[_With a Silver Lamp._—“_Fiat Lux._”]
How shall I bless thee? Human Love
Is all too poor in passionate words!
The heart aches with a sense above
All language that the lip affords!
Therefore, a symbol shall express
My love;—a thing nor rare nor strange,
But yet—eternal—measureless—
Knowing no shadow and no change!
Light! which of all the lovely shows
To our poor world of shadows given,
The fervent Prophet-voices chose
Alone—as attribute of Heaven!
At a most solemn pause we stand!
From this day forth, for evermore,
The weak, but loving, human hand
Must cease to guide thee as of yore!
Then as through life thy footsteps stray
And earthly beacons dimly shine,
“Let there be Light” upon thy way,
And holier guidance far than mine.
“Let there be Light” in thy clear soul,
When Passion tempts, or Doubts assail,
When Grief’s dark tempests o’er thee roll
“Let there be Light” that shall not fail!
So—angel guarded—may’st thou tread
The narrow path, which few may find;
And at the end look back, nor dread
To count the vanished years behind!
And pray, that she whose hand doth trace
This heart-warm prayer, when life is past,
May see and know thy blessed face
In God’s own glorious Light at last!—_Good Words._
Mr. Robert Browning has also written lines upon this “Tower,” and
has consented to their publication in a late issue of the _Pall Mall
Gazette_. In an introduction to the poem, the _Gazette_ remarks: “The
difference in treatment of the same subject by the two poets will, we are
sure, interest our readers. Mr. Browning’s tribute to the love-inducing
qualities of the late Lady Gifford was no mere compliment, as all who
knew her will bear witness.”
“HELEN’S TOWER.”
Who hears of Helen’s Tower, may dream, perchance,
How the Greek Beauty from the Scæan Gate
Gazed on old friends unanimous in hate,
Death-doom’d because of her fair countenance.
Hearts would leap otherwise at thy advance,
Lady, to whom this Tower is consecrate!
Like hers, thy face once made all eyes elate,
Yet, unlike hers, was blessed by every glance.
The Tower of Hate is outworn, far and strange;
A transitory shame of long ago,
It dies into the sand from which it sprang;
But thine, Love’s rock-built Tower, shall fear no change;
God’s self laid stable earth’s foundation so,
When all the morning stars together sang.
—_Robert Browning._
* * * * *
The traces of human deeds fade swiftly away from the sun-lighted earth,
as the transient shade of thought from the brow, but nothing is lost and
dissipated, which the rolling hours, replete with secrets, have received
into their dark creative bosom. Time is a blooming field; nature is ever
teeming with life, and all is seed, and all is fruit.—_Schiller._