m IlL. Jpflll wig ;§tk ^''•W;\ "' m m > ru4 SONGS AND BALLADS. But then I saw them stretch their necks And hiss, as traitors do; I saw them arch their evil wings And strike and stun Sir Hugh. The king looked out o' the window bars, And he was sad belike; But I could not see my lord the king For the drowned face in the dyke. The sleepy warders woke and stirred, " The swans are mad in the moat 1" I lifted up Sir Hugh o' the Rose And laid him in the boat. I made him a sark of rushes, With stones at the feet and head. In the deepest dyke of Flanders Sir Hugh o' the Rose lies dead. Feb. 2, 1888. ROMANTIC BALLADS. THE TOWER OF ST. MAUR. "Where's my little son, Nourrice, And whither is he gone ? The youngest son of all I have, He should not gang alone." '' The child is safe enough, lady; He's barely gone an hour : He's gone to see the mason-men, Are building at the tower." " You should have kept him here, Nourrice, I f I was sleeping then— He's over young to gang alone Among the mason-men." " Lie still, lie still, my sweet lady, There's nought to sorrow for; The child is safe enough, I think, I' the keeping of St. Maur ! " i 1 .6 SONGS AND BALLADS. An hour's gone by, an hour or two, And still they're out-of-door— " I wish they'd come at last, Nourrice, My heart is sick and sore." j I " Now hush, lady, my sweet lady, The moon's still small and young ; If they're home before the curfew bell They'll not ha' stayed too long." St. Maur has ta'en his youngest son, To the riverside they're gone, To see the busy mason-men Building a tower of stone. <' O why do they build the tower so strong Against the riverside ? I never saw the wall, father, That was so strong and wide." " God knows the tower had need be strong Between my foes and thee ? Should once Lord Armour enter, child, An ill death would ye dee." ROMANTIC BALLADS. 67 " We need not fear Lord Armour, father, Nor any of his kin ; Since God has given us such a wall, They cannot enter in." " O twice, my babe, and thrice, my babe, Ere ever that I was born, Lord Armour's men have entered in Betwixt the night and the morn. " And once I found my nurse's room Was red with bloody men . . ,, I would not have thy mother die As died my mother then. " And 'tis not seven nights ago I heard, clear in a dream. The bugle cry of Armour, Shrill over wood and stream." " But if so foul a raid, father, Fell out so long agone, Why did they never build before A wall and tower of stone? " 1 8 SONGS AND BALLADS. " Many's the time, my pretty babe, Ere ever this way you went, We built the tower both thick and broad- An' we might as well ha' stent. " Many's the time we built the tower, Wi' the grey stone and the brown. But aye the floods in autumn Washed all the building down. '' And in my mind I see the morn When we'll be brought to dee— Yoursel' and your seven brothers, And your young mother, and me. " And oh, were it any but Armour, Oh God, were it any but she— Before the Lord, my eyes grow dark With the ill sight that I see." Among the busy mason-men, Are building at the tower, There's a swarthy gipsy mason, A lean man and a dour. I ROMANTIC BALLADS. He's lain the hammer down at last Out of his bony hand . . . " Did ye never hear the spell, St Maur, Gars any tower to stand ? " " O what's the spell, thou black gipsy, I prithee rede it now: There never was any mason-man Shall earn such wage as thou." if I dare not speak the spell, St. Maur, Lest you should do me an ill, For a cruel spell, and an evil spell, Is the spell that works your will." '' There's no spell but I'll risk it, man, An' the price were half my lands— To keep my wife and children safe Out of Lord Armour's hands." '' O, more than lands, and more than fee, You'll pay me for the spell " [blood, " An' the price were half my heart's red I'd pay it down as well." I P II J o SONGS AND BALLADS. " O what's the blood of a sinful heart To bind the stones that fall ? St. Maur, you'll build your christened child Alive into the wall." St. Maur has turned on his heel so light, And angry he turns away : " Gang to the devil another time When ye ask what ye ask to-day." I I I He's ta'en his young son by the hand— He's opened wide the gate, " Your mother's been sick a month by now, And she'll mourn sore if we're late." They had not gone a little way, An' the child began to call— " See how the flood runs high, father, And washes at the wall 1" They had not gone a mickle way, St. Maur began to brood, " 'Tis the bugle cry of Armour, Shrill over stream and wood." ROMANTIC BALLADS. " And must they slay me, father dear, And my seven brothers tall ? " " Gin that's the blast of Armour, laddie, I fear they'll slay us all." " And will they slay my mother, then, That looks so bonny and small ?" "Come back, come back, thou little lad To the masons at the wall." The flood runs high, and still more high, And washes stone from stone— " In another hour," say the masons, " Our work is all undone." The flood runs high and still more high, And the bugle rings anear ; The masons looking o'er the wall Are blue and stark with fear. There's one that's neither stark nor wan, But never he looked so well; [cries, 11 Shall I gang to the devil, St. Maur ? " he " Or say, shall I gang to yoursel'?" 2 SONGS AND BALLADS. He's set the child high in the air Upon his shoulder bone ; " Shall I leave them all for Armour, Or shall I take but one ? " Never an answer spake St. Maur, And never a word he said : There was not one o' the mason men Looked half so wan and dead. The gipsy's ta'en the frighted child And set him in the wall : " There's a bonny game to play, little man, The bonniest game of all. I m " You'll stand so still and stark, my lad ; I'll build in two's and three's; And I'll throw you a red, red apple in, When the stones reach to your knees. " You'll stand so still and stark, my lad; I'll lay the stones in haste; And I'll throw you the forester's whistle When they reach above your waist. i. ROMANTIC BALLADS. 73 "You'll stand so still and stark, my lad, You'll watch the stones that rise ; And I'll throw you in your father's sword, When they reach above your eyes. " And if you tire o' the play, my lad, You've but to raise a shout: At the least word o' your father's mouth, I'll stop and pluck you out." The gipsy-man builds quick and light, As if he played a play, And the child laughs with a frighted laugh, And the tower ceases to sway. St. Maur stares out of his bloodshot eyes, Like one that's well nigh mad ; [high The tower stands fast, and the stones rise About the little lad. " O father, father, lift me out ! The stones reach over my eyes, And I cannot see you now, father, So swift the walls uprise. 4 SONGS AND BALLADS. " O father, lift me out, father ! I cannot breathe at all, For the stones reach up beyond my head, And its dark down i' the wall." a I But never an answer spake St. Maur, Never a word but one : [mason, "Have you finished your devil's work, Or when will the deed be done ? " " Oh, the work is done that ye wished, St. Maur, 'Twill last for many a year ; There's scarce a sound in the wall by now A mother might not hear. " Gang home, gang home in peace, St. Maur, And sleep sound if you can; There's never a flood shall rock this tower, And never a mortal man. 1 l " Gang home and kiss your bonny wife, And bid her mourn and fast . . She'll weep a year for her youngest chil But she'll dry her eyes at last. ROMANTIC BALLADS. "You'll say he fell in the flood, St. Maur, But you'll not deceive yoursel', For you've lost the bonniest thing you had, And you'll remember well. "Your wife will mourn him a year, St. Maur, You'll mourn him all your life, For you've lost the bonniest thing you had, Better than bairns or wife." Feb. 8, 1888. M 1 SONGS AND BALLADS. THE DUKE OF GUELDRES' WEDDING. GUELDRES, A.D., I405. The Queen and all her waiting-maids Are playing at the ball; Mary Harcourt, the King's cousin, Is fairest of them all. I The Queen and all her waiting-maids Are out on Paris Green ; Mary Harcourt, the King's cousin, Is fairer than the Queen. The King sits in his council room, The grey lords at his side; And through the open window-pane, He sees the game outside. ROMANTIC BALLADS. The King sits in the Council-room, The young lords at his feet; And through the pane he sees the ball, And the ladies young and fleet. " O bonny Mary Harcourt Is seventeen to-day; 'Tis time a lover courted her, And carried her away. '' Where shall I give my own cousin ? Where shall I give my kin ? Ana who shall be the peer of France Her lily hand to win ? " Then up and spake an old grey lord, And keen, keen was his eye : i Your friends ye have already, Sire, Your foes ye'U have to buy." Then up and spake that old grey lord, And keen, keen was his glance: " Marry the girl to Gueldres, Sire, And gain a friend to France !" 1 if SONGS AND BALLADS. " O how shall I wed my own cousin To a little Flemish Lord ? " " Nay ; Gueldres is a gallant Duke, And girt with many a sword." " What will the Duke of Limburg say If such a deed be done ? " [lord, " Last night your foes were twain, my To-day there'll be but one I" " Yet Limburg is a jealous man, And Gueldre's quick and wroth ! " " To-morrow they'll hew each other down, And you'll be quit of both ! " O blithe was Mary Harcourt, The blithest of them all; [lord, When forth there stepped that old grey Out of the Council-hall. O sad was Mary Harcourt, And sorry was her face, [lord, When back there stepped that old grey And left her in her place. . ROMANTIC BALLADS. " O shall I leave my own country, And shall I leave my kin ? " O strange will be the Flemish streets My feet shall wander in ! " O shall I learn to brace a sword, And brighten up a lance ? I've learned to pull the flowers all day, All night I've learned to dance ! " O shall I marry a Flemish knight, And learn a Flemish tongue ? Would I had died an hour ago, When I was blithe and young ? " Twice the moon and thrice the moon Has waxed and waned away, And all the streets of Gueldres shine With sammet and with say; And out of every window hang The crimson squares of silk ; The fountains run with claret wine, The runnels flow with milk. Li SONGS AND BALLADS. The ladies and the knights of France, How gallantly they ride ! But all in silk and red roses, The fairest is the Bride. I " O welcome Mary Harcourt, Thrice welcome lady mine; There's not a knight in all the world Shall be so true as thine. " There's venison in the aumbry, Mary, There's claret in the vat ; Come in and breakfast in the hall Where once my mother sat.". O red, red is the wine that flows, And sweet the minstrels play; But white is Mary Harcourt Upon her wedding-day. O merry are the wedding-guests That sit on either side ; But pale below her crimson flowers And homesick is the Bride. ROMANTIC BALLADS. They had not filled or drank a cup, A cup but barely three, When the Duke of Limburg's herald Came riding furiously. They had not filled or drank a cup, A cup but barely four, When the Duke of Limburg's herald Came riding to the door. " O where's the Duke of Gueldre-land, O where's the groom so gay ? My master sends a wedding-glove To grace the wedding-day ! " O where's the Duke of Gueldre-land, And where's the bride so sweet ? That I may lift this iron glove And hurl it to their feet. " To-day you drink the wine, Gueldres, Your true-love at your side ; You'll lie in the grave to-morrow night, And Limburg with the bride ! " 6 SONGS AND BALLADS. Gueldres is a gallant knight, Gallant and good to see ; So swift he bends to raise the glove, Lifting it courteously. I His coat is of the white velvet, His cap is of the black, A cloak of gold and silver work Hangs streaming at his back. He's ta'en the cloak from his shoulders, As gallant as may be : " Take this, take this, Sir Messenger, You've ridden far for me h " And welcome, welcome, is your glove, And welcome is your word ; Bright are my lady's bonny eyes, i And brighter is the sword. " Now speed you back to Limburg As quickly as you may, I'll meet your lord to-morrow morn, To-day's my wedding-day." m ROMANTIC BALLADS. I The morrow Mary Harcourt Is standing at the door : " I let him go with an angry word, And I'll see him never more. " Mickle I wept to leave my kin, Mickle I wept to stay Alone in foreign Gueldres, when My ladies rode away. " With tears I wet my wedding-sheets, That were so fine and white— But for one glint of your eye, Gueldres, I'd give my soul to-night ! " O long waits Mary Harcourt, Until the sun is down; The mist creeps up along the street, And darkens all the town. O long waits Mary Harcourt, Till grey the dawn up springs ; But who is this that rides so fast That all the pavement rings ? ft I SONGS AND BALLADS. " Is that yourself in the dawn, Gueldres ? Or is it your ghost so wan ? " " O hush ye, hush ye, my bonny bride, 'T is I, a living man. " There's blood upon my hands, Mary, There's blood upon my lance; Go in, and leave a rougher knight Than e'er you met in France ! " " O what's the blood of a foe, Gueldres, That I should keep away ? I did not love you yester morn, I'd die for you to-day. " I'll hold your dripping horse, Gueldres, I'll hold your heavy lance; I'd rather die your serving-maid Than live the Queen of France !" He's caught her in his happy arms, He's clasped her to his side. May God give every gallant knight So blithe and bonny a bride ! April 27, 1887. ROMANTIC BALLADS. RUDEL AND THE LADY OF TRIPOLI. (PROVENCE, IISO.) There was ,in all the world of France No singer half so sweet: The first note of his viol brought A crowd into the street. He stepped as young and bright and glad As the Angel Gabriel; And only when we heard him sing Our eyes forgot Rudel. And as he sat in Avignon With princes at their wine, In all that lusty company Was none so fresh and fine. 16 SONGS AND BALLADS. His kirtle's of the Arras-blue, His cap of pearls and green, His golden curls fall tumbling round The fairest face I've seen. But hark ! the lords are laughing loud And lusty in their mirth, For each has pledged his own lady, The fairest on the earth. I '' Now, hey, Rudel! You singer, Rudel! Say, who's the fairest lass ? I'll wager many a lady's eyes Have been your looking-glass !" And loud the silver goblets rang, And clattered chain and sword, His lady's portrait each has ta'en, And dashed it on the board. Then half he smiled and half he sighed, His laughing eye was blurred; He took the pictures in his hand, Nor ever spake a word. ROMANTIC BALLADS. For in the woods of Tarascon, Where grey the olives bow, There dwelt a slender maiden, Whom he remembered now. 1 i O painted eyes and painted locks, And look of dainty wile ; He lifts them up and lays them down With that remembering smile. O frame of gold and frame of pearls, Ivory carven and cleft; He lifts them up and lays them down Till only one is left* There's only a twist of silver About a parchment skin That's lain so close against a heart The colour's worn and thin. I i (R There's only a twist of foreign wire— There's only a faded face— What ails, what ails Geoffrey Rudel ? He 's fallen from his place. It, 18 SONGS AND BALLADS. He's fallen plumb across the board Without a word or sign; The golden curls that hide his face Are dappled in the wine. He's fallen numb and dumb as death, While all the princes stare— Then up one old Crusading Knight Arose, and touched his hair : " Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel, Give me the picture baek ! Without her face against my breast The world grows dim and black. W Rudel, Rudel, Geoffrey Rudel, Give back my life to me ! Or I will kill you where you lie, And take it desperately 1" Then straight awoke and rose Rudel- And hey, but he was white, And thin and fierce his lips were set; His eyes were cold and bright. ROMANTIC BALLADS. The picture's in his left hand, The dagger's in the right. Stabbed to the core, upon the floor Fell down that stranger-knight. Rang loud the swords in the scabbards, The voices loud and high— " Let pass, let pass 1" cried out Rudel, '' Let pass before he die—" The lords fell back in grim array Around the dying man : " For pity and pardon let him kneel And pray, if so he can ! " But never a word said Geoffrey Save only, " Who is she ? " One moment smiled the dying man— " The Lady of Tripoli 1" He opened wide his sea-blue eyes, Dead, in a face of stone. . . . Out to the windy dark Rudel, Unhindered, rushed alone. 41 m I SONGS AND BALLADS. Part II. 1 K m Alone, alone, goes young Rudel Beside the unflowering sea— The stars begin to point the blue, And still alone is he. In vain for him the minstrels pipe, And all in vain for him The ladies dance by candle-light Until the dawn is dim. Eft WL In vain for him the huntsmen blow Their revels on the horn, The hunters dash across the sands Unnoticed in the morn. He's gone to seek the dreary moor, Where no man lives or stirs, Only the wheeling moor-fowl That rise out of the furze. (it ROMANTIC BALLADS. He's gone to seek the lonely tarns That nothing earthly fills, Only the rains of Heaven That fall upon the hills. i And none above the Cyprus wine Can chaunt a roundelay, And boast, while others stoop to hear, " Rudel's new song to-day ! " For silent is the ballad now, And silent is the song, And all alone above the sea He wanders all day long. At noon, when heathen pilgrims pray About her Eastern place, He draws the parchment from his breast And gazes on her face. Then in his gaunt and hollow eyes A tender smile will spring, Like the first faint flush of almond bloom On leafless woods in spring. i i I I a SONGS AND BALLADS. And humbled to the very heart, He looks across the sea, And images beyond the waves The domes of Tripoli. "And who am I," he grieves, "alas, To sing of such as she ! " And so, and even so for years, For years and every day, Like pilgrims to the Holy Land, He wears his life away. Faded with all the rains of Heaven, His tattered cloak of green; And torn his locks, and dark his brow, And altered is his mien. And none of all his friends of old Who praised and loved him well, Would turn to meet this ragged man And laugh, and cry " Rudel 1 " ROMANTIC BALLADS. Part III. " Hew the timbers of sandalwood, And planks of ivory ; Rear up the shining masts of gold, And let us put to sea. "Sew the sails with a silken thread That all are silken too, Sew them with scarlet pomegranates, Upon a sheet of blue. " Rig the ship with a rope of gold, And let us put to sea— And now good-bye to good Marseilles, And hey for Tripoli! " All the harbour's full of boats, A crowd is on the strand, '' Adieu, Rudel! adieu, Rudel 1" Comes echoing from the land. Ill 4 SONGS AND BALLADS. " Why did you leave us, dear Rudel, To roam for seven year— And come and sing one golden song And go and leave us here ? I 1 " Why did you ever hush so long, If you can sing so well ? A song ! one other perfect song ! One other song, Rudel! " Up and down the golden ship That's sailing to the south, Rudel goes singing to himself, A smile about his mouth. And up the masts and on the bridge The sailors stop to hear : There's not a lark in the May-heaven Can sing so high and clear ! There's not a thrush or a nightingale Can sing so full and glad. Yet there's the sigh of a soul in the song. And the soul is wise and sad. ROMANTIC BALLADS. < Rudel goes singing to himself As he looks across the sea— " Lady," he says, " I'll sing at last, Please God, in Tripoli." For pale across the wan water A shining wonder grows, As pale as on the murky night The dawn of grey and rose. And dim across the flood so grey A city 'gins to rise, A pale, enchanted Eastern place, White under radiant skies. O domes and spires, O minarets, O heavy-headed drowse Of nodding palms, O strangling rose Sweet in the cypress boughs ! " Heave-to, O mariners, heave ashore As swiftly as may be. Go, now, my stripling page, along The streets of Tripoli, *#** ■m )6 SONGS AND BALLADS. And say Rudel, Rudel, has come, And say that I am he." The page-boy runs along the streets, The mariners gear the ship ; Rudel sits down at a gold tressel, A wine cup at his Up. "And when, and when, O when," he cries, " Shall I see my heart's delight? " And lo, there glides along the quay A lady like a light. " And when, O Mary in Heaven !" he cries, " Shall I hear her speak my name ? " . And lo, there moves towards the ship A lady like a flame. You could not tell how tall she was, So heaved the light and fell: The shining of enchanted gems, The waving of a veil, She drifts across the golden deck, And stands before Rudel. ROMANTIC BALLADS. But, as she bends to clasp Rudel, He sees her snow-white hair Ravelled in many a ring about Her shoulders gaunt and bare. And as she bends to kiss Rudel He meets her gleaming eyes, That glitter in her ancient skin Like Fire that never dies. And as she calls his name aloud, Her voice is thin and strange, As night-winds in the standing reeds When the moon's about to change. She's opened wide her bridal arms. She's bent her wintry face ;— What ails, what ails Geoffrey Rudel? He has fallen from his place. He's fallen plumb across the board Without a word or sign, His golden locks that stream so bright, Are dappled in the wine. 7 *rfJ SONGS AND BALLADS. fit He's fallen from her straining an Dead as the senseless stone . Out of the world, into the dark, His spirit flits alone. I K U April 24, l8£7. I m ROMANTIC BALLADS. 1 A BALLAD OF ORLEANS. 1429. The fray began at the middle-gate, Between the night and the day; Before the matin bell was rung The foe was far away. There was no knight in the land of France Could gar that foe to flee, Till up there rose a young maiden, And drove them to the sea. m Sixty forts around Orleans town, And sixty forts of stone 1 Sixty forts at our gates last night- To-day there is not one ! Talbot, Suffolk, and Pole are fled Beyond the Loire, in fear— Many a captain who would not drink, Hath drunken deeply there— m fpF I oo SONGS AND BALLADS. Many a captain is fallen and drowned, And many a knight is dead, And many die in the misty dawn While the forts are burning red. J i Sixty forts around Orleans town, And sixty forts of stone I Sixty forts at our gates last night— To-day there is not one I The blood ran off our spears all night As the rain runs off the roofs— God rest their souls that fell i' the fight Among our horses' hoofs ! They came to rob us of our own With sword and spear and lance, They fell and clutched the stubborn earth, And bit the dust of France 1 ft* Sixty forts around Orleans town, And sixty forts of stone I Sixty forts at our gates Inst night- To-day there is not one. ROMANTIC BALLADS. We fought across the moonless dark Against their unseen hands— A knight came out of Paradise And fought among our bands. Fight on, O maiden knight of God, Fight on and do not tire— For lo ! the misty break o' the day Sees all their forts on fire ! § i Ml Sixty forts around Orleans town, And sixty forts of stone ! Sixty forts at our gates last night- To-day there is not one I 1886. 1 I m i SONGS AND BALLADS. if THE DEAD MOTHER. (NORTHUMBERLAND, A.D. I29O.) Lord Roland on his roan horse Is riding far and fast, Though white the eddying snow is driven Along the northern blast. There's snow upon the holly-bush, There's snow upon the pine, There's many a bough beneath the snow He had not thought so fine— For last time Roland crossed the moor He rode to Palestine. Now pale across the windy hills A castle 'gins to rise, With unsubstantial turrets thin, Against the windy skies. ROMANTIC BALLADS. " Welcome, O welcome, Towers of Sands, I welcome you again 1 Yet often in my Syrian tent I saw you far more plain." '4 Lord Roland spurs his roan horse Through all the snow and wind— And soon he's reached those towers so gray, And left the moor behind. i I " Welcome, Sir John the Steward ! How oft in Eastern lands I've called to mind your English face, And sighed to think of Sands. '' If still you love your old play-mate You loved so well of yore— Go up and tell my mother now That Roland's at the door." '' O how shall I tell you, Lord Roland, The news that you must know ?— Your mother is dead, Lord Roland*-*- She died a month ago," I a- 1 IP Hi I' 104 SONGS AND BALLADS. About the middle of the night, When all things turn to sleep, Lord Roland in the darkness Learned that a man can weep. 1 '' 0 why did I stay so long away, And tarry so many a year— 1 And now your face I cannot see, Your voice I cannot hear. E Hi . " In the battle-ranks of Palestine I saw you clear and plain; But now I sob and stretch mine arms And close mine eyes in vain. " There's a flood of death between us now And its waves are dark and dour, W- But if my voice can reach across, I And if the dead have power, Come back, come back from Heaven, mother, | An' it be but for an hour 1" % 1 It's a long road from the heart of the grave, To the home where kinsmen sleep— But a mother thinks no road is long, That hears her children weep. 1 ROMANTIC BALLADS. 105 It's a long, long road from Heaven to Earth, And a weary road, I ween, For them that passed the Gates of Death To reach those gardens green ; I! I The wind has dropt behind the moor, The night is quiet and still, What makes the flesh of Lord Roland To shudder and turn chill ? A breeze blows in at the door, so white, And the fire burns sullen and red, And out of the wind he hears a voice, And he knows the voice is dead. And something stirs in the firelight, " My hands are blue," says the pale voice, " I'll warm them at the fire." 1 io6 SONGS AND BALLADS. ■ I Lord Roland stares across the dusk With stern and terrible eyes, But there's only a wind in the firelight, A wind that shudders and sighs. " My limbs are faint," sighs the weary voice, " My feet are bruised and torn— It's long I've seen no linen sheets, I'll rest me here till morn." There's a pale shape in the chamber now, And shadowy feet that move, The fire goes out in a sullen ash, Like the angry end of love— And out of doors the red cock cries, And then the white and the gray— Where one spirit crossed Whinny-moor, There's two that hurry away. And still Lord Roland sits alone, Stiff, with a look of dread ; And the cold beams of the morning fall About the dead man's head. fuly 5, 1887. ROMANTIC BALLADS. THE KING OF HUNGARY'S DAUGHTER. The King of Hungary's daughter wanders down her garden green, The roses hang in the apple boughs, the lilacs stand between. I i She wanders singing to herself, at peace in the early day, " Glory to God " she sings as clear as saints in Heaven may. The King of Hungary's daughter wanders singing to the gate, And there she hears an angry brawl that stops her singing straight. " O what's the din at the gate, my lords ? " she passes through the door, And there she sees a beggar man that's fallen to the floor. M **^ 108 SONGS AND BALLADS. All white above his blinded eyes an evil stripe goes round; The staff has fallen from his hands, he faints in a deathly swound. There's not a knight i' the castle-yard but spurns the thing that moans, A huddled stain of rags and wounds upon the whited stones. There's not a squire i' the castle-yard but strikes his steely foot, And points his jest at Lazarus that makes such humble suit. I " O knights, for the love of Christ who died, O gentle ladies all, Is there none will give me a crust of bread, a stale crust and a small ? " " There's other mouths for our crusts, beggar, there's dogs and hounds enow, They bring us hares from hunting home, but thou—what bringest thou ? " Tfr ROMANTIC BALLADS. 109 " O knights, there's a time to die, a time to sorrow, a time to jest. Is there never a hole in all your barns where a man may die at rest ? " "How darest thou ask the boon, beggar, a plague upon thy pride ! What horse would lie in the straw, forsooth, whereon a leper died ? " The King of Hungary's daughter hears and reaches out her hand, " Rise up, rise up, thou weary guest, an' thou'st the strength to stand. "I'll lead thee to my chamber, there I'll set the meat and wine, Thou shalt not lie in the^horses' beds, thou'llt sleep more sound in mine." She's ta'en the beggar by the hand; and all the courtiers stare, " And what will the king say now? " they cry; " and what will a maiden dare ? " 1 I 1 I 14 I no SONGS AND BALLADS. " And who shall tell the bonny prince that she is bound to wed ? How will he like a leper laid within his lady's bed ? " They're gone in gangs to spread the news, they whisper loud and sly: The king and all those gentlemen to the maiden's chamber hie. They burst the unlatchet door, and lo! they fall before the bed. Then turned the king's young daughter: "And why do you kneel ? " she said, " There's nothing strange i' the room, I think, but the poor sick man you know, You did not kneel i' the yard downstairs ; why are you kneeling now ? " She looks at all the fainting knights with wide and wondering eyes, She looks towards the bed whereon the Christ in glory lies. JM I ROMANTIC BALLADS. in But she, who sees the Christ in all that suffers, does not see The awful splendour of His crown, the terror of Deity. The knights are blind, they cannot breathe in that unearthly air: The King of Hungary's daughter alone is unaware, Feb. 12, 1888. I i Our 1(Ady of the Broken Heart. " Love seeketh not itself to please, Nor for itself hath any care, But for another gives its ease, And builds a heaven in hell's despair." Blake. I J i * ^ Q A GARDEN PLAY. ACT I. Scene I. An Italian Garden : a tei'race; to the left, an Arbour ; to the right, an Ilex-grove and Shrine. Time. Seventeenth Century, or any time. Hilarion [alone seated in an arbour, in the Public Garden]. And so my April-minded Bellamy Is happy with my friend, and he with her. 'Tis well; and yet 'tis pity ; for, alas, I would not lose her yet, so young she is ! And 'tis a sudden fancy. Scarce a month Since either heard the other's voice at first And started, thinking it a rarer music Than they had known before. Ah, Julian, Bellamy, You are both happy; but I happier, •Because in silence and without reward 1 love the dearest woman in the world ; Oh, worth a thousand sisters ! m l it-: Sfl 1 a m n6 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. [Hesperia passes.,] Can it be ! 0 dream turned truth, change not in air again. How long have I looked forward to this hour, And dare not now believe my love-sick eyes That see things all one colour. Hesp. [coming nearer]. Hilarion? Hil. Hesperia ! ('tis she !) I am glad to meet you. Hesp. Well met indeed ! My father, ailing lately, And sightless now, you know, will second me In welcomes to you. Hil. It is very long Since last I saw him. Is he unwell ? Hesp. I fear He never will be better this side Heaven. And he is all I have ! Hil. Sigh not, dear lady. 1 hope that he may live for many years ; The old are long a-dying. Hesp. He's far from well I think his blindness creeps upon his spirit. Hil. Yet grieve not ere the hour ; for Grief, being come, Is less intolerable than is the dread A GARDEN FLAY. 117 We have of it. 'Tis easy to be sad, When sadness must be, and most natural. It is the fear of Sorrow in happy hours That eats the heart away and cankers life. Hesp. Ay, you were ever melancholy ! Hil. I trust not. I bring you remedies for melancholy. Hesp. You're sad indeed, if such sad thoughts console you 1 Have you no holier cures ? Hil. None for myself. For you that lovely are and well-beloved I never hope to need one. Hesp. Nay, I fear You are unskilled in comfort, for indeed My father's blind this year and dying now ; And I, that sit all day and watch and dread The terrible oncoming of the end. I cannot mind to be considered fair I Who am not fortunate. Hil. There is more love . I' the world than fathers give ! Hesp. But none thus sole And treasurable. Peace to my forebodings ! & 1 y 1 *SSV rrB w*jmmpsxm*msmmm^ i 11 1 I v 118 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Poor welcome to an old friend newly met! Tell me, how have you fared, Hilarion ? Hil. As ever in your absence—bearing life With fortitude, I trust, but as a burden. Hesp. You are very courtly, sir ! I think you younger By a month or so than I, who have out-grown These compliments. Come, tell me of the friends We had at Pisa. How is Frederic—Julian. Hil. The last is here with me. Hesp. What Julian here ? Back from his home in England. Julian here. And I've not seen him ! Tell me, is he well, Strong, happy? Hil. Have we met at last, at last, To speak of Julian ? Tell me of yourself. And we will talk and listen of old days Together. Hesp. Nay, take care ; they are full of Julian ! Hil. No matter so you speak. Say anything! Hesp. Nay, it is you must talk. I have no news. Tell me, I pray, how come you here with Julian ? I do suppose he thinks I am at Pisa, And goes to find me there. A GARDEN PLAY. Hil. To find you ? Julian ? Hesp. Ay. Did he never tell you of our secret ? We were contracted ere he went to England, A year ago when his old father died. My father still was lecturer at Pisa, And Julian ever was his favourite Of all the students. But I thought you knew How our long friendship blazed to sudden love At the ominous threat of parting. Now I hope The worst of that is over. Hil. I never knew it ! I do assure you, lady. I never knew it! Hesp. Nay, nay, it is no matter ! I had thought That Julian would have told you long ago. But he is English, of a sterner make Than we Italians. Tell me now of Julian. Hil. [aside]. O my sweet outraged sister. O my heart, What can I tell ? [Aloud], I think they are false, these English. Hesp. Nay, sir. I will not speak again with you. 'Tis you are false that are so courteous, And yet so quick to blight arj absent friend. Take heed, take heed. Nay, I will never scold ; I II i I'M K 1 120 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. I give you a good-morrow; my father calls me. [Exit Hespe? Hil. [alone], O my sweet sister ! O my broken heart! And O Hesperia, wronged the most of all I How has this triple traitor bound our lives Into one cord of woe. Bellamy ! Bellamy ! My little, childish, and so happy child, Whom none has ever crossed in all the world, Will you grow pale and die perhaps, or sicken At heart with vague and maddening melancholy When he shall marry my Hesperia ? And yet, my sister, if he's true to you He'll wrong the dearest woman in all the world, And break her faithful heart. O treacherous friend ! There is no way but misery out of this. I can not save the nearest things I have From certain sorrow. Heaven, give me counsel, And show me any way that saves them both, Howe'er it break my heart. O patience, patience! Be quiet, hands, and feel not for the sword That will not cut this knot. Oh, I'll be patient, For God wills all, and in His will is rest. If ill be ours, content with ill is best! 1 I VE A GARDEN PLAY. Scene II. On the Terrace. Far off the sea. Julian and Bellamy. Bell. There sets the sun 1 Look how the waters turn ! And see the moon—how large and white arising— Leaps up the fiery sky ! yul. So sudden Love, When first I saw you, in my passionate heart, Shone out and made it holy. Bell. Still the moon, Julian, is but a feeble luminary ; And I am very jealous of the sun, By whose remembered light I shine. What, silent ? And did you never love before you saw me ? yul. Oft with my fancy, never with my heart. Bell. Still, you have loved. I am sorry. See the sky Is grown quite dark and frightened. Jul. Courage, sweet. 'Twas but a cloud ; there shines the moon again Like Love on sorrow. I •ffl 1 i 1 3 I 122 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Bell. Then I'll be your moon. I'll swear you told those other women all And each, she was your sun—but none your moon Merely ! Nay, frown not. . . . From the harbour's edge The fishers push their boats sheer off to sea. Listen, the plashing oars ! . . . Ah, there I heard A word of the song they sing. All day they rest, They rest and waste the common golden hours; For with moon-rising their life's work begins. Julian, I'll be your moon \ Or, if too little, The pale, small evening star ! Jul. (starting) Nay, would you mock me ? Bell. Love? Jul. Were I worthy of you, Bellamy 1 My heart is a black night for you to shine in ! Bell. You come from talking; with Hilarion Surely ? Why, that's the very trick of his tongue I Nay, it is hard on me to be so taxed With a merry heart and a melancholy lover. Be cheered, because I know no way to cheer you— I that was never clever ! Jul. Oh, forgive me. Bell. You are forgiven, Sire, for being sad ! Why, here's the Arch-mourner—here's Hilarion, 1 t -•-.id *^k A GARDEN PLAY. My brother, whose one jest lies in his name— I SI (And that's as fit as a farce at a funeral!) The chief Apostle of Misery ! He's in earnest. Last week he laughed at lovers; but on Thursday You and I quarrelled, Julian ; and thereat, From the strangeness of his speech, I do believe He fell in love to be more miserable; But, silence. Here he comes. Jul. Good even, Hilarion. Bell. This rose I'll give you for your thoughts, my brother. Hil. I take your rose, and give you leave to guess them. Bell. Oh ! How the sun's no great light after all But a lantern riddled with the lucky shots Of you philosophers. Or how this rose Is a pleasant bed for a cankerworm to lie in. What reck I of your dreams ? Hil. Not much, I think. 'Tis late, my little sister ! , Bell. Well, good-night. You would talk secrets with my Julian. And so you cheer him better than I can. I'll not be jealous. [ Turns, with a curtsey, to Julian, who stands apart musing. So your moon retires. & I mJf I24 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Jul. Good-night. [Exit Bellamy. Julian and Hilarion walk on together, silent. Suddenly. Hil. There Hesper shines ! Star of my lady, hail!— Dearest of planets, shine and shame the moon With holier beams! [To Julian] Do you remember her? Jul. Remember whom, thou high-fantastical lover ? Hil. The angel of my memory, Hesperia. [A pause. What, will you pale to hear another praised That is not Bellamy? Oh, lover's ardour ! Jul. Nay, nothing ails. Go on. Hil. [with scrutiny]. But you are faint. Jul. Nothing—it is nothing ! Tell me of your lady. Hil. You know Sebastian the Humanist Who lectured on philosophy at Pisa In the University when we were there ? After you left he went stone blind; and then He earned his bread by teaching for some while, Earning much work, scant praise, and scanter bread. But happily Hesperia his daughter Jul. [aside]. Hesperia. Iff-' A GARDEN PLAY. Hil. [markedly]. You must remember her. Jul. [after a pause]. Yes. I remember— A piece of sainted nature. Hil. I am glad You say so. Jul. Yet I wonder that you love her. I think I ever fancied her a creature To pray to, not to love. Hil. Are you in earnest ? Jul. What do you mean ? Hil. Nothing—an idle question ! Jul. 'Tis true, I had a holy fancy for her When we were boy and girl; before I knew How much less good, how very much less fair, An angel is than a woman. But I think She has forgotten me, as I have her. It is so long ago. Hil. I would make sure on't. Jul. I will; but, pry thee, tell me how she rescued Her father at this pass. Hil. I am too glad To have the chance to dwell upon her praises. m m m 1 if 126 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. I do not think there is a better theme In all the world, or any nobler service. Well, in Sebastian's poverty she learned All that the old man, dispossessed and blind, Taught in his frequent leisure ; and so well, That in a year she knew the curious types Grown dark to him, could read, collect, survey With patience and quick inference and love Unwearied. Jul. [impatiently]. As your own is weariful— When comes the point to this exordium On female knowledge ? Hil. Now : Hesperia, Being grown, in fine, more sensible eyes to him Than those he lost, the University Proclaimed him Lecturer again. . . . When last I saw Hesperia Jul. When? Where? Hil. [slowly]. To-day ! [a pause] Julian, she is a very noble lady ! If any wronged her, I were wroth with him Even to death. Jul. Why do you tell me this? 'Ik A GARDEN PLAY. Hil. I speak from a full heart— I love Hesperia, And wish her well more than I wish myself: More than I wish my little Bellamy, (My sunshine and the eyes I see it with) Who were with less content— I love Hesperia ! Julian, in all this Heaven there are no stars That shine so bright as Honour and Hesperia ! Jul. I will not bear this rant! What do you mean With your veiled words and smooth Italian way ? Hil. I only tell you of a noble lady As sweet as any are that live in Heaven, As true and patient as they were on earth. I only say how dearly I do love her (But only as a friend, an honest friend) ; And how I would indeed avenge to death A slight that any villain laid upon her. Jul. I like it not. Hil. But since you are so dull And callous of her praise, I say farewell f you. Have you a word, perchance, for Bellamy ? I take her home to Pisa in the morning— 1 m m i m 1 128 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. 1 y I Jul. Take Bellamy? Hil. Ay—and I leave Hesperia ! Nay, hast thou never loved, that thou must start To hear the ravings of a lover's heart! [Exit Hilarion. Jul. [alone]. I do believe he has some plain suspicion Of that most hasty and ill-omened contract Which binds me to Hesperia. Oh, I know That such a bond is little less than marriage In this fastidious Italy. I know That breaking it would blot Hesperia And brush the glory from her aureole— Must I then marry her ? that cold, pale beauty. I do not love her now, I never loved her ; And I do not believe she loved me either— Surely I never loved, till Bellamy With her sweet laughter and her girlish eyes Stole in my heart. O cold Hesperia! To think of you is like the chill of death— O hateful ghost! I feel you take my hand And slip your icy ring on its hot pulses, And lead me far away from Bellamy— Bellamy, I'll go sing to you, sweet Bellamy I ■rrq^-. A GARDEN PLAY. 129 They take away to-morrow. One last song, One last sweet music fraught with hope and dreams— And then, I'll either see you never more— Or win my longed-for freedom from Hesperia ! [Exit Julian. 1 Scene III. The same night. Hesperia and Sebastian in an arbour. Outside, tinder the shadow of a cypress hedge, Julian, tuning and practising a mandoline. Hesp. [readingaloud], " Where walk the Nymphs, the Bacchanals ; where flows The fount of Castaly—" Nay, 'tis not there— (Some one is playing surely in the garden Upon an instrument ?) Oh,, here's, the line : [reads] '' Now, since the city and its people sicken, Come Thou with healing steps across the slopes Of steep Parnassus, over thundering straits—" Father, I find the chorus difficult. Sebas. Nay, girl, go on—'Tis very near the end. 9 .1 SB I II 130 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Hesp. Is that a mandoline they play outside ? [reads] " 0 Thou, the Master of the Quire of stars, The bright flame-breathing stars ! O Leader, thou Of all the voices that do sing by night, Deign to appear." It is a mandoline ! Sebas. What then ? Hesp. I know that air. Sebas. Some tune the students sing o' nights Go on, I prithee, daughter. Hesp. [reads]. " 0 appear Thou Son of God, with following Naxian £ That in a maddening frenzy all night long Shall wildly dance to thee and wildly sing And call thee, lacchus!" Nay, I cannot, father. I think there is some magic in the tune They play in the garden there ... I know it well. Sebas. You are not used to stint me in your reading To please your idler fancy. Hesp. [kneeling at his side and taking his hands]. Forgive me, father! I am not well. ... I have heard news to-day . . . No doubt you know it. Pisa; Iris 1 A GARDEN PLAY. I have heard news to-day that stirs me strangely— Ay, news of Julian ! Sebas. Has he come to take you ? 'Tis well you teach me to give up your, voice. -Let your eyes shut for me—be dark again— So you will go to England ? Hesp. Patience, father ! Oh, I will never leave you till I die ; If one, or you or Julian, be mine, And only one, I shall know how to choose ! You are my father, and you are alone ; You gave me even the very heart I love with. [She rises up] But Julian ever was your favourite, And you will gain a son ! Sebas. I was not blind then : I did not fear so much to lose a daughter. To rob my heart and shut its bird away In a green nest afloat on misty seas, So far, too far, where I can never come— But tell me what you heard ? Hesp. [goes to stand in the doorway]. Oh, all the night Is full of hope and strange mysterious beauty. The moon that rides so ample in the skies Sends down a flood of light upon the noses That smell less sweet by day I #3 pU •121 I m i $f W" w 1 132 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Sebas. So, it is fine, then ? Hesp. Ay, finer than it ever was before, When Paris and CEnone walked alone On Ida . . . Oh, my father, Julian's here ! Sebas. Here? Where? You are very strange to«nighf,< Hesperia ! Hesp. Ay, strange to miss the empty absent ache And sense of loneliness. That word is dead— Oh, fallen from my language now ! Nay,, father,, Nay, look not pale ! I am a cruel daughter— I am unkind, I know ; but never lonely— I love you more than any other father Ever was loved in Italy ! Sebas. Nay, patience— Why you are weeping, child ! Hesp. O 'tis for joy— Father, there is a firefly in the shade Of that aspiring cypress. All this time It has looked green and faint, and poised as still As it was held there by invisible strings ; But, on a sudden, loosed, I know not how— It floats up now, up, up, to join the stars, With an unsteady, curding, wavering motion, A GARDEN PLAY. 13 No longer green, but gold against the blue It goes to seek. I think my heart is loosed Like that, and floats so dizzily heavenwards. Sebas. I do not understand you ! Hesp. Oh, hush. The music 1 —«3£. Jul. [trying his mandoline outside. Sings]. Were you a star Above, Shining too far for Love ; Yet were I glad, Though you rode so above me, Dreaming my star Did she know me would love m Now am I sad I I jjjjj [3 Hesp. [aside]. Earth swerves beneath. His singing thrills the night With passion. Stars turn giddy at his voice ! Jul. [sings]. Were you a pearl, Below Stir of the whirl and flow, i ill m ffl ■Rg^j If If l"34 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Drowned in the deep, Yet a spirit could show me, Hope that my pearl Would be mine did she know me. Now must I weep I Hesp. [still aside]. Not if thou knewest my heart! Each fibre's thine ! Now at the top of bliss, I thank thee God, Ensue what may, that thou hast given me life. Jul. [sings]. Light of my heart, My Dream, Little apart We seem ; Nearer the sky To the sea's lowest stream is Than to my heart My delight and my dream is ! Well may I sigh. Hesp. [aloud]. No more! No morel Adieu, concealingI shame, And try no more that true and faithful heart. Julian, my lover, take me, I am thine. [Steps from the arbour's hedge. I A GARDEN PLAY. 135 Jul. [steps forward]. Lady Hesperia ! Hesp. Oh, it is my Julian I [Swoons. Scene IV. Early morning. . . An Ilex grove and Shrine with withered garlands. Hesp. [alone]. For still it seems to me impossible That while I thus remember, he forgets ; And yet there was a coldness in his voice, Or else I fancied it. Oh, it was fancy ! For I believe it ever must be thus After so long a parting . . . there's a gulf Of absence lies between us. [She approaches the shrine. It is here That he will meet me in a little hour. How grey the shadow lies, the ilex-shadow That always looks like death I . . . The valley sleeps In blue and filmy quiet. ... It is morning, Less passionate than night. [She leans her arms on the ledge of the shrine. M m 1 ST 136 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. O sad Madonna, O pierced at heart with seven cruel swords, There is a sharper sword that never pricked you With shrewd suspicion of the thing you love . . . Too base Hesperia 1 [She sits down on a stone at the side of the shrine. (A girl's voice outside is heard singing:) ff Strow poppy buds about my quiet head, And pansies on mine eyes ..." Hesp. Some poor soul goes singing Her song o' the swan ! some girl who's lost her lover, While I have mine again alive and true . . . 0 Julian, I will nevermore suspect Your truth, that is less tender than the phantom 1 made of womanish dreams to fill your place In absence with the memory of your smile ! (The voice comes nearer ;) " Strow popp^y buds about my quiet head, And pansies on mine eyest And rose leaves on the lips that were so red, Before they blanched with sighs," Hesp. Sweet singing ! How might I hasre been like her, And am not. O poor soul, she is very sad 1 A GARDEN PLAY. 137 ( Voice still nearer:) " Let gillyflowers breathe their fragrant breath Under my tired feet; But do not mock the heart that starved to death With aught of fresh or sweet," Hesp. Lo, here she comes ; she is young, and fair, and gentle, But crazed with grief, I fear. EnterBellamy, pale and dishevelled, boughs of rose and acacia in her arms. Bell. I know the maidens Bring her more garlands than the other Virgins Through all the month of May ; but it is June, And see, their boughs are withered and their blooms. But I bring more, I think, than any other Ever has brought before. . . . 'Tis sure she'll hear me ! [She lets fall the heap of branches. O Virgin, whom the sorrowing country people Do call Madonna of the Broken Heart, Heal mine a cruel brother broke this morning And keep me safe, and hide me whom they seek To take away from a most virtuous lover. Thou pitying Mother-maid! [She kneels down and sees Hesperia sitting under the shrine, I m 138 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Are you an Angel ? Or who are you that sit so cool and sweet Under the shadow of the Virgin's shrine ? Hesp. Fear not, my flower, for I would never harm you. I only am a maiden like yourself And fain would help you. Bell. Oh, I know you now ! Divine Madonna, are you come to help me ? Hesp. Nay, child. . . . Bell. O Virgin, see, I came to seek you. See, when the mists were heavy on the garden, While still the dawn was grey, I stole and plucked These crimson roses, and these yellow roses, And these pink delicate roses that run wild ; And all this wealth of heavy-sweet acacia, To honour you and die before your shrine. . . . See how my hands are torn. . . . Ay, and my heart, too. I pray you heal it ! Hesp. Thou poor child ! Bell. I knew not The Virgin used to wander in the woods About her shrine. ... I did not hope to find you, Save in a painted image. . . . I'd not ventured Knowing that I should find you sitting silent Alone upon the hills. A GARDEN FLAY. Hesp. O sweet, you wander. I am not what you think ! Bell. And will you help me ? Hesp. Sure, if I can. Bell. Then, prithee, help me soon, For I am sick at heart, and yesternight I was so happy ! Then Hilarion. . . . Hesp. Hilarion ? Bell. He is my cruel brother Who ever was most tender till last night. He was my father and my mother too, And held my orphan baby hands in his When first I tried to walk. And oh, I loved him. But now he's cruel. Hesp. Nay, I do not think so. Bell. Indeed he is; he came to me last night, And solemnly he bade me pray to Heaven I might not even dream o' nights of Julian But quite forget him. Hesp. Julian I Bell. Ay, my lover. Virgin you know all this, and still I tell you, I am so sick at heart. Hesp. For Julian ? J F 140 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. v ;i> .&?//. Ay. Nay, frown not, Holy Mother, look not strange And angry on me, or I shall go mad ; You are my only hope. O never spurn me, Thou Mother of the afflicted ! Hesp. Do not rave so. There is more quiet in a broken heart. Bell. Oh, well I know you have had worse to bear, But you are sainted, and you are Madonna, And have another heart to bear it with. . . . It is for that you can so well console us, O Mary, mother of the miserable, Because your heart still bleeds. . . . But I am weak, Little and earthly, and I should go mad, Wicked, and kill myself to feel such sorrow. Hesp. Ay, is it so ? Bell. It is, indeed. Hesp. I feared it. Bell. And so, indeed, sweet Virgin, you must help me. Hesp. I cannot let you die. Bell. Madonna \ Hesp. Hush I O sweet, be still. ... I cannot bear your voice, yet. A GARDEN PLAY. 141 Bell. True, I would fain be still or else more happy. . . . I pray you, Virgin, give me Julian back, Or else lay down my head upon your heart, And take my hands within your heavenly hands ; I'll shut my lids and you shall breathe upon them, Once, softly, with your cold unearthly breath. And I will wake with you in Paradise. Hesp. Nay, maiden. Bell. Leave me not. Hesp. Nay, sweet, be. quiet. [She draws a curious ring from her hand, slowly. [Aside], O little ring, O fraught with memories, How have I kissed his ancient kisses from thee. I must not do it more. [To Bellamy], Give me your hand. Bell. Is this the seal of death ? I am not frightened. Hesp. Nay, little maid : it is the seal of Love, Of youth, and happy love, and tender hopes, Of all that maidens dream of in the night, When through their open window steals a breath Of roses warm in June, or lover's music. . . . (That music was for you.) . . . But I must go Back to my emptied life and leave you here. [She stoops and kisses Bellamy. 1 I m m 1 1 142 OUR LADY OF THE BROKEN HEART. Lie still among your flowers, and pray awhile, Till Julian come ; then give him back the kiss I gave you. Ah, God ! . . . Show him the ring. . • • And he will know your secret. [She moves to go but turns back. For Hilarion. Love him most truly ; he is very noble. Bell. And must you leave me, ever dear Madonna ? Hesp. I must. Bell. My love and dearest thanks attend you. [Exit Hesperia, as from the other side Julian enters. Jul. This was the place ; now, courage ! [he discovers Bellamy.] Bellamy? Bell. Julian! [They embrace. 1878-1886. r BROTHER9, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON. f ynpTygE m