Delicate harlot! On thy throne
Thou with a world beneath thee prone
In state for ages sat'st alone;
And needs were years and lustres flown
Ere strength of man could vanquish thee:
Whom even thy victor foes must bring,
Still royal, among maids that sing
As with doves' voices, taboring
Upon their breasts, unto the King,
A kingly conquest, Nineveh!

. . . Here woke my thought. The wind's slow sway

Had waxed; and like the human play
Of scorn that smiling spreads away,
The sunshine shivered off the day:

The callous wind, it seemed to me,
Swept up the shadow from the ground:
And pale as whom the Fates astound,
The god forlorn stood winged and crown'd:
Within I knew the cry lay bound

Of the dumb soul of Nineveh.

And as I turned, my sense half shut
Still saw the crowds of kerb and rut
Go past as marshalled to the strut
Of ranks in gypsum quaintly cut.

It seemed in one same pageantry
They followed forms which had been erst;
To pass, till on my sight should burst
That future of the best or worst
When some may question which was first,
Of London or of Nineveh.

For as that Bull-god once did stand
And watched the burial-clouds of sand,
Till these at last without a hand
Rose o'er his eyes, another land,
And blinded him with destiny:
So may he stand again; till now,
In ships of unknown sail and prow,
Some tribe of the Australian plough
Bear him afar, - a relic now
Of London, not of Nineveh!

Or it may chance indeed that when
Man's age is hoary among men,
His centuries threescore and ten, -
His furthest childhood shall seem then
More clear than later times may be:
Who, finding in this desert place
This form, shall hold us for some race
That walked not in Christ's lowly ways,
But bowed its pride and vowed its praise
Unto the god of Nineveh.

The smile rose first-anon drew nigh
The thought: . . Those heavy wings

spread high
So sure of flight, which do not fly;
That set gaze never on the sky;
Those scriptured flanks it cannot see.

Its crown, a brow-contracting load;
Its planted feet which trust the sod:
(So grew the image as I trod :)
O Nineveh, was this thy God, --
Thine also, mighty Nineveh?

THE PORTRAIT

[Composed 1847-70.- Published 1870.] THIS is her picture as she was: It seems a thing to wonder on, As though mine image in the glass Should tarry when myself am gone. I gaze until she seems to stir, Until mine eyes almost aver

That now, even now, the sweet lips part To breathe the words of the sweet heart: And yet the earth is over her.

Alas! even such the thin-drawn ray That makes the prison-depths more rude, -

The drip of water night and day

Giving a tongue to solitude.

Yet only this, of love's whole prize,
Remains; save what in mournful guise

Takes counsel with my soul alone,
Save what is secret and unknown,
Below the earth, above the skies.

In painting her I shrined her face 'Mid mystic trees, where light falls in Hardly at all; a covert place

Where you might think to find a din
Of doubtful talk, and a live flame
Wandering, and many a shape whose name
Not itself knoweth, and old dew,
And your own footsteps meeting you,
And all things going as they came.

A deep dim wood; and there she stands
As in that wood that day: for so
Was the still movement of her hands
And such the pure line's gracious flow.
And passing fair the type must seem.
Unknown the presence and the dream.
'Tis she though of herself, alas!
Less than her shadow on the grass
Or than her image in the stream.

That day we met there, I and she
One with the other all alone;
And we were blithe; yet memory
Saddens those hours, as when the moon
Looks upon daylight. And with her
I stooped to drink the spring-water,
Athirst where other waters sprang;
And where the echo is, she sang, -
My soul another echo there.

But when that hour my soul won strength
For words whose silence wastes and kills,
Dull raindrops smote us, and at length
Thundered the heat within the hills.

That eve I spoke those words again
Beside the pelted window-pane;

And there she hearkened what I said,
With under-glances that surveyed
The empty pastures blind with rain.

Next day the memories of these things, Like leaves through which a bird has flown,

Still vibrated with Love's warm wings;

Till I must make them all my own
And paint this picture. So, 'twixt ease
Of talk and sweet long silences,

She stood among the plants in bloom
At windows of a summer room,
To feign the shadow of the trees.

And as I wrought, while all above
And all around was fragrant air,
In the sick burthen of my love

It seemed each sun-thrilled blossom there
Beat like a heart among the leaves.
O heart that never beats nor heaves,
In that one darkness lying still,
What now to thee my love's great will
Or the fine web the sunshine weaves?

For now doth daylight disavow Those days, nought left to hear.

Only in solemn whispers now

see

ог

At night-time these things reach mine ear, When the leaf-shadows at a breath Shrink in the road, and all the heath, Forest and water, far and wide,

In limpid starlight glorified,

Lie like the mystery of death.

Last night at last I could have slept,
And yet delayed my sleep till dawn,
Still wandering. Then it was I wept:
For unawares I came upon

Those glades where once she walked with

me:

And as I stood there suddenly,

All wan with traversing the night, Upon the desolate verge of light Yearned loud the iron-bosomed sea.

Even so, where Heaven holds breath and hears

The beating heart of Love's own breastWhere round the secret of all spheres

All angels lay their wings to rest, How shall my soul stand rapt and awed, When, by the new birth borne abroad

Throughout the music of the suns,
It enters in her soul at once
And knows the silence there for God!

Here with her face doth memory sit
Meanwhile, and wait the day's decline,
Till other eyes shall look from it,
Eyes of the spirit's Palestine,

Even than the old gaze tenderer:
While hopes and aims long lost with her
Stand round her image side by side,
Like tombs of pilgrims that have died
About the Holy Sepulchre.

SISTER HELEN

[Composed 1851. Published 1854. Revised 1880.] 'WHY did you melt your waxen man, Sister Helen? To-day is the third since you began.' 'The time was long, yet the time ran, Little brother.' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days to-day, between Hell and Heaven!)

'But if you have done your work aright, Sister Helen, You'll let me play, for you said I might.' 'Be very still in your play to-night,

Little brother.' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Third night, to-night, between Hell and Heaven!)

'You said it must melt ere vesper-bell,
Sister Helen;

If now it be molten, all is well.'
Even so, nay, peace! you cannot tell,
Little brother.'
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What is this, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Oh the waxen knave was plump to-day, Sister Helen; How like dead folk he has dropped away!' 'Nay now, of the dead what can you say, Little brother?'

'Here high up in the balcony,

Sister Helen, The moon flies face to face with me.' 'Aye, look and say whatever you see,

Little brother.'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, What sight to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Outside it's merry in the wind's wake, Sister Helen;

In the shaken trees the chill stars shake.' 'Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you spake,

Little brother?' (O Mother, Mary Mother, What sound to-night, between Hell and Heaven?)

'I hear a horse-tread, and I see,

Sister Helen, Three horsemen that ride terribly.' 'Little brother, whence come the three, Little brother?' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Whence should they come, between Hell and Heaven?)

"They come by the hill-verge from Boyne Bar, Sister Helen,

And one draws nigh, but two are afar.' 'Look, look, do you know them who they

'Three days ago, on his marriage-morn, Sister Helen,

He sickened, and lies since then forlorn.' 'For bridegroom's side is the bride a thorn, Little brother?'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Three days and nights he has lain abed, Sister Helen, And he prays in torment to be dead.' 'The thing may chance, if he have prayed, Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!)

'But he has not ceased to cry to-day, Sister Helen, That you should take your curse away.' 'My prayer was heard,-he need but pray, Little brother!'

'But he says, till you take back your ban, Sister Helen,

His soul would pass, yet never can.' 'Nay then, shall I slay a living man, Little brother?" (O Mother, Mary Mother, A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!) 'But he calls for ever on your name,

Sister Helen, And says that he melts before a flame.' 'My heart for his pleasure fared the same, Little brother.' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast, Sister Helen, For I know the white plume on the blast.' 'The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, Little brother!' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)

'He stops to speak, and he stills his horse, Sister Helen;

But his words are drowned in the wind's course.'

'Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear perforce,

Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, What word now heard, between Hell and Heaven?)

'Oh he says that Keith of Ewern's cry, Sister Helen, Is ever to see you ere he die.' 'In all that his soul sees, there am I, Little brother!'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!)

'He sends a ring and a broken coin,

Sister Helen, And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.' 'What else he broke will he ever join, Little brother?' (O Mother, Mary Mother, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!)

No,

'He yields you these and craves full fain, Sister Helen,

You pardon him in his mortal pain.' 'What else he took will he give again, Little brother?'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!)

'He calls your name in an agony,

Sister Helen, That even dead Love must weep to see.' 'Hate, born of Love, is blind as he, Little brother!'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Love turned to hate, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides fast, Sister Helen,

For I know the white hair on the blast.' 'The short, short hour will soon be past, Little brother!'

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Will soon be past, between Hell and Heaven!)

'He looks at me and he tries to speak, Sister Helen, But oh! his voice is sad and weak!' 'What here should the mighty Baron seek, Little brother?' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?) 'Oh his son still cries, if you forgive, Sister Helen, The body dies, but the soul shall live.' 'Fire shall forgive me as I forgive, Little brother!' (0 Mother, Mary Mother, As she forgives, between Hell

Heaven!)

and

'Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive, Sister Helen,

To save his dear son's soul alive.'
'Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive,

Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!)

'He cries to you, kneeling in the road, Sister Helen, To go with him for the love of God!' 'The way is long to his son's abode, Little brother.' (O Mother, Mary Mother, The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!)

'A lady's here, by a dark steed brought, Sister Helen,

So darkly clad, I saw her not.'
'See her now or never see aught,

Little brother!'
(O Mother, Mary Mother,
What more to see, between Hell and
Heaven!)

'Her hood falls back, and the moon shines fair,

Sister Helen,

On the lady of Ewern's golden hair.' 'Blest hour of my power and her despair, Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Hour blest and bann'd, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did glow, Sister Helen, 'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago.' 'One morn for pride and three days for woe,

Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Three days, three nights, between Hell and Heaven!)

'Her clasped hands stretch from her bending head, Sister Helen; With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed.'

'What wedding-strains hath her bridal-bed, Little brother?' (O Mother, Mary Mother, What strain but death's between Hell and Heaven?)

'She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon, Sister Helen, She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon.' 'Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe tune,

Little brother!' (O Mother, Mary Mother, Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and Heaven!)