Or is my boast a vain, an empty one,
And shall I rue it ere the day is done?
Will hope revive betimes? Or must I stand
For evermore outside the fairyland
Of thy good will? Alas! my place is here,
To muse and moan and sigh and shed my tear,
My paltry tear for one who loves me not,
And would not mourn for me on my death-bier.

xvii.

Oh, get thee hence, thou harbinger of light!
That, like a dream, dost come to me at night
To haunt my sleep, and rob me of content,
So true-untrue, so deaf to my lament,
I must forego the pride I felt therein.
Aye, get thee hence! And I will crush the sin,
If sin it be, that prompts me, night and day,
To seek in thee the bliss I cannot win.

xviii.

Or, if thou needs must haunt me after dark,
Come when I wake. The oriole and the lark
Are friends of thine; and oft, I know, the thrush
Has trill'd of thee at morn and even-blush.
And flowers have made confessions unto me
At which I marvel; for they rail at thee
And call thee heartless in thy seemlihood,
Though queen-elect of all the flowers that be.

xix.

Nay, heed me not! I rave; I am possess'd
By utmost longing. I am sore oppress'd
By thoughts of woe; and in my heart I feel
A something keener than the touch of steel,
As if, to-day, a danger unforeseen
Had track'd thy path,--as if my prayers had been
Misjudged in Heaven, or drown'd in demon-shouts
Beyond the boundaries of the coasts terrene.

xx.

But this is clear; this much at least is true:
I am thine own! I doat upon the blue
Of thy kind eyes, well knowing that in these
Are proofs of God; and down upon my knees
I fall subservient, as a man in shame
May own a fault; albeit, as with a flame,
I burn all day, abash'd and unforgiven,
And all unfit to touch the hand I claim!

[Illustration: cherub]

Fifth Litany.

_SALVE REGINA_.

Fifth Litany.

Salve Regina.

i.

Glory to thee, my Queen! whom far away
My thoughts aspire to,--as the birds of May
Aspire o' mornings,--as in lonely nooks
The gurgling murmurs of neglected brooks
Aspire to moonlight,--aye! as earth aspires
When through the East, alert with wild desires,
The rapturous sun surveys the welkin's height,
And flecks the world with witcheries of his fires.

ii.

Oh, I should curb my grief. I should entone
No plaint to thee; no loss should I bemoan!
I should be patient, I, though full of care,
And not attempt, by bias of a prayer,
To sway thy spirit