ENVY
XXXI
This rose-tree is not made to bear
The violet blue, nor lily fair,
Nor the sweet mignonette;
And if this tree were discontent
Or wish’d to change its natural bent,
It all in vain would fret.
And should it fret, you would suppose
It ne’er had seen its own red rose,
Nor after gentle shower
Had ever smell’d its rose’s scent,
Or it could ne’er be discontent
With its own pretty flower.
Like such a blind and senseless tree
As I’ve imagined this to be,
All envious persons are:
With care and culture all may find
Some pretty flower in their own mind,
Some talent that is rare.
DIALOGUE
BETWEEN A
MOTHER &
CHILD
XXXII
Child.
O lady, lay your costly robes aside,
No longer may you glory in your pride.
Mother.
Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear
Sad songs, were made so long ago, my dear?
This day I am to be a bride, you know,
Why sing sad songs, were made so long ago?
Child.
O Mother, lay your costly robes aside,
For you may never be another’s bride.
That line I learn’d not in the old sad song.
Mother.
I pray thee, pretty one, now hold thy tongue,
Play with the bride-maids, and be glad, my boy,
For thou shalt be a second father’s joy.
Child.
One father fondled me upon his knee,
One father is enough, alone, for me.
THE FIRST SIGHT
OF
GREEN FIELDS
XXXIII
Lately an equipage I overtook,
And help’d to lift it o’er a narrow brook;
No horse it had, except one boy, who drew
His sister out in it the fields to view.
O happy town-bred girl, in fine chaise going
For the first time to see the green grass growing!
This was the end and purport of the ride,
I learn’d, as walking slowly by their side
I heard their conversation. Often she—
“Brother, is this the country that I see?”
The bricks were smoking and the ground was broke,
There were no signs of verdure when she spoke.
He, as the well-inform’d delight in chiding
The ignorant, these questions still deriding,
To his good judgment modestly she yields;
Till, brick-kilns past, they reach’d the open fields.
Then, as with rapturous wonder round she gazes
On the green grass, the buttercups and daisies,—
“This is the country, sure enough!” she cries:
“Is’t not a charming place?” The boy replies,
“We’ll go no further.” “No,” says she, “no need:
No finer place than this can be, indeed!”
I left them gathering flowers, the happiest pair
That ever London sent to breathe the fine fresh air.
LINES
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE
OF TWO FEMALES BY
LEONARDO DA VINCI
XXXIV
The lady Blanche, regardless of all her lovers’ fears,
To the Ursuline convent hastens, and long the abbess hears.
“O Blanche, my child, repent ye of the courtly life ye lead.”
Blanche looked on a rosebud, and little seem’d to heed.
She looked on the rosebud, she looked round and thought
On all her heart had whisper’d, and all the Nun had taught.
“I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines my fame,
All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanche’s name.
Nor shall I quickly wither like the rosebud from the tree,
My queen-like graces shining when my beauty’s gone from me.
But when the sculptured marble is raised o’er my head,
And the matchless Blanche lies lifeless among the noble dead,
This saintly lady abbess hath made me justly fear
It nothing will avail me that I was worshipp’d here.”
LINES
ON THE SAME PICTURE
BEING REMOVED TO MAKE
PLACE FOR A PORTRAIT
OF A LADY BY TITIAN
XXXV
Who art thou, fair one, who usurp’st the place
Of Blanche, the lady of the matchless grace?
Come, fair and pretty, tell to me
Who, in thy life-time, thou might’st be.
Thou pretty art and fair,
But with the lady Blanche thou never must compare.
No need for Blanche her history to tell;
Whoever saw her face, they there did read it well.
But when I look on thee, I only know
There lived a pretty maid some hundred years ago.
LINES
ON THE CELEBRATED
PICTURE BY LEONARDO
DA VINCI, CALLED THE
VIRGIN OF THE ROCKS
XXXVI
While young John runs to greet
The greater Infant’s feet,
The mother standing by, with trembling passion
Of devout admiration
Beholds the engaging mystic play, and pretty adoration;
Nor knows as yet the full event
Of those so low beginnings,
From whence we date our winnings,
But wonders at the intent
Of those new rites, and what that strange child-worship meant.
But at her side
An angel doth abide,
With such a perfect joy
As no dim doubts alloy,
An intuition,
A glory, an amenity,
Passing the dark condition
Of blind humanity,
As if he surely knew
All the blest wonders should ensue,
Or he had lately left the upper sphere,
And had read all the sovran schemes and divine riddles there.
