And though my trust in him is yet full strong
I may not hold him guiltless, in the dream
That wrong forgiven is no longer wrong,
And, looking on his error, fondly deem
That he in that he erreth doth but seem.
I do not soothe me with a vain belief;
He hath done evil, therefore is my thought
Of him made sadness with no common grief.
But thou, what good or truth has in thee wrought
That thou shouldst hold thee more than him in aught?
He will redeem his nature, he is great
In inward purpose past thy power to scan,
And he will bear his meed of evil fate
And lift him from his fall a nobler man,
Hating his error as a great one can.
And what art thou to look on him and say
'Ah! he has fallen whom they praised, but know
My foot is sure'? Upon thy level way
Are there the perils of the hills of snow?
Yea, he has fallen, but wherefore art thou low?
Speak no light word of him, for he is more
Than thou canst know-and ever more to me,
Though he has lessened the first faith I bore,
Than thou in thy best deeds couldst ever be;
Yea, though he fall again, not low like thee.
A WILD rough night: and through the gloomy gray
One sees the blackness of the headland grow,
One sees the whiteness of the upflung spray,
The whiteness of the breakers down below.
A wild wild night: and on the shingly rim
The furious sea-surge roars and frets and rives;
And far away those black specks, growing dim,
Are tossing with their freights of human lives.
And all the while upon the silent height
The strong white star, beneath the starless sky,
Shines through the dimness of the troubled night,
Shines motionless while the vexed winds hoot by.
Oh! steadfast light, across dark miles of sea
How many straining eyes whence sleep is chased
Are watching through the midnight-storm for thee
Large glimmering through the haze to the gray waste!
And in the night, fond mothers, scared awake,
And lonely wives, pushing the blind aside,
See thee and bless thee for their sailor's sake,
And thank God thou art there, the dear ship's guide.
Oh! strong calm star, so watching night by night,
And hour by hour, when storm-winds are astir,
They find thee changeless with thy patient light,
A beacon to the sea-tossed wanderer.
Oh strong and patient! Once upon my life
Shone such a star, and, when the trouble wave
Reached me and I grew faint with tempest strife,
Through all I saw that hope-star and was brave.
Oh my lost star! my star that was to me
Instead of sunlight that the happy know!
Oh weary way upon life's trackless sea!
And through the gloom there shines no beacon glow.
THE earliest keel, that sowed with snowy foam
The deep sea-furrows, scared the wondering Nymphs:
But grown more bold, ere long, they learned to trust
The white-winged wanderers; and grew to think
The rowers' well-timed stroke a pleasant song.
And curious, as where not, the sex? — to pry
In hidden mysteries, they began to haunt
The peopled shores and loiter near the ports.
And many a wonder of the noisy world
By rumor reached them, or their eyes beheld.
'O'er Psamathe there came a strange desire :
She longed to hear the music of men's speech,
And clasp their hands in love. And she forsook
The sweet sea-cradled sisterhood, her friends:
Nor missed the quiet bliss of wandering, —
So many linked together, hand in hand,
Like wavering sea-flags, in the depths serene:
And only pined to compass her delight.
So, glimmering upward to the rosy day,
And looking wistfully, as birds that wait.
Their comrades, gathering on a northland coast,
To follow wandering summer on the wing,
Desire prevailed. And so she gained, ere noon,
Geræstum. Then, unwearied, skilfully,
With lithe swift movement made the troubled strait,
Where rugged wave crowds rugged wave, aroar,
Between grim Macris' rude unfooted strand
And Attic Sunium's white and wave-cooled foot:
Then took the bold Saronic bay, and found
What seemed the goal; wind-swept Œnopia;
Ere sunset faded on the lazy sails.
Chant, weeping, sing, how gladly she beheld
The white-walled houses. Up the rocky bay
Of snowy arm she made an even oar,
By cliff and cave : and in a quiet cove
She found, — whom, hapless?
O soft, pale lids, with what a fire they burned!
Her heart leaped out toward men, and chose the first.
'Mid whelk and slippery limpet, in the gloom,
She drew the smooth weeds, blue and emerald,
Around her beauty, like a wave-made shroud;
And, stretched, a waif, upon the strand, she seemed
Some drifted treasure of a wreck forlorn.
So, grave and weighty matter pondering,
The king came nearer and this waif beheld.
And wonderingly he drew the dripping hair, -
Such, haply, he had seen in dreams of old,
From brine-wet lips, and eyelids of her eyes:
He watched the weed-spread bosom's swell betray
Its fluttering guest: and memory of his sons,
And dead Endeis, and the love of years,
Oblivion sealed, in blushes like a boy's.
No weak misgivings for the future vexed
This amorous king. He took the cloak he wore;
And spread it on the sand, and daintily
Enwrapped his prize; and smoothed from sight each limb;
And bore her lightly in his brawny arms.
She, slumbering on the couch that one time held
The queen Endeis, dared show her blue eyes
Unhooded, to the wondering handmaidens:
And so they robed her in a queenly way,
And bound her hair. And then it was the king
First kissed her on the lips, nor was she loth.
She held not back, unskilled in maiden guile :
Yea, even, the well-made vesture, at the first,
Seemed foolish labor to this wave-nursed one.
Their ways bewildered, and their speech was strange.
And so the king was fain to be content
To have it still unknown what mother bore:
But yet proclaimed his nuptials in the land;
And held a feast, and summoned lordly guests.
And Telamon and Peleus scorned to come;
His sons; disdainful; thinking old men's eyes
Should cease from doting on a maiden's charms.
So, linked with memory and forgetfulness,
And making old things new, and new things old,
The seasons, hand in hand, danced round the world.
Spring shook a beauteous blossom from her urn;
A gift for Psamathe, a boy, her flower.
And she had all she longed for. Speech of men
Became familiar. Musically fell,
Now from her lips, now on her ear, its sound.
She lived content, and trusted in the king.
O weak the tendrils of unwise desire !
Awhile he loved her, with the love which clings,
Like flickering fire, round dotage of the old.
He strove to teach her to be worldly-wise,
Though Nereids only learn the sweet love-lore.
But soon the stormier passions of the man
Outlived its fever, and the charm dissolved.
Soon, disenchanted of his dreams, he held
His lingering kindness for a fault to mend ;
Soon,
as men hate the meek ones whom they wrong,
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