Tired of his dark dominion, swung the fiend Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened, Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose. Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.

And now upon his western wing he leaned, Now his huge bulk o'er Afric's sands careened, Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows. Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars With memory of the old revolt from Awe, He reached a middle height, and at the stars, Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.

ΙΟ

THE FIRST DAY

I wish I could remember that first day,

First hour, first moment of your meeting

me,

If bright or dim the season, it might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say; So unrecorded did it slip away,

So blind was I to see and to foresee,

So dull to mark the budding of my tree That would not blossom yet for many a May. If only I could recollect it, such

A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;

It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,

10

First touch of hand in hand - Did one but know?

REMEMBER

Remember me when I am gone away, 1
Gone far away into the silent land; \~-~
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. 1
Remember me when no more, day by day, L
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understandi
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while

And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

REST

O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;

Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth; Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs. She hath no questions, she hath no replies,

i

Hushed in and curtained with a blessèd dearth Of all that irked her from the hour of birth; With stillness that is almost Paradise. Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her,

Lucile de Nevers (if her riddle I read)

Was a woman of genius: whose genius, indeed, With her life was at war. Once, but once, in that life

The chance had been hers to escape from this strife

In herself; finding peace in the life of another From the passionate wants she, in hers, failed to smother.

But the chance fell too soon, when the crude restless power

Which had been to her nature so fatal a dower, Only wearied the man it yet haunted and thrall'd; And that moment, once lost, had been never recall'd.

10

Yet it left her heart sore: and, to shelter her heart From approach, she then sought, in that delicate

art

Of concealment, those thousand adroit strategies
Of feminine wit, which repel while they please,
A weapon, at once, and a shield, to conceal
And defend all that women can earnestly feel.
Thus, striving her instincts to hide and repress,
She felt frighten'd at times by her very success:
She pined for the hill-tops, the clouds, and the

stars:

Golden wires may annoy us as much as steel bars, If they keep us behind prison-windows: impassion'd

21

Her heart rose and burst the light cage she had fashion'd

Out of glittering trifles around it.

Unknown

To herself, all her instincts, without hesitation, Embraced the idea of self-immolation.

The strong spirit in her, had her life but been blended

With some man's whose heart had her own comprehended,

All its wealth at his feet would have lavishly

thrown.

For him she had struggled and striven alone; 30
For him had aspired; in him had transfused
All the gladness and grace of her nature; and used
For him only the spells of its delicate power:
Like the ministering fairy that brings from her
bower

To some maze all the treasures, whose use the fond elf,

More enrich'd by her love, disregards for herself. But standing apart, as she ever had done,

And her genius, which needed a vent, finding none In the broad fields of action thrown wide to man's power,

39

She unconsciously made it her bulwark and tower, And built in it her refuge, whence lightly she hurl'd Her contempt at the fashions and forms of the

'world.

And the permanent cause why she now miss'd and fail'd

That firm hold upon life she so keenly assail'd, Was, in all those diurnal occasions that place — Say the world and the woman opposed face to face,

Where the woman must yield, she, refusing to stir,

Offended the world, which in turn wounded her.

50

As before, in the old-fashion'd manner, I fit
To this character, also, its moral: to wit,
Say the world is a nettle; disturb it, it stings:
Grasp it firmly, it stings not. On one of two things,
If you would not be stung, it behoves you to settle:
Avoid it, or crush it. She crush'd not the nettle;
For she could not; nor would she avoid it; she
tried

With the weak hand of woman to thrust it aside,
And it stung her. A woman is too slight a thing
To trample the world without feeling its sting.

THE PORTRAIT

Midnight past! Not a sound of aught

Thro' the silent house, but the wind at his prayers.

I sat by the dying fire, and thought
Of the dear dead woman upstairs.

A night of tears! for the gusty rain

545

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD (1832-1904)

THE LIGHT OF ASIA

FROM BOOK I

THE MYSTERY OF EVIL

But on another day the King said, "Come,
Sweet son! and see the pleasaunce of the spring,
And how the fruitful earth is wooed to yield
Its riches to the reaper; how my realm-
Which shall be thine when the pile flames for me-
Feeds all its mouths and keeps the King's chest
filled.

Fair is the season with new leaves, bright blooms,
Green grass, and cries of plough-time." So they

rode

10

Into a land of wells and gardens, where,
All up and down the rich red loam, the steers
Strained their strong shoulders in the creaking yoke
Dragging the ploughs; the fat soil rose and rolled
In smooth long waves back from the plough; who
drove

Planted both feet upon the leaping share
To make the furrow deep; among the palms
The tinkle of the rippling water rang,
And where it ran the glad earth 'broidered it
With balsams and the spears of lemon-grass.
Elsewhere were sowers who went forth to sow;
And all the jungle laughed with nesting songs, 20
And all the thickets rustled with small life
Of lizard, bee, beetle, and creeping things
Pleased at the spring-time. In the mango-sprays
The sun-birds flashed; alone at his green forge
Toiled the loud copper-smith; bee-eaters hawked,
Chasing the purple butterflies; beneath,
Striped squirrels raced, the mynas perked and
picked,

30

The seven brown sisters chattered in the thorn,
The pied fish-tiger hung above the pool,
The egrets stalked among the buffaloes,
The kites sailed circles in the golden air;
About the painted temple peacocks flew,
The blue doves cooed from every well, far off
The village drums beat for some marriage-feast;
All things spoke peace and plenty, and the Prince
Saw and rejoiced. But, looking deep, he saw
The thorns which grow upon this rose of life:
How the swart peasant sweated for his wage,
Toiling for leave to live; and how he urged 39
The great-eyed oxen through the flaming hours,
Goading their velvet flanks: then marked he, too,
How lizard fed on ant, and snake on him,
And kite on both; and how the fish-hawk robbed
The fish-tiger of that which it had seized;
The shrike chasing the bulbul, which did hunt
The jewelled butterflies; till everywhere