VI. Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside VII. "I have a lily in the bloom at home," Quoth one," and by the blessed Sabbath day And when stiff silks are rustling up, and some Give place, I'll shake it in proud eyes and say Making my reverence, -'Ladies, an you please, King Solomon's not half so fine as these."" Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next? Summer will come again, and summer sun, And lilies too, but I were sorely vext To mar my garden, and cut short the blow Of the last lily I may live to grow." IX. "The last!" quoth she, "and though the last it were Lo! those two wantons, where they stand so proud With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bow'd If they were angels but I made him know X. So speaking, they pursue the pebbly walk And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, XI. And blushing maiden - modestly array'd In spotless white,- still conscious of the glass; And she, the lonely widow, that hath made A sable covenant with grief, - alas! She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade, Her boy, XII. Thus, as good Christians ought, they all draw near The fair white temple, to the timely call Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere Of the low porch, and heav'n has won them all, Saving those two, that turn aside and pass, In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. XIII. Ah me! to see their silken manors trail'd In purple luxuries with restless gold, Flaunting the grass where widowhood has wail'd In blotted black, over the heapy mould Panting wave-wantonly! They never quail'd How the warm vanity abused the cold; Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone Sadly uplooking through transparent stone: XIV. But swept their dwellings with unquiet light, L XV. Now in the church, time-sober'd minds resign Painting the mistlight where the roof is dim; XVI. Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath Enrobed his angels, — and with absent eyes Hearing of Heav'n, and its directed path, Thoughtful of slippers, and the glorious skies Clouding with satin, till the preacher's wrath Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries With a deep voice that trembles in its might, And earnest eyes grown eloquent in light: XVII. "O that the vacant eye would learn to look On very beauty, and the heart embrace True loveliness, and from this holy book Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace Of love indeed! O that the young soul took Its virgin passion from the glorious face Of fair religion, and address'd its strife, XVIII. ‹ Doth the vain heart love glory that is none, Dazzling the brain with orbs of living fire; Breathe hymns, and Nature's many forests nod Their gold-crown'd heads; and the rich blooms of heav'n Of heavenly Moses, that your thirsty sense - May quench its longings of magnificence! "Yet suns shall perish XX. stars shall fade away Day into darkness — darkness into death Death into silence; the warm light of day, The blooms of summer, the rich glowing breath Of even all shall wither and decay, Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dyes That break and vanish in the aching eyes." |