Part 9 (1/2)

The world goes up and the world goes down, And the suns.h.i.+ne follows the rain; And yesterday's sneer and yesterday's frown Can never come over again, Sweet wife: No, never come over again.

For woman is warm though man be cold, And the night will hallow the day; Till the heart which at even was weary and old Can rise in the morning gay, Sweet wife; To its work in the morning gay.

Andernach, 1851.

THE UGLY PRINCESS

My parents bow, and lead them forth, For all the crowd to see-- Ah well! the people might not care To cheer a dwarf like me.

They little know how I could love, How I could plan and toil, To swell those drudges' scanty gains, Their mites of rye and oil.

They little know what dreams have been My playmates, night and day; Of equal kindness, helpful care, A mother's perfect sway.

Now earth to earth in convent walls, To earth in churchyard sod: I was not good enough for man, And so am given to G.o.d.

Bertrich in the Eifel, 1851.

SONNET

The baby sings not on its mother's breast; Nor nightingales who nestle side by side; Nor I by thine: but let us only part, Then lips which should but kiss, and so be still, As having uttered all, must speak again-- O stunted thoughts! O chill and fettered rhyme Yet my great bliss, though still entirely blest, Losing its proper home, can find no rest: So, like a child who whiles away the time With dance and carol till the eventide, Watching its mother homeward through the glen; Or nightingale, who, sitting far apart, Tells to his listening mate within the nest The wonder of his star-entranced heart Till all the wakened woodlands laugh and thrill-- Forth all my being bubbles into song; And rings aloft, not smooth, yet clear and strong.

Bertrich, 1851

THE SWAN-NECK

Evil sped the battle play On the Pope Calixtus' day; Mighty war-smiths, thanes and lords, In Senlac slept the sleep of swords.

Harold Earl, shot over s.h.i.+eld, Lay along the autumn weald; Slaughter such was never none Since the Ethelings England won.

Thither Lady Githa came, Weeping sore for grief and shame; How may she her first-born tell?

Frenchmen stript him where he fell, Gashed and marred his comely face; Who can know him in his place?

Up and spake two brethren wise, 'Youngest hearts have keenest eyes; Bird which leaves its mother's nest, Moults its pinions, moults its crest.

Let us call the Swan-neck here, She that was his leman dear; She shall know him in this stound; Foot of wolf, and scent of hound, Eye of hawk, and wing of dove, Carry woman to her love.'

Up and spake the Swan-neck high, 'Go! to all your thanes let cry How I loved him best of all, I whom men his leman call; Better knew his body fair Than the mother which him bare.

When ye lived in wealth and glee Then ye scorned to look on me; G.o.d hath brought the proud ones low After me afoot to go.'

Rousing erne and sallow glede, Rousing gray wolf off his feed, Over franklin, earl, and thane, Heaps of mother-naked slain, Round the red field tracing slow, Stooped that Swan-neck white as snow; Never blushed nor turned away, Till she found him where he lay; Clipt him in her armes fair, Wrapt him in her yellow hair, Bore him from the battle-stead, Saw him laid in pall of lead, Took her to a minster high, For Earl Harold's soul to cry.

Thus fell Harold, bracelet-giver; Jesu rest his soul for ever; Angles all from thrall deliver; Miserere Domine.

Eversley, 1851.

A THOUGHT FROM THE RHINE

I heard an Eagle crying all alone Above the vineyards through the summer night, Among the skeletons of robber towers: Because the ancient eyrie of his race Was trenched and walled by busy-handed men; And all his forest-chace and woodland wild, Wherefrom he fed his young with hare and roe, Were trim with grapes which swelled from hour to hour, And tossed their golden tendrils to the sun For joy at their own riches:--So, I thought, The great devourers of the earth shall sit, Idle and impotent, they know not why, Down-staring from their barren height of state On nations grown too wise to slay and slave, The puppets of the few; while peaceful lore And fellow-help make glad the heart of earth, With wonders which they fear and hate, as he, The Eagle, hates the vineyard slopes below.

On the Rhine, 1851.

THE LONGBEARDS' SAGA. A.D. 400