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XXIV.

In haste and dread I covered it up–
I covered it up with sand;
With sand, and clay, and clods of earth;–
I wrought with foot and hand,
I flattened the earth, and made it firm,
Then strewed it o’er with leaves.
As if the wild autumnal winds.
Through melancholy eves.
Had blown their dead to moulder there;
And then I went my way;–
And with me went a burning heart,
That hoped, but could not pray.

XXV.

But oh! the dreams–the joyous dreams–
Like sunbeams on a sea,
That sparkled on my restless mind,
When I thought of my gold and thee!
And oh! the overcrowding hopes
That looked in my face and smiled,
As I lay awake through the feverish night,
And heard the laughter wild
Of the roystering diggers singing their songs
To the small hours of the morn–
Hopes, and plans, and changeful dreams,
Of pride and avarice born:–
Ah no! not so–I wrong my heart.
When I listen to my scorn!

XXVI.

Heaven be my witness–love for thee
Through all my frenzy wrought;–
And from the splendour of thine eyes
My sordid passion caught
A reflex of the generous fire
That sanctifies thy thought.
I prized not gold to hide and hoard,
Like miserable dirt;
I sought it not for evil ends,
Or my fellow-creatures’ hurt;
But for sake of luxury and power–
To spend it like a king;
To herd no more among the mean,
Who crawl for want of wing;
But to soar aloft in the morning light.
And revel in the spring.

XXVII.

Oh glorious dream! I sowed–I reaped–
Rebuilt my feudal tower;
And through my old paternal groves.
My avenue and bower,
I walked the monarch of the place
In affluence of power.

XXVIII.

I built a dome for ancient art.
The master–works of Time,
For Titian, Guido, Tintoret,
And Rubens the sublime;
For living art that charms the world
As potently as they,
Our English Raphaels–great perchance
As Raphaels passed away.
And none the less because they work
O’ershadowed by To-day.

XXIX.
I built a palace for my books,
So vast that kings themselves
Might marvel at the wealth of wit
I treasured on my shelves.
All art–all luxury and state,
The waifs of peace and war,
Choice pictures, vases, bronzes, gems,
I gathered from afar,
And all for thee my Love, my Queen–
My life–my polar star!

XXX.

Foils to the splendour of thy charms
I scattered at thy feet–
As breezes in the early June
Strew earth with blossoms sweet–
A shower of rubies, emeralds, pearls,
And diamonds for thy hair;
So that the proudest woman born
Might own thee past compare;
And say, “She’s happy–she’s beloved.
As rich as she is fair.”
While I might whisper to myself,
“Her smiles are purer gems;
Her loving looks are greater wealth
Than regal diadems;
Her words the treasures of my soul,
And she, if forced to part,
With all things but her pomp of youth
And purity of heart,
Would be a paragon of wealth,
And pauperize the mart.”

XXXI.

But not alone for thee and me
Were all my hurrying dreams,
For I poured my wealth as Alpine peaks
Pour down the April streams.
To Kate thy sister, merry of laugh,
Amid her gay compeers.
But shy as a berry ‘mid the leaves
To the eyes of cavaliers;
I gave a dowry for an Earl;
For Margery bright as she,
But changeful as the clouds of even
When the sun upon the rim of Heaven
Is sinking to the sea,
I counted out the jingling gold;
The coins fell fast and free;–
Into her lap as many I told
As leaves on the tall oak tree.