Can I speak, can I breathe, can I burstaught else but see, see, only see? And see I do for there comes in sighta man, it sure must be! Who staggeringly, stumblingly rises, falls, rises, at random flings his weight On and on, anyhow onward—a man that's mad he arrives too late!

Else why does he wave a something white high-flourished above his head?

Why does not he call, cry,-curse the fool! - why throw up his arms instead? O take this fist in your own face, fool! Why does not yourself shout "Stay! Here's a man comes rushing, might and main, with something he's mad to say"?

And a minute, only a moment, to have hell-fire boil up in your brain, And ere you can judge things right, choose

heaven,-time 's over, repentance vain! They level: a volley, a smoke and the clearing of smoke: I see no more Of the man smoke hid, nor his frantic

arms, nor the something white he bore. But stretched on the field, some half-mile off, is an object. Surely dumb, Deaf, blind were we struck, that nobody heard, not one of us saw him come! Has he fainted through fright? One may well believe! What is it he holds so fast?

Turn him over, examine the face! Hey

day! What, Vincent Parkes at last? Dead! dead as she, by the selfsame shot: one bullet has ended both, Her in the body and him in the soul. They laugh at our plighted troth. "Till death us do part?" Till death us do join past parting that sounds like Betrothal indeed! O Vincent Parkes, what need has my fist to strike?

I helped you: thus were you dead and wed: one bound, and your soul reached hers! There is clenched in your hand the thing,

signed, sealed, the paper which plain

avers

She is innocent, innocent, plain as print, with the King's Arms broad engraved: No one can hear, but if any one high on the hill can see, she's saved!

And torn his garb and bloody his lips with heart-break - plain it grew

How the week's delay had been brought about each guess at the end proved

true.

It was hard to get at the folk in power: such waste of time! and then Such pleading and praying, with, all the while, his lamb in the lions' den!

And at length when he wrung their pardon out, no end to the stupid formsThe license and leave: I make no doubtwhat wonder if passion warms

The pulse in a man if you play with his heart? - he was something hasty in speech;

Anyhow, none would quicken the work: he had to beseech, beseech!

And the thing once signed, sealed, safe in his grasp, what followed but fresh delays?

For the floods were out, he was forced to take such a roundabout of ways! And 't was "Halt there!" at every turn of the road, since he had to cross the thick

Of the red-coats: what did they care for him and his "Quick, for God's sake, quick!"

Horse? but he had one: had it how long?

till the first knave smirked "You brag Yourself a friend of the King's? then lend to a King's friend here your nag!" Money to buy another? Why, piece by piece they plundered him still, With their "Wait you must,

no help: if aught can help you, a guinea will!" And a borough there was I forget the name whose Mayor must have the bench

Of Justices ranged to clear a doubt: for "Vincent," thinks he, sounds French! It well may have driven him daft, God knows all man can certainly know rushing and falling and rising, at last he arrived in a horror-so!

Is

A PEARL, A GIRL
[1889.]

A SIMPLE ring with a single stone,

To the vulgar eye no stone of price: Whisper the right word, that alone

Forth starts a sprite, like fire from ice, And lo, you are lord (says an Eastern scroll)

Of heaven and earth, lord whole and sole Through the power in a pearl.

A woman ('t is I this time that say) With litle the world counts worthy praise:

Utter the true word-out and away

Escapes her soul: I am wrapt in blaze, Creation's lord, of heaven and earth Lord whole and sole--by a minute's birthThrough the love in a girl!

Faster and more fast,

O'er night's brim, day boils at last;
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim
Where spurting and suppressed it lay:
For not a froth-flake touched the rim
Of yonder gap in the solid gray
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
But forth one wavelet, then another, curled,
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then over-
flowed the world.

Oh, Day, if I squander a wavelet of thee,
A mite of my twelve hours' treasure,
The least of thy gazes or glances

251

(Be they grants thou art bound to, or gifts above measure),

One of thy choices, or one of thy chances (Be they tasks God imposed thee, or freaks at thy pleasure) —

My Day, if I squander such labour or leisure,

Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!

Thy long blue solemn hours serenely flowing,

Whence earth, we feel, gets steady help and good

Thy fitful sunshine-minutes, coming, going, In which earth turns from work in gamesome mood

All shall be mine! But thou must treat me not

As the prosperous are treated, those who live

At hand here, and enjoy the higher lot,
In readiness to take what thou wilt give,
And free to let alone what thou refusest;
For, Day, my holiday, if thou ill-usest
Me, who am only Pippa-old-year's sor-

All other men and women that this earth Belongs to, who all days alike possess, Make general plenty cure particular dearth, Get more joy one way, if another less Thou art my single day God lends to leaven What were all earth else with a feel of heaven;

Sole light that helps me through the year, thy sun's!

Try, now! Take Asolo's Four Happiest Ones

And let thy morning rain on that superb Great haughty Ottima, can rain disturb Her Sebald's homage? All the while thy rain

Beats fiercest on her shrub-house windowpane,

He will but press the closer, breathe more

warm

Against her cheek; how should she mind. the storm?

And, morning past, if midday shed a gloom O'er Jules and Phene, what care bride and groom

Save for their dear selves? 'T is their marriage-day;

And while they leave church, and go home their way

Hand clasping hand, within each breast would be

Sunbeams and pleasant weather spite of

thee.

Calm would he pray, with his own thoughts to ward

Thy thunder off, nor want the angels' guard.

But Pippa-just one such mischance would spoil

Her day that lightens the next twelvemonth's toil

At wearisome silk-winding, coil on coil!
And here I let time slip for nought!
Aha, you foolhardy sunbeam, caught
With a single splash from my ewer!
You that would mock the best pursuer,
Was my basin overdeep?

One splash of water ruins you asleep,
And up, up, fleet your brilliant bits
Wheeling and counterwheeling,
Reeling, broken beyond healing -
Now grow together on the ceiling!
That will task your wits.

Whoever it was quenched fire first, hoped

to see

Morsel after morsel flee

As merrily, as giddily

Meantime, what lights my sunbeam on? Where settles by degrees the radiant cripple?

Oh, is it surely blown, my martagon? New-blown and ruddy as Saint Agnes' nipple,

Plump as the flesh-bunch on some Turk bird's poll!

Be sure if corals, branching 'neath the ripple

Of ocean, bud there, fairies watch unroll Such turban-flowers; I say, such lamps disperse

Thick red flame through that dusk green universe!

I am queen of thee, floweret;
And each fleshy blossom
Preserve I not safer

Than leaves that embower it,
Or shells that embosom —
From weevil and chafer?

Laugh through my pane, then; solicit the bee;

Gibe him, be sure; and, in midst of thy glee,

Love thy queen, worship me!

Worship whom else? For am I not, this day,

Whate'er I please? What shall I please to-day?

My morning, noon, eve, night- how spend my day?

To-morrow I must be Pippa who winds silk,

The whole year round, to earn just bread and milk:

But, this one day, I have leave to go,
And play out my fancy's fullest games;
I may fancy all day and it shall be so
That I taste the pleasures, am called by the

Pure cheeks a bride to look at and scarce touch,

Scarce touch, remember, Jules! for are not such

Used to be tended, flower-like, every feature,

As if one's breath would fray the lily of a creature?

A soft and easy life these ladies lead!
Whiteness in us were wonderful indeed.
Oh, save that brow its virgin dimness,
Keep that foot its lady primness,
Let those ankles never swerve
From their exquisite reserve,

Yet have to trip along the streets like me,
All but naked to the knee!

How will she ever grant her Jules a bliss
So startling as her real first infant kiss?
Oh, no- not envy, this!

Not envy, sure! for if you gave me
Leave to take or to refuse,

In earnest, do you think I'd choose
That sort of new love to enslave me?
Mine should have lapped me round from
the beginning,

As little fear of losing it as winning; Lovers grow cold, men learn to hate their wives,

And only parents' love can last our lives. At eve the Son and Mother, gentle pair, Commune inside our turret; what prevents My being Luigi? While that mossy lair Of lizards through the winter-time, is stirred

With each to each imparting sweet intents For this new year, as brooding bird to bird (For I observe of late, the evening walk Of Luigi and his mother always ends Inside our ruined turret, where they talk, Calmer than lovers, yet more kind than

All service ranks the same with God.
If now, as formerly he trod
Paradise, his presence fills

Our earth, each only as God wills Can work - God's puppets, best and worst,

Are we; there is no last nor first.

Say not a small event!' Why 'small?'
Costs it more pain that this ye call
A 'great event' should come to pass,
Than that? Untwine me from the mass
Of deeds which make up life one deed
Power shall fall short in or exceed!

And more of it and more of it!-oh, yes-
I will pass each, and see their happiness,
And envy none - being just as great, no
doubt,

Useful to men, and dear to God, as they!
A pretty thing to care about

So mightily, this single holiday!
But let the sun shine! Wherefore repine?
With thee to lead me, O Day of mine,
Down the grass-path gray with dew,
Under the pine-wood blind with boughs,
Where the swallow never flew
Nor yet cicala dared carouse
No, dared carouse!

[She enters the street.

I. - MORNING

Up the Hill-side, inside the Shrub-house. LUCA's Wife, OTTIMA, and her Paramour, the German SEBALD.

Sebald [sings.]

Let the watching lids wink!

Day 's a-blaze with eyes, think
Deep into the night, drink!

Ottima. Night? Such may be your
Rhineland nights, perhaps ;

But this blood-red beam through the shutter's chink

We call such light the morning's: let us see!

Mind how you grope your way, though! How these tall

Naked geraniums straggle! Push the lattice

Behind that frame!-Nay, do I bid you?Sebald,

It shakes the dust down on me! Why, of

Course

The slide-bolt catches. Well, are you con

tent,

Or must I find you something else to spoil? Kiss and be friends, my Sebald! Is it full morning?

Oh, don't speak then!
Sebald.
Ay, thus it used to be!
Ever your house was, I remember, shut
Till midday; I observed that, as I strolled