TO THE QUEEN. For ever-broadening England, and her throne In our vast Orient, and one isle, one isle, That knows not her own greatness: if she knows And dreads it we are fall'n.- But thou, my Queen, Not for itself, but thro' thy living love For one to whom I made it o'er his grave Sacred, accept this old imperfect tale, New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost, Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain peak, And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still; or him Of Geoffrey's book, or him of Malleor's, one Touch'd by the adulterous finger of a time That hover'd between war and wantonness, And crownings and dethronements: take withal Thy poet's blessing, and his trust that Heaven Will blow the tempest in the distance back From thine and ours: for some are scared, who mark, Or wisely or unwisely, signs of storm, Waverings of every vane with every wind, And wordy trucklings to the transient hour, And fierce or careless looseners of the faith, And Softness breeding scorn of simple life, Or Cowardice, the child of lust for gold, Or Labour, with a groan and not a voice, Or Art with poisonous honey stol'n from France, 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, endeavours 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. Down those loud waters, like a setting star, Mixt with the gorgeous west the lighthouse shone, And silver-smiling Venus ere she fell 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 broke, Flicker'd like doubtful smiles about her lips, Quiver'd a flying glory on her hair, Leapt like a passing thought across her eyes; And mine with one that will not pass, till earth And heaven pass too, dwelt on my heaven, a face Most starry-fair, but kindled from within As 'twere with dawn. She was darkhair'd, dark-eyed: Oh, such dark eyes! a single glance of them Will govern a whole life from birth to death, Careless of all things else, led on with light And farther back, and still withdraw themselves Quite into the deep soul, that evermore Fresh springing from her fountains in the brain, Still pouring thro', floods with redundant life Her narrow portals. Trust me, long ago I should have died, if it were possible To die in gazing on that perfectness Which I do bear within me: I had died, But from my farthest lapse, my latest ebb, Thine image, like a charm of light and strength Upon the waters, push'd me back again On these deserted sands of barren life. |