Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive, Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loopholes around, Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground, Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies, Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field, Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that would not be heal'd, Lopping away of the limb by the pitifulpitiless knife, Torture and trouble in vain, for it never could save us a life, Valor of delicate women who tended the hospital bed, Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead, Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief, Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butcher'd for all that we knew Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still-shatter'd walls THE LOVER'S TALE. THE original preface to "The Lover's Tale" states that it was composed in my nineteenth year. Two only of the three parts then written were printed, when, feeling the imperfection of the poem, I withdrew it from the press. One of my friends, however, who, boy-like, admired the boy's work, distributed among our common associates of that hour some copies of these two parts, without my knowledge, without the omissions and amendments which I had in contemplation, and marred by the many misprints of the compositor. Seeing that these two parts have of late been mercilessly pirated, and that what I had deemed scarce worthy to live is not allowed to die, may I not be pardoned if I suffer the whole poem at last to come into the light, accompanied with a reprint of the sequel, a work of my mature life, "The Golden Supper "? May, 1879. - ARGUMENT. Julian, whose consin and foster-sister, Camilla, has been wedded to his friend and rival, Lionel, endeavors to narrate the story of his own love for her, and the strange sequel. He speaks (in Parts II. and III.) of having been haunted by visions and the sound of bells, tolling for a funeral, and at last ringing for a marriage; but he breaks away, overcome, as he approaches the Event, and a witness to it completes the tale. A mountain nest the pleasure-boat Will govern a whole life from birth to that rock'd Of dewy dawning and the amber eyes When thou and I, Camilla, thou and I Were borne about the bay or safely moor'd Beneath a low-brow'd cavern, where the tide Plash'd, sapping its worn ribs; and all without The slowly ridging rollers on the cliffs ('lash'd, calling to each other, and thro' the arch Down those loud waters, like a setting star, Mixt with the gorgeous west the lighthouse shone, And silver-smiling Venus ere she fell Most starry-fair, but kindled from within As 't were with dawn. She was darkhaired, dark-eyed : death, Trust me, long ago I should have died, if it were possible To die in gazing on that perfectness Which I do bear within me: I had died, But from my farthest lapse, my latest ebb, Thine image, like a charm of light and strength Upon the waters, push'd me back again On these deserted sands of barren life. Tho' from the deep vault where the heart of Hope Fell into dust, and crumbled in the dark Forgetting how to render beautiful Her countenance with quick and healthful blood Thou didst not sway me upward; could I perish While thou, a meteor of the sepulchre, Didst swathe thyself all round Hope's quiet urn Forever? He, that saith it, hath o'erstept The slippery footing of his narrow wit, | And fall'n away from judgment. Thou art light, To which my spirit leaneth all her flow ers, And length of days, and immortality Of thought, and freshness ever self-renew'd. For Time and Grief abode too long with Life, And, like all other friends i' the world, at last They grew aweary of her fellowship : Oh, such dark eyes! a single glance of So Time and Grief did beckon unto And Death drew nigh and beat the doors | And first of love, tho' every turn and of Life; But thou didst sit alone in the inner house, A wakeful portress, and didst parle with "This is a charmed dwelling which I So Death gave back, and would no fur- Yet is my life nor in the present time, A body journeying onward, sick with The weight as if of age upon my limbs, The grasp of hopeless grief about my heart, And all the senses weaken'd, save in that, Into the granaries of memory Chink'd as you see, and seam'd—and all the while The light soul twines and mingles with the growths depth Between is clearer in my life than all ye ask. How should the broad and open flower My inward sap, the hold I have on earth, Which yet upholds my life, and evermore Of vigorous early days, attracted, won, palms, flower, Who toils across the middle moon-lit The color and the sweetness from the nights, Or when the white heats of the blinding rose, Many, many years | The careful burden of our tender years (For they seem many and my most of life, And well I could have linger'd in that As Love and I do number equal years, So she, my love, is of an age with me. How like each other was the birth of each! On the same morning, almost the same hour, Under the selfsame aspect of the stars, (O falsehood of all starcraft!) we were born. How like each other was the birth of each! The sister of my mother-she that bore With its true-touched pulses in the flow world My mother's sister, mother of my love, Who had a twofold claim upon my heart, One twofold mightier than the other was, In giving so much beauty to the world, And so much wealth as God had charged her with Loathing to put it from herself forever, Left her own life with it; and dying thus, Crown'd with her highest act the placid face And breathless body of her good deeds past. gave Her life, to me delightedly fulfill'd ness. Dreaming of both: nor was his love the less Because it was divided, and shot forth Boughs on each side, laden with wholesome shade, Wherein we nested sleeping or awake, And sang aloud the matin-song of life. She was my foster-sister: on one arm The flaxen ringlets of our infancies Wander'd, the while we rested: one soft lap Pillow'd us both a common light of eyes Was on us as we lay our baby lips, Kissing one bosom, ever drew from thence The stream of life, one stream, one life, one blood, One sustenance, which, still as thought grew large, Still larger moulding all the house of thought, Made all our tastes and fancies like, perhaps - All-all but one; and strange to me, and sweet, Sweet thro' strange years to know that whatsoe'er Our general mother meant for me alone, Our mutual mother dealt to both of As was our childhood, so our infancy, So we were born, so orphan'd. She We cried when we were parted; when I was motherless And I without a father. So from each Of those two pillars which from earth uphold and Our childhood, one had fallen away, all |