And she talked on-we talked, rather! upon all things, substance, shadow,

Of the sheep that browsed the grasses, of the reapers in the corn,

Of the little children from the schools, seen winding through the meadow

Of the poor rich world beyond them, still kept poorer by its scorn.

So, of men, and so, of letters-books are men of higher stature,

And the only men that speak aloud for future times to hear;

So, of mankind in the abstract, which grows slowly into nature,

Yet will lift the cry of "progress," as it trod from sphere to sphere.

231

| It was thus I reeled. I told you that her hand had many suitors;

But she smiles them down imperially, as Venus did the waves,

And with such a gracious coldness, that they cannot press their futures

On the present of her courtesy, which yieldingly enslaves.

And this morning, as I sat alone within the inner chamber,

With the great saloon beyond it, lost in pleasant thought serene,

For I had been reading Camöens-that poem you remember,

Which his lady's eyes are praised in, as the

sweetest ever seen.

"The Age culls simples,

With a broad clown's back turned broadly to the glory of the stars.

We are gods by our own reek'ning, and may well shut up the temples,

And wield on, amid the incense - steam, the

thunder of our cars.

Little thinking if we work our SOULS as nobly as our iron,

from it, taking from it

And I heard a voice that pleaded ever on, in accents stronger,

grimage.

rhetoric good.

Well I knew that voice-it was an earl's of soul that matched his station,

Soul completed into lordship-might and right read on his brow;

Very finely courteous-far too proud to doubt his domination [by a bow. Of the common people, he atones for grandeur

High straight forehead, nose of eagle, cold blue eyes, of less expression

Than resistance, coldly casting off the looks of other men,

As steel, arrows-unelastic lips, which seem to taste possession,

And be cautious lest the common air should injure or distrain.

For the rest, accomplished, upright-ay, and standing by his order

With a bearing not ungraceful; fond of art and letters too;

Just a good man made a proud man-as the sandy rocks that border

A wild coast, by circumstances, in a regnant ebb and flow.

Thus, I knew that voice-I heard it, and I could not help the hearkening,

In the room I stood up blindly, and my burning heart within

Seemed to seethe and fuse my senses, till they ran on all sides darkening, And scorched, weighed, like melted metal round my feet that stood therein.

There, I maddened! her words stung me. Life swept through me into fever,

And my soul sprang up astonished, sprang, fullstatured in an hour.

Know you what it is when anguish, with apocalyptic NEVER,

To a Pythian height dilates you-and despair sublimes to power?

From my brain, the soul-wings budded-waved a flame about my body, Whence conventions coiled to ashes. I felt

self-drawn-out, as man, From amalgamate false natures, and I saw the skies grow ruddy [what spirits can. With the deepening feet of angels, and I knew

I was mad-inspired-say either! (anguish worketh inspiration),

Was a man, or beast-perhaps so, for the tiger roars, when speared;

And I walked on, step by step, along the level of my passion

I plucked up her social fictions, bloody-rooted though leaf-verdant,

Trod them down with words of shaming-all the purple and the gold,

All the "landed stakes" and lordships, all, that spirits pure and ardent

Are cast out of love and honor because chancing not to hold.

"For myself I do not argue," said I, “though I love you, madam,

But for better souls that nearer to the height of yours have trod.

And this age shows, to my thinking, still more infidels to Adam, [God.

Than directly, by profession, simple infidels to

"Yet, O God," I said, "O grave," I said, "0 mother's heart and bosom,

With whom first and last are equal, saint and corpse and little child!

We are fools to your deductions, in these fig. ments of heart-closing.

We are traitors to your causes, in these sympathies defiled.

"Learn more reverence, madam, not for rank or wealth-that needs no learning, That comes quickly-quick as sin does, ay, and culminates to sin;

But for Adam's seed, MAN! Trust me, 'tis a clay above your scorning, With God's image stamped upon it, and God's kindling breath within.

"What right have you, madam, gazing in your palace mirror daily,

Getting so by heart your beauty which all others must adore,

While you draw the golden ringlets down your fingers, to vow gayly

You will wed no man that's only good to God, and nothing more?

"Why, what right have you, made fair by that same God-the sweetest woman

Of all women He has fashioned-with your lovely spirit-face,

Which would seem too near to vanish if its smile were not so human,

He had left her, peradventure, when my footstep proved my coming

But for her she half arose, then sate-grew scarlet and grew pale.

Oh, she trembled !-'tis so always with a worldly

man or woman

In the presence of true spirits-what else can they do but quail?

Oh, she fluttered like a tame bird, in among its forest-brothers

Far too strong for it; then drooping, bowed her face upon her hands

And I spake out wildly, fiercely, brutal truths of her and others.

I, she planted in the desert, swathed her, windlike, with my sands.

mon words to grace !

"What right can you have, God's other works to scorn, despise, revile them

In the gross, as mere men, broadly—not as noble men, forsooth

As mere Pariahs of the outer world, forbidden to assoil them

In the hope of living, dying, near that sweetness of your mouth?

"Have you any answer, madam? If my spirit were less earthly,

If its instrument were gifted with a better silver string,

I would kneel down where I stand, and say—Behold me! I am worthy

Of thy loving, for I love thee! I am worthy as a king.

me, friend, for weakness?

233

If she had cursed me, and she might have-or if even, with queenly bearing Which at need is used by women, she had risen up and said,

"Sir, you are my guest, and therefore I have

given you a full hearing,

Now, beseech you, choose a name exacting somewhat less, instead-"

I had borne it!-but that "Bertram "-why it lies there on the paper

A mere word, without her accent-and you cannot judge the weight

Of the calm which crushed my passion. I seemed drowning in a vaporAnd her gentleness destroyed me whom her scorn made desolate.

So, struck backward and exhausted by that inward flow of passion

Which had rushed on, sparing nothing, into forms of abstract truth,

By a logic agonizing through unseemly demonstration,

And by youth's own anguish turning grimly gray the hairs of youth

By the sense accursed and instant, that if even I spake wisely

I spake basely-using truth, if what I spake, indeed was true,

To avenge wrong on a woman-her, who sate

there weighing nicely

'Twas my strength of passion slew me !-fell before her like a stone.

Fast the dreadful world rolled from me, on its roaring wheels of blacknessWhen the light came, I was lying in this cham. ber, and alone.

When the sun has dyed the oriel, I depart, with no last gazes,

No weak moanings (one word only, left in writing for her hands),

Out of reach of all derision, and some unavailing praises,

To make front against this anguish in the far and foreign lands.

Blame me not. I would not squander life in grief-I am abstemious.

I but nurse my spirit's falcon, that its wing may soar again.

There's no room for tears of weakness in the blind eyes of a Phemius!

Into work the poet kneads them-and he does not die till then.

CONCLUSION.

Bertram finished the last pages, while along the silence ever,

Still in hot and heavy splashes, fell the tears on every leaf.

Having ended, he leans backward in his chair, with lips that quiver

From the deep unspoken, ay, and deep unwritten thoughts of grief.

Soh! how still the lady standeth! 'tis a dreama dream of mercies!

deeds as I could do!

By such wrong and woe exhausted-what I suffered and occasioned

As a wild horse through a city runs with lightning in his eyes,

And then dashing at a church's cold and pas. sive wall impassioned, Strikes the death into his burning brain, and blindly drops and dies

standeth still and pale!

'Tis a vision, sure, of mercies, sent to soften his self-curses

Sent to sweep a patient quiet o'er the tossing of his wail.

"Eyes," he said, "now throbbing through me! are ye eyes that did undo me? Shining eyes, like antique jewels set in Parian

statue-stone!

Underneath that calm white forehead, are ye ever | burning torrid [life undone ?" O'er the desolate sand-desert of my heart and

With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air, the purple curtain

Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brows,

While the gliding of the river sends a rippling

noise forever

Very rich he is in virtues-very noble-noble certes;

And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born."

RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY.

moonlight's slant repose.

Said he "Vision of a lady! stand there silent, stand there steady!

Now I see it plainly, plainly; now I cannot hope or doubt

There, the brows of mild repression-there, the lips of silent passion,

Curvèd like an archer's bow to send the bitter arrows out."

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling,

And approached him slowly, slowly, in a gliding measured pace;

With her two white hands extended, as if praying one offended, [face. And a look of supplication, gazing earnest in his

Said he "Wake me by no gesture-sound of breath, or stir of vesture?

Let the blessed apparition melt not yet to its divine !

No approaching-hush, no breathing! or my heart must swoon to death in

The too utter life thou bringest-0 thou dream of Geraldine!"

Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling

But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes, and tenderly

"Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no

woman far above me

the sun,

Toll slowly.

And the oldest ringer said, "Ours is music for the Dead,

When the rebecks are all done."

Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the north side in a row, Toll slowly.

And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes

Of the grassy graves below.

On the south side and the west, a small river' runs in haste, Toll slowly.

And between the river flowing and the fair green trees a-growing

Do the dead lie at their rest.

On the east I sate that day, up against a willow gray, Toll slowly.

Through the rain of willow-branches, I could see the low hill-ranges,

And the river on its way.

There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly, Toll slowly.

While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the solemn noises

Yet death seemed more loud to me.

a one as I?"

Said he "I would dream so ever, like the flow. ing of that river,

Flowing ever in a shadow greenly onward to the sea!

So, thou vision of all sweetness-princely to a full completeness

Would my heart and life flow onward-deathward-through this dream of THEE!"

did all the time