Chapter C: H. Lüders

LOVE IN LONDON.

In London town men love and hate,
And find Death tragic soon or late,
Just in the old unreasoning way,
As if they breathed the warmer day
In Athens when the gods were great.

Mine is the town by Thames's spate,
And so it chanced I found my fate,
One of my fates, that is to say--
In London town.

The whole world comes to those who wait;
Mine came and went with one year's date.
Pity it made so short a stay!
The sweetest face, the sweetest sway
That ever Love did consecrate
In London town.

JUSTIN HUNTLY MCCARTHY.

SLEEP.

O happy sleep! that bear'st upon thy breast
The blood-red poppy of enchanting rest,
Draw near me through the stillness of this place
And let thy low breath move across my face,
As faint winds move above a poplar's crest.

The broad seas darken slowly in the west;
The wheeling sea-birds call from nest to nest;
Draw near and touch me, leaning out of space,
O happy Sleep!

There is no sorrow hidden or confess'd,
There is no passion uttered or suppress'd,
Thou can'st not for a little while efface;
Enfold me in thy mystical embrace,
Thou sovereign gift of God, most sweet, most blest,
O happy Sleep!

ADA LOUISE MARTIN.

TO TAMARIS.

It is enough to love you. Let me be
Only an influence, as the wandering sea
Answers the moon that yet foregoes to shine;
Only a sacrifice, as in a shrine
The lamp burns on where dead eyes cannot see;
Only a hope unknown, withheld from thee,
Yet ever like a petrel plaintively,
Just following on to life's far twilight line,
It is enough.

Go where you will, I follow. _You_ are free.
Alone, unloved, to all eternity
I track that chance no virtue can divine,
When pitiful, loving, with fond hands in mine,
You say: "True heart, here take your will of me,
It is enough."

THEO. MARZIALS.

WHEN I SEE YOU.

When I see you my heart sings
Deep within me for deep love;
In my deep heart's dreamiest grove,
Your bright image comes like Spring's,
Bringing back the murmured dove
To the wan dim watersprings.
Would my tongue could tell the things
Love seems but one echo of
When I see you!

Hope lies dying, Time's disproof
Strips love's roses to the stings;
But the bird that knows its wings
Bear it where it will aloof,
Sings not, Love, as my heart sings
When I see you.

THEO. MARZIALS.

CARPE DIEM.

To-day, what is there in the air
That makes December seem sweet May?
There are no swallows anywhere,
Nor crocuses to crown your hair,
And hail you down my garden way.

Last night the full moon's frozen stare
Struck me, perhaps; or did you say
Really,--you'd come, sweet friend and fair!
To-day?

To-day is here:--come! crown to-day
With Spring's delight or Spring's despair,
Love cannot bide old Time's delay:--
Down my glad gardens light winds play,
And my whole life shall bloom and bear
To-day.

THEO. MARZIALS.

THE OLD AND THE NEW.

The Old Year goes down-hill so slow
And silent that he seems to know
The mighty march of time, foretelling
His passing: into his eyelids welling
Come tears of bitter pain and woe.

The lusty blast can scarce forego
His cape about his ears to blow,
As feebly to his final dwelling
The Old Year goes.

Within the belfry, row on row,
The bells are swinging to and fro;
Now joyfully the chimes are swelling--
Now solemn and few the notes are knelling--
For here the New Year comes:--and lo!
The Old Year goes!

BRANDER MATTHEWS.

SUB ROSA.

Under the rows of gas-jets bright,
Bathed in a blazing river of light,
A regal beauty sits; above her
The butterflies of fashion hover,
And burn their wings, and take to flight.

Mark you her pure complexion,-white
Though flush may follow flush? Despite
Her blush, the lily I discover
Under the rose.

All compliments to her are trite;
She has adorers left and right;
And I confess, here, under cover
Of secrecy, I too-I love her!
Say naught; she knows it not. 'Tis quite
Under the rose.

BRANDER MATTHEWS.

"VIOLET."

Violet, delicate, sweet,
Down in the deep of the wood,
Hid in thy still retreat,
Far from the sound of the street,
Man and his merciless mood:-

Safe from the storm and the heat,
Breathing of beauty and good
Fragrantly, under thy hood
Violet.

Beautiful maid, discreet,
Where is the mate that is meet,
Meet for thee-strive as he could-
Yet will I kneel at thy feet,
Fearing another one should,
Violet!

COSMO MONKHOUSE.

O SCORN ME NOT.

O scorn me not, although my worth be slight,
Although the stars alone can match thy light,
Although the wind alone can mock thy grace,
And thy glass only show so fair a face--
Yet--let me find some favour in thy sight.

The proud stars will not bend from their chill height,
Nor will the wind thy faithfulness requite.
Thy mirror gives thee but a cold embrace.
O scorn me not.

My lamp is feeble, but by day or night
It shall not wane, and, but for thy delight,
My footsteps shall not for a little space
Forego the echo of thy tender pace,-
I would so serve and guard thee if I might.
O scorn me not.

COSMO MONKHOUSE.

TEN THOUSAND POUNDS.

Ten thousand Pounds (a-year), no more
Nor less will suit. A man is poor
Without his horses and his cows,
His city and his country house,
His salmon river and his moor;

And many things unmissed before
Would be desired and swell the score;
But 'tis enough when fate allows
Ten thousand Pounds.

But O, my babies on the floor;
My wife's blithe welcome at the door;
My bread well-earned with sweat of brows;
My garden flowerful, green of boughs;
Friends, books;-I would not change ye for
Ten thousand Pounds.

COSMO MONKHOUSE.

ONE OF THESE DAYS.

One of these days, my lady whispereth,
A day made beautiful with summer's breath,
Our feet shall cease from these divided ways,
Our lives shall leave the distance and the haze
And flower together in a mingling wreath.

No pain shall part us then, no grief amaze,
No doubt dissolve the glory of our gaze;
Earth shall be heaven for us twain, she saith,
One of these days.

Ah love, my love! Athwart how many Mays
The old hope lures us with its long delays!
How many winters waste our fainting faith!
I wonder, will it come this side of death,
With any of the old sun in its rays,
One of these days?

JOHN PAYNE.

LIFE LAPSES BY.

Life lapses by for you and me;
Our sweet days pass us by and flee
And evermore death draws us nigh;
The blue fades fast out of our sky,
The ripple ceases from our sea.
What would we not give, you and I,
The early sweet of life to buy?
Alas! sweetheart, that cannot we;
Life lapses by.

But though our young days buried lie,
Shall love with Spring and Summer die?
What if the roses faded be?
We in each other's eyes will see
New Springs, nor question how or why
Life lapses by.

JOHN PAYNE.

BEYOND THE NIGHT.

Beyond the night no withered rose
Shall mock the later bud that blows,
Nor lily blossom e'er shall blight,
But all shall gleam more pure and white
Than starlight on the Arctic snows.

Sigh not when daylight dimmer grows,
And life a turbid river flows,
For all is sweetness-all is light
Beyond the night.

Oh, haste, sweet hour that no man knows;
Uplift us from our cumbering woes
Where joy and peace shall crown the right,
And perished hopes shall blossom bright-
To aching hearts bring sweet repose
Beyond the night.

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.

AMONG MY BOOKS.

Among my books-what rest is there
From wasting woes! what balm for care!
If ills appal or clouds hang low,
And drooping dim the fleeting show,
I revel still in visions rare.

At will I breathe the classic air,
The wanderings of Ulysses share;
Or see the plume of Bayard flow
Among my books.

Whatever face the world may wear-
If Lilian has no smile to spare,
For others let her beauty blow,
Such favours I can well forgo;
Perchance forget the frowning fair
Among my books.

SAMUEL MINTURN PECK.