III.

I would not look up thither past thy head
Because the door opes, like that child, I know,
For I should have thy gracious face instead,

Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low
Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together,
And lift them up to pray, and gently tether

Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread?

IV.

If this was ever granted, I would rest

My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands
Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,

Pressing the brain which too much thought expands,
Back to its proper size again, and smoothing
Distortion down till every nerve had soothing,
And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed.

V.

How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!
I think how I should view the earth and skies
And sea, when once again my brow was bared
After thy healing, with such different eyes.
O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:
And knowing this is love, and love is duty.
What further may be sought for or declared?

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VI.

Guercino drew this angel I saw teach

(Alfred, dear friend!) that little child to pray, Holding the little hands up, each to each

Pressed gently, with his own head turned away
Over the earth where so much lay before him

Of work to do, tho' heaven was opening o'er him,
And he was left at Fano by the beach.

VII.

We were at Fano, and three times we went
To sit and see him in his chapel there,
And drink his beauty to our soul's content

- My angel with me too: and since I care For dear Guercino's fame (to which in power And glory comes this picture for a dower,

Fraught with a pathos so magnificent)

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VIII.

And since he did not work thus earnestly

At all times, and has else endured some wrong
I took one thought his picture struck from me,
And spread it out, translating it to song.
My love is here. Where are you, dear old friend?
How rolls the Wairoa at your world's far end?
This is Ancona, yonder is the sea.

50

EVELYN HOPE.

I.

EAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead!

That is her book-shelf, this her bed;
She plucked that piece of geranium-flower,
Beginning to die too, in the glass;

Little has yet been changed, I think:
The shutters are shut, no light may pass
Save two long rays thro' the hinge's chink.

II.

Sixteen years old when she died!

Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside,

Her life had many a hope and aim,

Duties enough and little cares,

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And now was quiet, now astir,

Till God's hand beckoned unawares,

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was naught to each, must I be told?
We were fellow mortals, naught beside?

IV.

No, indeed! for God above

Is great to grant, as mighty to make,

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And creates the love to reward the love:
I claim you still, for my own love's sake!
Delayed it may be for more lives yet,

Thro' worlds I shall traverse, not a few:
Much is to learn, much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.

V.

J 3-2

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But the time will come, at last it will,
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) ry!

+2=2
very positive
idealize

In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay?
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine,
And your mouth of your own geranium's red
And what you would do with me, in fine,

In the new life come in the old one's stead.

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sub.

VI.

I have lived (I shall say) so much since then,
Given up myself so many times,

Gained me the gains of various men,

Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; Yet one thing, one in my soul's full scope, Either I missed or itself missed me: And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! What is the issue? let us see!

M

VII.

I loved you, Evelyn, all the while!

My heart seemed full as it could hold;

There was place and to spare for the frank young

smile,

And the red young mouth, and the hair's young
gold.

So hush, I will give you this leaf to keep:
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand!

There, that is our secret: go to sleep!

You will wake, and remember, and understand,

50

I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world, no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
'Mid the blank miles round about:

O, for I 'll save it! Seven years since,

Ni passed thro Paris, stopped a day

I

To see the baptism of your Prince;

Saw, made my bow, and went my way:
Walking the heat and headache off,

I took the Seine-side, you surmise,
Thought of the Congress, Gortschakoff,
Cavour's appeal and Buol's replies,
So sauntered till - what met my eyes?

IC

II.

Only the Doric little Morgue!

The dead-house where you show your drowned: Petrarch's Vaucluse makes proud the Sorgue,

Your Morgue has made the Seine renowned. One pays one's debt in such a case;

I plucked up heart and entered, — stalked, Keeping a tolerable face

Compared with some whose cheeks were chalked : Let them! No Briton 's to be balked!

III.

First came the silent gazers; next,

A screen of glass, we 're thankful for; Last, the sight's self, the sermon's text,

The three men who did most abhor Their life in Paris yesterday,

So killed themselves: and now, enthroned Each on his copper couch, they lay

Fronting me, waiting to be owned.

I thought, and think, their sin 's atoned.

IV.

Poor men, God made, and all for that!
The reverence struck me; o'er each head
Religiously was hung its hat,

Each coat dripped by the owner's bed,
Sacred from touch: each had his berth,
His bounds, his proper place of rest,

Who last night tenanted on earth

Some arch, where twelve such slept abreast, Unless the plain asphalt seemed best.

V.

How did it happen, my poor boy?
You wanted to be Buonaparte

And have the Tuileries for toy,

And could not, so it broke your heart?

You, old one by his side, I judge,

Were, red as blood, a socialist,

A leveller! Does the Empire grudge
You've gained what no Republic missed?
Be quiet, and unclench your fist!

ΙΟ

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