Cynthia.



Cynthia.


    O Lady Moon, elect of all the spheres
    To be the guardian of the ocean-tides,
    I charge thee, say, by all thy hopes and fears,
    And by thy face, the oracle of brides,
    Why evermore Remorse with thee abides?
    Is life a bane to thee, and fraught with tears,
    That thus forlorn and sad thou dost confer
    With ghosts and shades? Perchance thou dost aspire
    To bridal honours, and thy Phoebus-sire
    Forbids the banns, whoe'er thy suitor be?
    Is this thy grievance, O thou chief of nuns?
    Or dost thou weep to know that Jupiter
    Hath many moons - his daughters and his sons -
    And Earth, thy mother, only one in thee?

Eric Mackay

Eric Mackay, born on June 1, 1851, was a noted English poet whose work gained recognition in the late 19th century. He is best known for his sonnets and lyrical poetry, which were celebrated for their emotional depth and technical mastery. His most famous work, 'Love Letters of a Violinist,' was well-received during his lifetime. Mackay's contributions to English literature have been acknowledged for their artistic merit. He passed away on June 8, 1898.

Eric Mackay

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter I. Prelude.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Spirit Love.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Elëanore.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

English

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Love's Ambition.



XI. Love's Ambition.


    I must invoke thee for my spirit's good,
    And prove myself un-guilty of the crime
    Of mere self-seeking, though with this imbued.
    I sing as sings the mavis in a wood,
    Content to be alive at harvest time.
    Had I its wings I should not be withstood!
    But I will weave my fancies into rhyme,
    And greet afar the heights I cannot climb.
    I will invoke thee, Love! though far away,
    And pay thee homage, as becomes a knight
    Who longs to keep his true-love in his sight.
    Yea, I will soar to thee, i...

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Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter V. Confessions.



Letter V. Confessions.


I.

    O Lady mine! O Lady of my Life!
    Mine and not mine, a being of the sky
    Turn'd into Woman, and I know not why -
    Is't well, bethink thee, to maintain a strife
    With thy poor servant? War unto the knife,
    Because I greet thee with a lover's eye?


II.

    Is't well to visit me with thy disdain,
    And rack my soul, because, for love of thee,
    I was too prone to sink upon my knee,
    And too intent to make my meaning plain,
    And too resolved to make my loss a gain
    To...

Eric Mackay

Ex Tenebra.



Ex Tenebra.


    The winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod,
    And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips.
    The very silence has appeal'd to God.
    In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,
    'Twould seem as if the blight of some eclipse
    Had dull'd the skies, - as if, on mountain tips,
    The winds of Heaven had spurn'd the life terrene,
    And clouds were foundering like benighted ships.
    But what is this, exultant, unforseen,
    Which cleaves the dark? A fearful, burning thing!
    Is it the moon? Or Saturn's scarlet ring

Eric Mackay

Ecstasy.





Ecstasy.


    I cannot sing to thee as I would sing
    If I were quickened like the holy lark
    With fire from Heaven and sunlight on his wing,
    Who wakes the world with witcheries of the dark
    Renewed in rapture in the reddening air.
    A thing of splendour do I deem him then,
    A feather'd frenzy with an angel's throat,
    A something sweet that somewhere seems to float
    'Twixt earth and sky, to be a sign to men.
    He fills me with such wonder and despair!
    I long to kiss thy locks, so golden bright,
    As he doth kiss the ...

Eric Mackay

To One I Love.

    Oh, let me plead with thee to have a nook,
    A garden nook, not far from thy domain,
    That there, with harp, and voice, and poet-book,
    I may be true to thee, and, passion-fain,
    Rehearse the songs of nature once again: -
    The songs of Cynthia wandering by the brook
    To soothe the raptures of a lover's pain,
    And those of Phyllis with her shepherd's crook!
    I die to serve thee, and for this alone, -
    To be thy bard-elect, from day to day, -
    I would forego the right to fill a throne.
    I would consent to be the famine-prey
    Of some fierce pard, if ere the night were flown
    I could subdue thy spirit to my sway.

Eric Mackay

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter X. A Retrospect.



Letter X. A Retrospect.


I.

    I walk again beside the roaring sea,
    And once again I harken to the speech
    Of waves exulting on the madden'd beach.
    A sound of awful joy it seems to me,
    A shuddering sound of God's eternity, -
    Telling of things beyond the sage's reach.


II.

    I walk alone. I see the bounding waves
    Curl'd into foam. I watch them as they leap
    Like wild sea-horses loosen'd from the deep.
    And well I know that they have seen the graves
    Of shipwreck'd sailors; for Disaster paves...

Eric Mackay