THE LAST WORDS OF ST. TELEMACHUS
There is a sound of weeping; wherefore weep
That I should sleep?
Oh! wherefore mourn that I at last should be
At liberty?
One only grief yet lingers at my heart —
That we must part:
Part — ! and perchance we never more may meet
In converse sweet!
The memory of all thy gentle ways,
Kind without praise —
And of thy loving acts, scarce seen before,
Now numbered o’er,
Weigh me to earth clinging about my heart —
And must we part?
Yet still my trust in God shall steadfast be —
By faith I see
Through the long vista of eternal years,
Free from all fears,
Thee by my side in calm unchanging rest,
For ever blest!
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR MARGARET
1.
Fair Marg’ret sat in her bower,
Unbraiding of her hair,
When entered in Lord Thomas’ ghost,
And gave her greeting fair.
2.
“Oh how pale thou art, my love,” she said,
“Oh how pale thou art to see!
Once thine eye was bright, and thy cheek was red;
Why comest thou so to me?”
3.
“Oh fair Marg’ret, oh sweet Marg’ret,
I murderèd have been —
They have ta’en my body for love of thee,
And cast it in a stream.
4.
“Oh fair Marg’ret, oh sweet Marg’ret,
We aye maun parted be,
If thou wilt not bind up thy yellow hair,
And quickly follow me.”
5.
Up and ris fair Marg’ret,
And quickly followed him;
As the moon was the colour of his face,
And the colour of his limb.
6.
The ghost he fled, the ghost he sped,
The ghost he ran and glided,
And still fair Margaret pursued,
Though never to be brided.
7.
The ghost he sped, the ghost he fled,
Ploughed land and hillocks over,
And still fair Margaret pursued.
After her flying lover.
8.
Away, away “without stop or stay,”
Till they came to waters running,
“I canna stay, I maun away,
For fast the day is coming.
9.
“Oh fair Marg’ret, oh sweet Marg’ret,
We now maun parted be,
If in the last trail thou shalt go through
Thy heart should fail in thee.”
10.
On glided the ghost, while the starry host
Glittered down on the sleeping stream;
O’er the waves glided he impalpably,
Then vanished like a dream.
11.
Fair Margaret still followed him,
Till she sank amid the wave;
Thus died for each other these lovers true,
And were joinèd in the grave.
LINES TO MY GRANDFATHER
Dear Grandpapa,
To be obedient,
I’ll try and write a letter;
Which (as I hope you’ll deem expedient)
Must serve for lack of better.
My muse of late was not prolific,
And sometimes I must feel
To make a verse a task terrific
Rather of woe than weal.
As I have met with no adventure
Of wonder and refulgence,
I must write plain things at a venture
And trust to your indulgence.
The apple-tree is showing
Its blossom of bright red
With a soft colour glowing
Upon its leafy bed.
The pear-tree’s pure white blossom
Like stainless snow is seen;
And all earth’s genial bosom
Is clothed with varied green.
The fragrant may is blooming,
The yellow cowslip blows;
Among its leaves entombing
Peeps forth the pale primrose.
The kingcup flowers and daisies
Are opening hard by;
And many another raises
Its head, to please and die.
I love the gay wild flowers
Waving in fresh spring air;
Give me uncultured bowers
Before the bright parterre!
And now my letter is concluded,
To do well I have striven;
And though news is well-nigh excluded,
I hope to be forgiven.
With love to all the beautiful,
And those who cannot slaughter,
I sign myself,
your dutiful,
Affectionate Granddaughter.
CHARADE
My first may be the firstborn,
The second child may be;
My second is a texture light
And elegant to see:
My whole do those too often write
Who are from talent free.
HOPE IN GRIEF
Tell me not that death of grief
Is the only sure relief.
Tell me not that hope when dead
Leaves a void that nought can fill,
Gnawings that may not be fed.
Tell me not there is no skill
That can bind the breaking heart,
That can soothe the bitter smart,
When we find ourselves betrayed,
When we find ourselves forsaken,
By those for whom we would have laid
Our young lives down, nor wished to waken.
Say not that life is to all
But a gaily coloured pall,
Hiding with its deceitful glow
The hearts that break beneath it,
Engulphing as they anguished flow
The scalding tears that seethe it.
Say not, vain this world’s turmoil,
Vain its trouble and its toil,
All its hopes and fears are vain,
Long, unmitigated pain.
What though we should be deceived
By the friend that we love best?
All in this world have been grieved,
Yet many have found rest.
Our present life is as the night,
Our future as the morning light:
Surely the night will pass away,
And surely will uprise the day.
LISETTA ALL’ AMANTE
Perdona al primo eccesso
D’un tenero dolore;
A te promisi il core,
E vo’ serbarlo a te.
Ma dimmi, e mi consola:
M’ami tu ancor, cor mio?
Se a te fedel son io,
Sarao fedele a me?
Chè se nell’ alma ingrate
Pensi ad abbandonarmi,
Anch’io saprò scordarmi
D’un amator crudel.
Ma crederlo non voglio;
Ma non lo vo’ pensare;
Chè nol potrei lasciare,
Chè gli sarei fedel.
SONG
I saw her; she was lovely,
And bright her eyes of blue,
Whilst merrily her white white hands
Over the harp-strings flew.
I saw her and I loved her,
I loved her for my pain,
For her heart was given to another
Not to return again.
Again I saw her pacing
Down the cathedral aisle;
The bridal wreath was in her hair,
And on her lips a smile;
A quiet smile and holy,
Meet for a holy place,
&n
bsp; A smile of certain happiness
That lighted up her face.
And once, once more I saw her,
Kneeling beside a bed;
The bright sun’s rays were shining there,
And shone upon the dead;
From the body of her husband
Earth’s gloom they chased away,
And she gazed on him without a tear,
And hailed the coming day.
PRAISE OF LOVE
And shall Love cease? Ask thine own heart, O Woman,
Thy heart that beats restlessly on forever!
All earthly things shall pass away and human,
But Love’s divine: annihilated never,
It binds and nought shall sever.
Oh! it is Love makes the world habitable,
Love is a foretaste of our promised Heaven;
Though sometimes robed in white, sometimes in sable,
It still is Love, and still some joy is given,
Although the heart be riven.
And who would give Love’s joy to ‘scape its paining?
Yea, who would lose its sorrow and its gladness?
Then let us bear its griefs without complaining: —
This only earthly passion is not madness,
Nor leads to dearth and sadness.
Love is all happiness, Love is all beauty,
Love is the crown of flaxen heads and hoary,
Love is the only everlasting duty,
And Love is chronicled in endless story,
And leads to endless glory.
I HAVE FOUGHT A GOOD FIGHT
“Who art thou that comest with a steadfast face
Thro’ the hushed arena to the burying-place?”
“I am one whose footprints marked upon the sand
Cry in blood for vengeance on a guilty land.”
“How are these thy garments white as whitest snow
Tho’ thy blood hath touched them in its overflow?”
“My blood cannot stain them, nor my tears make white;
One than I more mighty, He hath made them bright.”
“Say, do thy wounds pain thee open every one,
Wounds that now are glowing clearer than the sun?”
“Nay, they are my gladness unalloyed by grief;
Like a desert fountain, or a long relief.”
“When the lion had thee in his deadly clasp,
Was there then no terror in thy stifled gasp?”
“Tho’ I felt the crushing, and the grinding teeth,
He was with me ever, He Who comforteth.”
“Didst thou hear the shouting, as of a great flood,
Crying out for vengeance, crying out for blood?”
“I heard it in silence, and was not afraid,
While for the mad people silently I prayed.”
“Did their hate not move thee? art thou heedless then
Of the fear of children and the curse of men?”
“God looked down upon me from the Heaven above,
And I did not tremble, happy in His Love.”
WISHES
Sonnet.
Oh! would that I were very far away
Among the lanes, with hedges all around,
Happily listening to the dreamy sound
Of distant sheep-bells, smelling the new hay
And all the wild-flowers scattered in my way:
Or would that I were lying on some mound
Where shade and butterflies and thyme abound,
Beneath the trees, upon a sunny day:
Or would I strolled beside the mighty sea,
The sea before, and the tall cliffs behind;
While winds from the warm south might tell to me
How health and joy for all men are designed: —
But be I where I may, would I had thee,
And heard thy gentle voice, my Mother kind.
ELEANOR
Cherry-red her mouth was,
Morning-blue her eye,
Lady-slim her little waist
Rounded prettily;
And her sweet smile of gladness
Made every heart rejoice;
But sweeter even than her smile
The tones were of her voice.
Sometimes she spoke, sometimes she sang;
And evermore the sound
Floated, a dreamy melody,
Upon the air around;
As tho’ a wind were singing
Far up beside the sun,
Till sound and warmth and glory
Were blended all in one.
Her hair was long and golden,
And clustered unconfined
Over a forehead high and white
That spoke a noble mind.
Her little hand, her little foot
Were ready evermore
To hurry forth to meet a friend;
She smiling at the door.
But if she sang, or if she spoke,
‘Twas music soft and grand,
As tho’ a distant singing sea
Broke on a tuneful strand;
As tho’ a blessed Angel
Were singing a glad song,
Half way between the earth and Heaven
Joyfully borne along.
ISIDORA
/See Maturin’s “Melmoth.”/
Love, whom I have loved too well,
Turn thy face away from me;
For I heed nor Heaven nor Hell
While mine eyes can look on thee.
Do not answer, do not speak,
For thy voice can make me weak.
I must choose ‘twixt God and man,
And I dare not hesitate:
Oh how little is life’s span,
And Eternity how great!
Go out from me; for I fear
Mine own strength while thou art here.
Husband, leave me; but know this:
I would gladly give my soul
So that thine might dwell in bliss
Free from the accursed control,
So that thou mightest go hence
In a hopeful penitence.
Yea, from Hell I would look up,
And behold thee in thy place,
Drinking of the living cup,
With the joy-look on thy face,
And the Light that shines alone
From the Glory of the Throne.
But how could my endless loss
Be thine everlasting gain?
Shall thy palm grow from my cross?
Shall thine ease be in my pain?
Yea, thine own soul witnesseth
Thy life is not in my death.
It were vain that I should die;
That we thus should perish both;
Thou would’st gain no peace thereby;
And in truth I should be loath
By the loss of my salvation
To increase thy condemnation.
Little infant, his and mine,
Would that I were as thou art;
Nothing breaks that sleep of thine,
And ah! nothing breaks thy heart;
And thou knowest nought of strife,
The heart’s death for the soul’s life.
None misdoubt thee; none misdeem
Of thy wishes and thy will.
All thy thoughts are what they seem,
Very pure and very still;
And thou fearest not the voice
That once made thy heart rejoice.
Oh how calm thou art, my child!
I could almost envy thee.
Thou hast neither wept nor smiled,
Thou that sleepest quietly.
Would I also were at rest
With the one that I love best.
Husband, go. I dare not hearken
To thy words, or look upon
Those despairing eyes that darken
Down on me — but he is gone.
Nay, come back; and be my fate
As thou wilt — it is too late.
<
br /> I have conquered; it is done;
Yea, the death-struggle is o’er,
And the hopeless quiet won! —
I shall see his face no more! —
And mine eyes are waxing dim
Now they cannot look on him.
And my heart-pulses are growing
Very weak; and thro’ my whole
Life-blood a slow chill is going: —
Blessed Saviour, take my soul
To Thy Paradise and care; —
Paradise, will he be there?
THE NOVICE
I love one, and he loveth me:
Who sayeth this? who deemeth this?
And is this thought a cause of bliss,
Or source of misery?
The loved may die, or he may change:
And if he die thou art bereft;
Or if he alter, nought is left
Save life that seemeth strange.
A weary life, a hopeless life,
Full of all ill and fear-oppressed;
A weary life that looks for rest
Alone after death’s strife.
And love’s joy hath no quiet even;
It evermore is variable.
Its gladness is like war in Hell,
More than repose in Heaven.
Yea, it is as a poison cup
That holds one quick fire-draught within;
For when the life seems to begin
The slow death looketh up.
Then bring me to a solitude
Where love may neither come nor go;
Where very peaceful waters flow,
And roots are found for food;
Where the wild honey-bee booms by;
And trees and bushes freely give
Ripe fruit and nuts; there I would live,
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Christina Rossetti Page 58