Volume I Part 98 (1/2)

Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me.

Thomas Moore [1779-1852]

”TEARS, IDLE TEARS”

From ”The Princess”

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The cas.e.m.e.nt slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

THE PET NAME

”... the name Which from their lips seemed a caress.”

---Miss Milford's ”Dramatic Scenes”

I have a name, a little name, Uncadenced for the ear, Unhonored by ancestral claim, Unsanctified by prayer and psalm The solemn font anear.

It never did to pages wove For gay romance belong; It never dedicate did move As ”Sacharissa” unto love, ”Orinda” unto song.

Though I write books, it will be read Upon the leaves of none, And afterward, when I am dead, Will ne'er be graved for sight or tread, Across my funeral-stone.

This name, whoever chance to call, Perhaps your smile may win: Nay, do not smile! mine eyelids fall Over mine eyes and feel withal The sudden tears within.

Is there a leaf, that greenly grows Where summer meadows bloom, But gathereth the winter snows, And changeth to the hue of those, If lasting till they come?

Is there a word, or jest, or game, But time incrusteth round With sad a.s.sociate thoughts the same?

And so to me my very name a.s.sumes a mournful sound.

My brother gave that name to me When we were children twain, When names acquired baptismally Were hard to utter, as to see That life had any pain.

No shade was on us then, save one Of chestnuts from the hill; And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof: the mirth being done, He calls me by it still.

Nay, do not smile! I hear in it What none of you can hear,-- The talk upon the willow seat, The bird and wind that did repeat Around, our human cheer.

I hear the birthday's noisy bliss My sisters' woodland glee, My father's praise I did not miss When stooping down, he cared to kiss The poet at his knee,--

And voices which, to name me, aye Their tenderest tones were keeping,-- To some I nevermore can say An answer till G.o.d wipes away In heaven these drops of weeping.