Identity

Three Kings have come to Bethlehem
With a trailing star in front of them.

MARY

What would you in this little place,
You three bright kings?

KINGS

Mother, we tracked the trailing star
Which brought us here from lands afar,
And we would look on his dear face
Round whom the Seraphs fold their wings.

MARY

But who are you, bright kings?

CASPAR

Caspar am I: the rocky North
From storm and silence drave me forth
Down to the blue and tideless sea.
I do not fear the tinkling sword,
For I am a great battle-lord,
And love the horns of chivalry.
And I have brought thee splendid gold,
The strong man's joy, refined and cold.
All hail, thou Prince of Galilee!

BALTHAZAR

I am Balthaza...

Sylvan Muses, can ye sing
Of the beauty of the Spring?
Have ye seen on earth that sun
That a heavenly course hath run?
Have ye lived to see those eyes
Where the pride of beauty lies?
Have ye heard that heavenly voice
That may make Love's heart rejoice?
Have ye seen Aglaia, she
Whom the world may joy to see?
If ye have not seen all these,
Then ye do but labour leese;
While ye tune your pipes to play
But an idle roundelay;
And in sad Discomfort's den
Everyone go bite her pen;
That she cannot reach the skill
How to climb that blessed hill
Where Aglaia's fancies dwell,
Where exceedings do excell,
And in simple truth confess
She is that fair shepherdess
To whom fairest flocks a-field
Do their service duly yield:
On whom never...

Nis he makes verses; but the lines he writes
Serve but for matter to make paper kites.

We that were friends to-night have found
A sudden fear, a secret flame:
I am on fire with that soft sound
You make, in uttering my name.

Forgive a young and boastful man
Whom dreams delight and passions please,
And love me as great women can
Who have no children at their knees.

This passion is but an ember
    Of a Sun, of a Fire, long set;
I could not live and remember,
    And so I love and forget.

You say, and the tone is fretful,
    That my mourning days were few,
You call me over forgetful -
    My God, if you only knew!

                    Beneath her window in the fragrant night
                    I half forget how truant years have flown
                    Since I looked up to see her chamber-light,
                    Or catch, perchance, her slender shadow thrown
                    Upon the casement; but the nodding leaves
                    Sweep lazily across the unlit pane,
                    And to and fro beneath the shadowy eaves,
                    Like restless birds, the breath of coming rain
                    Creeps, lilac-laden, up the village street
                    When all is still, as if the very trees
                    Were listening for the coming of her feet
                    That come no more; yet, lest I weep, the breeze
                    Sings some forgo...

What offspring other men have got,
The how, where, when, I question not.
These are the children I have left,
Adopted some, none got by theft;
But all are touch'd, like lawful plate,
And no verse illegitimate.

Quand' io v' odo parlar si dolcemente.

TO ONE WHO SPOKE TO HIM OF LAURA.


    Whene'er you speak of her in that soft tone
Which Love himself his votaries surely taught,
My ardent passion to such fire is wrought,
That e'en the dead reviving warmth might own:
Where'er to me she, dear or kind, was known
There the bright lady is to mind now brought,
In the same bearing which, to waken thought,
Needed no sound but of my sighs alone.
Half-turn'd I see her looking, on the breeze
Her light hair flung; so true her memories roll
On my fond heart of which she keeps the keys;
But the surpassing bliss which floods my soul
So checks my tongue, to tell how, queen-like, there,
She sits as on her throne, I never dare.

MACGREGOR.

And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us -
Most innocent, perhaps -and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
Then we call in our pampered mountebanks -
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon,
By the lamp's dismal twilgiht! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopeles...

True love, that ever shows itself as clear
In kindness, as loose appetite in wrong,
Silenced that lyre harmonious, and still'd
The sacred chords, that are by heav'n's right hand
Unwound and tighten'd, flow to righteous prayers
Should they not hearken, who, to give me will
For praying, in accordance thus were mute?
He hath in sooth good cause for endless grief,
Who, for the love of thing that lasteth not,
Despoils himself forever of that love.

As oft along the still and pure serene,
At nightfall, glides a sudden trail of fire,
Attracting with involuntary heed
The eye to follow it, erewhile at rest,
And seems some star that shifted place in heav'n,
Only that, whence it kindles, none is lost,
And it is soon extinct; thus from the horn,
That on the dext...

A Potter, playing with his lump of clay,
Fashioned an image of supremest worth.
"Never was nobler image made on earth,
Than this that I have fashioned of my clay.
And I, of mine own skill, did fashion it,--
I--from this lump of clay."

The Master, looking out on Pots and Men,
Heard his vain boasting, smiled at that he said.
"The clay is Mine, and I the Potter made,
As I made all things,--stars, and clay, and men.
In what doth this man overpass the rest?
--Be thou as other men!"

He touched the Image,--and it fell to dust,
He touched the Potter,--he to dust did fall.
Gently the Master,--"I did make them all,--
All things and men, heaven's glories, and the dust.
Who with Me works shall quicken death itself,
Without Me--dust is dus...