Volume Ii Part 143 (1/2)

SONG OF THE OLD LOVE From ”Supper at the Mill”

When sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries, For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, And a scarlet sun doth rise; Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, And the icy founts run free, And the bergs begin to bow their heads, And plunge, and sail in the sea.

O my lost love, and my own, own love, And my love that loved me so!

Is there never a c.h.i.n.k in the world above Where they listen for words from below?

Nay, I spoke once, and I grieved thee sore, I remember all that I said, And now thou wilt hear me no more--no more Till the sea gives up her dead.

Thou didst set thy foot on the s.h.i.+p, and sail To the ice-fields and the snow; Thou wert sad, for thy love did naught avail, And the end I could not know; How could I tell I should love thee to-day, Whom that day I held not dear?

How could I know I should love thee away When I did not love thee anear?

We shall walk no more through the sodden plain With the faded bents o'erspread, We shall stand no more by the seething main While the dark wrack drives o'erhead; We shall part no more in the wind and the rain, Where thy last farewell was said; But perhaps I shall meet thee and know thee again When the sea gives up her dead.

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

REQUIESCAT

Strew on her roses, roses, And never a spray of yew!

In quiet she reposes: Ah! would that I did too.

Her mirth the world required: She bathed it in smiles of glee.

But her heart was tired, tired, And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning, In mazes of heat and sound.

But for peace her soul was yearning, And now peace laps her round.

Her cabined, ample Spirit, It fluttered and failed for breath.

To-night it doth inherit The vasty hall of Death.

Matthew Arnold [1822-1888]

TOO LATE ”DOWGLAS, DOWGLAS, TENDIR AND TREU”

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas, In the old likeness that I knew, I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Never a scornful word should grieve ye, I'd smile on ye sweet as the angels do: Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

Oh, to call back the days that are not!

My eyes were blinded, your words were few: Do you know the truth now, up in heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true?

I never was worthy of you, Douglas; Not half worthy the like of you: Now all men beside seem to me like shadows-- I love you, Douglas, tender and true.

Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, Douglas, Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; As I lay my heart on your dead heart, Douglas, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true!

Dinah Maria Mulock Craik [1826-1887]