Dramatis Personæ

Front matter

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

BY

James Lee

JAMES LEE.

JAMES LEE.

I.

AT THE WINDOW.

<>1. Ah, love, but a day, And the world has changed! The sun 's away, And the bird 's estranged; The wind has dropped, And the sky 's deranged: Summer has stopped.

<>2. Look in my eyes! Wilt thou change too? Should I fear surprise? Shall I find aught new In the old and dear, In the good and true, With the changing year?

<>3. Thou art a man, But I am thy love! For the lake, its swan; For the dell, its dove; And for thee—(oh, haste!) Me, to bend above, Me, to hold embraced!

II.

BY THE FIRESIDE.

<>1. Is all our fire of shipwreck wood, Oak and pine? Oh, for the ills half-understood, The dim, dead woe Long ago Befallen this bitter coast of France! Well, poor sailors took their chance; I take mine.

<>2. A ruddy shaft our fire must shoot O'er the sea: Do sailors eye the casement—mute, Drenched and stark, From their bark— And envy, gnash their teeth for hate O' the warm safe house and happy freight —Thee and me?

<>3. God help you, sailors, at your need! Spare the curse! For some ships, safe in port indeed, Rot and rust, Run to dust, All through worms i' the wood, which crept, Gnawed our hearts out while we slept: That is worse!

<>4. Who lived here before us two? Old-world pairs! Did a woman ever—would I knew!— Watch the man With whom began Love's voyage full-sail,—(now, gnash your teeth!) When planks start, open hell beneath Unawares?

III.

In the Doorway.

<>1. The swallow has set her six young on the rail, And looks sea-ward: The water's in stripes like a snake, olive-pale To the leeward,— On the weather-side, black, spotted white with the wind: "Good fortune departs, and disaster's behind,"— Hark, the wind with its wants and its infinite wail!

<>2. Our fig-tree, that leaned for the saltness, has furled Her five fingers, Each leaf like a hand opened wide to the world Where there lingers No glint of the gold, Summer sent for her sake: How the vines writhe in rows, each impaled on its stake! My heart shrivels up and my spirit shrinks curled.

<>3. Yet here are we two; we have love, house enough, With the field there, This house of four rooms, that field red and rough, Though it yield there, For the rabbit that robs, scarce a blade or a bent; If a magpie alight now, it seems an event; And they both will be gone at November's rebuff.

<>4. But why must cold spread? but wherefore bring change To the spirit, God meant should mate His with an infinite range, And inherit His power to put life in the darkness and cold? Oh, live and love worthily, bear and be bold! Whom Summer made friends of, let Winter estrange!

IV.

ALONG THE BEACH.

<>1. I will be quiet and talk with you, And reason why you are wrong: You wanted my love—is that much true? And so I did love, so I do: What has come of it all along?

<>2. I took you—how could I otherwise? For a world to me, and more; For all, love greatens and glorifies Till God 's a-glow, to the loving eyes, In what was mere earth before.

<>3. Yes, earth—yes, mere ignoble earth! Now do I mis-state, mistake? Do I wrong your weakness and call it worth? Expect all harvest, dread no dearth, Seal my sense up for your sake?

<>4. Oh, love, love, no, love! not so, indeed! You were just weak earth, I knew: With much in you waste, with many a weed, And plenty of passions run to seed, But a little good grain too.

<>5. And such as you were, I took you for mine: Did not you find me yours, To watch the olive and wait the vine, And wonder when rivers of oil and wine Would flow, as the Book assures?

<>6. Well, and if none of these good things came, What did the failure prove? The man was my whole world, all the same, With his flowers to praise, or his weeds to blame, And, either or both, to love.

<>7. Yet this turns now to a fault—there! there! That I do love, watch too long, And wait too well, and weary and wear; And 'tis all an old story, and my despair Fit subject for some new song:

<>8. How the light, light love, he has wings to fly At suspicion of a bond: My wisdom has bidden your pleasure good-bye, Which will turn up next in a laughing eye, And why should you look beyond?

V.

On the Cliff.

<>1. I leaned on the turf, I looked at a rock Left dry by the surf; For the turf, to call it grass were to mock: Dead to the roots, so deep was done The work of the summer sun.

<>2. And the rock lay flat As an anvil's face: No iron like that! Baked dry; of a weed, of a shell, no trace: Sunshine outside, but ice at the core, Death's altar by the lone shore.

<>3. On the turf, sprang gay With his films of blue, No cricket, I'll say, But a warhorse, barded and chanfroned too, The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight, Real fairy, with wings all right.

<>4. On the rock, they scorch Like a drop of fire From a brandished torch, Fall two red fans of a butterfly: No turf, no rock, in their ugly stead, See, wonderful blue and red!

<>5. Is it not so With the minds of men? The level and low, The burnt and bare, in themselves; but then With such a blue and red grace, not theirs, Love settling unawares!

VI.

UNDER THE CLIFF.

<>1. "Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no? Which needs the other's office, thou or I? Dost want to be disburthened of a woe, And can, in truth, my voice untie Its links, and let it go?

<>2. "Art thou a dumb, wronged thing that would be righted, Entrusting thus thy cause to me? Forbear. No tongue can mend such pleadings; faith, requited With falsehood,—love, at last aware Of scorn,—hopes, early blighted,—

<>3. "We have them; but I know not any tone So fit as thine to falter forth a sorrow: Dost think men would go mad without a moan, If they knew any way to borrow A pathos like thy own?

<>4. "Which sigh wouldst mock, of all the sighs? The one So long escaping from lips starved and blue, That lasts while on her pallet-bed the nun Stretches her length; her foot comes through The straw she shivers on;

<>5. "You had not thought she was so tall: and spent, Her shrunk lids open, her lean fingers shut Close, close, their sharp and livid nails indent The clammy palm; then all is mute: That way, the spirit went.

<>6. "Or wouldst thou rather that I understand Thy will to help me?—like the dog I found Once, pacing sad this solitary strand, Who would not take my food, poor hound, But whined and licked my hand."

<>7. All this, and more, comes from some young man's pride Of power to see,—in failure and mistake, Relinquishment, disgrace, on every side,— Merely examples for his sake, Helps to his path untried:

<>8. Instances he must—simply recognize? Oh, more than so!—must, with a learner's zeal, Make doubly prominent, twice emphasize, By added touches that reveal The god in babe's disguise.

<>9. Oh, he knows what defeat means, and the rest! Himself the undefeated that shall be: Failure, disgrace, he flings them you to test,— His triumph, in eternity Too plainly manifest!

<>10. Whence, judge if he learn forthwith what the wind Means in its moaning—by the happy, prompt, Instinctive way of youth, I mean; for kind Calm years, exacting their accompt Of pain, mature the mind:

<>11. And some midsummer morning, at the lull Just about daybreak, as he looks across A sparkling foreign country, wonderful To the sea's edge for gloom and gloss, Next minute must annul,—

<>12. Then, when the wind begins among the vines, So low, so low, what shall it say but this? "Here is the change beginning, here the lines Circumscribe beauty, set to bliss The limit time assigns."

<>13. Nothing can be as it has been before; Better, so call it, only not the same. To draw one beauty into our hearts' core, And keep it changeless! such our claim; So answered,—Never more!

<>14. Simple? Why this is the old woe o' the world; Tune, to whose rise and fall we live and die. Rise with it, then! Rejoice that man is hurled From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!

<>15. That's a new question; still replies the fact, Nothing endures: the wind moans, saying so; We moan in acquiescence: there's life's pact. Perhaps probation—do I know? God does: endure His act!

<>16. Only, for man, how bitter not to grave On his soul's hands' palms one fair, good, wise thing Just as he grasped it! For himself, death's wave; While time first washes—ah, the sting!— O'er all he'd sink to save.

VII.

AMONG THE ROCKS.

<>1. Oh, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet.

<>2. That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!

VIII.

Beside the Drawing Board.

<>1. "As like as a Hand to another Hand:" Whoever said that foolish thing, Could not have studied to understand The counsels of God in fashioning, Out of the infinite love of His heart, This Hand, whose beauty I praise, apart From the world of wonder left to praise, If I tried to learn the other ways Of love, in its skill, or love in its power. "As like as a Hand to another Hand:" Who said that, never took his stand, Found and followed, like me, an hour, The beauty in this,—how free, how fine To fear, almost,—of the limit-line! As I looked at this, and learned and drew, Drew and learned, and looked again, While fast the happy minutes flew, Its beauty mounted into my brain, And a fancy seized me; I was fain

To efface my work, begin anew, Kiss what before I only drew; Ay, laying the red chalk 'twixt my lips, With soul to help if the mere lips failed, I kissed all right where the drawing ailed, Kissed fast the grace that somehow slips Still from one's soulless finger-tips.

<>2. Go, little girl, with the poor coarse hand! I have my lesson, shall understand.

IX.

On Deck.

<>1. There is nothing to remember in me, Nothing I ever said with a grace, Nothing I did that you care to see, Nothing I was that deserves a place In your mind, now I leave you, set you free.

<>2. Conceded! In turn, concede to me, Such things have been as a mutual flame. Your soul's locked fast; but, love for a key, You might let it loose, till I grew the same In your eyes, as in mine you stand: strange plea!

<>3. For then, then, what would it matter to me That I was the harsh, ill-favoured one? We both should be like as pea and pea; It was ever so since the world begun: So, let me proceed with my reverie.

<>4. How strange it were if you had all me, As I have all you in my heart and brain, You, whose least word brought gloom or glee, Who never lifted the hand in vain Will hold mine yet, from over the sea!

<>5. Strange, if a face, when you thought of me, Rose like your own face present now, With eyes as dear in their due degree, Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow, Till you saw yourself, while you cried Tis She!"

<>6. Well, you may, or you must, set down to me Love that was life, life that was love; A tenure of breath at your lips' decree, A passion to stand as your thoughts approve, A rapture to fall where your foot might be.

<>7. But did one touch of such love for me Come in a word or a look of yours, Whose words and looks will, circling, flee Round me and round while life endures,— Could I fancy "As I feel, thus feels He;"

<>8. Why, fade you might to a thing like me, And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair, And your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree,— You might turn myself; should I know or care, When I should be dead of joy, James Lee?

Gold Hair: A Legend of Pornic

GOLD HAIR:

A LEGEND OF PORNIC.

GOLD HAIR:

A LEGEND OF PORNIC.

<>1. Oh, the beautiful girl, too white, Who lived at Pornic, down by the sea, Just where the sea and the Loire unite! And a boasted name in Brittany She bore, which I will not write.

<>2. Too white, for the flower of life is red; Her flesh was the soft, seraphic screen Of a soul that is meant (her parents said) To just see earth, and hardly be seen, And blossom in Heaven instead.

<>3. Yet earth saw one thing, one how fair! One grace that grew to its full on earth: Smiles might be sparse on her cheek so spare, And her waist want half a girdle's girth, But she had her great gold hair.

<>4. Hair, such a wonder of flix and floss, Freshness and fragrance—floods of it, too! Gold, did I say? Nay, gold's mere dross: Here, Life smiled, "Think what I meant to do!" And Love sighed, "Fancy my loss!"

<>5. So, when she died, it was scarce more strange Than that, when delicate evening dies, And you follow its spent sun's pallid range, There's a shoot of colour startles the skies With sudden, violent change,—

<>6. That, while the breath was nearly to seek, As they put the little cross to her lips, She changed; a spot came out on her cheek, A spark from her eye in mid-eclipse, And she broke forth, "I must speak!"

<>7. "Not my hair!" made the girl her moan— "All the rest is gone or to go; But the last, last grace, my all, my own, Let it stay in the grave, that the ghosts may know! Leave my poor gold hair alone!"

<>8. The passion thus vented, dead lay she; Her parents sobbed their worst on that, All friends joined in, nor observed degree: For indeed the hair was to wonder at, As it spread—not flowing free,

<>9. But curled around her brow, like a crown, And coiled beside her cheeks, like a cap, And calmed about her neck—ay, down To her breast, pressed flat, without a gap I' the gold, it reached her gown.

<>10. All kissed that face, like a silver wedge 'Mid the yellow wealth, nor disturbed its hair: E'en the priest allowed death's privilege, As he planted the crucifix with care On her breast, 'twixt edge and edge.

<>11. And thus was she buried, inviolate Of body and soul, in the very space By the altar; keeping saintly state In Pornic church, for her pride of race, Pure life and piteous fate.

<>12. And in after-time would your fresh tear fall, Though your mouth might twitch with a dubious smile, As they told you of gold, both robe and pall, How she prayed them leave it alone awhile, So it never was touched at all.

<>13. Years flew; this legend grew at last The life of the lady; all she had done, All been, in the memories fading fast Of lover and friend, was summed in one Sentence survivors passed:

<>14. To wit, she was meant for Heaven, not earth; Had turned an angel before the time: Yet, since she was mortal, in such dearth Of frailty, all you could count a crime Was—she knew her gold hair's worth.

<>15. At little pleasant Pornic church, It chanced, the pavement wanted repair, Was taken to pieces: left in the lurch, A certain sacred space lay bare, And the boys began research.

<>16. 'Twas the space where our sires would lay a saint, A benefactor,—a bishop, suppose; A baron with armour-adornments quaint; A dame with chased ring and jewelled rose, Things sanctity saves from taint:

<>17. So we come to find them in after-days When the corpse is presumed to have done with gauds Of use to the living, in many ways: For the boys get pelf, and the town applauds, And the church deserves the praise.

<>18. They grubbed with a will: and at length—O cor Humanum, pectora cæca, and the rest!— They found—no gauds they were prying for, No ring, no rose, but—who would have guessed?— A double Louis-d'or!

<>19. Here was a case for the priest: he heard, Marked, inwardly digested, laid Finger on nose, smiled, "A little bird Chirps in my ear:" then, "Bring a spade, Dig deeper!"—he gave the word.

<>20. And lo! when they came to the coffin-lid, Or the rotten planks which composed it once, Why, there lay the girl's skull wedged amid A mint of money, it served for the nonce To hold in its hair-heaps hid.

<>21. Louis-d'ors, some six times five; And duly double, every piece. Now, do you see? With the priest to shrive, With parents preventing her soul's release By kisses that keep alive,—

<>22. With Heaven's gold gates about to ope, With friends' praise, gold-like, lingering still, What instinct had bidden the girl's hand grope For gold, the true sort—"Gold in Heaven, I hope; But I keep earth's, if God will!"

<>23. Enough! The priest took the grave's grim yield: The parents, they eyed that price of sin As if thirty pieces lay revealed On the place to bury strangers in, The hideous Potter's Field.

<>24. But the priest bethought him: Milk that 's spilt' —You know the adage! Watch and pray! Saints tumble to earth with so slight a tilt! It would build a new altar; that, we may!" And the altar therewith was built.

<>25. Why I deliver this horrible verse? As the text of a sermon, which now I preach: Evil or good may be better or worse In the human heart, but the mixture of each Is a marvel and a curse.

<>26. The candid incline to surmise of late That the Christian faith proves false, I find; For our Essays-and-Reviews' debate Begins to tell on the public mind, And Colenso's words have weight:

<>27. I still, to suppose it true, for my part, See reasons and reasons; this, to begin: 'Tis the faith that launched point-blank her dart At the head of a lie—taught Original Sin, The Corruption of Man's Heart.

The Worst of It

THE WORST OF IT.

THE WORST OF IT.

<>1. Would it were I had been false, not you! I that am nothing, not you that are all: I, never the worse for a touch or two On my speckled hide; not you, the pride Of the day, my swan, that a first fleck's fall On her wonder of white must unswan, undo!

<>2. I had dipped in life's struggle, and out again, Bore specks of it here, there, easy to see, When I found my swan and the cure was plain; The dull turned bright as I caught your white On my bosom: you saved me—saved in vain If you ruined yourself, and all through me!

<>3. Yes, all through the speckled beast that I am, Who taught you to stoop; you gave me yourself, And bound your soul by the vows that damn: Since on better thought you break, as you ought, Vows—words, no angel set down, some elf Mistook,—for an oath, an epigram!

<>4. Yes, might I judge you, here were my heart, And a hundred its like, to treat as you pleased! I choose to be yours, for my proper part, Yours, leave or take, or mar me or make; If I acquiesce, why should you be teased With the conscience-prick and the memory-smart?

<>5. But what will God say? Oh, my sweet, Think, and be sorry you did this thing! Though earth were unworthy to feel your feet, There 's a Heaven above may deserve your love: Should you forfeit Heaven for a snapt gold ring And a promise broke, were it just or meet?

<>6. And I to have tempted you! I, who tried Your soul, no doubt, till it sank! Unwise, I loved, and was lowly, loved and aspired, Loved, grieving or glad, till I made you mad, And you meant to have hated and despised— Whereas, you deceived me nor inquired!

<>7. She, ruined? How? No Heaven for her? Crowns to give, and none for the brow That looked like marble and smelt like myrrh? Shall the robe be worn, and the palm-branch borne, And she go graceless, she graced now Beyond all saints, as themselves aver?

<>8. Hardly! That must be understood! The earth is your place of penance, then; And what will it prove? I desire your good, But, plot as I may, I can find no way How a blow should fall, such as falls on men, Nor prove too much for your womanhood.

<>9. It will come, I suspect, at the end of life, When you walk alone, and review the past; And I, who so long shall have done with strife, And journeyed my stage and earned my wage, And retired as was right,—I am called at last When the devil stabs you, to lend the knife.

<>10. He stabs for the minute of trivial wrong, Nor the other hours are able to save, The happy, that lasted my whole life long: For a promise broke, not for first words spoke, The true, the only, that turn my grave To a blaze of joy and a crash of song.

<>11. Witness beforehand! Off I trip On a safe path gay through the flowers you flung: My very name made great by your lip, And my heart a-glow with the good I know Of a perfect year when we both were young, And I tasted the angels' fellowship.

<>12. And witness, moreover … Ah, but wait! I spy the loop whence an arrow shoots! It may be for yourself, when you meditate, That you grieve—for slain ruth, murdered truth: "Though falsehood escape in the end, what boots? How truth would have triumphed!"—you sigh too late.

<>13. Ay, who would have triumphed like you, I say! Well, it is lost now; well, you must bear, Abide and grow fit for a better day: You should hardly grudge, could I be your judge! But hush! For you, can be no despair: There ’s amends: 'tis a secret: hope and pray!

<>14. For I was true at least—oh, true enough! And, dear, truth is not as good as it seems! Commend me to conscience! Idle stuff! Much help is in mine, as I mope and pine, And skulk through day, and scowl in my dreams At my swan's obtaining the crow's rebuff.

<>15. Men tell me of truth now—"False!" I cry: Of beauty—"A mask, friend! Look beneath!" We take our own method, the devil and I, With pleasant and fair and wise and rare: And the best we wish to what lives, is—death; Which even in wishing, perhaps we lie!

<>16. Far better commit a fault and have done— As you, dear!—for ever; and choose the pure, And look where the healing waters run, And strive and strain to be good again, And a place in the other world insure, All glass and gold, with God for its sun.

<>17. Misery! What shall I say or do? I cannot advise, or, at least, persuade: Most like, you are glad you deceived me—rue No whit of the wrong: you endured too long. Have done no evil and want no aid, Will live the old life out and chance the new.

<>18. And your sentence is written all the same, And I can do nothing,—pray, perhaps: But somehow the world pursues its game, If I pray, if I curse,—for better or worse: And my faith is torn to a thousand scraps, And my heart feels ice while my words breathe flame.

<>19. Dear, I look from my hiding-place. Are you still so fair? Have you still the eyes? Be happy! Add but the other grace, Be good! Why want what the angels vaunt? I knew you once: but in Paradise, If we meet, I will pass nor turn my face.

Dîs Aliter Visum; or, Le Byron de nos Jours

DÎS ALITER VISUM;

LE BYRON DE NOS JOURS.

DÎS ALITER VISUM;

OR,

LE BYRON DE NOS JOURS.

<>1. Stop, let me have the truth of that! Is that all true? I say, the day Ten years ago when both of us Met on a morning, friends—as thus We meet this evening, friends or what?—

<>2. Did you—because I took your arm And sillily smiled, "A mass of brass That sea looks, blazing underneath!" While up the cliff-road edged with heath, We took the turns nor came to harm—

<>3. Did you consider "Now makes twice That I have seen her, walked and talked With this poor pretty thoughtful thing, Whose worth I weigh: she tries to sing; Draws, hopes in time the eye grows nice;

<>4. "Reads verse and thinks she understands; Loves all, at any rate, that's great, Good, beautiful; but much as we Down at the Bath-house love the sea, Who breathe its salt and bruise its sands:

<>5. "While … do but follow the fishing-gull That flaps and floats from wave to cave! There 's the sea-lover, fair my friend! What then? Be patient, mark and mend! Had you the making of your scull?"

<>6. And did you, when we faced the church With spire and sad slate roof, aloof From human fellowship so far, Where a few graveyard crosses are, And garlands for the swallows' perch,—

<>7. Did you determine, as we stepped O'er the lone stone fence, "Let me get Her for myself, and what's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth— Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?

<>8. "Schumann's our music-maker now; Has his march-movement youth and mouth? Ingres's the modern man that paints; Which will lean on me, of his saints? Heine for songs; for kisses, how?"

<>9. And did you, when we entered, reached The votive frigate, soft aloft Riding on air this hundred years, Safe-smiling at old hopes and fears,— Did you draw profit while she preached?

<>10. Resolving, "Fools we wise men grow! Yes, I could easily blurt out curt Some question that might find reply As prompt in her stopped lips, dropped eye, And rush of red to cheek and brow:

<>11. "Thus were a match made, sure and fast, 'Mid the blue weed-flowers round the mound Where, issuing, we shall stand and stay For one more look at Baths and bay, Sands, sea-gulls, and the old church last—

<>12. "A match 'twixt me, bent, wigged, and lamed, Famous, however, for verse and worse, Sure of the Fortieth spare Arm-chair When gout and glory seat me there, So, one whose love-freaks pass unblamed,—

<>13. "And this young beauty, round and sound As a mountain-apple, youth and truth With loves and doves, at all events With money in the Three per Cents; Whose choice of me would seem profound:—

<>14. "She might take me as I take her. Perfect the hour would pass, alas! Climb high, love high, what matter? Still, Feet, feelings, must descend the hill: An hour's perfection can't recur.

<>15. "Then follows Paris and full time For both to reason: 'Thus with us!' She'll sigh, 'Thus girls give body and soul At first word, think they gain the goal, When 'tis the starting-place they climb!

<>16. My friend makes verse and gets renown; Have they all fifty years, his peers? He knows the world, firm, quiet and gay; Boys will become as much one day: They're fools; he cheats, with beard less brown.

<>17. For boys say, Love one or I die! He did not say, The truth is, youth I want, who am old and know too much; I'd catch youth: lend one sight and touch! Drop heart's blood where life's wheels grate dry!

<>18. "While I should make rejoinder"—(then It was, no doubt, you ceased that least Light pressure of my arm in yours) I can conceive of cheaper cures For a yawning-fit o'er books and men.

<>19. What? All I am, was, and might be, All, books taught, art brought, life's whole strife, Painful results since precious, just Were fitly exchanged in wise disgust For two cheeks freshened by youth and sea?

<>20. All for a nosegay!—what came first; With fields on flower, untried each side; I rally, need my books and men, And find a nosegay: drop it, then, No match yet made for best or worst!

<>21. That ended me. You judged the porch We left by, Norman; took our look At sea and sky; wondered so few Find out the place for air and view; Remarked the sun began to scorch;

<>22. Descended, soon regained the Baths, And then, good bye! Years ten since then: Ten years! We meet: you tell me, now, By a window-seat for that cliff-brow, On carpet-stripes for those sand-paths.

<>23. Now I may speak: you fool, for all Your lore! Who made things plain in vain? What was the sea for? What, the grey Sad church, that solitary day, Crosses and graves and swallows' call?