You the queen of the wrensWe'll be birds of a feather, And never a line from my lady yet! Is it ay or no? is it ay or no? I'll be King of the Queen of the Blow then, blow, and when I am The original Preface to The Lover's Tale' states that it was composed in my nineteenth year. Two only of the three parts then written were printed, when, feeling the imperfection of the poem, I withdrew it from the press. One of my friends, however, who, boylike, admired the boy's work, distributed among our common associates of that hour some copies of these two parts, without my knowledge, without the omissions and amendments which I had in contemplation, and marred by the many misprints of the compositor. Seeing that these two parts have of late been mercilessly pirated, and that what I had deemed scarce worthy to live is not allowed to die, may I not be pardoned if I suffer the whole poem at last to come into the light-accompanied with a reprint of the sequel-a work of my mature life 'The Golden Supper'?" May, 1879. ARGUMENT Julian, whose cousin and foster-sister, Camilla, has been wedded to his friend and rival, Lionel, endeavors to narrate the story of his own love for her, and the strange sequel. He speaks (in Parts II. and III.) of having been haunted by visions and the sound of bells, tolling for a funeral, and at last ringing for a marriage; but he breaks away, overcome, as he approaches the Event, and a witness to it completes the tale. I HERE far away, seen from the topmost cliff, Filling with purple gloom the vacancies Between the tufted hills, the sloping seas Hung in mid-heaven, and half-way down rare sails, White as white clouds, floated from sky to sky. Upon the dappled dimplings of the wave That blanch'd upon its side. O Love, O Hope! They come, they crowd upon me all at once Moved from the cloud of unforgotten. things, That sometimes on the horizon of the mind Lies folded, often sweeps athwart in storm Flash upon flash they lighten thro' me -days Of dewy dawning and the amber eves 50 When thou and I, Camilla, thou and I Were borne about the bay or safely moor'd Beneath a low-brow'd cavern, where the tide Plash'd, sapping its worn ribs; and all without The slowly-ridging rollers on the cliffs Clash'd, calling to each other, and thro' the arch Down those loud waters, like a setting star, Mixt with the gorgeous west the lighthouse shone, And silver-smiling Venus ere she fell Would often loiter in her balmy blue, To crown it with herself. 60 Here, too, my love Waver'd at anchor with me, when day hung From his mid-dome in heaven's airy halls; Gleams of the water circles as they Didst swathe thyself all round Hope's broke quiet urn Flicker'd like doubtful smiles about For ever? He that saith it hath o'er Fell into dust, and crumbled in the dark Forgetting how to render beautiful Her countenance with quick and healthful blood Thou didst not sway me upward; could I perish light soul twines and mingles with the growths While thou, a meteor of the sepulchre, | Of vigorous early days, attracted, won, |
