Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 50, 6 January 1872, Page 17

Select Poetry.

MY CASTLE IN SPAIN. [From Harper’s New Monthly.] There was never a castle seen So fair as mine in Spain : It stands, embowered in green, Crowning the gentle elope Of a hill by the Xenil’s shore, And at eve its shade flaunts o’er The storied Yega plain, And its towers are hid in the mists of Hope ; And I toil through years of pain Its glimmering gates to gain. In visions wild and sweet Sometimes its courts I greet ; Sometimes in joy its shining halls I tread with favored feet; But never my eyes in the light of day Were blessed with its ivied walls, Where the marble white and the granite gray Turn gold alike when the sunbeams play, When the soft day dimly falls. I know in its dusky rooms Are treasures rich and rare ; The spoil of Eastern looms, And whatever of bright and fair Painters divine have caught and won From the vault of Italy’s air ; White gods in Phidian stone People the haunted glooms ; And the song of immortal singers Like a fragrant memory lingers, I know, in the echoing rooms. But nothing of these, my soul! Nor castle, nor treasures, nor skies, Nor the waves of the river that roll With a cadence faint and sweet In peace by its marble feet— Nothing of these is the g®al For which my whole heart sighs. ’Tis the pearl gives worth to the shell— The pearl I would die to gain ; For there does my Lady dwell, My love that I love so well— The Queen whose gracious reign Makes glad my Castle in Spain. Her crown of golden hair Sheds light in the shaded places, And the spell of her girlish graces Holds charmed the happy air. A breath of purity For ever before her flies, And ill things cease to bo In the glance of her honest eyes. Around her pathway flutter. Where her dear feet wander free In youth’s pure majesty, The wings of the vague desires ; But the thought that love would utter. In reverence expires. Not yet! not yet shall I see That face, which shines like a star O’er my storm swept life afar, Transfigured with love for me. Toiling, forgetting, and learning, With labor and vigils and prayers, Pure heart and resolute will, At last I shall climb the Hill, And breath the enchanted uirs Where the light of my life is burning, Most lovely and fair and free ; Where alone in her youth and beauty, And bound by her fate’s sweet duty, Unconscious she waits for me.