As it used to write on the sky The song of the sea and the blast. But motionless as I wait, Like a Bishop lying in state Lies the Pen, with its mitre of gold, And its jewels inviolate. Then must I speak, and say I shall see you standing there, With the shadow on your face, I shall hear the sweet low tone Of a voice before unknown, Saying, "This is from me to you From me, and to you alone." And in words not idle and vain I shall answer and thank you again O beautiful Helen of Maine! And forever this gift will be As a blessing from you to me, As a drop of the dew of your youth On the leaves of an aged tree. ROBERT BURNS. Written December 18, 1879. I SEE amid the fields of Ayr So clear, we know not if it is For him the ploughing of those fields Songs flush with purple bloom the rye, Touched by his hand, the wayside weed Becomes a flower; the lowliest reed Beside the stream Is clothed with beauty; gorse and grass And heather, where his footsteps pass, The brighter seem. He sings of love, whose flame illumes The treacherous undertow and stress At moments, wrestling with his fate, Above the tavern door, lets fall But still the music of his song Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, And then to die so young and leave Is this, than wandering up and down For now he haunts his native land He sits beside each ingle-nook, His presence haunts this room to-night, A form of mingled mist and light From that far coast. Welcome beneath this roof of mine! Welcome! this vacant chair is thine, Dear guest and ghost! HELEN OF TYRE. "February 26, 1872. Heard Professor Sophocles on Simon Magus, very interesting and curious. Helen of Tyre he called his Epinoia, or self-consciousness." The poem was written December 1, 1879. The scene, Simon Magus and Helen of Tyre in The Divine Tragedy, was written in 1871. WHAT phantom is this that appears A woman of cloud and of fire; It is she; it is Helen of Tyre, The town in the midst of the seas. O Tyre! in thy crowded streets Thy lilies and lions of brass, Then another phantom is seen With beard that floats to his waist; It is Simon Magus, the Seer; He speaks, and she pauses to hear He says: "From this evil fame, I will lift thee and make thee mine; Thou hast been Queen Candace, And Helen of Troy, and shalt be The Intelligence Divine! " Oh, sweet as the breath of morn, Are whispered words of praise; So she follows from land to land As a leaf is blown by the gust, Till she vanishes into night. O town in the midst of the seas, Thy merchandise and thy ships, ELEGIAC. DARK is the morning with mist; in the narrow mouth of the harbor Motionless lies the sea, under its curtain of cloud; Dreamily glimmer the sails of ships on the distant horizon, Like to the towers of a town, built on the verge of the sea. |