Thou Trade! thou king of the modern days!

Change thy ways,

Change thy ways;

Let the sweaty laborers file

A little while,

A little while,

Where Art and Nature sing and smile.
Trade! is thy heart all dead, all dead?
And hast thou nothing but a head?
I'm all for heart," the flute-voice said,
And into sudden silence fled,

Like as a blush that while 'tis red
Dies to a still, still white instead.

Thereto a thrilling calm succeeds,
Till presently the silence breeds
A little breeze among the reeds

That seems to blow by sea-marsh weeds:

Then from the gentle stir and fret

Sings out the melting clarionet,

Like as a lady sings while yet

Her eyes with salty tears are wet.

"O Trade! O Trade!" the Lady said,
"I too will wish thee utterly dead

If all thy heart is in thy head.
For O my God! and O my God!
What shameful ways have women trod
At beckoning of Trade's golden rod !
Alas when sighs are traders' lies,
And heart's-ease eyes and violet eyes
Are merchandise!

O purchased lips that kiss with pain!

O cheeks coin-spotted with smirch and stain !

201

211

221

231

241

251

O trafficked hearts that break in twain !

-And yet what wonder at my sisters' crime?
So hath Trade withered up Love's sinewy prime,
Men love not women as in olden time.

Ah, not in these cold merchantable days
Deem men their life an opal gray, where plays
The one red Sweet of gracious ladies'-praise.
Now, comes a suitor with sharp prying eye-
Says, Here, you Lady, if you'll sell I'll buy:
What! weep-
Come, heart for heart—a trade?

ing? why?
Shame on such wooers' dapper mercery!

I would my lover kneeling at my feet

In humble manliness should cry, O sweet!

I know not if thy heart my heart will greet :
I ask not if thy love my love can meet :
Whate'er thy worshipful soft tongue shall say,
I'll kiss thine answer, be it yea or nay:
I do but know I love thee, and I pray
To be thy knight until my dying day.

Woe him that cunning trades in hearts contrives!
Base love good women to base loving drives.

If men loved larger, larger were our lives;

And wooed they nobler, won they nobler wives.”

There thrust the bold straightforward horn

To battle for that lady lorn,

With heartsome voice of mellow scorn,
Like any knight in knighthood's morn.
"Now comfort thee," said he,

"Fair Lady.

For God shall right thy grievous wrong,

And man shall sing thee a true-love song,

Voiced in act his whole life long,
Yea, all thy sweet life long,
Fair Lady.

Where's he that craftily hath said,
The day of chivalry is dead?
I'll prove that lie upon his head,
Or I will die instead,

Fair Lady.

Is Honor gone into his grave ?

And Selfhood turned into a slave

Hath Faith become a caitiff knave,

To work in Mammon's cave,
Fair Lady?

Will Truth's long blade ne'er gleam again?
Hath Giant Trade in dungeons slain

All great contempts of mean-got gain
And hates of inward stain,

Fair Lady?

For aye shall name and fame be sold,

And place be hugged for the sake of gold,
And smirch-robed Justice feebly scold

At Crime all money-bold,

Fair Lady?

Shall self-wrapt husbands aye forget
Kiss-pardons for the daily fret

Wherewith sweet wifely eyes are wet

Blind to lips kiss-wise set—

Fair Lady?

Shall lovers higgle, heart for heart,
Till wooing grows a trading mart

Where much for little, and all for part,
Make love a cheapening art,

Fair Lady?

261

271

281

291

301

311

321

Shall woman scorch for a single sin
That her betrayer may revel in,
And she be burnt, and he but grin
When that the flames begin,
Fair Lady?

Shall ne'er prevail the woman's plea,
We maids would far, far whiter be
If that our eyes might sometimes see
Men maids in purity,

Fair Lady?

Shall Trade aye salve his conscience-aches
With jibes at Chivalry's old mistakes—
The wars that o'erhot knighthood makes
For Christ's and ladies' sakes,

Fair Lady?

Now by each knight that e'er hath prayed
To fight like a man and love like a maid,
Since Pembroke's life, as Pembroke's blade,
I' the scabbard, death, was laid,

Fair Lady,

I dare avouch my faith is bright

That God doth right and God hath might.
Nor time hath changed His hair to white,
Nor His dear love to spite,

Fair Lady.

I doubt no doubts: I strive, and shrive my clay,
And fight my fight in the patient modern way
For true love and for thee-ah me! and pray
To be thy knight until my dying day,

Fair Lady."

Made end that knightly horn, and spurred away
Into the thick of the melodious fray.

And then the hautboy played and smiled,
And sang like any large-eyed child,
Cool-hearted and all undefiled.

66

"Huge Trade!" he said,

Would thou wouldst lift me on thy head And run where'er my finger led!

Once said a Man-and wise was He

Never shalt thou the heavens see,

Save as a little child thou be."

Then o'er sea-lashings of commingling tunes
The ancient wise bassoons,

Like weird

Gray-beard

Old harpers sitting on the high sea-dunes,

Chanted runes:

"Bright-waved gain, gray-waved loss,
The sea of all doth lash and toss,
One wave forward and one across :
But now 'twas trough, now 'tis crest,
And worst doth foam and flash to best,
And curst to blest.

"Life! Life! thou sea-fugue, writ from east to

west,

Love, Love alone can pore

On thy dissolving score
Of harsh half-phrasings,

Blotted ere writ,

And double erasings

Of chords most fit.

Yea, Love, sole rnusic-master blest,

May read thy weltering palimpsest.

To follow Time's dying melodies through,

331

341

351