HOW MY SONG OF HER BEGAN GOD made my lady lovely to behold, And in the perfect form He did enfold And then God thought Him how it would be well To give her music; and to Love He said, Bring thou some minstrel now that he may tell How fair and sweet a thing My hands have made." Then at Love's call I came, bow'd down my head, And at His will my lyre grew audible. Do they know of the change that awaits them, The sepulchre vast and strange? Or love they their night with no moonlight, Of the wild things that wave from our night, We are warm, through winter and summer; Do they think 't will be cold when the waters That they love not, that neither can love them, Shall eternally thunder above them? That people the bright sea-regions But their dread or their joy, it is bootless: They shall pass from the breast of their mother; They shall lie low, dead brother by brother, Shall come down to them, haply, and all GARDEN FAIRIES KEEN was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was, and white, And, walking there, I heard upon the night It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound : It seem'd above me, seem'd upon the ground, Then swiftly seem'd to eddy round and round, Till I said: "To-night the air is And all at once it seem'd I grew aware Then a peal of silver laughter, As none of you, I think, have ever heard. Soft as dew-drops when they settle "What are these fairies?" to myself I said; For answer, then, as from a garden's bed, And said a small, sweet voice within my ear: "We flowers, that sleep through winter, once a year Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us. "A very little time we have to play, "Hark what the roses sing now, as we go;" ROSES' SONG "Softly sinking through the snow, REST here, at last, Thy race is run, Thy dreary journey done, Thy last peak clomb. "Twixt birth and death, Thy soul had sight Thy restless heart In few glad things had part, But dwelt alone, And night and day, In the old way, Made the old moan. DRAMATISTS AND PLAYWRIGHTS (See also: ROBERT BROWNING, BUCHANAN, LADY CURRIE, LOrd De Tabley, SWINBURNE, LORD TENNYSON) Tom Taylor FROM "THE FOOL'S REVENGE " THE JESTER AND HIS DAUGHTER SCENE. A room in the house of BERTUCCIO. [BERTUCCIO stands for a moment fondly contemplating FIORDELISA. He steps forward. Ber. My own! Fio. [Turning suddenly, and flinging herself into his arms with a cry of joy.] My father! Ber. [Embracing her tenderly.] Closer, closer yet! Let me feel those soft arms about my neck, This dear cheek on my heart! No-do not stir It does me so much good! happy These minutes are worth years! Fio. I am so My own dear father! Ber. Let me look at thee, darling why, thou growest Where I was rear'd, they us'd to call me orphan. I thought I had no father, till you came. And then they needed not to say I had one; My own heart told me that. Ber. I often think I had done well to have left thee there, in the peace Of that still cloister. But it was too hard! My empty heart so hunger'd for my child, For those dear eyes that look no scorn for me, That voice that speaks respect and tenderness, Even for me! - My flower My only stay in life! thee lily dove — my O God! I thank That thou hast left me this at least! Fio. You're crying now [He weeps. Dear father! you must not cry — you must not I cannot bear to see you cry. |