XVIII.

Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked
-What safe my heart holds, tho' no word
Could I repeat now, if I tasked

My powers for ever, to a third

Dear even as you are. Pass the rest
Until I sank upon his breast.

XIX.

Over my head his arm he flung

Against the world; and scarce I felt
His sword, that dripped by me and swung,
A little shifted in its belt,-

For he began to say the while
How South our home lay many a mile.

XX.

So 'mid the shouting multitude

We two walked forth to never more
Return. My cousins have pursued
Their life, untroubled as before

I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place
God lighten! May his soul find grace!

XXI.

Our elder boy has got the clear

Great brow; tho' when his brother's black Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here? And have you brought my tercel back?

I just was telling Adela

How many birds it struck since May.

INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

I.

You know we French stormed Ratisbon:

A mile or so away

On a little mound, Napoléon hd

Stood on our storming-day;

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.

II.

Just as perhaps he mused "My plans
"That soar, to earth may fall,
"Let once my army-leader Lannes
"Waver at yonder wall,"-

Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached 'the mound.

III.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect

By just his horse's mane, a boy:
You hardly could suspect-

(So tight he kept his lips compressed,

Scarce any blood came thro')

You looked twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

IV.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace

"We 've got you Ratisbon!

"The Marshal's in the market-place,

"And you'll be there anon

"To see your flag-bird flap his vans

"Where I, to heart's desire,

"Perched him!" The Chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire.

V.

The Chiefs eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself, as sheathes

A film the mother eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes :

"You 're wounded!" 66

Nay," his soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said:

"I'm killed, Sire! And, his Chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.

SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER.

I.

GR-R-R-there go, my heart's abhorrence!
Water your damned flower-pots, do!
If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence,
God's blood, would not mine kill you!
Oh, that rose has prior claims-

Needs its leaden vase filled brimming?
What, your myrtle-bush wants trimming?
Hell dry you up with its flames!

II.

At the meal we sit together:

Salve tibi! I must hear
Wise talk of the kind of weather,
Sort of season, time of year:

Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely

Dare we hope oak-gulls, I doubt:

What's the Latin name for "parsely"?

What's the Greek name for Swine's Snout?

III.

Whew! We'll have our platter burnished,
Laid with care on our own shelf!
With a fire-new spoon we 're furnished,
And a goblet for ourself,

Rinsed like something sacrificial

Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps

Marked with L. for our initial!

(He, he! There his lily snaps!)

IV.

Saint, forsooth! While brown Dolores
Squats outside the Convent bank,
With Sanchicha, telling stories,

Steeping tresses in the tank,

Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horsehairs,

-Can't I see his dead eye glow

Bright, as 'twere a Barbary corsair's?

(That is, if he 'd let it show!)

V.

When he finishes refection,

Knife and fork he never lays
Cross-w'se to my recollection,
As do I, in Jesu's praise.

I, the Trinity illustrate,

Drinking watered orange-pulpIn three sips the Arian frustrate; While he drains his at one gulp!

VI.

Oh, those melons! If he's able
We 're to have a feast; so nice!
One goes to the Abbot's table,
All of us get each a slice.

How go on your flowers? None uouble?
Not one fruit-sort can you spy?
Strange! And I, too, at such trouble,
Keep 'em close-nipped on the sly!

VII.

There's a great text in Galatians,
Once you trip on it, entails
Twenty-nine distinct damnations
One sure, if another fails.
If I trip him just a-dying,

Sure of Heaven as sure can be,
Spin him round and send him flying
Off to Hell, a Manichee?

VIII.

Or, my scrofulous French novel,
On grey paper with blunt type !
Simply glance at it, you grovel
Hand and foot in Belial's gripe :
If I double down its pages

At the woeful sixteenth print,
When he gathers his greengages,
Ope a sieve and slip it in 't?

IX.

Or there's Satan !-one might venture Pledge one's soul to him, yet leave Such a flaw in the indenture

As he'd miss till, past retrieve, Blasted lay that rose-acacia

We 're so proud of! Hy, Zy, Hine. 'St, there's Vespers! Plena gratiá Ave, Virgo! Gr-r-r-you swine!

IN A GONDOLA.

He sings.

I SEND My heart up to thee, all my heart
In this my singing!

For the stars help me, and the sea bears part;
The very night is clinging

Closer to Venice' streets to leave one space
Above me, whence thy face

May light my joyous heart to thee its dwelling-place.

She speaks.

Say after me, and try to say

My very words, as if each word.,
Came from you of your own accord,

In your own voice, in your own way:

"This woman's heart, and soul, and brain
"Are mine as much as this gold chain
"She bids me wear; which" (say again)
"I choose to make by cherishing
"A precious thing, or choose to fling
"Over the boat-side, ring by ring."
And yet once more say

...

no word more!

Since words are only words. Give o'er!
Unless you call me, all the same,

Familiarly by my pet-name

Which, if the Three should hear you call,
And me reply to, would proclaim
At once our secret to them all:

Ask of me, too, command me, blame—
Do break down the partition-wall
'Twixt ús, the daylight world beholds
Curtained in dusk and splendid folds.
What's left but-all of me to take?
I am the Three's; prevent them, slake
Your thirst! 'Tis said, the Arab sage
In practising with gems can loose
Their subtle spirit in his cruce.
And leave but ashes: so, sweet mage,
Leave them my ashes when thy use
Sucks out my soul, thy heritage!