"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, Sister Helen, And one draws nigh, but two are afar." "Look, look, do you know them who they are,But he says, till you take back your ban, Sister Helen, Little brother?'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, His soul would pass, yet never can.'' and "Nay then, shall I slay a living man, Who should they be, between Hell Sister Helen, Little brother?" and And he says that he would speak with you.'' 80"Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast, "Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew, Little brother.'' and (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Why laughs she thus, between Hell Heaven?) Sister Helen, For I know the white plume on the blast."' "The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, 130 Little brother!'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?) (0 Mother, Mary Mother, 90Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce, And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!) "Three days ago, on his marriage-morn, Sister Helen, What word now Little brother!'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, heard, between Hell and He sickened, and lies since then forlorn." Sister Helen, 140 Little brother?'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is ever to see you ere he die." Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)"In all that his soul sees, there am I, Little brother!'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, sight, between Hell and If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!) And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.' 150 Little brother?'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, What strain but death's, between Hell and Heaven?) "She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon, Sister Helen, She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon. "Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune, Little brother!'' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, "Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive, 190 Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Sister Helen, Heaven!) 'They've caught her to Westholm's saddlebow, Sister Helen, 240 And her moonlit hair gleams white in its flow." "Let it turn whiter than winter snow, Little brother!"" (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Woe-withered gold, between Hell and Heaven!) Still with me lingers-' "" (But she laughed as my kisses Glowed in her fingers With love's old blisses) "Oh! what one favour Remains to woo him, Whose whole poor savour Belongs not to him?"" THE WOODSPURGE The wind flapped loose, the wind was still, Between my knees my forehead was,- My eyes, wide open, had the run The woodspurge flowered, three cups in one. Or by what spell they have sped. Still we say as we go,— That shall we know one day." What of the heart of hate That beats in thy breast, O Time?Red strife from the furthest prime, And anguish of fierce debate; War that shatters her slain, And peace that grinds them as grain, Still we say as we go,- That shall we know one day." What of the heart of love That bleeds in thy breast, O Man? Thy kisses snatched 'neath the ban Of fangs that mock them above; Thy bells prolonged unto knells, Still we say as we go,- That shall we know one day." The sky leans dumb on the sea, Is dark everlastingly. Our past is clean forgot, We who say as we go,- That shall we know one day." FROM THE HOUSE OF LIFE* A Sonnet is a moment's monument,- Of its own arduous fulness reverent: Carve it in ivory or in ebony, As Day or Night may rule; and let Time see Whether for tribute to the august appeals In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death. IV. LOVESIGHT When do I see thee most, beloved one? Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope, The wind of Death's imperishable wing? XIX. SILENT NOON Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass, The finger-points look through like rosy blooms; Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass. All round our nest, far as the eye can pass, Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthornhedge. "Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass. Deep in the sun-searched growths the dragon-fly Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky: So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above. To one dead deathless hour. Look that it be, This close-companioned inarticulate hour Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, The "house of life" was the first of the twelve divisions of the heavens made by old astrologers in casting the horoscope of a man's destiny. This series of a hundred and one son nets is a faithful record, drawn from Ros setti's own inward experience, "of the mysterious conjunctions and oppositions wrought by Love, Change, and Fate in the House of Life."-Eng. Lit.. p. 373. When twofold silence was the song of love. XLIX-LII. WILLOWWOOD I I sat with Love upon a woodside well, |