Thou who art welcomed and beloved by all?
Was thy existence then too fanciful For our life's common light, who are so dull?
Did thy bright gleam mysterious converse hold With our congenial souls? secrets too bold?
Well, we are safe and strong; for now we sit
Beside a hearth where no dim shadows flit; Where nothing cheers nor saddens, but a fire
Warms feet and hands, nor does to more aspire;
By whose compact, utilitarian heap, The present may sit down and go to sleep,
Nor fear the ghosts who from the dim past walked,
And with us by the unequal light of the old wood-fire talked. E. S. H.
"He that's for heaven itself unfit, Let him not hope to merit me."
And though her charms are a strong law
Compelling all men to admire, They are so clad with lovely awe,
None but the noble dares desire.
He who would seek to make her his, Will comprehend that souls of
grace
Own sweet repulsion, and that 'tis The quality of their embrace
To be like the majestic reach
Of coupled suns, that, from afar, Mingle their mutual spheres, while each
Circles the twin obsequious star:
And in the warmth of hand to hand, Of heart to heart, he'll vow to note And reverently understand
How the two spirits shine remote;
And ne'er to numb fine honor's nerve, Nor let sweet awe in passion melt, Nor fail by courtesies to observe
The space which makes attraction felt;
Nor cease to guard like life the sense Which tells him that the embrace of love
Is o'er a gulf of difference
Love cannot sound, nor death re-
move.
COVENTRY PATMORE.
DUCHESSE BLANCHE.
IT happed that I came on a day
Into a place, there that I say,
Truly the fairest companey
Of ladies that ever man with eye
Had seen together in one place,
Shall I clepe it hap or grace?
Among these ladies thus each one
Sooth to say I saw one
That was like none of the rout,
For I dare swear without doubt,
That as the summer's Sunne bright
Is fairer, clearer, and hath more light
Than any other planet in Heaven,
The moone, or the starres seven,
For all the world, so had she
Surmounten them all of beauty,
Of manner, and of comeliness,
Of stature, and of well set gladnesse,
Of goodly heed, and so well besey,1—
Shortly what shall I more say,
By God, and by his holowes twelve,
It was my sweet, right all herselve.
She had so stedfast countenance
In noble port and maintenance,
And Love that well harde my bone
Had espied me thus soone,
That she full soone in my thought
As, help me God, so was I caught
So suddenly that I ne took
No manner counsel but at her look,
And at my heart for why her eyen
So gladly I trow mine heart, seyen
That purely then mine own thought
Said, Twere better to serve her for
nought
Than with another to be well.
I saw her dance so comely,
Carol and sing so swetely,
Laugh and play so womanly,
And look so debonairly,
So goodly speak, and so friendly,
That certes I trow that evermore
N'as seen so blissful a treasore,
For every hair on her head,
Sooth to say, it was not red,
Nor neither yellow nor brown it n'as,
Methought most like gold it was,
And such eyen my lady had.
Debonnaire, good, glad, and sad,
Simple, of good mokel, not too wide,
Thereto her look was not aside,
Nor overt whart, but beset so well
It drew and took up every dell.
All that on her 'gan behold
Her eyen seemed anon she would
Have mercy.-folly wenden so,
But it was never the rather do.
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