Part 12 (1/2)

”There is no other way for love to flow, Whenever it springs in a woman's breast; With the tide of its own heart it must go, And run contrary to all the rest.”

_He_

”Then fill the sweet cup of your hand, my love, And pledge me your maiden faith thereon, By the touch of the letter'd stone above, And the holy water of Saint John.”

_She_

”Oh, what shall I say? My heart sinks low; My fingers are cold, and my hand too flat, Is love to be measured by handfuls so; And you know that I love you--without that.”

They stooped, in the gleam of the faint light, over The print of themselves on the limpid gloom; And she lifted her full palm toward her lover, With her lips preparing the words of doom.

But the warm heart rose, and the cold hand fell, And the pledge of her faith sprang sweet and clear, From a holier source than the old Saint's well, From the depth of a woman's love--a tear.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 128.]

PAUSIAS AND GLYCERA; OR, THE FIRST FLOWER-PAINTER

A STORY IN THREE SCENES

(_Plin. Nat. Hist., x.x.xv. ii_)

Scene I:--_Outside the gate of Sicyon--Morning. Glycera weaving garlands, Pausias stands admiring._

$Pausias$

”YE G.o.ds, I thought myself the Prince of Art, By Phoebus, and the Muses set apart, To smite the critic with his own complaint, And teach the world the proper way to paint.

But lo, a young maid trips out of a wood, And what becomes of all I understood?

[Ill.u.s.tration: 132.]

I stand and stare; I could not draw a line, If ninety Muses came, instead of nine.

Thy name, fair maiden, is a debt to me; Teach him to speak, whom thou hast taught to see.

Myself already some repute have won, For I am Pausias, Brietes' son.

To boast behoves me not, nor do I need, But often wish my friends to win the meed.

So shall they now; no more will I pursue The beaten track, but try what thou hast shown, New forms, new curves, new harmonies of tone, New dreams of heaven, and how to make them true.”

$Glycera$

”Fair Sir, 'tis only what I plucked this morn, Kind nature's gift, ere you and I were born.

Through mossy woods, and watered vales, I roam, While day is young, and bring my treasure home; Each lovely bell so tenderly I bear, It knoweth not my fingers from the air, Lo now, they scarce acknowledge their surprise, And how the dewdrops sparkle in their eyes!”

$Pausias$

”Because the sun s.h.i.+nes out of thine. But hush, To praise a face praiseworthy, makes it blush.

I am not of the youths who find delight, In every pretty thing that meets their sight My father is the sage of Sicyon; And I--well, he is proud of such a son.”

$Glycera$

”And proud am I, my mother's child to be, And earn for her the life she gave to me, Her name is Myrto of the silver hair, Not famed for wisdom, but loved everywhere.”