wall;
On Chenab's side the vulture seeks the slain,
And Sutlej paints with blood its banks ag...

From false assumption rose, and, fondly hailed
By superstition, spread the Papal power;
Yet do not deem the Autocracy prevailed
Thus only, even in error's darkest hour.
She daunts, forth-thundering from her spiritual tower,
Brute rapine, or with gentle lure she tames.
Justice and Peace through Her uphold their claims;
And Chastity finds many a sheltering bower.
Realm there is none that if controlled or swayed
By her commands partakes not, in degree,
Of good, o'er manners arts and arms, diffused:
Yes, to thy domination, Roman See,
Tho' miserably, oft monstrously, abused
By blind ambition, be this tribute paid.

Oh, for a soul that fulfills
music like that of a bird!
thrilling with rapture the hills,
heedless if any one heard.

Or, like the flower that blooms
lone in the midst of the trees,
filling the woods with perfumes,
careless if any one sees.

Or, like the wandering wind,
over the meadows that swings,
bringing wild sweets to mankind,
knowing not that which it brings.

Oh, for a way to impart!.
beauty, no matter how hard!
like unto nature, whose art
never once dreams of reward.

When hopes ran high the world was young,
We thought that we would never die,
And glorious were the songs we sung
In those grand days when hopes ran high.

When hopes ran high the world was true
We thought that friends could never lie,
There have been bitter truths for you
And me, since days when hopes ran high.

I am the ancient Apple-Queen,
As once I was so am I now.
For evermore a hope unseen,
Betwixt the blossom and the bough.

Ah, where's the river's hidden Gold!
And where the windy grave of Troy?
Yet come I as I came of old,
From out the heart of Summer's joy.

Love can not be the aloe-tree,
    Whose bloom but once is seen;
Go search the grove--the tree of love
    Is sure the evergreen:
For that's the same, in leaf or frame,
    'Neath cold or sunny skies;
You take the ground its roots have bound,
    Or it, transplanted, dies!

That love thus shoots, and firmly roots
    In woman's heart, we see;
Through smiles and tears in after-years
    It grows a fadeless tree.
The tree of love, all trees above,
    For ever may be seen,
In summer's bloom or winter's gloom,
    A hardy evergreen.

(Paris, August, 1865.)


I stand at the break of day
In the Champs Elysées.
The tremulous shafts of dawning
As they shoot o'er the Tuileries early,
Strike Luxor's cold gray spire,
And wild in the light of the morning
With their marble manes on fire,
Ramp the white Horses of Marly.

But the Place of Concord lies
Dead hushed 'neath the ashy skies.
And the Cities sit in council
With sleep in their wide stone eyes.
I see the mystic plain
Where the army of spectres slain
In the Emperor's life-long war
March on with unsounding tread
To trumpets whose voice is dead.
Their spectral chief still leads them, -
The ghostly flash of his sword
Like a comet through mist shines far, -
And the noiseless host is poured,
For th...

An Argument for the Maintenance of Peace and Goodwill with the Japanese People



Glossary for the uninstructed and the hasty:    Jimmu Tenno, ancestor of all the Japanese Emperors; Nikko, Japan's loveliest shrine; Iyeyasu, her greatest statesman; Bushido, her code of knighthood; The Forty-seven Ronins, her classic heroes; Nogi, her latest hero; Fuji, her most beautiful mountain.


                    # The minstrel speaks. #
    "Now do you know of Avalon
        That sailors call Japan?
    She holds as rare a chivalry
        As ever bled for man.
    King Arthur sleeps at Nikko hill
        Where Iyeyasu lies,
    And there the broad Pendragon flag
        In deathless splendor flies."

                    # The jingo answers. #
    "Nay, mins...