Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse Part 1

Fringilla: Some Tales In Verse.

by Richard Doddridge Blackmore.

NOTE

With kind consent of Messrs. Harper, "Bus...o...b.." returns in altered form from the other side of the ocean. Two other little tales appeared of old, but n.o.body would look at them, and now they are offered after careful tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

Standing afar. I gaze with doubt at other tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs which are not mine.

They have conquered the taste of the day perhaps, and high art announces them as her last transfiguration. Moreover they are highly recommended-- as the purest art not always is--by the modesty of the artist.

The cover design, borders, initial letters and the whole of the full-page ill.u.s.trations--with the exception of the three to 'Pausias and Glycera' by James W. R. Linton--are by Louis Fairfax-Muckley.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 017.]

I

Thou feeble implement of mind, Wherewith she strove to scrawl her name; But, like a mitcher, left behind No signature, no stroke, no claim, No hint that she hath pined--

Shall ever come a stronger time, When thou shalt be a tool of skill, And steadfast purpose, to fulfil A higher task than rhyme?

II

Thou puny instrument of soul, Wherewith she labours to impart Her efforts at some arduous goal; But fails to bring thy coa.r.s.er art Beneath a fine control--

Shall ever come a fairer day, When thou shalt be a buoyant plume, To soar, where clearer suns illume, And fresher breezes play?

[Ill.u.s.tration: 020.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: 023.]

III

Thou weak interpreter of heart, So impotent to tell the tale Of love's delight, of envy's smart, Of pa.s.sion, and ambition's bale, Of pride that dwells apart--

Shall I, in length of time, attain (By walking in the human ways, With love of Him, who made and sways) To ply thee, less in vain?

If so, thou shalt be more to me Than sword, or sceptre, flag, or crown; With mind, and soul, and heart in thee, Despising gold, and sham renown;

But truthful, kind, and free-- Then come; though now a pithless quill, Uncouth, unfledged, indefinite,-- In time, thou shalt be taught to write, By patience, and good-will.

LITA OF THE NILE

A TALE IN THREE PARTS

PART I

I

"KING, and Father, gift and giver, G.o.d revealed in form of river, Issuing perfect, and sublime, From the fountain-head of time;

"Whom eternal mystery shroudeth, Unapproached, untracked, unknown; Whom the Lord of heaven encloudeth With the curtains of His throne;

"From the throne of heaven descending, Glory, power, and goodness blending, Grant us, ere the daylight dies, Token of thy rapid rise,"

II

Ha, it cometh! Furrowing, flas.h.i.+ng, Red blood rus.h.i.+ng o'er brown breast; Peaks, and ridges, and domes, das.h.i.+ng Foam on foam, and crest on crest!

'Tis the signal Thebes hath waited, Libyan Thebes, the hundred-gated: Rouse, and robe thee, River-priest For thy dedication feast!

Follows him the loveliest maiden, Afric's thousand hills can show; White apparel'd, flower-laden, With the lotus on her brow.

III

Votive maid, who hath espousal Of the river's high carousal; Twenty cubits if he rise, This shall be his bridal prize.

Calm, and meek of face and carriage, Deigning scarce a quicker breath, Comes she to the funeral marriage, The betrothal of black death.

Rosy hands, and hennaed fingers, Nails whereon the onyx lingers, Clasped, as at a lover's tale, In the bosom's marble vale.

IV

Silvery scarf, her waist enwreathing, Wafts a soft Sabaean balm; Like a cloud of incense, breathing Round the column of a palm:

Snood of lilies interweaveth (Giving less than it receiveth) Beauty of her cl.u.s.tered brow, Calmly bent upon us now.

Through her dark hair, spread before See the western glory wane, As in groves of dim Cytorus, Or the bowers of Taprobane!

V

See, the large eyes, lit by heaven, Brighter than the Sisters Seven, (Like a star the storm hath cowed) Sink their flash in sorrow's cloud.

There the crystal tear refraineth, And the founts of grief are dry; "Father, Mother--none remaineth; All are dead; and why not I?"

Yet, by G.o.d's will, heavenly beauty Owes to Heaven alone its duty; Off ye priests, who dare adjudge Bride, like this, to slime and sludge!

VI