The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 42

11

Long are the hours the sun is above, But when evening comes I go home to my love.

I'm away the daylight hours and more, Yet she comes not down to open the door.

She does not meet me upon the stair,-- She sits in my chamber and waits for me there.

As I enter the room she does not move: I always walk straight up to my love;

And she lets me take my wonted place At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face.

There as I sit, from her head thrown back Her hair falls straight in a shadow black.

Aching and hot as my tired eyes be, She is all that I wish to see.

And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear, She says all things that I wish to hear.

Dusky and duskier grows the room, Yet I see her best in the darker gloom.

When the winter eves are early and cold, The firelight hours are a dream of gold.

And so I sit here night by night, In rest and enjoyment of love's delight.

But a knock at the door, a step on the stair Will startle, alas, my love from her chair.

If a stranger comes she will not stay: At the first alarm she is off and away.

And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne, That I sit so much by myself alone.

12

Who has not walked upon the sh.o.r.e, And who does not the morning know, The day the angry gale is o'er, The hour the wind has ceased to blow?

The horses of the strong south-west Are pastured round his tropic tent, Careless how long the ocean's breast Sob on and sigh for pa.s.sion spent.

The frightened birds, that fled inland To house in rock and tower and tree, Are gathering on the peaceful strand, To tempt again the sunny sea;

Whereon the timid ships steal out And laugh to find their foe asleep, That lately scattered them about, And drave them to the fold like sheep.

The snow-white clouds he northward chased Break into phalanx, line, and band: All one way to the south they haste, The south, their pleasant fatherland.

From distant hills their shadows creep, Arrive in turn and mount the lea, And flit across the downs, and leap Sheer off the cliff upon the sea;

And sail and sail far out of sight.

But still I watch their fleecy trains, That piling all the south with light, Dapple in France the fertile plains.

13

I made another song, In likeness of my love: And sang it all day long, Around, beneath, above; I told my secret out, That none might be in doubt.

I sang it to the sky, That veiled his face to hear How far her azure eye Outdoes his splendid sphere; But at her eyelids' name His white clouds fled for shame.

I told it to the trees, And to the flowers confest, And said not one of these Is like my lily drest; Nor spathe nor petal dared Vie with her body bared.

I shouted to the sea, That set his waves a-prance; Her floating hair is free, Free are her feet to dance; And for thy wrath, I swear Her frown is more to fear.

And as in happy mood I walked and sang alone, At eve beside the wood I met my love, my own: And sang to her the song I had sung all day long.

14

ELEGY

ON A LADY WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER BETROTHED KILLED

a.s.semble, all ye maidens, at the door, And all ye loves, a.s.semble; far and wide Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before Has been deferred to this late eventide: For on this night the bride, The days of her betrothal over, Leaves the parental hearth for evermore; To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover.

Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain Yet all unvisited, the silken gown: Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain Her dearer friends provided: sere and brown Bring out the festal crown, And set it on her forehead lightly: Though it be withered, twine no wreath again; This only is the crown she can wear rightly.

Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold, And wrap her warmly, for the night is long, In pious hands the flaming torches hold, While her attendants, chosen from among Her faithful virgin throng, May lay her in her cedar litter, Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold, Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.

Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be Not without music, nor with these alone; But let the viol lead the melody, With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan Of sinking semitone; And, all in choir, the virgin voices Rest not from singing in skilled harmony The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices.

Let the priests go before, arrayed in white, And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow, Next they that bear her, honoured on this night, And then the maidens, in a double row, Each singing soft and low, And each on high a torch upstaying: Unto her lover lead her forth with light, With music, and with singing, and with praying.

'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, And found her trusty window open wide, And knew the signal of the timorous flame, That long the restless curtain would not hide Her form that stood beside; As scarce she dared to be delighted, Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.

But now for many days the dewy gra.s.s Has shown no markings of his feet at morn: And watching she has seen no shadow pa.s.s The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne Upon her ear forlorn.

In vain has she looked out to greet him; He has not come, he will not come, alas!

So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come: The bark is ready to receive its freight: Let some prepare her place therein, and some Embark the litter with its slender weight: The rest stand by in state, And sing her a safe pa.s.sage over; While she is oared across to her new home, Into the arms of her expectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and s.n.a.t.c.h The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,-- Thou, when the torchlight gleams, When thou shalt see the slow procession, And when thine ears the fitful music catch, Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession.

15

RONDEAU

His poisoned shafts, that fresh he dips In juice of plants that no bee sips, He takes, and with his bow renown'd Goes out upon his hunting ground, Hanging his quiver at his hips.

He draws them one by one, and clips Their heads between his finger-tips, And looses with a tw.a.n.ging sound His poisoned shafts.

But if a maiden with her lips Suck from the wound the blood that drips, And drink the poison from the wound, The simple remedy is found That of their deadly terror strips His poisoned shafts.