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Chapter 82 : William Wordsworth [1770-1850]THE SOLITARY-HEARTED She was a queen of n.o.ble Nature�

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

THE SOLITARY-HEARTED

She was a queen of n.o.ble Nature's crowning, A smile of hers was like an act of grace; She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, Like daily beauties of the vulgar race: But if she smiled, a light was on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream Of human thought with unabiding glory; Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, A visitation, bright and transitory.

But she is changed,--hath felt the touch of sorrow, No love hath she, no understanding friend; O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow What the poor n.i.g.g.ard earth has not to lend; But when the stalk is snapped, the rose must bend.

The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in virgin pride, so sweet and purely.

She had a brother, and a tender father, And she was loved, but not as others are From whom we ask return of love,--but rather As one might love a dream; a phantom fair Of something exquisitely strange and rare, Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, Yet no one claimed--as oft, in dewy glades, The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades;-- The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness.

'Tis vain to say--her worst of grief is only The common lot, which all the world have known; To her 'tis more, because her heart is lonely, And yet she hath no strength to stand alone,-- Once she had playmates, fancies of her own, And she did love them. They are pa.s.sed away As Fairies vanish at the break of day; And like a spectre of an age departed, Or unsphered Angel wofully astray, She glides along--the solitary-hearted.

Hartley Coleridge [1796-1849]

OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE

Women there are on earth, most sweet and high, Who lose their own, and walk bereft and lonely, Loving that one lost heart until they die, Loving it only.

And so they never see beside them grow Children, whose coming is like breath of flowers; Consoled by subtler loves the angels know Through childless hours.

Good deeds they do: they comfort and they bless In duties others put off till the morrow; Their look is balm, their touch is tenderness To all in sorrow.

Betimes the world smiles at them, as 'twere shame, This maiden guise, long after youth's departed; But in G.o.d's Book they bear another name-- "The faithful-hearted."

Faithful in life, and faithful unto death, Such souls, in sooth, illume with l.u.s.tre splendid That glimpsed, glad land wherein, the Vision saith, Earth's wrongs are ended.

Richard Burton [1861-

"SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY"

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]

PRELUDES From "The Angel in the House"

I UNTHRIFT

Ah, wasteful woman, she that may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing man cannot choose but pay, How has she cheapened paradise; How given for nought her priceless gift, How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine, Which, spent with due, respective thrift, Had made brutes men, and men divine.

II HONOR AND DESERT

O Queen, awake to thy renown, Require what 'tis our wealth to give, And comprehend and wear the crown Of thy despised prerogative!

I, who in manhood's name at length With glad songs come to abdicate The gross regality of strength, Must yet in this thy praise abate, That, through thine erring humbleness And disregard of thy degree, Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellows.h.i.+p with thee.

High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, The coward had grasped the hero's sword, The vilest had been great, hadst thou, Just to thyself, been worth's reward.

But lofty honors undersold Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favors that make folly bold Banish the light from virtue's face.

III THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

Lo, when the Lord made North and South, And sun and moon ordained, He, Forthbringing each by word of mouth In order of its dignity Did man from the crude clay express By sequence, and all else decreed, He formed the woman; nor might less Than Sabbath such a work succeed.

And still with favor singled out, Marred less than man by mortal fall, Her disposition is devout, Her countenance angelical: The best things that the best believe Are in her face so kindly writ The faithless, seeing her, conceive Not only heaven, but hope of it; No idle thought her instinct shrouds, But fancy chequers settled sense, Like alteration of the clouds On noonday's azure permanence.

Pure dignity, composure, ease, Declare affections n.o.bly fixed, And impulse sprung from due degrees Of sense and spirit sweetly mixed.

Her modesty, her chiefest grace, The cestus clasping Venus' side, How potent to deject the face Of him who would affront its pride!

Wrong dares not in her presence speak, Nor spotted thought its taint disclose Under the protest of a cheek Outbragging Nature's boast, the rose.

In mind and manners how discreet; How artless in her very art; How candid in discourse; how sweet The concord of her lips and heart!

How simple and how circ.u.mspect; How subtle and how fancy-free; Though sacred to her love, how decked With unexclusive courtesy; How quick in talk to see from far The way to vanquish or evade; How able her persuasions are To prove, her reasons to persuade.

How (not to call true instinct's bent And woman's very nature, harm), How amiable and innocent Her pleasure in her power to charm; How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires, Connubial apt.i.tude exact, Diversity that never tires!

IV THE TRIBUTE

Boon Nature to the woman bows; She walks in earth's whole glory clad, And, chiefest far herself of shows, All others help her and are glad: No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome But serves her for familiar wear; The far-fetched diamond finds its home Flas.h.i.+ng and smouldering in her hair; For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli; The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves, All doff for her their ornaments, Which suit her better than themselves; And all, by this their power to give, Proving her right to take, proclaim Her beauty's clear prerogative To profit so by Eden's blame.

V NEAREST THE DEAREST

Till Eve was brought to Adam, he A solitary desert trod, Though in the great society Of nature, angels, and of G.o.d.

If one slight column counterweighs The ocean, 'tis the Maker's law, Who deems obedience better praise Than sacrifice of erring awe.

VI THE FOREIGN LAND

A woman is a foreign land, Of which, though there he settle young, A man will ne'er quite understand The customs, politics, and tongue.

The foolish hie them post-haste through, See fas.h.i.+ons odd and prospects fair, Learn of the language, "How d'ye do,"

And go and brag they have been there.

The most for leave to trade apply, For once, at Empire's seat, her heart, Then get what knowledge ear and eye Glean chancewise in the life-long mart.

And certain others, few and fit, Attach them to the Court, and see The Country's best, its accent hit, And partly sound its polity.

Coventry Patmore [1823-1896]