This eBook was produced by David Widger

A LOVER'S DIARY

By Gilbert Parker

Volume 2.

CONTENTS:

DREAMSTHE BRIDETHE WRAITHSURRENDERTHE CITADELMALFEASANCEANNUNCIATIONVANISHED DREAMSINTO THY LANDDIVIDEDWE MUST LIVE ONYET LIFE IS SWEETLOST FOOTSTEPSTHE CLOSED DOORTHE CHALICEMIO DESTINOI HAVE BEHELDTOO SOON AWAYTHE TREASUREDAHINLOVE'S USURYTHE DECREE'TIS MORNING NOWSACRIFICESHINE ONSO, THOU ART GONETHE THOUSAND THINGSONESTHE SEATHE CHARTREVEALINGOVERCOMINGWHITHER NOWARARATAS LIGHT LEAPS UPTHE DARKENED WAYREUNITEDSONG WAS GONE FROM MEGOOD WAS THE FIGHTUNCHANGEDABSOLVO TEBENEDICTUSTHE MESSAGEUNAVAILINGYOU SHALL LIVE ON"VEX NOT THIS GHOST"THE MEMORYTHE PASSINGENVOY

DREAMS

          And so life passed. I lived from year to year
          With shadows, the strong warders of desire;
          I learned through them to seek the golden fire
          That hides itself in Song's bright hemisphere.

          Through them I grew full of imaginings,
          I made strange pictures, conjured images
          From my deep longings; wrote the passages
          Of life inwrought with half-glad wonderings.

          For who can know a majesty of peace,
          That wanders, ever waiting for a voice
          To say to him, "Behold, at last surcease

          Of thy unrest has come, therefore, rejoice"?
          Here set I down some dreams that come again,
          Almost forgotten in my higher gain.

THE BRIDE

          A ship at sea; a port to anchor in;
          Not far a starry light upon the shore.
          The sheeted lightning, like a golden door,
          Swings to and fro to let earth-angels in.

          Most bravely has she sailed o'er every sea,
          Withstood the storm-rack, spurned the sullen reef;
          Cherished her strength; and held her guerdon fief
          To him who saith, "My ship comes back to me!

          Behold, I sent her forth a stately thing,
          To be my messenger to farthest lands,
          To Fortunate Isles, and where the silver sands

          Girdle a summer sea; that she might bring
          My bride, who wist not that I loved her so—
          This is no bitter day for me, I trow!"

THE WRAITH

          A ship in port; well-crossed the harbour-bar;
          The hawser swung, the grinding helm at rest;
          Hands clasping hands, and eyes with eager zest
          Seeking the loved, returning from afar.

          And he, the master, holding little reck
          Of all, save but the idol of his soul,
          Seeks not his loving ardour to control.
          Mark how he proudly treads the whitened deck!

          "My bride, my bride, my lone soul's best beloved,
          Come forth, come forth! Where art thou, Isobel?—
          Pallid, and wan! Lord, hath it thus befell

          This is but dust; where has the spirit roved?
          O death-cold bride! for this, then, have I strove?
          O phantom ship, O loveless wraith of Love!"

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