Elëanore.

I.

    The forest flowers are faded all,
    The winds complain, the snow-flakes fall,
                Elëanore!
    I turn to thee, as to a bower: -
    Thou breathest beauty like a flower,
    Thou smilest like a happy hour,
                Elëanore!


II.

    I turn to thee. I bless afar
    Thy name, which is my guiding-star,
                Elëanore!
    And yet, ah God! when thou art here
    I faint, I hold my breath for fear.
    Art thou some phantom wandering near,
                Elëanore?


III.

    Oh, take me to thy bosom fair;
    Oh, cover me with thy golden hair,
                Elëanore!
    There let me lie when I am dead,
    Those morning beams about me spread,
    The glory of thy face o'erhead,
                Elëanore!

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

A Ballad Of Kisses.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter V. Confessions.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Love Letters of a Violinist. Letter XII. Victory.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

Anteros.

Eric Mackay, Simple Poetry

English

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Eleanore

I.

Thy dark eyes opend not,
Nor first reveald themselves to English air,
For there is nothing here
Which, from the outward to the inward brought,
Moulded thy baby thought.
Far off from human neighborhood
Thou wert born, on a summer morn,
A mile beneath the cedar-wood.
Thy bounteous forehead was not fannd
With breezes from our oaken glades,
But thou wert nursed in some delicious land
Of lavish lights, and floating shades;
And flattering thy childish thought
The oriental fairy brought,
At the moment of thy birth,
From old well-heads of haunted rills,
And the hearts of purple hills,
And shadowd coves on a sunny shore,
The choicest wealth of all the earth,
Jewel or shell, or starry ore,
To deck thy cradle, Eleanore.

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Mirage.

I.

                'Tis a legend of a lover,
                'Tis a ballad to be sung,
                In the gloaming, - under cover, -
                By a minstrel who is young;
    By a singer who has passion, and who sways us with his tongue.


II.

                I, who know it, think upon it,
                Not unhappy, tho' in tears,
                And I gather in a sonnet
                All the glory of the years;
    And I kiss and clasp a shadow when the substance disappears.


III.

                Ah! I see her as she faced me,
                In the sinless summer days,
                When her little hands embraced me,
                And I saddened at her gaze,
    Thinking, Sweet One! will she love ...

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A Lover's Litanies - Tenth Litany. Gloria in Excelsis.

i.

O Love! O Lustre of the sunlit earth
    That knows thy step and revels in the worth
Of thy much beauty! Is't thy will anew,
Famed as thou art, to marvel that I sue
With such persistence, and in such unrest
Amid the frenzies of my passion-quest?
    Wilt look ungently, and without a tear,
On all the pangs I bear at thy behest?


ii.

Morning and eve I cease not, when I kneel
    To my Redeemer for my spirit's weal
And for my body's,--as becomes a man,--
Morning and eve I cease not in the span
Of all my days, O thou Unconquer'd One!
To pray for thee, and do what may be done
    To re-acquire the friendship I have lost,
Which is the holiest thing beneath the sun.


iii.

For what is fame that with so loud a v...

Eric Mackay

A Dream Of Antiquity.

I just had turned the classic page.
    And traced that happy period over,
When blest alike were youth and age,
And love inspired the wisest sage,
    And wisdom graced the tenderest lover.

Before I laid me down to sleep
    Awhile I from the lattice gazed
Upon that still and moonlight deep,
    With isles like floating gardens raised,
For Ariel there his sports to keep;
While, gliding 'twixt their leafy shores
The lone night-fisher plied his oars.

I felt,--so strongly fancy's power
Came o'er me in that witching hour,--
As if the whole bright scenery there
    Were lighted by a Grecian sky,
And I then breathed the blissful air
    That late had thrilled to Sappho's sigh.

Thus, waking, dreamt I,--and when Sleep
    Came o'er my ...

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After Two Days.

    Another night has turned itself to day,
    Another day has melted into eve,
    And lo! again I tread the measured way
    Of word and thought, the twain to interweave,
    As flowers absorb the rays that they receive.
    And, all along the woodland where I stray,
    I think of thee, and Nature keeps me gay,
    And sorrow soothes the soul it would bereave.
    Nor will I fear that thou, so far apart,
    So dear to me, so fair, and so benign,
    Wilt un-desire the fealty of a heart
    Which evermore is pledg'd to thee and thine,
    And turns to thee, in regions where thou art,
    To hymn the praises of thy face divine!

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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