Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse | Page 8

all the flowers that bow the head,
Or gaze erect on sun and sky,

Not one there is, declines to sned,
Or standeth up, to qualify
His
incense-meed:
"Of all that blossom one by one,
Or join their lips in loving cluster,

Not one hath now resolved alone,
Or taken counsel, that his lustre

Shall be unshown.
"So let thy soul a blossom be,
To breathe the fragrance of its praise,

And lift itself, in early days,
To Him who fosters thee.
IV
"Of all the founts, bedropped with light,
Or silver-tress'd with shade
of trees,
Not one there is, but sprinkles bright
It's plume of
freshness on the breeze,
And jewelled flight:
"Of all that hush among the moss,
Or babble to the lily-vases,
Not
one there is but purls across
A gush of the delight, that causes
It's
limpid gloss.
"So let thy heart a fountain be,
To rise in sparkling joy, and fall
In
dimpled melody--and all
For love of home, and me."
V
The only fount her heart became
Rose quick with sighs, and fell in

tears;
While pink upon her white cheek came,
(Like apple-blossom
among pear's)
The tinge of shame.
Her husband, pierced with new alarm,
Bent nigh to ask of her
distresses,
Enclasping her with sheltering arm,
Unwinding by
discreet caresses,
The thread of harm.
Then she, with sobs of slow relief
(For silence is the jail of care)

Confessed, for him to heal or share,
The first of human grief.
VI
"I cannot look on thee, and think
That thou has ceased to hold me
dear;
I cannot break the loosened link:
When thou, my only one, art
near,
How can I shrink?
"So it were better, love--I mean,
My lord, it is more wise and right--

That I, as one whose day hath been,
Should keep my pain from
pleasure's sight,
And dwell unseen.
"And--though it break my heart to say--
However sad my loneliness,

I fear thou wouldst rejoice in this--
To have me far away.
VII
"I know not how it is with man,
Perhaps his nature is to change,
On
finding consort fairer than--
But oh, I cannot so arrange
My nature's
plan!
"And haply thou hast never thought
To vex, or make me feel forsaken;

But, since to thee the thing was nought,
Supposed 'twould be as
gaily taken,
As lightly brought.
"Yet, is it strange that I repine,
And feel abased in lonely woe,
To
lose thy love--or e'en to know
That half of it is mine?

VIII
"For whom have I on earth but thee,
What heart to love, or home to
bless?
Albeit I was wrong, I see,
To think my husband took no less

Delight in me.
"But even now, if thou wilt stay,
Or try at least no more to wander,

And let me love thee, day by day,
Till time, or habit, make thee
fonder
(If so it may)--
"Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
In homely wise, on serving
thee,
Than any stranger e'er can be;
And Eve shall seem content."
IX
Not loud she wept--but hope could hear;
Sweet hope, who in his
lifelong race
Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
That each
alternate step should trace
A smile and tear.
But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
Regarded her with troubled glances,

Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
Himself to be in strange
romances,
And dreamy haze:
Then questioning in hurried voice,
And scarcely waiting her replies,

He spoke, and showed the true surprise
That made her soul rejoice.
X
She told him what the Tempter said,
And what her frightened self had
seen,
(That form in loveliness arrayed,
With modest face, and
graceful mien)
And how displayed.
Then well-content to show his bride
The worldly knowledge he
possessed,
(That world whereof was none beside)
He laid his hand
upon his breast,
And thus replied:--

"Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
"A little way down yonder path,

"And I will show the form which hath
"Enchanted thee, and me."
XI
Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
Which hurries down the pebbled way,

As one who hath small time to spare,
So far to go, so much to say

To summer air;
Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,

And little circles dimple in,
As if the waters quaffed themselves,

The while they spin:
Thence in a clear pool, overbent
With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,

Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
Kadisha sleeps content.
XII
Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
The first of men was smiling gay;

Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
The mystery of that
passion-sway
She could not quell.
As they approached the silver strand,
He plucked a moss-rose
budding sweetly,
And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
Therein
he set the blossom featly,
And took her hand:
He led her past the maiden-hair,
Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,

Until the margin held her feet,
Like water-lilies fain
XIII
"Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
The only one with whom I stray,

The only image still I have,
Too often, even while I pray
To Him
who gave.
The form she saw was long unknown,
Except as that beheld yestreen;


Till viewing, not that form alone,
But his, with hands enclasped
between,
She guessed her own.
[Illustration: 088..]
And, bending o'er in sweet surprise,
Perused, with simple child's
delight,
The flowing hair, and forehead white,
And soft inquiring
eyes.
XIV
Then, blushing to a fairer tint
Than waves might ever hope to catch,

"I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
But