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and sore,

“Nay now, when looked you yet on blood, “Oh, it's Keith of Eastholm rides so Little brother?”

fast, (O Mother, Mary Mother,

Sister Helen, How pale she is, between Hell and Heaven!) For I know the white mane on the blast.”

“The hour has come, has come at last, “Now close your eyes, for they're sick

Little brother!” 75 36

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Sister Helen,

Her hour at last, between Hell and Heaven!) And I'll play without the gallery door." Aye, let me rest, -I'll lie on the floor, “He has made a sign and called Halloo!

Little brother.'

Sister Helen, (O Mother, Mary Mother, And he says that he would speak with What rest to-night between Hell and


80 Heaven?)

“Oh tell him I fear the frozen dew,

Little brother." “Here high up in the balcony,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Sister Helen,

Why laughs she thus, between Hell and The moon Alies face to face with me."


45 “Aye, look and say whatever you see,

Little brother." “The wind is loud, but I hear him cry, 85 (O Mother, Mary Mother,

Sister Helen, What sight to-night, between Hell and That Keith of Ewern's like to die.” Heaven?)

“And he and thou, and thou and I,

Little brother." “Outside it's merry in the wind's wake, 50

(O Mother, Mary Mother, 90

And they and we, between Hell and Heaven!) In the shaken trees the chill stars shake." "Hush, heard you a horse-tread as you “Three days ago, on his marriage-morn, spake,

Sister Helen, Little brother?He sickened, and lies since then forlorn."

(O Mother, Mary Mother, 55 “For bridegroom's side is the bride a What sound to-night, between Hell and thorn,

95 Heaven?)

Little brother?”

(O Mother, Mary Mother, "I hear a horse-tread, and I see,

Cold bridal cheer, between Hell and Heaven!)
Sister Helen,
Three horsemen that ride terribly." “Three days and nights he has lain abed,
“Little brother, whence come the three, 60

Sister Helen,
Little brother?” And he prays in torment to be dead."

(O Mother, Mary Mother, “The thing may chance, if he have prayed, Whence should they come, between Hell and

Little brother! Heaven?)

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

If he have prayed, between Hell and Heaven!) “They come by the hill-verge from Boyne

“But he has not ceased to cry to-day, 106 Sister Helen, 65

Sister Helen, And one draws nigh, but two are afar." That you should take your curse away." “Look, look, do you know them who they “My prayer was heard, -he need but are,

pray, Little brother?

Little brother!" 110 (O Mother, Mary Mother,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Who should they be, between Hell and Shall God not hear, between Hell and Heaven?)



Sister Helen hake.



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“But he says, till you take back your ban, You pardon him in his mortal pain.” Sister Helen,

"What else he took will he give again, His soul would pass, yet never can. 115

Little brother?" “Nay then, shall I slay a living man,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, 160 Little brother?” Not twice to give, between Hell and Heaven!)

(O Mother, Mary Mother, A living soul, between Hell and Heaven!)

“He calls your name in an agony,

Sister Helen, “But he calls forever on your name, That even dead Love must weep to see.”

Sister Helen, “Hate, born of Love, is blind as he, 165 And says that he melts before a flame.”

Little brother!” “My heart for his pleasure fared the same,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Little brother."

Love turned to hate, between Hell and (O Mother, Mary Mother, 125 Heaven!) Fire at the heart, between Hell and Heaven!)

“Oh it's Keith of Keith now that rides "Here's Keith of Westholm riding fast,

fast, Sister Helen,

Sister Helen, 170 For I know the white plume on the blast.”

For I know the white hair on the blast.” “The hour, the sweet hour I forecast, 130

“The short, short hour will soon be past, Little brother!”

Little brother!" (O Mother, Mary Mother,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Is the hour sweet, between Hell and Heaven?)

Will soon be past, between Hell and

175 "He stops to speak, and he stills his horse,

Sister Helen;


“He looks at me and he tries to speak, But his words are drowned in the wind's

Sister Helen, course."

But oh! his voice is sad and weak!" “Nay hear, nay hear, you must hear per

“What here should the mighty Baron seek, force,

Little brother?” 180 Little brother!” (O Mother, Mary Mother,

(O Mother, Mary Mother,

Is this the end, between Hell and Heaven?)
What word now heard, between Hell and

“Oh his son still cries, if you forgive,

Sister Helen,
“Oh, he says that Keith of Ewern's cry,
Sister Helen,

The body dies, but the soul shall live."185

"Fire shall forgive me as I forgive, Is ever to see you ere he die."

Little brother!” “In all that his soul sees, there am I, Little brother!” 145

(O Mother, Mary Mother, (O Mother, Mary Mother,

As she forgives, between Hell and Heaven!) The soul's one sight, between Hell and Heaven!)

“Oh he prays you, as his heart would rive,

190 “He sends a ring and a broken coin,

Sister Helen,
Sister Helen,

To save his dear son's soul alive."
And bids you mind the banks of Boyne.”

“Fire cannot slay it, it shall thrive, “What else he broke will he ever join, 151

Little brother!” Little brother?”

(O Mother, Mary Mother, 195 (OM other, Mary Mother, Alas, alas, between Hell and Heaven!) No, never joined, between Hell and Heaven!)

“He cries to you, kneeling in the road, “He yields you these and craves full fain,

Sister Helen,
Sister Helen,

156 To go with him for the love of God!”



“The way is long to his son's abode, "They've caught her to Westholm's Little brother."

saddle-bow, (O Mother, Mary Mother,

Sister Helen,

240 The way is long, between Hell and Heaven!) | And her moonlit hair gleams white in its

flow.” "A lady's here, by a dark steed brought, “Let it turn whiter than winter snow, Sister Helen, 205

Little brother!” So darkly clad, I saw her not.”

(O Mother, Mary Mother, “See her now or never see aught,

Woe-withered gold, between Hell and
Little brother!”

245 (O Mother, Mary Mother, What more to see, between Hell and Heaven?)

“O Sister Helen, you heard the bell,

Sister Helen! “Her hood falls back, and the moon shines More loud than the vesper-chime it fell." fair,

“No vesper-chime, but a dying knell, Sister Helen,

Little brother!” 250 On the Lady of Ewern's golden hair."

(O Mother, Mary Mother, "Blest hour of my power and her despair, His dying knell, between Hell and Heaven!)

Little brother!” 215

(O Mother, Mary Mother, “Alas! but I fear the heavy sound, Hour blest and banned, between Hell and

Sister Helen; Heaven!)

Is it in the sky or in the ground?” 255 "Pale, pale her cheeks, that in pride did

“Say, have they turned their horses round,

Little brother?” glow, Sister Helen,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, 'Neath the bridal-wreath three days ago."

What would she more, between Hell and

Heaven?) “One morn for pride and three days for woe,

Little brother!” “They have raised the old man from his (O Mother, Mary Mother, knee,

200 Three days, three nights, between Hell and

Sister Helen, Heaven!)

And they ride in silence hastily."

“More fast the naked soul doth flee, "Her clasped hands stretch from her bend

Little brother!" ing head,


(O Mother, Mary Mother, 265 Sister Helen;

The naked soul, between Hell and Heaven!) With the loud wind's wail her sobs are wed.”

“Flank to flank are the three steeds gone, “What wedding-strains hath her bridal

Sister Helen, bed,

But the lady's dark steed goes alone." Little brother?”

“And lonely her bridegroom's soul hath (O Mother, Mary Mother, 230

flown, What strain but death's, between Hell and

Little brother." Heaven?)

(O Mother, Mary Mother, “She may not speak, she sinks in a swoon,

The lonely ghost, between Hell and Heaven!)

Sister Helen,She lifts her lips and gasps on the moon.” “Oh the wind is sad in the iron chill, “Oh! might I but hear her soul's blithe

Sister Helen, 275 tune,

235 And weary sad they look by the hill." Little brother!” “But he and I are sadder still, (O Mother, Mary Mother,

Little brother!” Her woe's dumb cry, between Hell and

(O Mother, Mary Mother, Heaven!)

Most sad of all, between Hell and Heaven!)


270 IO

“See, see the wax has dropped from its love, my love! if I no more should see place,

281 | Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of Sister Helen,

thee, And the flames are winning up apace!" Nor image of thine eyes in any spring “Yet here they burn but for a space, How then should sound upon Life's dark

Little brother!” 285 ening slope,

(O Mother, Mary Mother, The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Here for a space, between Hell and Heaven!) Hope,

The wind of Death's imperishable wing? "Ah! what white thing at the door has crossed,

Sister Helen,
Ah! what is this that sighs in the frost?"290

Your hands lie open in the long fresh “A soul that's lost as mine is lost,

grass, Little brother!”

The finger-points look through like rosy

blooms: (O Mother, Mary Mother,

Your eyes smile peace. The pasture Lost, lost, all lost, between Hell and Heaven!)

gleams and glooms 'Neath billowing skies that scatter and


All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,


Are golden kingcup-fields with silver edge

Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawA Sonnet is a moment's monument,

thorn-hedge. Memorial from the Soul's eternity,

'T is visible silence, still as the hour-glass. To one dead deathless hour. Look that it Deep in the sun-searched growths the be,

dragon-fly Whether for lustral rite or dire portent, Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the Of its own arduous fulness reverent:


sky:Carve it in ivory or in ebony,

So this winged hour is dropped to us from As Day or Night may rule; and let Time

above. see

Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless Its flowering crest impearled and orient.

dower, A Sonnet is a coin: its face reveals

This close-companioned inarticulate hour The soul,-its converse, to what Power

When twofold silence was the song of love. 't is due:Whether for tribute to the august appeals

XCVII. A SUPERSCRIPTION Of Life, or dower in Love's high retinue, It serve; or, 'mid the dark wharf's cav- Look in my face; my name is Might-haveernous breath,

been; In Charon's palm it pay the toll to Death. I am also called No-more, Too-late, Fare


Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell IV. LOVESIGHT

Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet beWhen do I see thee most, belovèd one?

tween; When in the light the spirits of mine eyes Unto thine eyes the glass where that is Before thy face, their altar, solemnize

5 The worship of that Love through thee Which had Life's form and Love's, but by made known?

my spell Or when in the dusk hours, (we two alone,) Is now a shaken shadow intolerable, Close-kissed and eloquent of still replies, ó Of ultimate things unuttered the frail Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage screen. lies,

Mark me, how still I am! But should And my soul only sees thy soul its own? there dart





One moment through thy soul the soft sur- To those who in the sleepy region stay, prise

Lulled by the singer of an empty day. Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn At Christmas-tide such wondrous things apart

did show,

30 Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart, | That through one window men beheld the Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes. spring,

And through another saw the summer

glow, WILLIAM MORRIS (1834–1896) And through a third the fruited vines a




shall slay,


While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,
Piped the drear wind of that December

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to

So with this Earthly Paradise it is, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, If ye will read aright, and pardon me, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Midmost the beating of the steely sea, Nor for my words shall ye forget your Where tossed about all hearts of men tears,

5 must be; Or hope again for aught that I can say, Whose ravening monsters mighty men The idle singer of an empty day.

Not the poor singer of an empty day.
But rather, when aweary of your mirth,
From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh,

And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, 10
Grudge every minute as it passes by,

Forget six counties overhung with Made the more mindful that the sweet smoke, days die

Forget the snorting steam and piston Remember me a little then, I pray,

stroke, The idle singer of an empty day.

Forget the spreading of the hideous town;

Think rather of the pack-horse on the The heavy trouble, the bewildering care down, That weighs us down who live and earn And dream of London, small, and white, our bread,

16 and clean, These idle verses have no power to bear; The clear Thames bordered by its gardens So let me sing of names remembered,

green; Because they, living not, can ne'er be Think, that below bridge the green lapping

dead, Or long time take their memory quite Smite some few keels that bear Levantine away

staves, From us poor singers of an empty day. Cut from the yew wood on the burnt-up

hill, Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due And pointed jars that Greek hands toiled time,

to fill, Why should I strive to set the crooked And treasured scanty spice from some far straight?

sea, Let it suffice me that my murmuring Florence gold cloth, and Ypres napery, rhyme

And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Beats with light wing against the ivory Guienne; gate,

25 While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Telling a tale not too importunate

Chaucer's pen

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