Fringilla: Some Tales in Verse by Richard Doddridge Blackmore (black books to read TXT) 📖

My nature's plan!

"And haply thou hast never thought
To vex, or make me feel forsaken;
But, since to thee the thing was nought,
Supposed 'twould be as gaily taken,
As lightly brought.

"Yet, is it strange that I repine,
And feel abased in lonely woe,
To lose thy love--or e'en to know
That half of it is mine?

VIII

"For whom have I on earth but thee,
What heart to love, or home to bless?
Albeit I was wrong, I see,
To think my husband took no less
Delight in me.

"But even now, if thou wilt stay,
Or try at least no more to wander,
And let me love thee, day by day,
Till time, or habit, make thee fonder
(If so it may)--

"Thou shalt have one more truly bent,
In homely wise, on serving thee,
Than any stranger e'er can be;
And Eve shall seem content."

IX

Not loud she wept--but hope could hear;
Sweet hope, who in his lifelong race
Made terms, to win the goal from fear,
That each alternate step should trace
A smile and tear.

But Adam, lost in wide amaze,
Regarded her with troubled glances,
Misdoubting 'neath her steady gaze,
Himself to be in strange romances,
And dreamy haze:

Then questioning in hurried voice,
And scarcely waiting her replies,
He spoke, and showed the true surprise
That made her soul rejoice.

X

She told him what the Tempter said,
And what her frightened self had seen,
(That form in loveliness arrayed,
With modest face, and graceful mien)
And how displayed.

Then well-content to show his bride
The worldly knowledge he possessed,
(That world whereof was none beside)
He laid his hand upon his breast,
And thus replied:--

"Wife, mirror'd here too deep to see,
"A little way down yonder path,
"And I will show the form which hath
"Enchanted thee, and me."

XI

Kadisha is a streamlet fair,
Which hurries down the pebbled way,
As one who hath small time to spare,
So far to go, so much to say
To summer air;

Sometimes the wavelets wimple in
O'erlapping tiers of crystal shelves,
And little circles dimple in,
As if the waters quaffed themselves,
The while they spin:

Thence in a clear pool, overbent
With lotus-tree and tamarind flower,
Empearled, and lulled in golden bower,
Kadisha sleeps content.

XII

Their steps awoke the quiet dell;
The first of men was smiling gay;
Still trembled Eve beneath the spell,
The mystery of that passion-sway
She could not quell.

As they approached the silver strand,
He plucked a moss-rose budding sweetly,
And wreathing bright her tresses' band,
Therein he set the blossom featly,
And took her hand:

He led her past the maiden-hair,
Forget-me-not, and meadow-sweet,
Until the margin held her feet,
Like water-lilies fain

XIII

"Behold," he cried, "on yonder wave,
The only one with whom I stray,
The only image still I have,
Too often, even while I pray
To Him who gave.

The form she saw was long unknown,
Except as that beheld yestreen;
Till viewing, not that form alone,
But his, with hands enclasped between,
She guessed her own.

And, bending o'er in sweet surprise,
Perused, with simple child's delight,
The flowing hair, and forehead white,
And soft inquiring eyes.

XIV

Then, blushing to a fairer tint
Than waves might ever hope to catch,
"I see," she cried, "a lovely print;
But surely I can never match
This lily glint!

"So pure, so innocent, and bright,
So charming free, without endeavour,
So fancy-touched with pensive light I
I think that I could gaze for ever,
With new delight

"And now that rose-bud in my hair,
Perhaps it should be placed above--
And yet, I will not change it, love,
Since mou hast set it there.

XV

"Vain Eve, why glory thus in Eve?
What matter Tor thy form or face?
Thy beauty is, if love believe
Thee worthy of that treasured place
Thou ne'er shalt leave.

"Oh, husband; mine and mine alone,
Take back my faith that dared to wander;
Forgive my joy to have thee shown
Not transient, as thine image yonder,
But all my own.

"And, love, if this be vain of me,
This pleasure, and the pride I take;
Tis only for thy dearer sake,
To be so fair to thee."

XVI

No more she said; but smiling fell,
And lost her sorrow on his breast;
Her love-bright eyes upon him dwell,
Like troubled waters laid at rest
In comfort's well:

Tis nothing more, an' if she weep,
Than joy she cannot else reveal;
As onyx-gems of Pison keep
A tear-vein, where the sun may steal
Throughout their deep.

May every Adam's fairer part
Thus, only thus, a rival find--
The image of herself, enshrined
Within the faithful heart!

MOUNT ARAFA

IN TWO PARTS

"Mount Arafa, situated about a mile from Mecca, is held in great veneration by the Mussulmans, as a place very proper for penitence. Its fitness in this respect is accounted for by a tradition that Adam and Eve, on being banished out of Paradise, in order to do penance for their transgression were parted from each other, and after a separation of six score years, met again upon this mountain." Ockley's "History of the Saracens," p. 60


THE PARTING

I

Driven away from Eden's gate
With biasing falchions fenced about,
Into a desert desolate,
A miserable pair came out,
To meet their fate.

To wander in a world of