EMILY BRONTË. 1816-1855 REMEMBRANCE Cold in the earth-and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love Thee, Sever'd at last, by Time's all-severing wave? Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Over the mountains, on that northern shore, Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover Thy noble heart for ever, ever more? Cold in the earth-and fifteen wild Decembers From those brown hills have melted into Spring: Sweet love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, Other desires and other hopes beset me, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lighten'd up my heaven, But when the days of golden dreams had perish'd, Then did I check the tears of useless passionWean'd my young soul from yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine. And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again? G. SMYTHE (later VISCOUNT STRANGFORD). 1818-1857 FROM "THE ARISTOCRACY OF FRANCE" Oh never yet was theme so meet for roundel or romance As the ancient aristocracy and chivalry of France ;— As when they went for Palestine, with Louis at their head, And many a waving banner, and the Oriflamme outspread ;— And many a burnished galley with its blaze of armour shone In the ports of sunny Cyprus and the Acre of St. John ; And many a knight who signed the cross, as he saw the burning sands With a prayer for those whom he had left in green and fairer lands. God aid them all, God them assoil, for few shall see again Streams like their own, their azure Rhone, or swift and silver Seine. And they are far from their Navarre, and from their soft Garonne, The Lords of Foix and Grammont, and the Count of Carcassonne ; For they have left, those Southron knights, the clime they loved so well The feasts of fair Montpellier and the Toulouse Carousel, And the chase in early morning, when the keen and pleasant breeze Came cold to the cheek from many a peak of the snowy Pyrenees. Oh never yet was theme so meet for roundel or romance As the ancient aristocracy and chivalry of France;As when they lay before Tournay, and the Grand Monarque was there, With the bravest of his warriors, and the fairest of his fair; And the sun that was his symbol, and on his army shone, Was in lustre, and in splendour, and in light itself outdone, For the lowland and the highland were gleaming as of old, When England vied with France in pride, on the famous Field of Gold, And morn, and noon, and evening, and all the livelong night, Were the sound of ceaseless music and the echo of delight. And but for Vauban's waving arm and the answering cannonade, It might have been a festal scene in some Versailles arcade; For she was there, the beautiful, the daughter of Mortemart, And her proud eyes flashed the prouder for the roaring of the war, And many a dark-haired rival, who bound her lover's arm With a ribbon, or a ringlet, or a kerchief for a charm, FROM "THE MERCHANTS OF OLD ENGLAND" The Land, it boasts its titled hosts, they could not vie with these, The Merchants of Old England, the Seigneurs of the Seas, In the days of Great Elizabeth, when they sought the Western Main, Maugre and spite the Cæsars' might, and the menaces of Spain. And the richly freighted argosy, and the good galleon went forth, With the bales of Leeds or Lincoln, and the broadcloths of the North; And many a veteran mariner would speak 'midst glistening eyes Of the gain of some past voyage, and the hazards of emprize; Or in the long night-watches the wondrous tale was told Of isles of fruit and spices, and fields of waving gold. And the young and buoyant-hearted would oft that tale renew, And dream their dearest dream should be, their wildest hope come true. |