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And clasps were cracking and covers suppling!

As if you bad carried sour John Knox
To the play-house at Paris, Vienna or Munich,

Fastened him into a front-row box,
And danced off the ballet with trousers and tunic.

IX.
Come, old martyr! What, torment enough is it?

Back to my room shall you take your sweet self.
Good-bye, mother-beetle; husband-eft, _sufficit!_

See the snug niche I have made on my shelf!
A.'s book shall prop you up, B.'s shall cover you,

Here's C. to be grave with, or D. to be gay,
And with E. on each side, and F. right over you,

Dry-rot at ease till the Judgment-day!
SOLILOQUY OF THE SPANISH CLOISTER.

I.
Gr-r-r---there go, my heart's abhorrence!

Water your damned flower-pots, do!
If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence,

God's blood, would not mine kill you!
What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming?

Oh, that rose has prior claims---
Needs its leaden vase filled brimming?

Hell dry you up with its flames!
II.

At the meal we sit together:
_Salve tibi!_ I must hear

Wise talk of the kind of weather,
Sort of season, time of year:

_Not a plenteous cork-crop: scarcely
Dare we hope oak-galls, I doubt:

What's the Latin name for ``parsley''?_
What's the Greek name for Swine's Snout?

III.
Whew! We'll have our platter burnished,

Laid with care on our own shelf!
With a fire-new spoon we're furnished,

And a goblet for ourself,
Rinsed like something sacrificial

Ere 'tis fit to touch our chaps---
Marked with L. for our initial!

(He-he! There his lily snaps!)
IV.

_Saint_, forsooth! While brown Dolores
Squats outside the Convent bank

With Sanchicha, telling stories,
Steeping tresses in the tank,

Blue-black, lustrous, thick like horsehairs,
---Can't I see his dead eye glow,

Bright as 'twere a Barbary corsair's?
(That is, if he'd let it show!)

V.
When he finishes refection,

Knife and fork he never lays
Cross-wise, to my recollection,

As do I, in Jesu's praise.
I the Trinity illustrate,

Drinking watered orange-pulp---
In three sips the Arian frustrate;

While he drains his at one gulp.
VI.

Oh, those melons? If he's able
We're to have a feast! so nice!

One goes to the Abbot's table,
All of us get each a slice.

How go on your flowers? None double
Not one fruit-sort can you spy?

Strange!---And I, too, at such trouble,
Keep them close-nipped on the sly!

VII.
There's a great text in Galatians,

Once you trip on it, entails
Twenty-nine distinct damnations,

One sure, if another fails:
If I trip him just a-dying,

Sure of heaven as sure can be,
Spin him round and send him flying

Off to hell, a Manichee?
VIII.

Or, my scrofulous French novel
On grey paper with blunt type!

Simply glance at it, you grovel
Hand and foot in Belial's gripe:

If I double down its pages
At the woeful sixteenth print,

When he gathers his greengages,
Ope a sieve and slip it in't?

IX.
Or, there's Satan!---one might venture

Pledge one's soul to him, yet leave
Such a flaw in the indenture

As he'd miss till, past retrieve,
Blasted lay that rose-acacia

We're so proud of! _Hy, Zy, Hine ..._
'St, there's Vespers! _Plena grati

Ave, Virgo!_ Gr-r-r---you swine!
THE LABORATORY.

ANCIEN RGIME.
I.

Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze thro' these faint smokes curling whitely,

As thou pliest thy trade in this devil's-smithy---
Which is the
poison to poison her, prithee?

II.
He is with her, and they know that I know

Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear

Empty church, to pray God in, for them!---I am here.
III.

Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
Pound at thy powder,---I am not in haste!

Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King's.

IV.
That in the mortar---you call it a gum?

Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,

Sure to taste sweetly,---is that poison too?
V.

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!

To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree basket!

VI.
Soon, at the King's, a mere lozenge to give,

And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastile, and Elise, with her head

And her breast and her arms and her hands, should drop dead!
VII.

Quick---is it finished? The colour's too grim!
Why not soft like the phial's, enticing and dim?

Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

VIII.
What a drop! She's not little, no minion like me!

That's why she ensnared him: this never will free
The soul from those masculine eyes,---Say, ``no!''

To that pulse's magnificent come-and-go.
IX.

For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought

Could I keep them one half minute fixed, she would fall
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does it all!

X.
Not that I bid you spare her the pain;

Let death be felt and the proof remain:
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace---

He is sure to remember her dying face!
XI.

Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose;
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close;

The delicate droplet, my whole fortune's fee!
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

XII.
Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,

You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings

Ere I know it---next moment I dance at the King's!
THE CONFESSIONAL.

[SPAIN.]
I.

It is a lie---their Priests, their Pope,
Their Saints, their ... all they fear or hope

Are lies, and lies---there! through my door
And ceiling, there! and walls and floor,

There, lies, they lie---shall still be hurled
Till spite of them I reach the world!

II.
You think Priests just and holy men!

Before they put me in this den
I was a human creature too,

With flesh and blood like one of you,
A girl that laughed in beauty's pride

Like lilies in your world outside.
III.

I had a lover---shame avaunt!
This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,

Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned

His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in a burning mist.

IV.
So, next day when the accustomed train

Of things grew round my sense again,
``That is a sin,'' I said: and slow

With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair,

And tell the old mild father there.
V.

But when I falter Beltran's name,
``Ha?'' quoth the father; ``much I blame

``The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve?
``Despair not---strenuously retrieve!

``Nay, I will turn this love of thine
``To lawful love, almost divine;

VI.
``For he is young, and led astray,

``This Beltran, and he schemes, men say,
``To change the laws of church and state

``So, thine shall be an angel's fate,
``Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll



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