Where waitest thou, Lady, I am to love? Thou comest not, Thou knowest of my sad and lonely lot-- I looked for thee ere now!
It is the May, And each sweet sister soul hath found its brother, Only we two seek fondly each the other, And seeking still delay.
Where art thou, sweet?
I long for thee as thirsty lips for streams, O gentle promised angel of my dreams, Why do we never meet?
Thou art as I, Thy soul doth wait for mine as mine for thee; We cannot live apart, must meeting be Never before we die?
Dear Soul, not so, For time doth keep for us some happy years, And G.o.d hath portioned us our smiles and tears, Thou knowest, and I know.
Therefore I bear This winter-tide as bravely as I may, Patiently waiting for the bright spring day That cometh with thee, Dear.
"Tis the May light That crimsons all the quiet college gloom, May it shine softly in thy sleeping room, And so, dear wife, good night!
This is, of course, addressed to the spirit of the unknown future wife. It is pretty, though it is only the work of a young student. But some one hundred years before, another student--a very great student, Richard Crashaw,--had a fancy of the same kind, and made verses about it which are famous. You will find parts of his poem about the imaginary wife in the ordinary anthologies, but not all of it, for it is very long. I will quote those verses which seem to me the best.
WISHES
Whoe"er she be, That not impossible She, That shall command my heart and me;
Where"er she lie, Locked up from mortal eye, In shady leaves of Destiny;
Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps to our earth;
Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine;
Meet you her, my wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye called my absent kisses.
The poet is supposing that the girl whom he is to marry may not as yet even have been born, for though men in the world of scholarship can marry only late in life, the wife is generally quite young. Marriage is far away in the future for the student, therefore these fancies. What he means to say in short is about like this:
"Oh, my wishes, go out of my heart and look for the being whom I am destined to marry--find the soul of her, whether born or yet unborn, and tell that soul of the love that is waiting for it." Then he tries to describe the imagined woman he hopes to find:
I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy "tire or glist"ring shoe-tie.
Something more than Taffeta or tissue can; Or rampant feather, or rich fan.
More than the spoil Of shop or silk worm"s toil, Or a bought blush, or a set smile.
A face that"s best By its own beauty drest And can alone command the rest.
A face made up Out of no other shop Than what nature"s white hand sets ope.
A cheek where grows More than a morning rose Which to no box his being owes.
Eyes that displace The neighbor diamond and outface That sunshine by their own sweet grace.
Tresses that wear Jewels, but to declare How much themselves more precious are.
Smiles, that can warm The blood, yet teach a charm That chast.i.ty shall take no harm.
Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes, say "Welcome, friend!"
There is much more, but the best of the thoughts are here. They are not exactly new thoughts, nor strange thoughts, but they are finely expressed in a strong and simple way.
There is another composition on the same subject--the imaginary spouse, the destined one. But this is written by a woman, Christina Rossetti.
SOMEWHERE OR OTHER
Somewhere or other there must surely be The face not seen, the voice not heard, The heart that not yet--never yet--ah me!
Made answer to my word.
Somewhere or other, may be near or far; Past land and sea, clean out of sight; Beyond the wondering moon, beyond the star That tracks her night by night.
Somewhere or other, may be far or near; With just a wall, a hedge between; With just the last leaves of the dying year, Fallen on a turf grown green.
And that turf means of course the turf of a grave in the churchyard. This poem expresses fear that the destined one never can be met, because death may come before the meeting time. All through the poem there is the suggestion of an old belief that for every man and for every woman there must be a mate, yet that it is a chance whether the mate will ever be found.
You observe that all of these are ghostly poems, whether prospective or retrospective. Here is another prospective poem:
AMATURUS
Somewhere beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul, to move it; Someone that hides her sweetness From neighbors whom she slights, Nor can attain completeness, Nor give her heart its rights; Someone whom I could court With no great change of manner, Still holding reason"s fort Though waving fancy"s banner; A lady, not so queenly As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely Like those that rule the land; n.o.ble, but not too proud; With soft hair simply folded, And bright face crescent-browed And throat by Muses moulded;
Keen lips, that shape soft sayings Like crystals of the snow, With pretty half-betrayings Of things one may not know; Fair hand, whose touches thrill, Like golden rod of wonder, Which Hermes wields at will Spirit and flesh to sunder.
Forth, Love, and find this maid, Wherever she be hidden; Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden; And say, that he who taught thee His yearning want and pain, Too dearly dearly bought thee To part with thee in vain.
These lines are by the author of that exquisite little book "Ionica"--a book about which I hope to talk to you in another lecture. His real name was William Cory, and he was long the head-master of an English public school, during which time he composed and published anonymously the charming verses which have made him famous--modelling his best work in close imitation of the Greek poets. A few expressions in these lines need explanation. For instance, the allusion to Hermes and his rod. I think you know that Hermes is the Greek name of the same G.o.d whom the Romans called Mercury,--commonly represented as a beautiful young man, naked and running quickly, having wings attached to the sandals upon his feet. Runners used to pray to him for skill in winning foot races. But this G.o.d had many forms and many attributes, and one of his supposed duties was to bring the souls of the dead into the presence of the king of Hades. So you will see some pictures of him standing before the throne of the king of the Dead, and behind him a long procession of shuddering ghosts. He is nearly always pictured as holding in his hands a strange sceptre called the _caduceus_, a short staff about which two little serpents are coiled, and at the top of which is a tiny pair of wings. This is the golden rod referred to by the poet; when Hermes touched anybody with it, the soul of the person touched was obliged immediately to leave the body and follow after him. So it is a very beautiful stroke of art in this poem to represent the touch of the hand of great love as having the magical power of the golden rod of Hermes. It is as if the poet were to say: "Should she but touch me, I know that my spirit would leap out of my body and follow after her." Then there is the expression "crescent-browed." It means only having beautifully curved eyebrows--arched eyebrows being considered particularly beautiful in Western countries.
Now we will consider another poem of the ideal. What we have been reading referred to ghostly ideals, to memories, or to hopes. Let us now see how the poets have talked about realities. Here is a pretty thing by Thomas Ashe. It is ent.i.tled "Pansie"; and this flower name is really a corruption of a French word "Penser," meaning a thought. The flower is very beautiful, and its name is sometimes given to girls, as in the present case.
MEET WE NO ANGELS, PANSIE?
Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet, In white, to find her lover; The gra.s.s grew proud beneath her feet, The green elm-leaves above her:-- Meet we no angels, Pansie?
She said, "We meet no angels now;"
And soft lights stream"d upon her; And with white hand she touch"d a bough; She did it that great honour:-- What! meet no angels, Pansie?
O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes, Down-dropp"d brown eyes, so tender!
Then what said I? Gallant replies Seem flattery, and offend her:-- But--meet no angels, Pansie?
The suggestion is obvious, that the maiden realizes to the lover"s eye the ideal of an angel. As she comes he asks her slyly,--for she has been to the church--"Is it true that n.o.body ever sees real angels?" She answers innocently, thinking him to be in earnest, "No--long ago people used to see angels, but in these times no one ever sees them." He does not dare tell her how beautiful she seems to him; but he suggests much more than admiration by the tone of his protesting response to her answer: "What!