Book I

After a childhood weakly, timid, shy,
Whereon the common boy-experience,
That braces vigorous coastitution, fell
Like rustling of some paper, or the grate
On stones of carriage-wheel upon the sick,
Clement lost mother and a sister dear
In early boyhood ; to his clinging heart
And nature passionate, susceptible,
Deep was the wound, loss irremediable.
Yet from a spirit's shipwreck was he saved
By a wise friend and kindly, having wit
To touch the secret spring that laid to view
High capabilities all undivined
Of plodding fools ; his cramped soul uncoiled
Woke from her lethargy with slakeless thirst
For questioning the how and why of all, deep thirst
For beauty, all the beauty in the world.
With many a tremor nerving her to dare
The steep imperial Conscience motioned from.
Proud, wilful, passionate, and self-involved.
He grew a dreamer tender and devout ;
Yet, with sore travail of a soul sincere.
Soon drifted from his anchorage of creed
Ever away, albeit to the last
His mother's words, example, and her love
He owned his spirit's richest sustenance.
But as youth wore the longing came upon him
For venturesome experience afar
Of men diverse and stranger lands remote ;
Yet opening keen senses upon all,
Maturing healthful vigour of the frame.
So winning richer relish of mere life,
Still yearned his restless spirit, hungering
For sustenance of sympathy and love.
Twice was he foiled — early by circumstance:
He the blond Northern youth, and she the child
Of Southern suns and moons, daughter of fire.
Drew to a mutual embrace, but shrank
Baffled at finding that which seemed free air
Was crystal fate duty forbade to break.
Later there foiled him human treachery :
A fascinating woman beautiful
Out on the hunt for fresh experience
Of diverse men, and gifted to assume
At will the semblance of their sentiments.
As does the mocking bird the notes of others,
Toyed with the boy, half serious half in sport,
But when she won him to a fond caress.
Wearied, and spying a new creature pass,
Out of the sleek and velvet paw there stole
A cruel claw into his bosom soft.
Long he lay bleeding, yet with dauntless heart
Rallying, he resumed the sacred quest,
Blaspheming not the holy thing he sought.

In lowly guise and in a lowly spot,
And yet not lowlier than where Christ was born,
He came upon it after seeking long.
For in a mountain district in a fray
Between some mountaineers with whom he dwelt
He, chosen for mediator by a chance.
Was wounded sore and carried to a cottage
Of porch festooned with purple columbine ;
And entering, with feverish dim sight
Beneath roof-wattles blackened of the smoke
He saw a maiden by the ingle fire
Stooping above a cauldron grimed and huge
Slung in the ingle from an iron hook,
Who tended what was boiling, fondling soft
The while a cat of drowsy eye that purred
Upon a chair— a maiden in blue serge
Wearing red-printed kerchief for her neck —
Who turning showed the face that on his soul
Would beam in warmth and light for evermore.
'Twas hard to fix the colour of her eyes :
They seemed to liquefy and melt beneath
Your own, and lure you into labyrinths
Of sweet infinitude, rich shrines of love,
Dissolved in love as summer skies in light ;
He only saw the child-face all suffused
From those seraphic eyes — he saw no more —
Unless indeed sleek shining rings of hair,
Fair h.iir on warm white neck and o'er her shoulders ;
For as the door was opened, flowed the sun
Full on her as if waiting eagerly,
Impatient for admittance to the child —
Flowed over delicate ankle and slim feet
And over the frail figure, kissing face
And neck fire-rosy too abruptly when
She startling turned as men came bearing him.

Glimpses he caught of her performing well
Meekly her lowly services of home ;
And while he lay luxuriously weak.
With casement open, gloating in the light
Of summer evening sumptuous and large,
Inhaling balmy blossom-breathing air.
Music of sunny leaves, horizons fair,
Not seldom shyly would she falter nigh :
" For mother being very busy craves
You will excuse her sending, sir, by me
Your lemonade, and here are some fi-esh flowers
From our wee garden I have culled for you."
But after slow retrieving forfeit health
At evening he would join the family,
Partaking of the homely meal with them,
Listing the sire's not unmelodious flute
After his labour of the day afield —
Relating travellers' experience
To them entrancing, novel, wonderful,
Mayhap in passing lightly naming names
The common wind of rumour blows abroad,
At which the sire or mother in amaze
Would question if himself had even seen
Or spoken to the mighty folk he named.
Welcoming an afiirmative with awe.
But aye at culmination of the tale,
Whate'er the story, would the teller's eye
Stealthily visit one who sat apart
On yonder wooden settle in the nook.
Modestly knitting, with a look demure
Low-drooped upon the wool, surprising her
More than once leaning forward looking full
Upon him with sweet marvel in her eyes
And little open mouth and listless hands,
Blushing to meet his gaze at unaware.
Catching confusedly the falling wool ;
And then to bed, to magical fair dreams
Of brilliant lords and ladies, of rare scenes
Romantic, and the teller <>f the tales.
For him, he went to ponder if the look
Held only marvel, that and nothing more !
But it was after hesitating long.
Vowing to leave her in the sheltered nest
And, going, hide his bleeding heart from her.
Giddy and sick, foreboding a farewell.
Jealous of moments shutting them apart.
He made resolve to ask her for her love,
To pray that she would bless his lonely life.
With tremulous hope he sued — a moment more
And she coy yielding lay upon his heart.

Vain jangled clapper - tongues of friends inane
That he was noble, lowly born the girl ;
Was she not born for him and he for her ?
In salient life-crises like to this.
With heart and mind at one, their impetus
Bore him to action strong, unwavering.
In Italy they spent the primal days ;
After, he brought her to a cottage home
Where in calm lapse the sweet months glided by.
Now the word Happiness broke on 'nis soul
Like a new revelation ; empty wind
The mouthed phrase had been to him before ;
Yet though his spirit fondled her young joy
She fondled it loo like some timorous hare
Who fondly licks her furred young in the grass,
Yet with one ear pricked ever and anon,
Lest yon faint rustle in the neighbour copse
Be stealthy weasel treading last year's leaves.
With staff" in hand and girded loins he feeds
Restlessly in a posture of defence ;
And yet those years were heaven for all the note
Of wanton, half-luxurious, boding mazed
With their calm joy, only enhancing it
By discord gentle, tinging every thought,
Concentrating the soul upon her love
As transient and fleeting like the flush
Of sunrise. Ah ! 'twas sweet in those bright days
For them to sit, the lovers, hand in hand,
He like the breath of spring to her gum-bud
Of sprouting mind, teaching her many things,
And opening her sweet being at his will,
To blow a flower of rarest scent for all !
These are a few songs fragrant with his bliss
That floated from him on the summer air.