Read Ebook: My Beautiful Lady. Nelly Dale by Woolner Thomas Morley Henry Editor

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Ebook has 298 lines and 25018 words, and 6 pages

"Make not my pathway dull so soon," I cried; "See how yon clouds of rosy eventide Roll out their splendour: while the breeze Shifts gold from leaf to leaf, as these Lithe saplings move at ease!"

Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush Startled the air with song; then every bush Of covert songsters all awoke, And all, as to their leader's stroke, Into full chorus broke.

A lonely wind sighed up the pines, and sung Of woes long past, forgot. My spirit hung O'er awful gulfs: and loathly dread So bitter was I wished me dead, And from a great void said;

"Wait till its glory fade; the sun but burned To light your loveliness!" The Lady turned To me, flushed by its lingering rays, Mute as a star. My frantic praise Fixed wide her brightened gaze:

When, rapt in resolution, I told all The mighty love I bore her; how would pall My very breath of life, if she For ever breathed not hers with me:-- Could I a spirit be,

How, vainly hoping to enrich her grace, What gems and wonders would I snatch from space; Would back through the vague distance beat, Glowing with joy her smile to meet, And heap them round her feet!

Her waist shook to my arm. She bowed her head To mine in silence, and my fears had fled: Ah no; it is not right to tell; But I remember well

How dear the pressure of her warm young breast Against my own, her home; how proud and blessed I stood and felt her trickling tears, While proudly murmuring in her ears The hope of distant years.

The rest I keep: a holy charm, a source Of secret strength and comfort on my course. Her glory left my pathway bright; And stars on stars throughout the night Came blooming into light.

O lily with the heavenly sun Shining upon thy breast! My scattered passions toward thee run, And poise to awful rest.

The darkness of our universe Smothered my soul in night; Thy glory shone; whereat the curse Passed molten into light.

Raised over envy; freed from pain; Beyond the storms of chance: Blessed king of my own world I reign, Controlling circumstance.

Warble, warble, warble, O thou joyful bird! Warble, lost in leaves that shade my happy head; Warble loud delights, laud thy warm-breasted mate, And warbling shout the riot of thy heart, Thine utmost rapture cannot equal mine.

Flutter, flutter, and flash; crimson-winged flower, Parted from thy stem grown in land of dreams! Hover and tremble, flitting till thou findest, Butterfly, thy treasure! Yet thou never canst Find treasure rich as my contented rest.

Hum on contentedly, thou wandering bee! Or pausing in chosen flowers drain their sweets; From honeyed petal thou canst never sip The sweetest sweet of sweets, as I from Love,-- From Love's warm mouth draw sweetest sweet of sweets.

Round, western wind, in grateful eddies sway, Whisper deliciously the trembling flowers: O could I fill thy vacancy as I Am filled with happiness, thou'dst breathe such sounds Their blooms should wane and waver sick for love; Thou'dst utter rarer secrets than are blown With yonder bean-fields' paradisal scents;-- These bean-field odours, lightly sweet and faint, That tell of pastures sloping down to streams Murmuring for ever on through sunny lands; Where mountains gleam and bank to silvery heights That scarce the greatest angel's wing can reach; Where wondrous creatures float beneath the shade Of growths sublime, unknown to mortal race; Where hazes opaline lie tranced in dreams, Where melodies are heard and die at will, And little spirits make hot love to flowers.

Though broadly flaming, plain of yellow blossom, A dazzling blaze of splendour in the noon! And brightening open heaven, ye shining clouds, With lustrous light that casts the azure dim! Your radiance all united to the sun's Were darkness to that glory born in me.

For Love's own voice has owned her love is mine; And Love's own palm has pressed my palm to hers; Love's own deep eyes have looked the love she spoke: And Love's young heart to mine was fondly beating As from her lips I sucked the sweet of life.

What trite old folly unharmonious sages In dull books write or prattle day by day, Of sin original and growing crime! And commentating the advance of time, Say wrong has fostered wrong for countless ages, The strong ones marking down the weak for prey.

Why fill they not with love the printed page, Illuminating, as yon moon the night, Serenely shining on a world of beauty, Where love moves ever hand in hand with duty; And life, a long aspiring pilgrimage, Makes labour but a pastime of delight!

It was delightfulness to him I found Whistling this afternoon behind his team, That stepped an easy comfortable pace; While off the mould-iron curved in rolling grace Dark earth, wave lapping wave, without a sound; And all passed by me blissful, like a dream.

And those I noticed hoeing on the hill Talking familiarly of homely things, A daughter's marriage-day, a son's first child; How the good Squire at length was reconciled, Had overlooked the pheasant shot by Will:-- Chirruping on as any cricket sings.

And that complete Arcadian pastoral, The piping boy who watched his feeding sheep; And, as a little bird o'erflows with joy, Piped on for hours my happy shepherd boy! While, coiled below, his faithful animal Basked in the sunshine, blinking, half asleep.

This silent night-wind bloweth heavenly pure; Like dimpled warmth of an infantine face. Lo, glimmering starlike in yon balmy vale The village lights; each tells a little tale Of humble comfort, where its inmates, sure In hope, feel grateful in their lowly place.

And here My Lady's lighted oriel shines A giant glowworm in the odorous gloom. Ah, stands she smiling there in loose white gown, Hearing the music of her future drown The stillness and hushed whispering of the vines, Whose lattice-clasping leaves o'ershade her room!

Or kneels she worshipful beside her bed In large-eyed hope and bended lowliness, To crave that He, the Giver, may impart Enough of strength to bind her trembling heart Steadfast and true; and that her will be led To own His chastening cares pain but to bless?

Or sits she at her mirror, face to face With her own loveliness? Ah, me; I wonder whether She now her braided opulent hair unlace And drop it billowing from her moonwhite hand!

Then what a fount of wealth to lover's sight! Her loosened hair, I heard her mother say, When she is seated, tumbles to the floor And trails the length of her own foot and more: And dare I, lapt in bliss, dream my delight Ere long shall watch its rippling softness play?

Dare I, O vanity! but do I dare Think she now looks upon the sorry rhyme I wrote long ere that well-loved setting sun, What time love conquering dread My Lady won, While I unblessed, adored in mute despair:-- Even now I gave it her at parting time.

"O let me, Dearest, fall and once impart My grieving love to ease this stricken heart; But once, O Love, to fall and rest This wearied head of mine, But once to weep in thine Unutterably tender breast; And on my drooping lids feel thy young breath; To feel it playing sweeter were than death.

"Than death were sweet to one bent down and old, And worn with persecutions manifold; Whose stoutness long endured alone The charge of bitter foes, Till, furious, he rose, When smitten, all were overthrown. Who then of those, his dearest, none could find, They having fled as leaves before the wind.

"As he would pass, when to his failing sight Their forms stand in a vision heavenly bright; And piercing through his drowsed ears Enters their tuneful cry Of summons, audibly, Thither where flow no mourners' tears: So, dearest Love, my spirit, sore oppressed, Would weeping in thy bosom sink to rest."

Her window now is darkness, save the sheen Glazed on it by the moon. Within she lies Her supple shape relaxed, in dreamful rest, And folds contentment babelike to her breast, Whose beauteous heaving, even and serene, Beats mortal time to heavenly lullabies.

To call My Lady where she stood "A Wild-rose blossom of the wood," Makes but a poor similitude.

For who by such a sleight would reach An aim, consumes the worth in speech, And sets a crimson rose to bleach.

My Love, whose store of household sense Gives duty golden recompense, And arms her goodness with defence:

The sweet reliance of whose gaze Originates in gracious ways, And wins the trust that trust repays:

Whose stately figure's varying grace Is never seen unless her face Turn beaming toward another place;

For such a halo round it glows Surprised attention only knows A lively wonder in repose.

Can flowers that breathe one little day In odorous sweetness life away, And wavering to the earth decay,

Have any claim to rank with her, Warmed in whose soul impulses stir, Then bloom to goodness, and aver

Her worth through spheral joys shall move When suns and systems cease above, And nothing lives but perfect Love?

Strong in the regal strength of love, Enthroned by native worth Her sway is held on earth: Whose soul looks downward from above Exalted stars, whose power Brightens the brightest flower.

Her beauty walks in happier grace Than lightly moving fawns O'er old elm-shadowed lawns. A tenderness shows through her face, And like the morning's glow, Hints a full day below.

When site looks wide around the skies On the sun's dazzling track, And when shines softly back Its glory to her open eyes, She fills our hearts and sight With wonder and delight.

And when tired thought my sense benumbs, Or when past shadows roll Their memories on my soul, Oft breaking through the darkness comes A solace and surprise, Her wonder-lighted eyes.

How grand and beautiful the love She silently conceals, Nor save in act reveals! She broods o'er kindness; as a dove Sits musing in the nest Of the life beneath her breast.

The ready freshness that was known In man's authentic prime, The earliest breath of time, Throughout her household ways is shown; Mild greatness subtly wrought With quaint and childlike thought.

She sits to music: fingers fall, Air shakes; her lifted voice Makes flattered hope rejoice, And shivering through Time's phantom pall, Its wavering rents display Dim splendour, far away;

Where her perfection, glory-crowned, Shall rest in love for ever; When mortal systems sever, And the orbed universe is drowned, Leaving the empty skies The blank of death-closed eyes.

Deep in this truth I root my trust; And know the dear One's praise, Her mutely gracious ways, When all her loveliness is dust And mosses rase her name, Will bless our world the same.

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