Part 14 (1/2)

”NO MORE BUT SO?”

No more but so? Only with uncold looks, And with a hand not laggard to clasp mine, Think'st thou to pay what debt of love is thine?

No more but so? Like gus.h.i.+ng water-brooks, Freshening and making green the dimmest nooks Of thy friend's soul thy kindliness should flow; But, if 'tis bounded by not saying ”no,”

I can find more of friends.h.i.+p in my books, All lifeless though they be, and more, far more In every simplest moss, or flower, or tree; Open to me thy heart of hearts' deep core, Or never say that I am dear to thee; Call me not Friend, if thou keep close the door That leads into thine inmost sympathy.

XX.

TO A VOICE HEARD IN MOUNT AUBURN.

Like the low warblings of a leaf-hid bird, Thy voice came to me through the screening trees, Singing the simplest, long-known melodies; I had no glimpse of thee, and yet I heard And blest thee for each clearly-carolled word; I longed to thank thee, and my heart would frame Mary or Ruth, some sisterly, sweet name For thee, yet could I not my lips have stirred; I knew that thou wert lovely, that thine eyes Were blue and downcast, and methought large tears, Unknown to thee, up to their lids must rise With half-sad memories of other years, As to thyself alone thou sangest o'er Words that to childhood seemed to say ”No More!”

XXI.

ON READING SPENSER AGAIN.

Dear, gentle Spenser! thou my soul dost lead, A little child again, through Fairy land, By many a bower and stream of golden sand, And many a sunny plain whose light doth breed A suns.h.i.+ne in my happy heart, and feed My fancy with sweet visions; I become A knight, and with my charmed arms would roam To seek for fame in many a wondrous deed Of high emprize--for I have seen the light Of Una's angel's face, the golden hair And backward eyes of startled Florimel; And, for their holy sake, I would outdare A host of cruel Paynims in the fight, Or Archimage and all the powers of h.e.l.l.

XXII.

Light of mine eyes! with thy so trusting look, And thy sweet smile of charity and love, That from a treasure well uplaid above, And from a hope in Christ its blessing took; Light of my heart! which, when it could not brook The coldness of another's sympathy, Finds ever a deep peace and stay in thee, Warm as the suns.h.i.+ne of a mossy nook; Light of my soul! who, by thy saintliness And faith that acts itself in daily life, Canst raise me above weakness, and canst bless The hardest thraldom of my earthly strife-- I dare not say how much thou art to me Even to myself--and O, far less to thee!

XXIII.

Silent as one who treads on new-fallen snow, Love came upon me ere I was aware; Not light of heart, for there was troublous care Upon his eyelids, drooping them full low, As with sad memory of a healed woe; The cold rain s.h.i.+vered in his golden hair, As if an outcast lot had been his share, And he seemed doubtful whither he should go: Then he fell on my neck, and, in my breast Hiding his face, awhile sobbed bitterly, As half in grief to be so long distrest, And half in joy at his security-- At last, uplooking from his place of rest, His eyes shone blessedness and hope on me.

XXIV.

A gentleness that grows of steady faith; A joy that sheds its suns.h.i.+ne everywhere; A humble strength and readiness to bear Those burthens which strict duty ever lay'th Upon our souls;--which unto sorrow saith, ”Here is no soil for thee to strike thy roots, Here only grow those sweet and precious fruits; Which ripen for the soul that well obey'th; A patience which the world can neither give Nor take away; a courage strong and high, That dares in simple usefulness to live, And without one sad look behind to die When that day comes;--these tell me that our love Is building for itself a home above.”

XXV.

When the glad soul is full to overflow, Unto the tongue all power it denies, And only trusts its secret to the eyes; For, by an inborn wisdom, it doth know There is no other eloquence but so; And, when the tongue's weak utterance doth suffice, Prisoned within the body's cell it lies, Remembering in tears its exiled woe: That word which all mankind so long to hear, Which bears the spirit back to whence it came, Maketh this sullen clay as crystal clear, And will not be enclouded in a name; It is a truth which we can feel and see, But is as boundless as Eternity.

XXVI.

TO THE EVENING-STAR.

When we have once said lowly ”Evening-Star!”

Words give no more--for, in thy silver pride, Thou s.h.i.+nest as naught else can s.h.i.+ne beside: The thick smoke, coiling round the sooty bar Forever, and the customed lamp-light mar The stillness of my thought--seeing things glide So samely:--then I ope my windows wide, And gaze in peace to where thou s.h.i.+n'st afar.