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Who saw you




A beauty came upon your face, not that of

living men, I loved you first when young and fair, but But seen upon the silent brow when life now I love you most;

has ceased to beat. The fairest flesh at last is filth on which

the worm will feast; This poor rib-grated dungeon of the holy Libera nos, Domine -you knew not one human ghost,

was there This house with all its hateful needs no

kneel beside

your bier, and cleaner than the beast,

weeping scarce could see;

May I come a little nearer, I that heard, IX

and changed the prayer This coarse diseaseful creature which in

And the married nos' for the soliEden was divine,


tary 'me'? This Satan-haunted ruin, this little city

of sewers, This wall of solid flesh that comes between

My beauty marred by you ? by you ! so be your soul and mine,

it. All is well Will vanish and give place to the beauty that endures,

If I lose it and myself in the higher

beauty, yours.

My beauty lured that falcon from his eyry The beauty that endures on the Spiritual

on the fell, height,

Who never caught one gleam of the When we shall stand transfigured, like

beauty which endures Christ on Hermon hill,

XVI And moving each to music, soul in soul and light in light,

The Count who sought to snap the bond Shall flash thro' one another in a moment

that link'd us life to life, as we will.

Who whisperd me, • Your Ulric loves'

- a little nearer still XI

He hiss'd, Let us revenge ourselves, your Foul ! foul! the word was yours not mine, Ulric woos my wife' I worship that right hand

A lie by which he thought he could subWhich felld the foes before you as the

due me to his will. woodman fells the wood, And sway'd the sword that lighten'd back

XVII the sun of Holy Land, And clove the Moslem crescent moon,

I knew that you were near me when I let

him kiss my brow; and changed it into blood.

Did he touch me on the lips ? I was XII

jealous, anger'd, vain, And once I worshipt all too well this crea

And I meant to make you jealous. Are ture of decay,

you jealous of me now? For age will chink the face, and death

Your pardon, O my love, if I ever gave will freeze the supplest limbs – Yet you in your mid manhood 0, the

XVIII grief when yesterday They bore the Cross before you to the You never once accused me, but I wept chant of funeral hymns !

alone, and sigh'd

In the winter of the present for the sumXIII

mer of the past; • Libera me, Domine !’you sang the Psalm, That icy winter silence how it froze you and when

from your bride, The priest pronounced you dead, and Tho' I made one barren effort to break it fung the mould upon your feet, 50

at the last !


you pain!



As dead from all the human race as if be

neath the mould; If you be dead, then I am dead, who

only live for you.

I brought you, you remember, these roses,

when I knew You were parting for the war, and you took them tho'


frown'd; You frown'd and yet you kiss'd them. All

at once the trumpet blew, And you spurr'd your fiery horse, and

you hurld them to the ground.

XXV Would Earth tho' hid in cloud not be fol

low'd by the Moon ? The leech forsake the dying bed for ter

ror of his life? The shadow leave the Substance in the

brooding light of noon ? Or if I had been the leper would you

have left the wife ?




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You parted for the Holy War without a

word to me, And clear myself unask'd - not I. My

nature was too proud. And him I saw but once again, and far

away was he, When I was praying in a storm the crash was long and loud

XXI That God would ever slant His bolt from

falling on your head Then I lifted up my eyes, he was coming

down the fell I clapt my hands. The sudden fire from

heaven had dash'd him dead, And sent him charr'd and blasted to the deathless fire of hell.

XXII See, I sinn'd bnt for a moment. I repented

and repent, And trust myself forgiven by the God to

whom I kneel. A little nearer? Yes. I shall hardly be

content Till I be leper like yourself, my love, from head to heel.

XXIII O foolish dreams, that you, that I, would

slight our marriage oath! I held you at that moment even dearer

than before; Now God has made you leper in His loving

care for both, That we might cling together, never doubt each other more.

XXIV The priest, who join'd you to the dead, has

join'd our hands of old; If man and wife be but one flesh, let

mine be leprous too,

There, there ! he buried you, the priest;

the priest is not to blame, He joins us once again, to his either

office true. I thank him. I am happy, happy. Kiss

me. In the name Of the everlasting God, I will live and die

with you!

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(Dean Milman has remarked that the protection and care afforded by the Church to this blighted race of lepers was among the most beautiful of its offices during the Middle Ages. The leprosy of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries was supposed to be a legacy of the Crusades, but was in all probability the off. spring of meagre and unwholesome diet, miserable lodging and clothing, physical and moral degradation. The services of the Church in the seclusion of these unhappy sufferers were most affecting The stern duty of looking to the public welfare is tempered with exqui. site compassion for the victims of this loathsome disease. The ritual for the sequestration of the leprous differed little from the burial service. After the leper had been sprinkled with holy water, the priest conducted him into the church, the leper singing the psalm ‘Libera me, Domine,' and the crucifix and bearer going before.

In the church a black cloth was stretched over two trestles in front of the altar, consul-general of the Republic of Uruguay, a position which he still held at his death.'


I ULYSSES, much-experienced man, Whose eyes have known this globe of

ours, Her tribes of men, and trees, and flow.

ers, From Corrientes to Japan,


To you that bask below the Line,

I soaking here in winter wet
The century's three strong eights bave

To drag me down to seventy-nine

and the leper leaning at its side devoutly heard

The priest, taking up a little earth in his cloak, threw it on one of the leper's feet, and put him out of the church, if it did not rain too heavily ; took him to his hut in the midst of the fields, and then uttered the prohibitions: 'I forbid you entering the church .. or entering the company of others. I forbid you quitting your home without your leper's dres3. He concluded : “Take this dress, and wear it in token of humility ; take these gloves, take this clapper, as a sign that you are forbidden to speak to any one. You are not to be indignant at being thus separated from others, and as to your little wants, good people will provide for you, and God will not desert you.' Then in this old ritual follow these sad words : · When it shall come to pass that the leper shall pass out of this world, he shall be buried in his hut, and not in the churchyard.' At first there was a doubt whether wives should follow their husbands who had been leprous, or remain in the world and marry again. The Church decided that the marriage-tie was indissoluble, and so bestowed on these unhappy beings this immense source of consolation. With a love stronger than this living death, lepers were followed into banishment from the haunts of men by their faithful wives. Readers of Sir J. Stephen’s ‘Essays on Ecclesiasti. cal Biography' will recollect the description of the founder of the Franciscan order, how, controlling his involuntary disgust, Saint Francis of Assisi washed the feet and dressed the sores of the lepers, once at least reverently applying his lips to their wounds. — BOURCHIER-JAMES.)

This ceremony of quasi-burial varied considerably at different times and in different places. In some cases a grave was dug, and the leper's face was often covered during the service.


In summer if I reach my day
To you, yet young, who breathe the

Of summer-winters by the palm
And orange grove of Paraguay,



I, tolerant of the colder time,

Who love the winter woods, to trace

Ou paler heavens the branching grace Of leafless elm, or naked lime,


And see my cedar green, and there

My giant ilex keeping leaf

When frost is keen and days are brief Or marvel how in English air



Mr. W. G. Palgrave, to whom the poem was addressed, was a brother of Professor F. T. Palgrave. Tennyson once said to the latter, 'I think your brother is the cleverest man I ever saw. Waugh, who records this, adds :

He had, indeed, earned the title [of Ulysses), having been consul in 1866 at Sonkhoum Kale, in 1867 at Trebizond, in 1873 at St. Thomas, in 1876 at Manilla, and in 1878 consul-general in Bulgaria. To these he added, in 1879, the consulship at Bangkok, and in 1884 he was

My yucca, which no winter quells,

Altho' the months have scarce begun,

Has push'd toward our faintest sun
A spike of half-accomplislı'd bells.

Or watch the waving pine which here

The warrior of Caprera set,"
A name that earth will not forget
Till earth has rollid her latest year —


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I, once half-crazed for larger light

On broader zones beyond the foam,

1 Garibaldi said to me, alluding to his bar ren island, ‘I wish I had your trees.'

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When this bare dome had not begun to


Thro' youthful curls, And you were then lover's fairy dream,

His girl of girls;


And you, that now are lonely, and with


Sit face to face, Might find a flickering glimmer of relief

In change of place.


I The ground-flame of the crocus breaks the

mould, Fair Spring slides hither o'er the South.

ern sea, Wavers on her thin stem the snowdrop

cold That trembles not to kisses of the bee. Come, Spring, for now from all the drip

ping eaves The spear of ice has wept itself away, And hour by hour unfolding woodbine

leaves O'er his uncertain shadow droops the

day. She comes ! The loosen'd rivulets run; The frost-bead melts upon her golden

hair; Her mantle, slowly greening in the Sun, Now wraps her close, now arching leaves

her bare To breaths of balmier air;

What use to brood? This life of mingled


And joys to me, Despite of every Faith and Creed, remains

The Mystery.


Let golden youth bewail the friend, the


For ever gone. He dreams of that long walk thro’ desert


Without the one.

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The silver year should cease to mourn and


Not long to wait-
So close are we, dear Mary, you and I

To that dim gate.


Take, read ! and be the faults your Poet


Or many or few,
He rests content, if his young

music wakes A wish in you

XVII To change our dark Qneen-city, all her


Of sound and smoke,

Up leaps the lark, gone wild to welcome

her, About her glance the tits, and shriek the

jays, Before her skims the jubilant woodpecker

The linnet's bosom blushes at her gaze, While round her brows a woodland culver

flits, Watching her large light eyes and gra

cious looks, And in her open palm a halcyon sits Patient the secret splendor of the

brooks. Come, Spring! She comes on waste and

wood, On farm and field; but enter also here, Diffuse thyself at will thro' all my blood,

And, tho' thy violet sicken into sore,
Lodge with me all the year!

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