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Ingelow, Jean, 1820-1897

"Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I."


As for thyself--' 'Good father,' saith the son;
'I will not, father, ask your blessing now,
Because, for fair, or else for evil, fate
We two shall meet again.' And so they did.
The dusky men, peeling off cinnamon,
And beating nutmeg clusters from the tree,
Ransom and bribe contemned. The good ship sailed,--
The son returned to share his father's cell.
"O, there are many such. Would I had wit
Their worth to sing!" With that, she turned her feet,
"I am tired now," said Gladys, "of their talk
Around this hill Parnassus." And, behold,
A piteous sight--an old, blind, graybeard king
Led by a fool with bells. Now this was loved
Of the crowd below the hill; and when he called
For his lost kingdom, and bewailed his age,
And plained on his unkind daughters, they were known
To say, that if the best of gold and gear
Could have bought him back his kingdom, and made kind
The hard hearts which had broken his erewhile,
They would have gladly paid it from their store
Many times over. What is done is done,
No help. The ruined majesty passed on.
And look you! one who met her as she walked
Showed her a mountain nymph lovely as light
Her name Oenone; and she mourned and mourned,
"O Mother Ida," and she could not cease,
No, nor be comforted.
And after this,
Soon there came by, arrayed in Norman cap
And kirtle, an Arcadian villager,
Who said, "I pray you, have you chanced to meet
One Gabriel?" and she sighed; but Gladys took
And kissed her hand: she could not answer her,
Because she guessed the end.


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