Cornell University Library PR 4063.B25L7 A lost mother. 3 1924 013 210 863 Cornell University Library The original of this bool< is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013210863 A LOST MOTHER En Host ILoijtns ifflemarjj of lyiY MOTHER FRANCES CHARLOTTE BARLOW THERE SHALL BE NO MORE DEATH, f-l E ! T H E R KORROW NOR CnVINC, NEITHER SHALL THERE BE ANY MORR: PAIN , FOR THE FORMER THINGS ARE PASSED AWAY." A LOST MOTHER BY George Barlow Author of " The Pageant of Life" and "From Damn to Sunset' "Blessep ake the pure in heart : for they shall see God' Eonboit SWAN SONNENSCHEIN & CO. PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1893 This time last year, mother, thou wast with me — The flowers still bloomed, the world was full of light . The sun still flamed at morn, der land and sea; The stars still ruled the empire of the night. To-day thou art gone, and all is changed indeed! For me the whole dim world in shadow lies. Not from the sun, the stars,, doth light proceed, But from the love that fills a mother's eyes. Yet, though the light die out on hill and plain, Though darkness spread its veil across the deep. Though I shall never meet on earth again Thine eyes, closed in their everlasting sleep, — Though thou art gone from thine accustomed place, Though sorrow do its deadly best to Mil, God, who divides, can bring us face to face. The Power that wrought our love i& with us still. September, 1892. A LOST MOTHER. I. 1. ROM immemorial time thou hast been hero With each sweet new-born year :. — Must this year's hours Keep lonely watch with me for bloomless flowers ? 2. From immemorial time thou hast been mine. Love's gift, love's tenderest sign : — Now must I see The unpitying darkness shroud love's form and thee? A LOST MOTHER. 3. mother ! motlier ! So the breezes cry, — The listening waves reply ; What, art thou dead ! Does no strong help stoop downward from on high? 4. mother ! -mother ! So the forests moan And heavenly heights, star-sown : Thou art dead ! thou art dead ! And I am left in all the world alone. 8. From babyhood to childhood, and from this To manhood, thy grave kiss Shielded,— Dead ! Dead! What hath become of thy revered grey head? A LOST MOTHEU. 6. Thou hast closed the door,-^thou ■vvilt again appear "VYith the new green-robed year : Thou art not dead,r-^ 'Twas but a dream, one moment of wild fear. •7. Thou hast closed the door, — thou wilt again return ? This madness we shall spurn. Thou art not dead : - Thou wilt walk with me through the flowers and fern ? 8, Thou art asleep, — thou wilt again awake, Mother, for thy son's sake ? Thou art not dead,— Dead I my God,' — and will my heart hot break ? 4 LOST MOTHER. P. Thou arb just sleeping for a little while An4 then thou'lt wake and smile ! Living, not dead. Thou wilt arise from that cold white still bod. 10. What, never more awake ? Thine eyes no more Watch the new daylight pour In at the window-pane,— Thine ears hear no sea-music on the shore ? U. Never ? I'll not believe it ! 'Tis not so : Thou canst not wholly go ; Nay, thou wilt come again, And with the same eyes watch the green buds grow. A LOST MOTHER. 12. And yet, wliere art thou ? Oh, tlie spring comes back : It is not green, but black ! And summer brings no flowers Now, to pour round her on the sunny track, 13, Yea, all things change for 'me; the morn will long Be dim with sense of wrong. The starlit hours Most dumb, most dark, that once were light and song. 14. Thou hast been with me these glad many years. Mother, — Oh grant that I, Since thou art dead, may die ! Love pleads for death: 'tis life alas! who hears. 10 A LOST 3I0TEEB. II. 15.- UEBLY I needed tliee the most of all, — Ihy heart on whicli to call. And now thou art dead, — thou art dead,- On me most weak this heaviest blow must fall. 16. There could not be beneath the blue calm sky One mother-needing spirit such as I, — And yet thou art dead, Thou turn'st not back for groan or prayer or cry. 17. I needed thee, — ^^and yet a million more Are motherless as well : Vast is pain's iron hell; Milliojis have watched at death's relentless door. A LOST MOTHER. 11 18. And now I join the army robed in grief Wliom from afar I've seen : What sorrow's depth may mean They tell me, — none can point me to relief. III. 19. ND must I live my life, and rise and sleep ? "Work, — since I cannot weep ? Must daily toil begin, A joyless strife renewed, with nought to win ? - 20. Has life a value, mother, now for me Lonely, apart from thee? From dawn to set of sun Never was work without thy counsel done ! 12 /I LOST MOTHER 21. How shall I strive, alone, To lure tlie coy Fame downward from her throne ? If Fame should stoop at last "Would not the soul's exultant power be past? IV. 22. friends around can know, Mother, dead mother, that I loved thee so ! I am not one to speak Or ease my heart by passionate overflow. 23. They are kind, — but have they heard With me for many a spring the spring's first bird. Seen gulf and creek Flash with a thousand gems at summer's word? A LOST MOTEEIi. U 24. Have thejj wlien exiled summer dies of pain, Watched autumn's glittering reign, And, labouring even as one, Through sunless winters sighed not for the sun ? 26, Have flowers and ferns and shells in many lands Gathered by earnest hands Taught loveliest lessons P — Now must all be o'er, Delight of groves and shore ? V. 26, BEAUTIFUL blue sky, thou gleamest on, Though she, my light, is gone ! And ye too have no hearts to sympathize. Ye placid starlit skies ! A LOST MOTHER. 27. Great careless fragrant rose Blooming and shining in the gard^- close, How canst thou do this thing? Art thou still crowned, when crownless pain is king? 28. How the world followeth still Its weary selfish ceaseless restless will ! She has passed away: and what Is that to worldj — or star or lake or hill? 29. Cold Nature cannot mourn. We tell our woes To cowslip or to rose ; They heed us not: No sorrow breaks the griefless deep's repose. A LOST MOTEEB. l-*) so.. Little it is to wave or star indeed; These fail us at. our need: But if on heights divine Listening my mother's soul be touched of mine #1. Most deeply sorrowing, will she not come down, Casting aside her crown ? "Will she not yearn to help me where I wait, Eyeing the close-shut gate? S2. If she be living, palaced in the sky, How shall Grod keep her there ? For she will swift-winged to my succour fly, Seeing my great despair ! 16 A LOST MOTEEE. 33. Shall slie not answer prayer Who hath answered even a thought, a wordless fear ? Through night's soft darkness shall she not draw near? Ah I — black void endless air I VI 34. N far-off yearSj a child, I used to pray That death the self-same day Might fall upon us both, my mother and me; God, hast thou answered, — see ! 35. Here am I in my power of manhood, — strong, Alas ! — I may live long i — I may live years and years and years alone, A suppliant at death's throne. A LOST MOTHER. 17 36. I may live years and years and years and years, And never win sweet tears ! Seeking througli song to solace — but in vain — My heart's imprisoned pain. 37. Shall I live years and years, and never see, Mother, the face of thee ? See death call shuddering nations forth to die, Yetj doing so, pass me by ? 38. Shall I see day give place to starlit night, Yet miss my one star's light? MisSj when spring's cowslips load with scent the breeze, One flower more 'sweet than these? 18 A LOST MOTHER. 39. B^hall I rise up and see the gold-tressed siin And a new day begun,. Yet know that, through that day Thou wilt be all the while so far away ? 40. For- heaven, if. heaven there be. Is far-off, after, all, far-off from me ! It is not like the. sea, Nor like a lane festooned with greenery> 41. It is not like the -lands Wherethrough full oft we wandered with joined hands ; Heaven may be in some star,T— Our fair bright living earth is fairer far ! A LOST mother: 19 42. Tliough Cliristj it may be, rose, Passing to lordlier life from death's repose, Yet strange to mortal eyes Must be heaven's footless wastes, its trackless skies. 43. Ah. ! cruel far-oS heaven where Christ and she Together now may be : Thou art to man as music faintly heard, Or note of far-ofE bird. 44. To walk with her along one Londoi:.:Strjceti Yfoxild be so real and sweet ! "Wan Sorrow, unconsoled, Disdains heaven's sapphire floors and streets of gold. 20 A LOST MOTHm. 45. To pluck witli her a blue-bell from the hill, Or cowslip from the lane, "Would be a nobler gain Than wealth of fields the jewelled blossoms fill ! 46. Wherever now she dwells I still am on the earth, and past all speech I long with her to tread the moonlit beach Or the furze-yellowed fells. VII. 47. F I could see thee ! — know Just once for certain that thou waitest me, The dreariest pang would go : But this is just the gift which cannot be. A LOST MOTHER. 21 48. Most hard it seems to bear, Most hard, — that, if the dead be living yet. Our foreheads may be met Never by breathings from their mountain-air. 49. mother — just to know That Death's forlorn black "Never" is a lie! Then could I wait to die; "Will no Power speak the word I long for so? 50. 1 gaze into the void Of silent sea and starlit deep-blue air. By the heart's madness buoyed: — It is in vain ; thou art not there. 22 A LOST MOTHER. VIII. 51. DID not see thee waxing day by day Older, — how could I see ? Thou wast the same to me As flower or moon or sun or starry ray. 52. Though thou wast growing grey, I noticed not, — thou wast there every morn : Fair credulous love hath only sweetest scorn For death, and dreams no dream can pass away. IX. 53. HAT thou shouldst be my mother hour by hour. Changeless, of sovereign power, That all of thine should last Though aging worlds drew deathward, darkening fast, A Z08T MOTEEB. 23 54 Tliis seemed past question : yea, that when the morn O'er golden hills was botne, — That when at drowsy noon The glad earth slept, with eyelids touched by June, — 55. That when from budding copse or white-flowered tree Rang forth the throstle's glee, — That when the blue waves bore Tribute of rainbow shells to rock or shore, — 56. That when the boats black-hulled and russet-sailed Gleamedy till the light wind failed, — That when the bright star-rebels, one by one Glittering, deposed the sun, — ■ 24 A LOST MOTHER. 57, That then thou shouldst bs with me seemed so right That never, save at night SometimeSj when flashes of the future came Across me like a flame, 58. Could I conceive that one day all these things Would go on as before, But thoio wouldst never mark the throstle's wings Nor watch the white-edged shore. A LOST MOTHER. 25 II. ERBIN the agony lies, The dark strange torment past man's' power to bear,- That thou art wrapped in dim funereal air Unpierced of mortal eyes ; 2. That never — never again — this much is sure- Oan I behold thy face Until I pass the gateway of the place Sunless, unknown, obscure. 26 A LOST MOTHER. 3. E'en yesterday — it seems — to find thy room I had but to cross one street : To-day . . . before we meet I too must pass the gateway of the tomb. II. 4. SAW thy face in death; Calm, lovely, almost girlish, so it seemed — Lying like one that dreamed A dream so sweet the dreamer held her breath. S. Yet, mother, unto me Thy lined sweet aged face was sweeter far : Whatever angels are, My need is not of angels, but of tliee> A LOST MOTHER. 27 III. 6. B lield the gates in force, — but in the night When on our baleful town The murderous fog sank down. When moon nor star gave sweet and helpful light, Then, through one postern-gate The silent Shadow crept ; It slew her while she slept; We seized our weapons . . . Ah, too late ! too late ! IV. 8. OR years beyond man's dream The viewless host of death has held its own: With trumpet-sound, or with no bugle blown, No warning lance-point's gleam, 28 A LOST MOTEEB. 9. That dim veiled host has crept from town to town Changing man's mirth to sighs — Snatching from monarch's brow the lordliest croWn, Closing the fairest eyes. 10. And yet to those who weep The shock seems ever new and ever strange : Though all the world might change, The form they loved they thought their love could keep. A LOST MOTHER. 29 III. *-?^l 0TJLD we have known that death was near How many things our lips would then have said. Winning sweet answer from the lips now dead, Things sweet to say and hear! 2. What loving farewell then upon the verge Of this the change supreme. Within full sight, full hearing, of the surge Of that strange sea that flashed with distant gleam! 30 A LOST MOTEEB. 3. "What thouglits to tarry with us night and day Then through the coming years, Thoughts that might wipe away Some well-nigh hopeless i^ears! 4, Ah! so we dreain. In this the answer lies. Perhaps to- our despair— r- That love is changelesSj whether past- the- skies Or breathing here our earthly air ; 5, That where most perfect love Has been, no farewell formal and forlorn Could aid, or serve to move From the pierced brow one point of thorn. A LOST MOTHER. 31 6. The last " Good-niglit " — not known to b3 the last — • This, it may be, far more availed Than any summing up of all the past Or kiss, while life's strength slowly failed. II. 7, I ND yet while human longing fills the heart. While mortal- still we be, 'Tis agony to see the loved depart Without a word, rapt from us suddenly. 8. 'Tis- -agony to know that in the night While we were sleeping, dreading not the" morn. The soul took flight, Afar through mists and solemn darkness borne. 32 A LOST MOTHEE. 9. So thatj as now we stajnd Upon the mai'gin of the sailless seaj No look comes back, no wave of hand, Nor will — mother — for all eternity. III. 10. HE gate of death may lead Not nearer to, but even away from, thee ! Thy memory lives in me; But when I die, oblivion will succeed. 11. That grim thought pains me. Though to-day I grieve, Yet in that very grief Lies somewhat of relief : Through me thy heart throbs on, thine eyes perceive. A LOST MOTHER. 33. '12. But when I pass away Wlio then will ever know, or care to know, How brightly upon us flamed the golden day In Cornwall, in sweet summers long ago! 13, Who will remember then, as I recall, Those emerald-clear Atlantic waves That stormed the grey cliff's moveless wall? What sound shall reach our graves? 14. Blue skies, green fields, and fair unnumbered flowers That we have seen, these live within my thought: But when I die, why then there will be nought Living of all that once was ours. 34.. A LOST MOTEEB. 15, Soj after all, the gateway of the tomb May only lead to second death, for thee, For then ■will fade our flowers' last lingering bloom ; They all will die with me. IV. 16. DEATH that sparest not the tiniest flower. The smallest sea-weed in the whole wide sea, "Wilt thou spare me, — "Wilt thou not give me mj victorious hour ? .17. Thou takest to thyself all summer bloom; Along the violet-scented vales thy hand Sweeps, and behold the land Is as a tomb ! A LOST MOTHER. 35 18. No timid prayers, no blossom-pleas, delay Thine hosts upon their way : Thou steal'st the rose,— Then at thy touch September's glory goes. 19. Dead golden Junes are glad within thy halls, And thy voice calls In the end all weary singers unto thee : Forget not me. 20. Thou showedst Keats within thy starlit bowers Fairer than earthly flowers, And her my mother thou didst gently take, — Me thou wilt not forsake? 36 A LOST MOTHER. 21. "When thou dost light "witlim tliy sombre sky Lamps lovelier far than ours that -wane and die, For me reserve thou one; Then lead thou back the mother to the son. V. HY struggle over creeds and bandy blows "With Science ? knowledge grows : Let her develop in her own domain, And therein nobly reign. 23. Christ's miracles mean this; Believe or disbelieve the literal fact, The saving word or act — The thought remains to grasp or miss. A LOST MOTHER. 37 The thought is this — that Grod Descends to man, — that frail-souled man is crowned, Shadowed and compassed roimd. By Love that takes the lowliest road. 25.. The thought is this — that Love Forsook the heavenly bowers Its strength to prove. And stooped to gather pale earth's humblest flowers : 26.. That even the deepest grave Hides not from God, whether that tomb may be Where mountain pine-boughs wave Or in the lampless sea; 38 A LOST MOTHER. 27. Or in some prison dim Where never sweet delivering sunlight goes Nor starlight, nor the breath of any rose — These graves are open unto him. 28. And this the thought conveys — That all man's sorrows, diverse as they are, Reach God; that God is in no distant star. That God's foot treads our dusty ways; 29. That — this it brings to me. This news — that when my mother died God stood as surely at her side Watching, as at the cross on Calvary. A LOST MOTI-IEB. 39 VI. 30. ! E wlio redeems from death Is witli the unerrhig mighty death-force one; There are not two vast Powers beneath the sun ; One God bestows, the same God stays, the breath. 31. One God, and only One, In flower-filled Galilee By the clear inland sea Spake through blue waves, bright blossoms, to his Son; 32. Then, at the bitter end. Built up with iron hands the cross that slew, Aye held the spear that smote his Son's side through ;- Death, life, are one same Friend. 40 A LOST MOTHER. 33. Soj motlier, unto thee and me It may be God first spake At crimson sweet daybreak. Even as the Giver of long glad days to be : 34. Then 'neath the noontide sun Spake still, — spake as the One Who brought unto our door Of rich pure blessings so divine a store : 35. Then lastly, it may be, When came the sunset, then the dim night's close ' (Oh night — that night !), God as sweet Death arose, Thy Steersman still— to shores we may not see. A LOST MOTHER. 41 VII. 36. HOUGH swathed in mists and storm That Steersman's shape, that Steersman's face, may be, Yet may we sometimes see Erect, unmoved, the "Watcher's form. 37. Though starlight fails us, though the wild ship goes Through lampless wastes where never sun arose. Yet, mother, " Hitherto " — so thou didst say — " The Lord hath helped us on our way." 38. I take the inspiring^ word. On thy lips lately heard : " Through starless nights, through days of strife and storm, May he who guided two, guide still one form ! " 42 A LOST MOTHER. VIII. 39. YB, even in disease When fail tlie heart and brain, When fails still more the soul of him who sees, Yet cannot lull, the maddening pain — 40. Then, even then, the Lord Within the strange unknown disease may lurk. Watching his atom-armies at their work, Giving each germ its keen small sword : — 41. That so this bodily frame Assaulted, stormed, or undermined at last. May fade by natural laws into the past. Given back to earth, or given to flame j A LOST MOTHER. 43 42. That then, the fleshly scaffolding removed, The soul's fair palace, finished quite, may gleam. Lovelier than palace of the loveliest dream, Lovelier than all we loved. 43. Within the pain, behind the laws of pain, Working through pain's own laws With never check nor pause. May be the Power who moulded heart and brain ; 44. Who, comprehending well His handiwork, can hold his own And lead direct the sufferer to his throne Even through the vale of hell. 44 A LOST MOTHER. IX. 45. HEN face to face I stood Witli the dim form by death already veiled, "When heart and spirit quailed Already at life's o'ershadowing solitude, — 46. Then — though in days gone by It needed not a cry To bring sweet answer from the lips divine That were alive, and mine — 47. Then — though the slightest plea Brought answer back to me Once — then my soul's most hopeless moan "Wrung forth no answer from thy lips of stone. A LOST MOTHER. 45 X. 48. HIS saddens me — tliat never more On whatsoeyer golden shore "We twain may meet, will mother and son Be made through weakness even more fully one. 49. It breaks my heart to think, Mother, my one best friend. That I no more may lend My aid to thee on the dark river's brink. BO. So sweet it is — the weakness of old age ! So sweet thy gentle face, — And in it one might trace The lessons of long life, pure page by page. 46 A LOST MOTHER. 51. Thou needest me no more ! Tliou needest not my arm on wliicli to lean— Oil God, no angel-form, no heavenly scene, No palace flashing gems from roof to floor, 52. Only my mother's figure, slightly bent. Herself, not able to walk far, This I desire ! — no stately angel sent From deathless sun or star. XI, 53. BA, now the sudden change! Now am I, as it were, once more a child ; Thou from the heights to me most strange Canst stoop to aid me, weary and sin-defiled. A LOST MOTHER. 47 S4. Thou art renewed, reborn; Now thou hast passed the dark sad hour Thou hast the sunlit brow, the deathless power : 'Tis I who am weak, — and utterly forloi'n. XII. 55. ND if in one swift flash I understand, Mother, the heart of thee, Thou too mayest know more fully me Than when we walked here, hand in hand. 56. Thou now dost see more fully — is it so P — • That I was seeking God, through darkling ways ; That I was compassed round by fiend and foe And fought 'mid gloom and haze, 48 A LOST MOTHER. 57. Is death's hand, after, all, the only hand That leads two spirits towards one haven at last ? Is death even as the watcher at the mast Whose voice rings through the silence, crying " Land ! " xm, 58. jHEY "sealed" the sepulchre and "made it sure," " Setting a watch " — ^but yet . . . Can God's light traverse even the ways obscure Where death's and horror's ice-cold hands have met ? 59. Us the foul horror chills : God of sunlight, canst thou pierce the gloom ? The tomb of Jesus was an empty tomb; My mother's? . . . Empty also, if God wills. A LOST MOTHER. 49 XIY. 60. OST sweet, most loving, full of wild romance, A hundred hearts may be: Mother, who loved like thee? Love we forsake, lured on bj passion's glance. 61. Through moonlit nights we stroll With passion hand in hand And deem we have found the soul; But, ^vhen death comes, we understand, 62., We understand that she who bare The child, is tenderest ever through the years : We understand, — with tears Sometimes — even with despair. 50 A LOST MOTHER. .XV. 63. |N the cold eai'ly morn The ringing at the bell, — the message sent ! Through the dark streets I went, Encountering fuU death's glance of scorn. 64. O silent streets, night That ended as the light So dim, so cheerless, so heart-broken, came, "Were ye the very same, 65, The same streetSj and the night Through which a few short hours before I passed, while all around seemed bright? Eyen so the ship is doomed when nearest shore. A LOST MOTHEB. XVI. 6G. ?^]0D to this agony brought me — did he plan In far-off days the mode to bear me through! Is not one point unknown to him and new, Though strange to suffering manr 67. Can he who sees the whole Bear through the darkness threatening from afar. Even as a sm^ but unextinguished star, The vessel of my soul r XVII. G8. ND if the sorrow of one Be thus discounted, thus foreseen and known, Can God in every case not hold his own And cope with every grief beneath the sim ? 52 A LOST MOTHER. 69. Not only witli ottr grief, But with tte sorrow iu each most distant star, — If in those golden orbs there are Souls clamorous for relief? 70. Is all foreseen — this universe of ours. Is it held safe within the Father's hand ? Is' all foreknown and planned, — Our human deaths, and even the deaths of flowers? 71. Is there no pang too much ? No grief that cannot in the far-off end By- Love's transmutiag - touch Be changed to joy, a foe become a. friend? A LOST MOTHEA 63 72. Shall I be told, when pain is past. By thine own lips, mother, it may be, Why thou wast taken thus from me? Will death the conqueror be dethroned at last? XYIII. g^l HIS surely is good to know, That of all griefs there surely comes an end, — For all griefs always towards obliyion tend In their wild ebb and flow. 74. Our own death draweth near; This too must follow soon, — Whether we pass beneath a summer moon Or when the storm-struck surges wail with fear: 54 A LOST MOTHEB. to. Whether one buoyant spring revive the ways, Tuning along the meads its lyre Once more, — or whether death delays And answereth not our deep desire. 76. Then grief rawst cease, — even thus — The dead will come again And smile again on us, Or we shall quite forget the haunting pain. 77. One of two things must be (For that the dead will not draw near If they be living yet, I have no fear) — Either at death that haunting pain will flee A LOST MOTHER. 55 78. Banished by blissful sight Of those we loved once more restored, Or over and round about us will be poured The vast oblivion of the unending night. XIX. 79. |0W huge is man's long-historied grief! Aye, even in days ere history was begun Death stabbed some mother, and her son Mourning as I mournj found as small relief. 80 In some va^gue land forgotten of light, Buried beneath the weight of endless years, The same cry pierced the- night — "Mother!" Who heard? Who hears? 56 A LOST MOTHER. XX. 81. ^0 be made wholly one With aU the world in fellowship of grief May count for something. Hunian joy is brief, And sorrow stalks between us and the sun. 82. I told my story of pain to one I met; He gentler seemed, to grief more reconciled. He said : " A grey-haired mother you regret ; I sorrow for a child." XXI. 83. many have gone before ! Surely thou art not lonely, mother, there. Strong souls are ready, faces sweet and fair. To welcome thee upon the further shore. A LOST MOTHER. 57 84. 'Tis I who am . left alone I Thou feel'st the grasp of many a loving hand Thy brothers by .thee stand. ; :. , My father claims thee, long-lost, for his own. 85. But oh! forget not me Left on this dreary earth, — prepare a place Where I again may see thy face, Mother, and dwell with thee. .- XXII, 86. HE years between seem nought : Across the years towards boyhood now I go;'.. Again the blue waves flow Of seas that shine in thought. 68 A LOST MOTHER. 87. My life's steps I retoace : For four and forty years thou hast been with me- lt seems, now God has taken thee, But one brief moment's space. Thy day of death (0 day of mist and tears!) Looms from behind interminable years : The day we gathered those white starlike flowers Seems distant only a few short hours ! XXIII. 89. F thou couldst wake as if from trance Saying, "I have slept — I feel much stronger now;" If I could meet again thy glance And see morn's sunlight kiss thy brow : 4 LOST MOTHER. 59 90. If thou couldsfc say-j " I journeyed to the tomb But now again Grod gives me back to thee. Back to the flowers (how sweet their bloom !) Back to our sky and sea : " 91. Why, then I might perhaps forget, If thou wert thus restored, These hours of agony — and own my debt Then to the pitying Lord. XXIV. 92. |H ! why should only Lazarus return, Quitting the clay-cold grave, the narrow bed ? So many souls lament, and wild hearts burn — God, give us back our dead! 60 A LOST MOTEEB. 93. Why choose— it seems unjustly — only one? Why blunt but once Death's eddying sword? Why hear; a sister's prayers, yet not a son — What of my mother, Lord? - XXV. 94. ND yet if all the clamorous host Of 'mourning hearts were heard. If at each prayer returned a dead sweet ghost. If all man sought for God conferred, 95. How' fruitless then would this life be — - J What crowds would block death's door ^ In at that gateway storming like the sea, Insurgent evermore! 4 LOST MOTHER. CI XXVI. 96. HEN the soul longs to weep Then to feel turned to stone, This is indeed an agony most deep — Deadlier than pain of tears or passionate moan. 97, Some sob themselves to sleep — Sleep soothes the pent-up agony within, Comfort and aid they win : Weep thou, Grod, for those who cannot weep ! XXVII. 98. HROUGrH this last strange sad year Beside the graveyard gate ..-=:_ I seem to have stood, there watching bier on bier, .Myself most desolate. ,62 A LOST MOTHER. 99. I have seen a beauty radiant as the morn, A young girl's bloom. Into that starless blackness borne We, shuddering, call the tomb : 100. I have seen a mother's love depart — Having struck once, Lord, Not in its sheath, but in my heart. Thou hast sheathed thy dripping sword I XXVIII. 101. HE singer feels not, in that thus he sings," You say? — Nay if he sang not, pain would kilh He takes the help God brings "Who bids him even in hell's depths sing on stilh A LOST MOTHER. 63 102, " The singer feels not " — Nay, so much he feels That, if he sang not, every day In blank despair would creep away And self-destruction lurk at darkness' heels. XXIX. 103. HEN all is done that can be done And all that can be said is said. Time leaves alone the mother with the son — The son alive, the mother dead. 104. That is the torture. Through the day and night The vision still is there j The face so calm, but oh! so white — The silent lips, the silver hair. 64: A LOST MOTHER. 105. The night before, she kissed me, and the kiss Just like anothei' came and passed: God how different, had we known that this — This — was the very last ! ;kxx. 106. I HE sorrow is spread across a wider, space When brothers, sisters, mourn ane common loss. But she and I stood face to face : I bear ' alone my cross. 107. A widow she, and I an only , son — That made: communion sweet. Our lives were closely linked, as few or none Have had the gladness — and the grief — to meet. A LOST MOTEEB. G5 108. No separation marred our joy; The motlier had become the perfect friend: The man drew even nearer than the boy, Aye, ever nearer, till the very end. XXXI. 109, ER mind was ripening till the very last, Alive to all the news that each day brings; Before her earth's wild pageant passed, — Its crowned Republics and its throneless kings. 110. When battle's trumpet rang out shrill Her eyes with passionate interest watched the fray, And every stormy question of the day Drew close attention still. 66 J LOST MOTHER. 111. Mingled witE lioiier lore Siie loved the 'legends of old Grreeoe andEome, And crossed in thonglit the dim sea's foam. Landing on many a far-off shore.- 112. The conversation ready and bright So keenly I miss— the well-stored brain; The mind's unintermittent light, Quenchless by age or pain; 113. The thought wherein confusion never crept,. Not weakness even — to the last hour clear ; The thought that from the first hour kept Pace with my own thought here; A LOST MOTHER. 67 114. TliiSj not tlie loving heart alone, I miss, and shall till life is o'er : The soul that made one music with my own, — Music that sounds no more. XXXII. 115. HAT are all crowns of fame— If any wreath, though my desert be small, Should in the end to love and labour fall— What are they worth, — ^^what is a poet's name? 116. For years I toiled to win The laurel crown — it seemed the one th\xig worth Eternal effort on the ephemeral earth : Such effort seems to-day almost a sin. G8 A LOST MOTHER. 117. Tins was the one thing wortli Far more than all the highest success on earth- To lay my tired pen down, To cease from dreaming of the bay-leaf crown, 118. To seek my mother's room And there, though on the city darkness lay, To meet the glad smile lovelier than the day, Sunlike in London's deepest gloom. xxxiir. 119. ND yet I think that she would say to me, " Cease not from effort — rather, struggle on ! Thou shalt not work alone; Thy father and I will toil along with thee. A LOST MOTHER. 69 120 " Win thou the flower of fame ; Its odour stall be sweet Btcu here, — yea, labom* nobly till we meet : Thou labourest for our name." XXXIV. 121. II HE golden crocus blows again, But oh so different seems its brightness now ! I sec it through a mist of pain: The leaves seem altered on each budding bough. 122 Yea, all things take their colour from our thought : The radiant waves Will flash their countless gems for nought On eyes that dream of graves. 70 A LOST MOTHER. 123 So must it ever be. I saw tlie flowers, tlie summer skies, The splendour of tlie sea, Not through my own, but through my mother's eyes. XXXV. 124. OW little after all Can it be to most that one more mother goes From life to death's repose. Can autumn sorrow for one red leaf's fall? 125. Friends think they sympathize, But yet how little can they understand! There are so many mothers in the land : How little one death signifies A LOST MOTElEB. 71 XXXVI. 12G. i^^^ ND yet the sorrow of- one appeals to all. I ^^K^ A song of deepest pain In men's hearts may remain Wlien loveliest strains of pleasure's music pall. 127. "No song of flower or sea, No song of morning on the sun-kissed hills, No song that takes its cadence from the rills, Hath in it grief's forloi-n eternity. 128. No Venus hath the power, Though: white and sweet and fair of limb she be' And full of glory of her mother-sea And her soft mouth in flower. A LOST MOTBEB. 129. Yet hath she not the power to lure mankind For all her deathless charms . As grief can lure, — and as grief's song can bind. Not with white hands but with gaunt iron arms. XXXVII. laa^isEtii AD we but closelier watched that day, Had we but guessed that then the attack was plannetl, Could we, a small but fully awakened band. Have held the hosts of death at bay? 131. Could we have kept death at the door And given, if but for one sweet summer more. Life and the joy of life to one Gladdened so simply by fresh air and sun? A LOST MOTHER. 73 132. I think "Pre miglit have, — who can say ? But does not that most piteous " might " In its mute force convey A sense of horror deeper than the night ? 133. Yea deadlier, deeper, than the tomb That shrouds my mother's form from mortal eyes Is the persistent gloom That on her son's soul lies; 134. On his, — and on another watcher's soul. Two feel that, had their task been fully done, Two broken hearts might even to-day be whole : God help the watcher, — and the son! 74: A LOST MOTHER. XXXVIII. 135. ND yet I seem to hear the dead sweet voice Saying, "Blame not overmuch yourselves, my son God watched — no evil is done; Be thou not sad, — rejoice ! 136. " Even if the door of life was left ajar Not through that door came death alone, Nay, Love came with hirp, — Love who can atone For all mistakes and sins in every star." XXXIX. 137. OMEWHAT no doubt at every death "is felt Of self-reproach — the watchers deem they slept Or watched not keenly, when the blow was "dealt. When from its scabbard death's sword leapt. A LOST MOTHER. 76 138. God help us — thougli we love, we are but frail: Wten we would watch, we sleep. May God the unsleeping Watcher keep O'er all the loving watch that cannot faU! XL. 139. P now my father claims thee, is it well? If weU for him, is it then ill for me ? — Nay, surely golden flower and purple sea And emerald hill-side have their tale to tell? 140. If now in heaven more dazzling flowers Await her gaze, yet many a lovely sight On this old earth was ours : Fair sunlit morns, and many a moonlit night. 76 A LOST MOTHER. 141. How short a wliile ago to lier I brought Thougli slie could tread the beach no more News o£ the huge waves battling with the shore; How quickly did she grasp the scene in thought! 142. Not far-off will she roam, While in her ear earth's sweet old music rings : No angel's swiftest wings Can bear her far away from this her home. XLI. ^^^^HROUGrH work now lies the road, Through work and daily duties, back to thee : — As with clear gentle voice thou biddest me Stoop and lift up my load; A LOST MOTHER. 77 144. The burden of daily labour to be done, The burden of lonely thought — Somewhat is waiting, ever, to be wrought By patient toil, some summit to be won. 145. Not through the graveyard, through the gate of life -Lies the road back to thee ; Through earnest labour, noble strife, "Working out ends my tired eyes cannot see. XLII. ■ 146. (P^^E dream of angel-f prms ; Heaven is to us some wondrous land afar^ Lighted by rays of many a distant star, Kemote, untroubled by our dark-winged storms. 78 A LOST MOTHER. 147. Aye, so we dream — the truth, we little heed. The angel- voice spake clear; The heaven we sought was here ; We see it now, too late, — too late , indeed ! XLIII. 148. HE storms, the troubles, brought the angehc aid; Our land of rain and sun Must sweeter be than one .^B^ All shadow, or devoid of any shade. 149. The daily help, mother, the daily smile, These were thine angel-tributes unto me ; Time then was lovelier than eternity — Alas ! but for awhile. A LOST MOTHER. 79 XLIY. 150. ' ' ET cannot lie wliose power first wrought the dream Prolong it — aye for ever, if he wills? He who upon earth's emerald hills Set sunlight, on the sea its sapphire gleam j 151. He who bright day by day, glad hour by hour, Hath helped us, filling every spring, the land With laughter of a thousand fields in flower That flashed with countless gold beneath his hand;' 152. Can he not, though our hearts despond, Elsewhere with nobler tints adorn the year ? The loTB that drew so fair a picture here Has failed not ever. Can it fail beyond ? 80 A LOST MOTHER.. XLV. 153. I B say : " The dead know not ; If they were with us, they could help to-day, Share this dark grief, oi? bear this pain away — If they could know, less sunless were our lot! 154. "Again, if they could share our thought Some thoughts of ours might bring delight, Some rays from earthly stars might pierce their night; We should not either weep or smile for noughts 155. " Grladness (if such remain For us) would be more glad And sadness shared wouldbe some shades less sad; Less painful would be pain." A LOST MOTHER. 81, 156. Ahj they may not be far I Our gladness may be theirs to-day; Our sorrows they may bear away : They gaze not down from some cold callous star. 157. They, though their life be lovelier far than ours, Subject to higher laws, May daily and nightly pause To lay beside us fair memorial flowers. 158» The wreaths we weeping brought. The white pure sad funereal bloom We left beside them in the tomb. May be restored — in ways beyond our thought. 82 A LOST MOTEEB. 15a. Our life more fully, it may be, they cau share Than we theh' life to-day j "We gaze through skies of sullen grey, They gaze through cloudless air. 160. Far more of us they know Than we of them at this strange hour: Death may bestow on love undreamed-of power, Bursting the senses' prison-gates at a blow. XLVI. 161, |E were so well content, So all-sufficient each to each, So glad beyond all speech: How could we di'eam the clear skies' would be rent? -1 LOST MOTHEE. 83 162. How could we dream that from bright summer skies This thuuder-bolt would fall? "We never watched at all For death — we only watched each other's eyes. 1G3. "When the green meadows bask beneath the sun In summer, is there one Who, seeing a tiny cloud, would hold his breath Dreaming of death? XLYn. 164. jF we would value love aright, Must love be taken away? Can no man truly love the day Save only for the contrast of the night? 84 A LOST MOTHEIi. 165. motlier, was it just? Did I not feel the blessing of thine hand Upon my brow? Can I not understand, Save when that hand is turning into dust ? XLVIII. 166. ifj^^^^l F so the lesson must be learned, i-Jm^.i. If love be taken from the earth That we may know love's utmost worth. Will there be scope to use the knowledge earned? 167. Will there be given me power to show, Mother, that while thou wast with me I failed to grasp the God in thee, Knowing not what now I know? A LOST MOTHEB. XT.TX . f^^l ^'^■ I HIS is a helpM thought— That something wondi-ous waits Behind the clond-girt mystic gates Of death, — a something each dav nearer bronght. 169. ■'■' Look forward," thon didst say, •'• To meeting those we loTe." AhJ__throngh the strife. The toil, the cares, of every day. Mother, the great hope shines, and hallows life. L. 170. i^^^i TILL, as each year the lilies blow ^ ^Ssower of producing fluent and read- able verse is remarkable." — Academy. " From Dawn to Sunset is an important book. As a ranger Mr. Barlow can lay daim to a rank which few would question. He stands forward as an inspired teacher of mankind. . . , His poetry must be admitted to overflow with pasdon, eloquence, and mnsic." — EUtek and White. " Jiz. Barlow is unquestionably a singer of coniage and skill."— 6Zas^oio Herald. ".The aotbor is a man of many moods, intensely affected by the problems of modern lite, yet ref imng to sink into pessinusm or to retire into mystdcism.'*-* Light, " From Dawn to Sunset contains many lyrical gems. The book is replete with passages of the highest poetry ... it has been a real treat to ns to perose it." — AngJo-Amerieam. "The Pageant of Life proved that Mr. Barlow is a true poet, and if further proof were needed it would be finished by the present work. There are many passages of exquisite sweetness and great force, pas- sages that remain in the memory and keep the soul aSame long after the book has been laid s^de. Only poetry of a high order can do this, nor is it too much to say that Mr. Barlow is one of the truest and most stimulating singers of his day. . . . Frojn Dawnto Sunset is a book that should be read by all students of humanity and all lovers of true poetry." — Pub. lisheri? Circular. " Mr. Barlow has shown ns again and again that he can write lyrics and verses which are not only musical and appeal directly to the ear, but have poetry and feeling, as A Tear Ago and otJier pieces in this volome will amply prove." — Daily Graphic. " Mr. George Barlow has jnst collected his works into one volume under the title from Dawn to Sunset. The first book contains The Sotig of Touth, the second The Song of itanhoodyOaiibe ttmiThe Song of Riper Manhood. The reader will thus be able to trace the various stages of the poet's growth. If his earlier style is fresh and buoyant, his later is stronger and more thoughtful. As should always be the case, the tree in autumn bears the riper fruit." — Daily Chronicle. " Mr. Barlow's Pageant of Life showed real power, and great things were anticipated from its author. There are some noble passages in the present volnme. The lines to ' the green old slopes of Harrow TTill • will ring pleasantly in the eats of many an old Harro- vian." — Morning Post. " Mr. Barlow writes fluently, and with touches of really noble verbal music." — Birmingham Daily Post. " From Dawn to Sunset is a volume of poetry whidi may be perused with unfeigned pleasure. The range of subjects is unusually e&austive, and the reader may find something to suit his taste in almost any mood." — Liverpool DaQiy Post. "Mr. Barlow's verses are marked by genuine feeling, graceful diction, and a skilfnl use of many verse forms. We are likely to hear more of him." — Torlishire Post. [OT£B SWAN SONNENSOHEIN & CO., LONDON. Second Edition, Crown 8vo. Cloth, neti 416. THE P^^O-E.A.lTT OF LIFE. An Epic of Man. In Five Books. By GEOEGE BAELOW. " A new poet bas ariaeu among vlb j an indisputaUe poet, foroiale, graceful, earnest, courageons; having Bomethmg of real interest and great moment to say, and Imowrng how to express his strong, hold thoughts in words of extraordinary power, and lines of rare beauty. . _. . Mr. Barlow is manifestly a sincere deist, worshipping the Supreme Being with fervent intensity and profound conviction. Those who do not share his opinions, and may deprecate the tremendous frankness with wliich he propounds them, cannot fail to be impressed by the passionate reality of his rever- ence for the omnipotent, omniscient, and omnipresent Creator, to whom some of the finest of his magnificent invocations are addressed. ... In Book II. — en- titled ' A Masque of Human Life ' — of this remarkable poem, Mr. Barlow makes men, women, and children disclose their joys and sorrows, views and idiosyncrasies. There is an episode of extmordinary force, setting forth the passion of a high-minded worldling for a poor chorus-girl. It is in Books III. and IV. that Mr. Barlow's lyrical chefs d'ceuvre must be looked for. There musicians will find good store of exquisite verses, sucli as shouldinspire them with melodies of surpassing beauty. Here, for instance, is one verse of a Spring Song, worthy to have been set by Mendelssohn him- self. , . . We are unable, to our regret, to devote any further space to Mr. Barlow's Epic or to its in- cidental lyrics. His fellow-countrymen should read the poem; many must condemn its audacious out-, epokenuess ; few will withhold admiration from its lofty thoughts and splendid diction, which entitle its author to high rank among the ' British Bards ' of the Victorian age." — DcUly Telegraph. " Very many of the single lyrics are full of beauty, and rich in music. That Mr. Barlow is a genuine and often a very sweet singer, it were vain to deny." — Mamchesier Examiner. " This is a very remarkable book : nor is it with any intention to depreciate the value of the verse contained therein, if we say that the preface is by no means its least striking portion. Twenty jrears ago such a pre- face, so calm, so clear, so modest in intention, and yet so entirely heretical in its assertions, would have been impossible." — Vtmiersal Review. " Bare gifts of mind and song. Since Byron, never has ' British Philistinism-' been scouted in such bitter terms as by Mr. Barlow's Satan._ ... Of undoubted power and quite exceptional poetical merit." — Morning Post. " Has made its mark, and is bound to create a deep and lasting impression. Much of the poetry is very fine. Some of it rises to audacious heights rarely aspired to by human genius. The book will arouse the inquiry of all. Mr. Barlow is not only a true poet, he is also a great thinker." — Birmingham Mail. " Many of the lyrics and ballads are particularly bright and good," — Aeademy. "This is a work by a new poet — a great poet— a disciple of Shelley, it would seem, and to be, if he likes, as great as his master. Tlie Bong of Christ ia perhaps the noblest of all the noble songs, ballads, and odes in this wonderful book. . . . The poem, as a poem, may stand beside Paradise Lost and Byron's Cain — more hnman than the first, more tender than the second." — Metropolitam.. " Mr. Barlow is a master of passionate and picturesque verse. His command of imagery, the force and fire of his ideas, the clearness and vigour of his style, are unmistakable. There are many powerful and beautiful passages in this book, and hardly a weak line from cover to cover. . . . Mr. Barlow's thoughts on women and children are always good and true." — Light. " That wonderful book, The Pageant of Life, which has created so great a sensation in the literary world." — Vanity Fair. " This extraordinary Epic poem in five books, which treats of life and love and sin and misery, and in which 'Christ' and ' Satan' figure as rival combatants." — Spectator. " We have enjoyed reading Mr. Barlow's book. It is daring and interesting. . . . There is no part of Mr. Barlow's book which lacks interest. He seems to have speculated much, and felt keenly. His sym- pathies are true and his dreams have wings. He has many of the gifts for which we love poets ; originality, tenderness, grace, beauty of thought and expression. We hope our readers may spend as pleasant hours over his pages as did we." — To-day. "A new poet has risen above the literary horizon, and a new poet is an entity not to be ignored under any oironmstanoes, and under some to be distinctly grateful for. . . . The author's conception of the character of Christ is ideally noble and divinely beau- tiful. . . . The Pageant of Life must be regarded as no ordinary volume. Indeed, the new poet has fairly earned a cordial welcome." — The Qentleman. "Mr. Barlow's book is poetry, and poetry, too, of a very high order. Mr. Barlow, indeed, appears to live in poetry, to breathe in poetry ; and hence his ordinary thought, his ordinary speech, is poetic. Throughout the whole of the four hundred and fifty pages, there is hardly a bad or unpoetio line to be found. , . . Few recent books of poems have been so brimful of poetry as this." — The Writer. "Contains much vigorous and thoughtful writing, as well as many beautiful passages. . . . All who read Mr. Barlow's book will be forced to recognise its undoubted ability." — Literary World. " In many of the ballads and love lyrics, and through- out the whole poem, there is manifested great lyrical sweetness, along with occasional dramatic power." — Scotsman. " Such stirring numbers as The Song of Ahou Klea and England, Ho ! for England, reflect the spirit of the inimitable Campbell, and create a yearning for more material of the same kind." — Liverpool Post. SWAN SONNENSOHEIN & CO., LONDON.