POEMS
BY METTA VICTORIA FULLER
("singing sybil.")
THE POET LOVERS.
"I will string my harp with its sweetest strings,
And will sit me at thy feet,
And my hand shall waken a strain for thee
That is swellingly wild and sweet.
Look down! look down! on the waves of song
As they rise, and fall, and die—
Do you not see my wordless thoughts
Like barks glide murmuring by?
Like fairy boats they are sweeping on
To a measure slow and rare,
And a beautiful troop of aery dreams
Is the light freight which they bear.
Does not each troop as it glideth past
To your eye familiar seem?
'Tis from thy tone, thy smile, thy glance,
I have fashioned every dream.
Those with the wings of shining gold
That are quivering for their flight,
Those I wove when thy earnest tones
Told of the future bright.
Those with the starry brows, and pure.
So calm, and placid, and fair.
Steal to my heart when you whisper low
Your love on the still night air.
That faint and shadowy phantom-band,
Distant, and dim, and strange,
Who link their hands in a mystic wreath
And flit, and follow, and change—
Those came to me in thy musing moods,
When I sat as I'm sitting now,
And marked the creeping of light and shade
O'er the pride of thy kingly brow.
Swell on! swell on! ye rippling waves,
And rise, and fall, and die!
Bend down thy gaze, eloquent one!
While the bark of our love sweeps by.
See! see—but my hand is still.
Which over the harp-strings stole—
The beautiful dream of our love and faith
Is life to my thrilling soul.
I dare not trust it to music's power —
I should die if it left my breast—
Flow back, soft river of melody!
Flow back, ye visions blest!"
She ceased—and laid aside her silver lyre,
And raised her lustrous eyes slowly and softly
To her listener's face. Then, as they met
His eloquent gaze of answering love.
They deepened, darkened, drooped, until a fringe
Of silken lashes met the tell-tale glow
Of the fresh crimson in her delicate cheek.
He bent, and laid his hand upon her head.
Amid the masses of her rich, bright hair.
And, with half hesitating tenderness.
Pressed his proud lip upon her pure, young brow —
And raised her from the cushions at his feet
And placed her by his side, with her blight cheek
Upon his bosom, and her flowing curls
Covering his heart with a soft, shining cloud.
"Thy dreams are beautiful, my sweet Adel,
And with exquisite grace this little hand
Has lingered o'er the harp, till its rich swell
Brought round us of thy dreams a lovely band.
I have so learned the witchery of thy lyre.
That I can read thy every wordless thought,
As it melts softly from the silver wire.
With the deep eloquence of music fraught.
"Adel! Adel! how shall I thank my God,
That He hath given such a rich gift to me?
Thy very perfectness my soul hath awed—
So blend rare gifts and loveliness in thee!
Thou art my soul's sweet, starry, radiant light!
Thou art the life of its impassioned dream!
I've seen thee ever when I slept at night—
A part of my past life thy love doth seem.
"Though but a few sweet months since we have met.
It is long years since a fair vision stole.
With deep, soft eyes, which I could not forget.
Into the inner chamber of my soul;
And with a spiritual smile on her young face,
Began low music from a lyre to start,
And thrilled my heart with her exceeding grace.
And thenceforth of my being was a part.
"She had a brow like thine—such rich, brown hair—
And just such eyes—so fathomless and soft,
And such a drooping of their curtains fair.
And such a changing color had they oft.
She had such lips—as freshly sweet were they—
As tremulous with eloquence unexpressed!
And such a low, sweet voice, and winning way,
And cheek whose color never was at rest.
"When I saw thee, in all thy breathing grace.
Stand with clasped hands by the fair river-side,
And caught the look upon thy upturned face,
I knew—I knew thou wert my spirit-bride!
Dost thou remember how I sprang to thee,
Forgetful of thy timid, maiden fear,
And clasped thee to my heart in ecstasy.
Even as I fold thee now, beloved one, here;
"And the low, hurried, agitated tone
With which I strove to soothe thy pale affright—
And told thee my strange love—called thee my own—
And kissed that brow, so holy, sweet, and white;
And how the color came again more bright.
And deepened on thy beautiful young cheek—
And to thine eye a timid wondering light.
That spoke more sweetly than thy lips could speak?
"O how I bless thee! how I reverence
The pure and perfect trust of thy young mind—
The guileless, unsuspecting innocence
Which sought not in my love deceit to find!
Look up, Adel! that I may read the eyes
Which timidly beneath those lashes hide—
The deep, deep love which in their glances lies
Will tell its trembling tale, my gentle bride."
If ye of doubting faith and sneering lips
Could have been there that instant—could have seen
That momentary glance, so brimming o'er
With all the unspeakable truthfulness
And love of two young, holy hearts—both pure,
Both high, both rich in the soul's eloquence—
Your scorn would have been lost in sweet surprise,
And your cold sophistry been hushed by joy
To find love was a thing so beautiful!
That fair young creature with the dewy eyes,
Laid her small hand upon his lofty brow
"The happiness of my full heart
When in thy presence it doth stay,
Hath always driven every thought
Of other years away;
But in thy absence I have deemed—
And when thou art here I still forget—
That I would ask thee of thy life
Before we haply met.
I know by thy high, princely brow.
And by thy proudly fervid eye.
And by thy winning eloquence,
Thy destiny was high."
"Well, listen, love, and I will tell a part—
All that I think of in my wayward life.
Before it found a home in thy pure heart.
Secure from restlessness and pain and strife:
When thou art wearied, close thy starry eyes.
And I will cease to prate of sterner themes.
And sing to thee such quaint, old melodies
As will fill thy soft sleep with radiant dreams.
"I was ambitious once! a thought of fame
Filled all my spirit with a restless pain,
And all I sighed for was a deathless name!
By day and night that sound haunted ray brain.
Until my pulses caught my heart's unrest.
And on my forehead burned a feverish heat.
And a strange fire seemed kindled in my breast
Which rose and quivered with its every beat.
"But how to win the deathlessness I sought
Was what I mused on in the midnight hour—
Until there came a grand, aspiring thought
Of oratory's irresistible power.
The sudden thought was eager, wild, and high.
Yet proudly swelled my strong and restless soul,—
I felt the fire flash from my kindling eye.
While to my burning lip a quiver stole.
"And soon I stood before a listening throng—
Eager to criticise, to praise, deride—
And poured the fervor forth, restrained so long,
In one impassioned and impetuous tide.
there is nothing upon earth more proud.
More high, more flattering to the swelling soul,
Than to chain every passion of the crowd.
And with one word their sympathies control!
"To feel that you can sway them with a breath!
And bind them with the mighty thoughts you make!
To awe them into silence deep as death.
Or from their lips responsive echoes wake!
To hear a thousand tongues one answer speak!
To make a thousand weep with one low tone!
To see the changing of each earnest cheek.
Which flushes or grows paler with your own!
"Yes! there is glorious triumph in that hour,
That would the wildest dream of fame repay—
Thus to feel conscious of your own great power.
And thus with burning eloquence to sway
The hearts of others, as the waves obey
The wind that stirs them! while beneath your eye
All passions and all feelings powerless lay.
Moved by the lifting of your hand on high!
"And I have felt this triumph! have seen all
Hang eager on the dropping of a word.
With such a silence through the lofty hall,
That scarce a breath the intense stillness stirred!
Have stood, and with a motion or a word
Hushed each heart-throbbing, fixed each careless eye!
The shout of the tumultuous band have heard
Swell upward wild and deaf'ning to the sky!
"But when I stole away from their acclaim.
And sought my silent chamber, lone and still,
It only answered with a feverish thrill.
And so I turned away from that I sought,
And poured my soul out on the poet's lyre, And much of bliss and much of pain it brought.
Shall I tell further, love ? — or dost thou tire ?"
"Do the angels ever weary
Of the strains they hear above ? Tell me how the poet's myrtles Shone among thy ringlets, love."
"Upon a placid brow their leaves did shine. But my wild heart was burning fire beneath, Because I strove Ambition's thorns to twine
Among the gentler blossoms of my wreath ; One great thought struggled upward in my soul.
As the sea heaves toward heav'n — that thought of fame ! And the deep music of its surging roll
The world called song ! — its echo was a name I
'• The sound was hollow, and my brain soon burned
To hear it ever ringing in my ear. Ambition was a mocker ! and I spurn'd
What I had sought for as a prize most dear ! In this deep restlessness I ever yearned
For something, which I knew not then was love. And my soul's sea a saddened brow upturned.
And murmured ever to the stars above.
" 'Twas then that vision stole into my breast.
So spiritual, so perfect, pure, and sweet ; And all in glad surprise, I thought how blest
Would my life be if I could only meet. Within this breathing world, a creature rare.
Like that so exquisite, so young, so bright; With such a gift of song — such forehead fair —
Such proud, pure eyes, full of deep, shadowy light ! A part of every thought and hope in life—
And I forgot the mockery of fame—
Its followers, its bitterness, its strife—
And went forth with a wildly thrilling heart
To seek, and find, and wed my spirit-love,
Whose sweet face of ray dreaming was a part.
Whose spiritual grace seemed stolen from above.
In search of her — my blessed spirit-bride ;
I mingled in full many a brilliant throng,
Where were assembled loveliness and pride.
Bewildering eyes looked softly into mine —
Bright lips breathed low, sweet music on the air;
Rich tresses their luxuriant wealth did twine
Around young brows most eloquently fair.
And softer beauty stole behind the while;
And dazzling haughtiness before my eye
Melted its cunning lip into a smile.
Bewildering sweetness slept like a still dream
Upon pure foreheads stainless as the snow;
And deep, dark eyes looked out with dewy gleam
From timid lashes lifted soft and slow.
Nor the magnificence of midnight eyes.
Nor brows which did the pearls they wore eclipse.
Nor the mute eloquence which sometimes lies
Within a smile, nor the exquisite grace
Of tiny feet upon rich carpets prest.
Could take away the beautiful }'Oung face
Whose holy sweetness lay within my breast.
Amid such haunts of splendor and of pride,
But made me sigh for my own perfect bride.
Then in each lovely clime I wandered long,
With thoughts to meet her in some land of flowers-
Perchance, in ' Italy's bright land of song,'
Or 'neath the starry blossoms of Spain's bowers.
Or where the roses seemed to be more fair.
Nor stood where ruined fanes rose on the sio-ht ;
Nor thrilled to gaze upon some sunset rare.
Nor climbed to some sublime or dizzy height.
Nor marked a river rolling in its pride,
Nor mused on the still splendor of the night.
But that I wished thee, sweet one, at my side.
Bringing rich jewels on their flowing dress.
And made them there a home, whose pictured walls
Glowed with the rarest tints of loveliness.
Soft skies, and tinted clouds, and golden air.
And shadowy haunts, and dimpled waves of light.
And scenes of deep sublimity were there.
Mingled with broken gleams of all things bright.
I sought for vainly in each sunny spot ;
Yet with a deeper feeling my wild heart
Clung to the thought that would not be forgot.
Then homeward to my own sweet land I turned —
Blessed be the stars that light it from above !
Blessed every heart which ever toward it yearned.
For here I met thee, sweet spirit-love !
Held thee, thyself, unto my thrilling breast,
The wild delirium of joy that burst
Upon my soul, words never have expressed !
The richest power of music, ne'er can tell,
Since that sweet hour when first I heard thy tones.
How dear thou art to me, my own Adel!"
PART SECOND.
Oh, hapless parting! Yet one had but gone
To make a Paradise for his young bride—
To gather birds and flowers to his home—
To hang his palace walls with pictures rare—
To place rich gifts and music in her room—
To load the polished shelves with choicest books,
And blend refinement with the lavish wealth
Profusely scattered through that lovely home!
And when the fruit hung golden on the trees.
And the bright air of autumn wound the leaves
Whose gorgeous hues robed earth in loveliness,
And made soft, dreamy shadows on her breast.
And all the air was full of a sweet sound
Made by their rustling music, then was he
To claim the mistress of that fairy place.
Upon a green bank by the river-side.
Where first they met. The faint wind waved her hair,
And sent the leaflets fluttering to her feet,
That like bright butterflies, perched on the trees
And humming to each other, swung above.
Her tiny footsteps heedless pressed them down
Into the mossy turf; and those bright curls
Wore not the glowing wreath she loved to weave
Of autumn glory, in her idle hours.
Was that young creature, with the musing step,
Dreaming of future happiness and love—
Dwelling upon the coming bridal hour—
Mingled with timid fears?
Upon that brow,
So proud, and pure, and once so shadowless,
A troubled darkness lay; the sweet young lip
Would quiver for a moment, and then grow
As still and mute as marble; and her cheek
Was whiter than a lily's, and her eyes.
When ever and anon she raised them up,
As if beseechingly to the blue sky.
Were dark with an expression of despair
And an unspoken anguish. Tightly twined
Were her small, slender fingers, with a clasp
That pressed the crimson blood most painfully
Through their clear nails.
From these quivering lips came forth the words,
Telling to the gay trees and the bright air.
And all the beautiful and heedless scene,
Of the wild sorrow that had come and hushed
The love and trust of her young, passionate soul.
To cover my dark grave!
I would I dared to pray to Heaven
To take the life it gave!
Oh, river ! murmuring river!
Flowing bright, and cold, and deep.
Can your low song sing the anguish
In my aching heart to sleep?
Never! never! earth is mournful!
All things mock my weary sight!
I turn away from sunny skies—
From hope, and love, and light!
Joy's radiant wing is folded;
It will never wave again!
Bright the hour when I met thee.
Oh, impassioned Clarence Vane!
Is the wildness of this pain!
I was artless when you sought me;
I was but a dreaming child;
But you woke my inner spirit
To devotion deep and wild.
On the altar in my bosom—
Laid I down my priceless trust—
But the holy shrine is broken.
And the gift lies in the dust!
Not as others I esteemed thee,
But so gifted and so grand.
That upon thy placid forehead
Did I fear to lay my hand;
And my love and reverence blended
With a radiance purer far,
Than the light yet undescended
From the circle of a star.
In one glorious river gliding,
Ev'ry word and every thought.
In its bosom jewels hiding.
To thy soul's deep fountain brought
All the wealth of my affection,
All emotions pure and deep,—
As all waves in one direction
To the ocean onward sweep.
I blessed you when you held my hands,
And looked into my face;
I blessed you when you folded me
In a mute, hushed embrace;
I blessed you when your fervid lips
Were pressed upon my brow;
I loved you—but oh! agony!
I dare not love you now!
Why did they come, those dearest ones.
And whisper in my ear
The words of fearful meaning,
They told me of such hateful things
In all thy bygone life ;-
They said no woman pure and good
Should ever be thy wife!
And o'er my girlish innocence
Distrustful shadows flung,
And o'er love's, sunny radiance
A cloud of sorrow hung!
Oh! bitter, bitter knowledge,
At my bosom entered in!
I can not love thee, Clarence Vane,
Thy soul is stained with sin!
Oh! winning was your eloquence,
And earnest was your tone,
When telling of the rosy path
Your steps of life had known!
And when I listened to your words
My bosom swelled with pride,
That I snould be your chosen one-
Your spirit-love! your bride!
I worshiped the great oral power
That chained the silent throng;
I loved the golden lyre that thrilled
With wild and passionate song.
And when, with half-averted eyes,
You spoke of ladies fair ;-
Of sweet, bewildering loveliness,
And grace and beauty rare;-
And how you turned away from all
With careless heart and cold ;-
In simple, girlish innocence,
I trusted all you told.
Oh! hapless fate! oh! cruel fate!
That perfect love like mine
Should have been given trustingly
At an unhallowed shrine!
False! you will mock me with that word,
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