A Lover's Litanies.

by Eric Mackay.

First Litany.

Virgo Dulcis.

i.

O thou refulgent essence of all grace!

O thou that with the witchery of thy face Hast made of me thy servant unto death, I pray thee pause, ere, musical of breath, And rapt of utterance, thou condemn indeed My venturous wooing, and the wanton speed With which I greet thee, dear and tender soul!

From out the fullness of my pa.s.sion-creed.

ii.

I am so truly thine that nevermore Shall man be found, this side the Stygian sh.o.r.e, So meek as I, so patient under blame, And yet, withal, so minded to proclaim His life-long ardour. For my theme is just: A heart enslaved, a smile, a broken trust, A soft mirage, a glimpse of fairyland, And then the wreck thereof in tears and dust.

iii.

Thou wast not made for murder, yet a glance May murderous prove; and beauty may entrance, More than a syren's or a serpent's eye.

And there are moments when a smother'd sigh May hint at comfort and a murmur'd "No"

Give signs of "Yes," and Misery's overflow Make tears more precious than we care to tell, Though, one by one, our hopes we must forego.

iv.

I should have shunn'd thee as a man may shun His evil hour. I should have curst the sun That made the day so bright and earth so fair When first we met, delirium through the air Burning like fire! I should have curst the moon And all the stars that, dream-like, in a swoon Shut out the day,--the lov'd, the lovely day That came too late and left us all too soon.

v.

I look'd at thee, and lo! from face to feet, I saw my tyrant, and I felt the beat Of my quick pulse. I knew thee for a queen And bow'd submissive; and the smile serene Of thy sweet face reveal'd the soul of thee.

For I was wounded as a man may be Whom Eros tricks with words he will not prove; And all my peace of mind went out from me.

vi.

Oh, why didst cheer me with the thought of bliss, And wouldst not pay me back my luckless kiss?

I sought thy side. I gave thee of my store One wild salute. A flame was at the core Of that first kiss; and on my mouth I feel The glow thereof, the pressure and the seal, As if thy nature, when the deed was done, Had leapt to mine in lightning-like appeal.

vii.

If debts were paid in full I might require More than my kiss. I might, in time, aspire To some new bond, or re-enact the first.

For once, thou know'st, the love for which I thirst, The love for which I hunger'd in thy sight, Was not withheld. I deem'd thee, day and night, Mine own true mate, and sent thee token flowers To figure forth the hopes I'd fain indite.

viii.

Is this not so? Canst thou detend, in truth, The sunlike smile with which, in flush of youth, Thou didst accept my greeting,--though so late,-- My love-lorn homage when the voice of Fate Fell from thy lips, and made me twice a man Because half thine, in that betrothal-plan Whereof I spake, not knowing how 'twould be When May had marr'd the prospects it began?

ix.

Can'st thou deny that, early in the spring, When daisies droop'd, and birds were fain to sing, We met, and talk'd, and walk'd, and were content In sunlit paths? An hour and more we spent In Keats's Grove. We linger'd near the stem Of that lone tree on which was seen the gem Of his bright name, there carven by himself; And then I stoop'd and kiss'd thy garment's hem.

x.

I gave thee all my life. I gave thee there, In that wild hour, the great Creator's share Of mine existence; and I turn'd to thee As men to idols, madly on my knee; And then uplifted by those arms of thine, I sat beside thee, warm'd with other wine Than vintage balm; and, mindful of thy blush, I guess'd a thought which words will not define.

xi.

I told thee stories of the days of joy When earth was young, and love without alloy Made all things glad and all the thoughts of things.

And like a man who wonders when he sings, And knows not whence the power that in him lies, I made a madrigal of all my sighs And bade thee heed them; and I join'd therewith The texts of these my follies that I prize.

xii.

I spoke of men, long dead, who wooed in vain And yet were happy,--men whose tender pain Was fraught with fervor, as the night with stars.

And then I spoke of heroes' battle-scars And lordly souls who rode from land to land To win the love-touch of a lady's hand; And on the strings of thy low-murmuring lute I struck the chords that all men understand.

xiii.

I sang to thee. I praised thee with my praise, E'en as a bird, conceal'd in sylvan ways, May laud the rose, and wish, from hour to hour, That he had petals like the empress-flower, And there could grow, unwing'd, and be a bud, With all his warblings ta'en at singing-flood And turned to vagaries of the wildest scent To undermine the meekness in her blood.

xiv.

Ah, those were days! That April should have been My last on earth, and, ere the frondage green Had changed to gold, I should have join'd the ranks Of dull dead men who lived for little thanks And made the most thereof, though penance-bound.

I should have known that in the daily round Of mine existence, there are griefs to spare, But joys, alas! too few on any ground.

xv.

And here I stand to-day with bended head, My task undone, my garden overspread With baneful weeds. Am I the lord thereof?

Or mine own slave, without the power to doff My misery's badge? Am I so weak withal, That I must loiter, though the bugle's call Shrills o'er the moor, the far-off weltering moor, Where foemen meet to vanquish or to fall?

xvi.

Am I so blurr'd in soul, so out of health, That I must turn to thee, as if by stealth, And fear thy censure, fear thy quick rebuff, And thou so gentle in a world so rough That G.o.d's high priest, the morn-apparell'd sun Ne'er saw thy like! Am I indeed undone Of life and love and all? and must I weep For joys that quit me, and for sands that run?