Cornell University Library The original of tiiis 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/cu31924013519958 Cornell University Library PR 4967.D5 1867 The disciple, and other poems; 3 1924 013 519 958 THE DISCIPLE AND OTHER POEMS. THE DISCIPLE Hntt nt|)n- SPotmsi By GEORGE MAC DONALD AUTHOR OF "within AND WITHOUT/' "a HIDDEN LIFE," ETC. STRAHAN AND CO., PUBLISHERS 56 LUDGATE HILL, LONDON 1867 Edinburgh: Printed by Robert Sanson. CONTENTS. The Disciple PAGE 3 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Songs of the Summer Days ■ • • ■ 53 Songs of the Summer Nights .... 57 Songs of the Autumn Days .... 61 Songs of the Autumn Nights . . 65 Songs of the Winter Days ... 69 Songs of the Winter Nights . ■ • 73 Songs of the Spring Days . • ■ 77 Songs of the Spring Nights .... 81 The Three Horses The Golden Key Somnium Mystici The Sangreal . PARABLES. 87 97 lOI 135 CONTENTS. rAGE The Failing Track . 147 Tell Me .... .149 Brother Artist ! . . 152 Sir Lark and King Sun . . 155 The Owl and the BeU . . 158 ROADSIDE POEMS. He Heeded Not . 165 The Sheep and the Goat . 1 70 The Shadows .... - '73 An Old Sermon with a New Text . 175 The Wakefid Sleeper ... .179 A Dream of Waking . 183 ORGAN SONGS. A Meditation of St. Eligius 189 Hymn for a Sick Girl . .192 A Christmas Carol for 1862 ioa A Christmas Carol . . joy The Sleepless Jesus jnq The Children's Heaven . 202 Rejoice . . 205 The Grace of Grace . , 207 Antiphony . 209 Dorcas . 212 Marriage Song 214 CONTENTS. vii PAGE Blind Bartimeus .... 216 Come Unto Me .... 218 Blessed are the Poor in Spirit . 220 Blessed are They that Mourn . 222 Blessed are the Meek .... 224 Blessed are They that Hunger and Thirst 226 Blessed are the Merciful 228 Blessed are the Pure in Heart . 230 Morning Hymn 232 Evening Hymn 234 The Beauty of Holiness 236 VIOLIN SONGS. The Thankless Lady . 241 The Sea-Shell .... 243 Autumn Song . • 24s An Autumn Wind 248 Days of Old .... 250 The Waters are Rising and Flowing . 251 A Song of the Sea 252 FOR CHILDREN. What Makes Summer? The Mistletoe ... Wild Flowers ..... What the Owl Knows What the Birds Said and What the Birds Sung 257 263 267 270 272 CONTENTS. BALLADS. The Unseen Model Legend of the Corrievrechan The Dead Hand PAGE 277 281 285 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Annie she 's Dowie 289 Lassie Ayont the Hill ! 290 A Song of Zion 293 Gaein' and Comin' 294 The Waesome Carl 296 The Earl 0' Quarterdeck 301 The Twa Gordons . 308 The Last Wooing . 318 Time and Tide 323 All Souls' Eve . 326 To A. I. N. B. 331 To Garibaldi . 332 THE DISCIPLE. THE DISCIPLE. A LAS ! in ages far away, The good, the heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when here, Did love it more than this ; They enter in, are filled with cheer, And pain expires in bliss. Oh ! fairly shines the blessed land ! Ah God ! I weep and pray : The heart thou holdest in thy hand Loves more this sunny day. THE DISCIPLE. I see the hundred thousand wait Around the radiant throne : Ah, what a dreary gilded state ! What crowds of beings lone ! I do not care for singing psalms ; I tire of good men's talk ; To me there is no joy in palms. Or white-robed, solemn walk. I love to hear the wild winds meet. The wild old winds at night ; To watch the star-light flash and beat. To wait the thunder-light. I love all tales of valiant men. Of women good and fair : If I were rich and strong, ah ! then I would do something rare. I see thy temple in the skies On pillars strong and white ; I cannot love it, though I rise And long with all my might THE DISCIPLE. Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, And I am speechless then ; Almost a martyr I could be, And join the holy men. Straightway my heart is like a clod, My spirit wrapt in doubt : " A pillar in the house of God, And never viore go out ! " No more the sunny breezy morn ; No more the glowing noon ; No more the silent heath forlorn ; No more the waning moon ! Ah God ! my heart will never burn, Will never taste thy joy ; Even Jesus' face is calm and stem — I am a hapless boy. THE DISCIPLE. I read good books. My heart despairs. In vain I try to dress My soul in feelings like to theirs — These men of holiness. Some times a gentle sympathy With long-departed saint, Dawns, feebly radiant, over me — Experience old and quaint. As of a church's holy night. With low-browed chapels round : No common sunshine dares alight Upon the sacred ground. One glance at sunny fields of grain. One shout of child at play — Discordant melodies again Drive all the good away. My spirit will not enter here. Or fill this holy gloom ; THE DISCIPLE. I look into a mirror mere, A mirror, not a room. For as a bird against the pane, I strike, deceived sore ; I know no reason, yet remain Outside it as before. ' My thoughts, like birds, abroad I fling Into a country fair : Wind-baffled to their nest they wing, And I am in despair. Oh ! it will cost me many a sigh. If this be what it claims — This book, so unlike earth and sky, Unlike my hopes and aims. To me it is a desert bare. O'er which a spirit broods Whose wisdom I would gladly share At cost of many goods. THE DISCIPLE. III. hear me, God ! O give me joy, Such as thy chosen feel. Have pity on a hapless boy, Whose heart is hard as steel. 1 do not love that which is good ; Even thee I do not love ; I do not hke this bible-food; My heaven is not above. Thou wilt not hear. I come no more. It is no use, I see. My bosom aches with weeping sore. Thou carest not for me. THE DISCIPLE. IV. Once more I kneel. The earth is dark, And darker yet the air ; If light there be, 'tis but a spark Amid a world's despair — A hopeless hope that there may be A God somewhere to hear : To him once more I bend the knee, The God with open ear. He knows my tale. Ah ! men may say, And saying say the truth, " It is a tale of every day- — The weakness of his youth " ; But when his love is dead and gone, Silent is even the lark ; The sun goes down all nights, yet none Sees therefore in the dark. The world hath melted from my sight ; In life no grace is left. THE DISCIPLE. I cry to thee with all my might, Because I am bereft. What matter that my sorrows rest On ills which men despise ! More hopeless heaves my aching breast, Than when a prophet sighs. There 's love enough upon the earth. And beauty too, they say : There may be plenty, may be dearth. I care not any way. In vain I cry. The earth is dark. And darker yet the air. Of light there is not one poor spark Amid my world-despair. THE DISCIPLE. V. I sit and gaze from window high Upon the noisy street. No part in this great coil have I, No fate to go and meet. My books long days untouched have lain ; The lecture-hour is slow ; Far other thoughts go through my brain, Than those gowned bosoms know. Knowledge, it may be, glads the mind — Grave men the lure repeat ; For me, I seek some rarer kind That makes the pulses beat. Old books, new facts, they preach aloud — Their tones like wisdom fall : I see a face amid the crowd, Whose smile were worth them all. THE DISCIPLE. VL But something is not right within. Are old hopes all gone by ? Is it a bootless aim to win A vision of the sky ? They preach and preach that men should pray, Pray on until they find ; But God is very far away, Nor is his countenance kind. Yet I remember one who prayed, Withdrawing every night : He had some answer, and it made Him able for the fight. Once more I '11 seek the God of men, Redeeming childhood's vow. — I failed with bitter weeping then, And fail cold-hearted now. THE DISCIPLE. I3 VII. Why seek for God? A man I tread This old life-bearing earth ; In me rise thoughts and lift my head— My being gives them birth. Men say — ^he must the good ensue, Because a Christian : I say — ^he must be noble, true. Because he is a man. They say that he must wake and keep Lamp burning, garments white, Else he shall sit without and weep When Christ comes home at night : I say, his manhood must be free ; Himself he should not stain ; He must not soil the dignity Of heart and blood and brain. Yes, I say well ! for words are cheap. What action have I borne ? 14 THE DISCIPLE. What praise will my one talent reap ? What grapes are on my thorn ? Have high words kept me pure enough ? In evil have I no part ? Hath not my bosom " perilous stuff, That weighs upon the heart" ? I am not that which I can praise ; I do not that I say ; I sit a talker in the ways, A dreamer in the day. VIII. Some of their words are true, I know : A man may lose his life ; I grant that all men downward go Without the upward strife. 'Twere well my soul should cease to roam. Should seek and have and hold. It may be there is yet a home In that religion old. THE DISCIPLE. 1$ // Again I kneel, again I pray : Wilt thou be God to me i Wilt thou give ear to what I say, And lift me up to thee ? Comes it at last ! A vision high ! The clouds of heaven dispart ; An opening depth of loving sky Looks down into my heart. There is a home wherein to dwell — The very heart of light ! Thyself my sun immutable, My moon and stars all night ! I thank thee. Lord. It must be so, Its beauty is so good. Up in my heart thou mad'st it go. And I have understood. The clouds return. The common day Falls on me like a. No; But I have seen what might be — may ; And with a hope I go. l6 THE DISCIPLE. IX. I am a stranger in the land, It gives no welcome dear ; The roses bloom not for my hand, The lilies for my cheer. The sunshine used to make me glad, But now it knows me not ; This weight of brightness makes me sad — It isolates a blot. I am forgotten by the hills. And by the river's play ; No look of recognition thrills The features of the day. Then only am I moved to song, When down the darkening street, iefore it vanishing the throng. The driving rain I meet. The rain pours down. My thoughts awake. Like flowers that languished long. THE DISCIPI.E, 17 From bare cold hills the night-winds break, From me the unwonted song. I read the Bible with my eyes, But hardly with my brain ; Should this the meaning recognize, My heart yet reads in vain. These -words of promise and of woe To me are tinkling sound ; As through an ancient tomb I go. With dust-filled urns around. Or as a sadly searching child. Afar from love and home. Sits in an ancient chamber piled With scroll and musty tome ; So I, in these epistles old From men of heavenly care. Find all the thoughts of other mould Than I can love or share. l8 THE DISCIPLE. No sympathy with mine they show. Their world is not the same ; They move me not with joy or woe, They touch me not with blame. I hear ho word that calls my life, Or owns my struggling powers ; Those ancient ages had their strife, But not a strife like ours. Oh ! not like men they move and speak, Those pictures in old panes. Unchanging in their aspect meek For aU the winds and rains. Their thoughts are filled with figures strange Of Jewish forms and rites : A world of air and sea I range. Of mornings and of nights. THE DISCIPLE. I9 XI. I tiyn me to the gospel-tale. My hope is faint with fear That neediest search will not avail To find a refuge here. A misty wind blows bare and rude From the dead sea of the Past ; And through the clouds that halt and brood, Dim dawns a shape at last ; A sad worn man who bows his face In might of gentleness, To suffer for an abject race, That else were shelterless. Kind words he speaks ; but all the time As from a pathless height Where human feet can never climb. Half-swathed in ancient night 20 THE DISCIPLE. Oftenest he seems a weary saint, Embalmed in pallid gleam, Listless and sad, without complaint, Like dead man in a dream. Yet sometimes, to a gentle heart, His words unkindly flow ; Surely it is no Saviour's part To speak to women so. Far rather would I refuge take With Mary, dear to me. To whom those rough hard words he spake, " What have I to do with thee ?"* Surely I know men tenderer. Women of larger soul, Whom gentler, homelier feelings stir. Who always would make whole. And at the best he is uplift A spectacle, a show : * The poems called TAe Gospel Women, printed in a preced- ing volume, were intended to form part of The Disciple. THE DISCIPLE. To me, an old, an outworn gift, Whose worth I cannot know. I have no love to pay my debt — He leads me from the sun. Yet it is hard men should forget The kindness he has done : That he, to expiate a curse, Upon that altar-hill, Beneath a sunless universe, Should suffer, patient, still. But what is he, whose pardon slow At so much blood is priced ? — If such thou art, O Jove, I go To the Promethean Christ. XII. My conscience says I am to blame ; I must go to the man, Confess the deed by its own name. And make what peace I can. THE DISCIPLE. " His triumph thus I cannot bear, For he did ill to me." " But thy wrong is alone thy care, Not what he did to thee." " To do it right, my heart should own Some sorrow for the ill." " Plain, honest words will half atone. And they are in thy will" The struggle comes. Evil or I Will gain the victory now. I am unmoved, yet wish to try : O God, to thee I bow. The skies are brass ; there falls no aid ; No wind of help doth blow. But I bethink me : — I am made A man : I rise and go. THE DISCIPLE. 23 XIII. To Christ I needs must come, they say, Who went to death for me : I turn aside ; I come, I pray, My unknown God, to thee. He is afar ; the story old Is blotted, worn, and dim ; With thee, O God, I can be bold— I cannot speak to him. " Pray " ? At the word a cloud of grief Doth fold me in its pall : How can I pray without belief In anything at all ? I know not if a God be there To hear my crying sore. If in the great world anywhere An ear keeps open door. 24 THE DISCIPLE. 'Twere vain an unborn faith to nurse ; To search, an endless task ; Therefore into the universe I call aloud and ask. Is there no God — earth, sky, and sea Are but a chaos wild ; Is there a God — I know that he Must hear his calling child. XIV. I kneel. A fog-like misery dumb Rises and spreads in me, As for a friend that will not come, A face I cannot see. It is not fear of broken laws, Or judge's damning word ; It is a lonely pain, because I call and am not heard. THE DISCIPLE. 25 A cry where there is none to hear, On hill or desert plain, Returns in silence on the ear. In torture on the brain. No look of love a smile can bring, Or kiss bring back the breath To cold lips : I no answer wring From this great face of death. XV. Yet sometimes when the agony Dies of its own excess, A deep repose descends on me, A rain of gentleness ; A sense of bounty and of grace, A calm within my breast, As if the shadow of a face Did fall on me and rest. 26 THE DISCIPLE. 'Tis God, I say, and cry no more, But rise, and am content To sit for ages at the door Till answer more is sent. XVI. But is it God ? — Once more the fear OiJSFo God loads my breath; Amidst a sunless atmosphere, I rise to fight with death. Such rest may be but that which lulls The man who fainting lies ; His bloodless brain his spirit dulls, With darkness veils his eyes. But even this, my heart responds, May be the ancient rest. Swelling again from broken bonds To flow and fill the breast THE DISCIPLE. 27 The o'ertasked will falls down aghast, In individual death ; Then God takes up the severed past, And breathes the primal breath. For Torture's self can breed no calm, Nor Death to Life give birth ; No Labour can create the balm That soothes the sleeping earth. So I will hope it is The One Whose life is life to me. Who, when my strength is overdone. Inspires serenity. XVII. When the hot sun's too urgent might Hath shrunk the tender leaf. The dew slides down the blessed night. And cools its fainting grief. 28 THE DISCIPLE. When poet's heart is in eclipse, A glance from childhood's eye, A smile from passing maiden's lips, Will clear a glowing sky. Might not from God such influence come The spirit to uplift ? Could he not send, in trouble, some Unraediated gift ? My child is moaning. Far in dreams. Oppressed with visions ill, A universe that hopeless seems She wanders, moaning still. I lay my hand upon her breast ; Her moaning dies away ; She waketh not ; but, lost in rest. Sleeps on into the day. And when my heart with soft release Grows calm as summer-sea, Shall I not hope the God of Peace Hath laid his hand on me ? THE DISCIPLE. 29 XVIII. But why should doubt from thought result, And best belief imbue ? Why should I not with joy exult, Knowing my visions true ? God will not give a little boon To turn thee from the best ; A granted sign might all too soon Rejoice thee into rest. Yet could not any sign, though grand As hosts of fire about, Though lovely as a sunset-land. Secure thy soul from doubt. A smile from one thou lovest well May glad thee all the day : All day afar thy doubt may dwell — Return with twilight gray. 30 THE DISCIPLE. For doubt will come, will ever come, ^ Though signs be perfect-good, ' Till face-to-face strikes doubting dumb. And both are understood. XIX. I shall behold him though not now. One day, in &od's light keen, Thy blossom bursts, my heart, and thou Seest as thou art seen. Of nothing canst thou, heart, be sure, Except the highest, best : When God thou seest with vision pure. That sight will be thy Rest. So I will look with longing eye, And still my hope renew ; Still think that comfort from the sky Comes like a falling dew. THE DISCIPLE, 3I XX. But if a vision should unfold That I might banish fear ; That I, the chosen, might be bold, And walk with upright cheer ; My heart would cry : But shares my race In this great love of Thine ? I pray, put me not in good case, If others lack and pine. Nor claim I thus a place above Thy table's very foot ; 'Tis only that I love no love That springs not from the root ; That gives me not my being's claim ; That says not cMd to me ; That calls not all men by the name Of children to His knee. For if to all thou didst not give, But gav'st to me the word. 32 THE DISCIPLE. It would not be because I live, And thou didst make me, Lord. XXI. And little comfort would it bring, Amidst a throng to pass ; To stand with thousands worshipping Upon the sea of glass ; To know that, of a sinful world, I one was saved as well ; My roll of ill with theirs upfurled. And flung in deepest hell ; That God looked bounteously on one. Because on many men ; As shone Judea's earthly sun On all the healed ten. No ; thou must be a God to me, As if I stood alone ; I such a perfect child to thee, As if thou hadst but one. THE DISCIPLE. 33 XXII. Then, O my Father, hast thou not A blessing even for me ? Shall I be, barely, not forgot ? Dwell none at home with thee ? Hast thou no care for this one child This thinking, living me ? Or is thy countenance only mild. Not tender heartily ? Art thou not, by infinitude. Able in every man To turn thyself to every mood Since ever life began ? Art thou not each man's God — his own, WitJ) secret words between. As thou and he did live alone, Insphered in silence keen ? Some awful joy I need alway To make me strong and free ; 34 THE DISCIPLE. Yea, such a friend — oh ! all the day — As thou alone canst be. Ah God ! my heart is not the same As any heart beside ; Nor is my sorrow or my blame, My tenderness or pride. My story too, thou knowest, God, Is different from the rest ; Thou knowest — none but thee — the load With which my heart is pressed. Hence I to thee such love can bring. As other none can do ; Hence I to thee a song can sing Which must be, shall be new. Nor seek I thus to stand apart In thee, my kind above ; THE DISCIPLE. 35 'Tis only that my aching heart Must rest ere it can love. If thou love not, I have no care, No power to love, no hope. What is life here or anywhere ? Or why with darkness cope ? I scorn love's every motion, sign. So feeble, selfish, low, If thy love give no pledge that mine One day divine shall grow. i Strong men may hold a festival Even at the gates of death : I am too weak to live at all, ; Except I breathe thy breath. I But tell me thy love cannot fail, ' Is deep, is tender, near : Gehenna's gates shall not prevail / To turn me back with fear. I Once let me know thou lovest well, My love will rise and flow. 36 THE DISCIPLE. Forth on my kindred gush and swell, My kindred — all below. Then, brothers, sisters, fellow-men, By love my life were healed ; In each of you beholding then My God anew revealed. XXIV. Nor can I brook that men should say- Nor this for gospel take — That thou wilt hear me if I pray. Asking for Jesus' sake. For love to him is not to me, And cannot bless my fate ; The love is not that is not free. To each immediate. Love is salvation. Life without No moment can endure. Those sheep alone go in and out. Who know thy love is pure. THE DISCIPLE. 37 XXV, But what if God requires indeed, For cause yet unrevealed, Assent to moulded form of creed,' Such as I cannot yield ? The words may have some other sense, Or we be different From what we seem when thought intense Is only one way bent. Or what if all-distorting pride Shows me the good thing ill ? For man, they say, hath God defied, And walks with stubborn will. Or God may choose to give a test To try man's earnest aim, That only he may win the best, Who conquers pride and shame. 38 THE DISCIPLE. Alas ! the words I cannot say With the responding folk ; I at his feet a heart would lay, Not shoulders for the yoke. ' And wilt thou bargain them with Him ? ' Some priest will make reply. I answer : " Though the sky be dim. My hope is in the sky." XXVI. But is my will alive, awake ? The true God will not heed If in my lips or hands I take A half word or half deed. Day follows day wherein I dream Amazed in outwardness ; The powers of things that only seem The real things oppress ; THE DISCIPLE. 39 Till in my soul some discord sounds, Till sinks some yawning lack : I turn me from life's rippling rounds, And unto thee come back. Thou seest how poor a thing am I ; Yet hear, whate'er I be ; Despairing of my will, I cry. Be God enough for me. My being low, irresolute, ^ I cast before thy feet ; And wait, while even prayer is mute, For what thou judgest meet XXVII. N My safety lies not, any hour. In what I generate. But in the living, healing power. Of that which did create. 40 THE DISCIPLE. If he is God to the incomplete, / Fulfilling what they need, Then I may cast before his feet A half-word or half-deed. I bring then to his altar-stair, , / To the love-glorious. My very lack of will and prayer. And say : Behold me thus. Oh, gladness ! Are not these words his- My heart brimful they fill — " That man shall know the truth who is Willing to do His will"? XXVIII. What is his will ? — that I may go And do it now, in hope That light will rise and spread and flow As deed enlarges scope. THE DISCIPLE. 41 There is no need to search the book To know my duty clear ; Scarce in my heart 1 need to look, It lies so very near. I know one thing aside to lay : I '11 watch my action's door. One thing I '11 go and do straightway I did not do before. Alas ! these are such little deeds ! No glory in their birth ! Grave doubt their common aspect breeds, If God will count them worth. But then I am not left to choose ; He maketh such my lot ; And mightiest deeds much glory lose. If small ones are forgot. I am not worthy great things yet ; I '11 humbly do my own ; Good care of sheep may so beget A fitness for the throne. 42 THE DISCIPLE. But ah ! why should I reason thus, / Ambition's very fool ? Through high and low, each glorious, Shines God's all-perfect rule. '/f 'Tis God I need, not rank in good ; 'Tis life, not honour's meed ; Breathing his breath, in every mood, I am content indeed. XXIX. Will do : shall know : I feel the force, Completeness of the word ; His holy boldness held its course, And claimed divine accord. It may be I have never seen The true face of the Man ; The named notion may have been A likeness vague and wan ; THE DISCIPLE. 43 Or bright with such unblended hues As on his chamber wall The humble peasant gladly views, And Jesus Christ doth call. The story lay with open page Before my open eyes : It never seemed the heritage Of my waste childhood's cries. The tale I never sought to scan With inward vision strong ; I have not tried to see the Man, The many words among. Some faces that would never please With any sweet surprise. Dawn, ne'ertheless, by slow degrees, A very home of eyes. / r And if I ponder, day by day, O'er this dim-featured space, The mist mayhap will melt away, Disclose a human face. 44 THE DISCIPLE. A face ! Yea even, exalting thought ! That face may dawn on me, Which Moses on the mountain sought, God would not let him see. XXX. I read and read the ancient tale. A gracious form I mark ; But dim and faint as wrapt in veil Of Sinai's cloudy dark. I see a man, a very man. Who walks the earth erect, Nor stoops his noble head to one From fear or false respect. He seeks to climb no high estate. Or lowly praise secure, With high and low serenely great. Because his ends are pure ; THE DISCIPLE. 45 Nor walks alone, beyond our reach, Our joy and pain beyond : He counts it joy divine to teach, When human hearts respond ; And sorrow's night arose in him From human souls that slept : " How often, O Jerusalem ! " He said, and gazed, and wept. Nor love's return for end he put ; His own love was his dower ; / This joy it was his being's root, That joy his being's flower. Some hidden well flowed full of grace. Within his spirit blest, Reflecting still the Father's face. Beheld from Mary's breast. O Life of Jesus, the unseen. Which found such glorious show ! Deeper than death, and more serene Such life I too must know. 46 TJIE DISCIPLE. Into that living well to gaze, * ' Kneeling upon its brink, Be my returning thought always — To see what thou didst think. 'Twill be to find thy heart above — Obedience deepest still ; Seeking not even thy father's love, Seeking alone his will. XXXI. ^J Years, years have passed since thus I sought To picture out the strife. When Death, in young and fearing thought, Stands face to face with Life. THE DISCIPLE. 47 More of the tale I tell not so — One thing alone would say : My heart is quiet with what I know, With what I hope, is gay. And where I cannot set my faith, Unknowing or unwise, ,. , I say " If this be what He saith. Here hidden treasure lies." Through years gone by since thus I strove, Thus shadowed out my strife, While at my history I wove, , Thou didst weave in the hfe. Through poverty that had no lack For friends divmely good ; Through pain that not too long did rack ; Through love that understood ; ^Through light that taught me what to hold. And what to cast away ; Through thy forgiveness manifold. And things I cannot say. 4$ THE DISCIPLE. Here thou hast brought me — able now To kiss thy garment's hem, Entirely to thy will to bow, And trust thee even for them Who, lost in darkness, in the mire. With ill-contented feet. Walk trailing loose their white attire, For the sapphire-floor unmeet. Lord Jesus Christ, I know not how — With this blue air, blue sea, This yellow sand, that grassy brow, All isolating me — My words to thee should yet draw near, My thoughts be heard by thee ; But he who made the ear must hear. Who made the eye, must see. Thou mad'st the hand with which I write, That sun descending slow Through rosy gates, that purple light On waves that shoreward go, THE DISCIPLE. 49 Bowing their heads in golden spray, As if thy foot were near : I think I know thee, Lord, to-day, Have known thee many a year. I know thy father — thine and mine — Thy mouth hath spoken so : If thy great word the words combine, I will not say Not so. Lord, thou hast much to make me yet- A feeble infant still : Thy thoughts. Lord, in my bosom set, Fulfil me of thy will. Even of thy truth, both in and out, That so I question free : The man that feareth, Lord, to doubt, In that fear doubteth thee. S The voice of all the creature-throng, He sings the morning prayer. Slow clouds from north and south appear, Black-based, with shining slope ; In sullen forms their might they rear, And climb the vaulted cope. A lightning-flash, a thunder-boom — Nor sun nor clouds are there ; One universal aching gloom Pervades the heavy air. A weeping, wasting afternoon Weighs down the aspiring com : Amber and red, the sunset soon Leads back to golden morn. SONGS OF THE SUMMER NIGHTS, ' I "'HE dreary wind of night is out, Homeless and wandering slow ; O'er pallid seas it sweeps about, O'er islands waste and low. Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast Hither adown its tide : It blows from out the helpless Past, Where doleful things abide. It brings no message unto me. O'er wide moors billowing ; 'Tis not a flowing wind, I see — An ebbing woesome thing. S8 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Nay, come to me, sweet wind of night ! The death is all in me ; Blow on and on, with gentle might. Until I wake and see. II. The west is broken into bars Of orange, gold, and gray ; Gone is the sun, come are the stars. And night infolds the day. My boat glides on the gliding stream. Whose flitting, flowing breast Is ligh(ted with one fading gleam. The death-smile of the west. The river flows : the sky is still ; It hath no ceaseless quest ; Sad hearts and eyes may flow and fill To think of such a rest. The stream flows on. The skies repose. All night the starbeams play. •SONGS OF THE SUMMER NIGHTS. 59 In clouds and gleams the river flows. The sky is clear alway. in. N<:^ I hear a lone wind, lost amid The long luxurious grass ; The bats flit round me, born and hid In twilight's wavering mass. The fir-top floats, an airy isle. High o'er the mossy ground ; Harmonious silence breathes the while In scent instead of sound. The flaming rose glooms swarthy red ; The borage gleams more blue ; And low white flowers, with starry head, Ghmmer the rich dusk through. Woo on, with odour wooing me, Faint rose with fading core ; For God's rose-thought, that blooms in thee. Will bloom for evermore. 60 SONGS OF THE DAYS, AND NIGHTS. IV. What art thou, gathering dusky cool, In slow gradation fine ? Death's lovely shadow, flickering full Of eyes about to shine ? When weary Day goes down below, Leanest thou o'er his grave. Revolving all the vanished show The gracious splendour gave ? Or art thou not she rather — say — Dark-browed, with luminous eyes, Of whom is born the mighty Day, That fights and saves and dies ? For action sleeps with sleeping light ; Calm thought awakes with thee : The soul becomes a summer night. With stars that shine and see. SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS. Wl^ bore him through the golden land, One early harvest mom. The com stood ripe on either hand — He knew all about the com. How shall the harvest gathered be Without him standing by ? Without him walking on the lea, The sky is scarce a sky. The year's glad work is almost done ; The land is rich in fruit; Yellow it floats in air and sun — Earth holds it by the root. 62 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Why should earth hold it for a day, When harvest-time is come ? Death is triumphant o'er decay, And leads the perfect home. II. Yet shines the sun as bright and warm ; All comfort is not lost ; Both com and hope, of heart and farm, Lie hid from coming frost. The woods are mournful, richly sad ; ' Their leaves are red and gold : Are thoughts in solemn splendour clad Signs too that men grow old ? Strange odours haunt the doubtful brain From fields and days gone by; And sad-eyed memories again Are bom, are loved, and die. '/ The morning clear, the evening cool Foretell no wintery wars ; SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS. 63 The day of dying leaves is full ; The night is full of stars. III. 'Tis late before the sun will rise ; All early he will go ; A vaporous frost hangs from the skies, And wets the ground below. Red fruit has followed golden com ; The leaves are few and sere ; My thoughts are old as soon as bom, And gray with coming fear. The winds are still j no softest breath Floats through the branches bare; A silence as of coming death Is growing in the air. But what must fade, can bear to fade. Can stand beneath the ill : Creep on, old Winter, deathly shade ! We sorrow, and are stilL 64 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. There is no longer any heaven To glorify our clouds ; The rising vapours downward driven, Come home for palls and shrouds. The sun himself is ill bested A heavenly sign to show ; His radiance, dimmed to glowing red, Can hardly further go. An earthy cold, a churchyard gloom Pervade the moveless air ; The year is sinking to its tomb. And death is everywhere. But while dark thoughts together sweep On, sad sepulchral wing, God's children, in their beds asleep. Are dreaming of the spring. SONGS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHTS. /^ NIGHT, send up the harvest moon To walk about the corn ; To make of midnight magic noon. And ripen on till morn. In golden ranks, with golden crowns. All in the yellow land, Old solemn kings in rustling gowns. The sheaves moon-charmed stand. Sky-mirror she, afloat in space, Beholds our coming mom : Her heavenly joy hath such a grace, It ripens earthly com ; SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Like some lone saint with upward eyes, Lost in the deeps of prayer : The people still their prayers and sighs, And gazing ripen there. II. So, like the corn, moon-ripened last. Would I, weary and gray, On golden memories ripen fast, And ripening pass away. In an old night so let me die ; A slow wind out of doors ; A waning moon low in the sky ; A vapour on the moors ; A fire just dying in the gloom ; Earth haunted all with dreams ; A sound of waters in the room ; A mirror's moony gleams ; And near me, in the sinking night, More thoughts than move in me. SONGS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHTS. 67 Forgiving wrong, and loving right, And waiting till I see. -A- Across the stubble glooms the wind ; High sails the lated crow ; The west with pallid green is lined ; Fog tracks the river's flow. My heart is cold and sad. I moan, Yet care not for my woe. The summer fervours all are gone ; The roses — let them go ! Old age is coming, frosty, hoar ; The snows of time will fall ; My jubilance, dream-like, no more Returns for any call. O lapsing heart ! thy feeble strain Sends up the blood so spare, That my poor withering autumn brain Sees autumn everywhere. 68 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Lord of my life ! if I am blind, Be thou my eyes to see ; Live on within my heart and mind ; Be life and truth in me. I made no brave bright suns arise, Veiled up no sweet gray eves ; / hung no rose-lamps, lit no eyes, Sent out no windy leaves. / said not " I will cast a charm These gracious forms around " ; My heart with unwilled love grew warm ; I took but what I found. When cold winds range my winter-night, Be thou my summer-door ; Keep for me all my young delight. Till I am old no more. SONGS OF THE WINTER DAYS. "T^HE earth is black and cold and hard. Thin films of dry white ice, Across the rugged wheel-tracks barred, The children's feet entice. Dark flows the stream as if it mourned The winter in the land ; By frosty idleness adorned That mill-wheel soon will stand. The blue sky turned its heart away, The earth its sorrow found ; The daisies turned from childhood's play, And crept into the ground. ^0 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Draw closer, friends ; we will not part ; That would let in the cold ; We '11 make a summer of the heart, And laugh at winter old. With clear dead gleam the morning white Comes through the window-panes ; The clouds have fallen all the night, Without the noise of rains. Like a departing, unseen ghost. Footprints go from the door ; The man must long ere now be lost Who left those footprints hoar. Yet follow thou. Tread down the snow. Leave all the road behind. Heed not the steely winds that blow, Heed not the sky unkind. And when .the glittering air grows dark. The snow will shine like mom ; SONGS OF THE WINTER DAYS. 71 Till from thy cot one radiant spark Shall laugh the night to scorn. III. Oh wildly wild the winter- blast Is whirling round the snow ! The wintry storms are up at last, And care not how they go. In wreaths and mists the frozen white Is torn into the air ; It pictures, in the dreary light, An ocean in despair. Come, darkness ! rouse the fancy more^ — Awake the silent sea ; Till, roaring in the tempest-roar, It rave to ecstasy ; And sheeted figures, long and white Sweep thrQugh the driving spray. Fading into the ghastly night. With death-cries far away. 72 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. A morning clear, with frosty light From sunbeams late and low ; They shine upon the snow so white, And shine back from the snow. Down icy spears one drop vidll go — Nor fall. It shines at noon A diamond in the sun, to grow An opal in the moon. And when the bright sad sun is low Behind the mountain-dome, A twilight wind will come and blow All round the children's home ; And puff and waft the powdery snow. As night's dim footsteps pass. But waiting in its grave below Green lies the summer grass. SONGS OF THE WINTER NIGHTS. T FROM my window look. My fire Burns outside in the snow, As peace in hearts that still aspire Lights grief of long ago. The dark is thinned by snowy light — A moon of snow outspread ; The stars must see us well to-night — Dressed like the holy dead. In the white garden lies a heap As brown as deep-dug mould ; Some fifty partridges that keep Each other from the cold. 74 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. With sheaves my father took their part — With shelter and with food : No marvel is my hoping heart — My father was so good. II. The frost weaves dreams of torrid climes Across my lattice-pane ; The frost weaves dreams of childhood's times Across my manhood's brain. Quiet ecstasy fills heart and head : My father 's in the room : The very curtains of my bed Are full of sheltering gloom. They melt. My father is away ; I am a child no more ; Work rises from the floor of play, Duty is at the door. But if I face with courage stout The labour and the din, SONGS OF THE WINTER NIGHTS. 75 Thou, Lord, wilt let my mind go out, My heart with thee stay in. III. The ear can see without the sun, An eye that needs no spark, The door to which the soul doth run When other doors are dark. I hear the dull unheeding wind Blow over heath and wold ; , I leave my body, and my mind Floats out into the cold. Still as a dead man's face forgot. O'er which the vault is bowed. Earth smiles not, water mirrors not ; The earth is in its shroud. O'er leafless woods, o'er cornless farms, Frozen rivers, silent thorps, I brood, the heart, still throbbing, warm. Within cold Nature's corpse. 76 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. As blind as Milton here I lie ; My " drop serene " is — night, With vapours piled on vapours high, And snows that fall and fight. 'Tis but a cloud that comes too nigh ; The awfiil, simple stars Beyond are shining carelessly : These elemental wars Reach not to them. And when I climb Above the storms of life, I shall behold the lord of time. The ruler of the strife. Ah ! Lord, I cannot stay till then — Nor find I thus my goal. Homeward I turn ; no alien, I find thee in my soul. SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS. A GENTLE wind of western birth, From some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes thoughts of hope in me. The sun is low ; the paths are wet. And dance with frolic hail ; The trees, whose spring-time is not yet. Swing sighing in the gale. Young gleams of sunshine peep and play ; Thick vapours cro^d between ; 'Tis strange that on a coming day The earth will all be green. 78 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves. And flaps his snowy wing : Back ! toss thy bergs on arctic waves, Thou canst not stay our spring. II. /- Up comes the primrose, wondering ; The snowdrop droopeth by ; The holy spirit of the spring Is working silently. Sweet-breathing odours gendy wile Earth's other children out ; On nature's face a hopeful smile Is flickering about. When earth lay hard, unlovely, dull, And life within her slept. Above her heaven grew beautiful. And forth her beauty crept And though tears fall, as fall they will. Smiles wander into sighs, SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS. 79 Yet if the sun keep shining still, Her perfect day will rise. III. The sky is smiling over me, Hath smiled away the frost. Clothed with young green the patient lea, With buds the wood embossed. The trees yet shut not out the sky. It sees down to the flowers ; They lift their beauty fearlessly, They hide in leafy bowers. This day is yours, sweet birds ; sing on ; The cold is all forgot ; Ye had a dream, but it is gone : Pain that is past, is not. Joy that was past, is come again ; And if the summer brings New care, it is a loving pain. That broods instead of sings. 8o son6s of the days and nights. IV. Blow on me, wind, from west and south ; Sweet summer-spirit, blow ! Come like a kiss from dear child's mouth. Who knows not what I know. The earth's perfection cometh soon ; Ours lingereth alway ; We have a spring-time, have a moon, No sunny summer-day. Rose-sprinkled eve, gold-branded mom, May still poor Nature's sighs ; To us a higher hope is bom — We rest in that we rise. But at the last a sapphire day All over us will bow ; And man's heart, frill of sunlight, say, " Lord, 'tis thy summer now." SONGS OF THE SPRING NIGHTS. T^HE flush of green that dyed the day- Hath vanished in the moon ; The strengthened odours float and play A soft unuttered tune. The tideless sea lay in my view, Once, under such a sky ; The moon hung half-way from the blue, A globe to every eye. Light-leaved acacias, by the door. Stood up in balmy air, Clusters of blossomed moonlight bore. And breathed a perfume rare. 82 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. The gold-flakes of a southern sky . Fell flashing on the deep : One scent of moist earth floating by- Had almost made me weep. II. Those gorgeous stars were not my own ; They made me alien go ; The mother o'er her head had thrown A veil I did not know. Those dusky fields that seaward range. Behind, those moonlit glades. Were full of flowering grasses strange, Not slender, spear-like blades. I longed to see the starry host Far-off in paler blue ; For grass to lie in and be lost, And see them glimmer through. The homely glories of my birth Lay far across the foam : SONGS OF THE SPRING NIGHTS. 83 Then came that odour from the earth — I knew the world my home. III. The stars exult in darksome space ; Friendly is night to them ; From day's deep mine, with growing grace, The night lifts every gem. A thing for faith mid work and war, . The blinding day-flag furled, To us then shines a distant star. To God, a home-filled world. " What boots it in this busy scene For such a fancy grope ? " Revealing darkness comes between — It dawns a star of hope ; Yet but a star with glimmer and glance Down stairless deeps to shine : A hope to our poor ignorance — To God a truth divine. 84 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. /,. '/ IV. The night is damp and warm and still, And full of summer-dreams ; The buds are bursting at their will, And soft the half moon gleams. My soul is cool, as bathed within By dews that silent weep ; Like child that has confessed his sin, And now will go to sleep. A childhood new. Lord, thou dost set, Each season for a sign ; Lest, old in this world, we forget That we are young in thine. A child, Lord, make me ever more ; Let years fresh sonship bring, Till,^out of age's winter sore, I pass into thy spring. PARABLES. THE THIIEE HORSES. VyHAT shall I be?— I will be a knight Walled up in armour black, With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. And a spear that will not crack ; So black, so blank, no glimmer of light Will betray me on my track. Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, Which Ravenwing I call ; The night is rising from the fen. And the sky is like a pall ; Bad things are creeping from the den, And down the darkness fall. Let him go ! — let him go ! Let him plunge !- Keep away ! He 's a foal of Night's own brood. PARABLES. Like a skeleton-charger, in gaunt array Of poitrel and frontlet good, With clang and clatter he bounds away- Straight for the evil wood. Woe to the thing that checks our force, That meets us in career ! Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse, He goes down before my spear. I and Ravenwing on the course — Hearken, wicked, and fear ! Through the trees clanking I ride. The goblins flit to and fro. From the skull of the darkness, deep and wide. The eyes of the dragons glow. From the thickets the silent serpents glide. But I pass — I let them go. For I shall come ere the morning light. On some child that cries alone ; On some noble knight, o'ermatched in fight, Outbreathed, and all but gone ; THE THREE HORSES. Or spur to a half-seen glimmer white, And a half-heard lady's moan. I shall bear the child, as in a nest, Between sheltering wings of steel ; His tiny form, to my hauberk prest. Like a trembling bird will feel. As I bear him home to his mother's breast, For her lips to kiss and heal. And spur in flank, and lance in rest, On the old knight's foes I flash ; And scatter the knaves to east and west, With clang and tumult and crash ; And leave them the law, as such learn it best, In bruise, and breach, and gash. And the lady I lift to my saddle-bow, And gently sinks her wail, And her heaving heart grows quiet and slow, Slumbering against my mail. As home to my mother's bower we go, Where a welcome will not fail. 9° PARABLES. Home through the fog of the evil night, Where glow the dragons' eyes, Where wander the lawless men of might, And the goblin-things arise ; Home with a knight that loves the right, And will mount for it till he dies. Alas ! 'tis a boy's wild dream — that is all ! In the fens no dragons blow ; Into giants' hands no ladies fall ; Through the forest wide roadways go. If I love a maiden, and ever shall. No deeds my love can show. I will not saddle old Ravenwing ; I will not ride by night ; No spectre would cross my galloping, But the moonbeams long and white ; No goblins— but birds from their slumbering FHtting an arrow's flight. Bridle me Twilight, my dapple-gray. With broad rein and gentle bit ; Let a youth bring him round to the door, I say, THE THREE HORSES. 9I As the shadows begin to flit, Just as the darkness dreams into day, And the owls begin to sit. And all the armour I will wear Is a sword, like the first blue-gray That to right and left doth mow and share The grisly darkness away From the gates of the morning, still and fair. By which walks out the day. I leave the arched forest grim. And into the broad land ride. The torrent is deep : we plunge and swim. The cold light wets the tide, From the opening east, like the plashes dim On my Twilight's dappled side. We pass like mom o'er dale and hill. O'er desert, moor, and beach ; In the markets Twilight standeth still. And I lift ray voice and preach : Men hear and come and gather, until Ten thousand men I teach. ; 92 PARABLES. I tell them of justice, I speak of truth, Of law, and of social wrong ; My words are moulded by right and ruth Into a solemn song ; And the upturned faces of age and youth Gather the cadence long. They bring me causes from all the land. That strife may be forgot ; The balance swerves to neither hand ; The poor I favour not. If a man withstand — outsweeps my brand- I slay him upon the spot. But is this my calling ? Dare I slay Another such as I ? My hands have not been clean alway, My own sin is too nigh. I will not ride the dapple-gray, Nor lift my voice on high. I dare not judge ; I dare not kill; The sword I will not wear. One ministry remaineth still — THE THREE HORSES. 93 Good tidings I will bear. As the sun looks over the eastern hill, Bring out my snow-white mare. Take heed, my men, that from crest to heel She has neither spot nor speck. No curb,- no bit her mouth shall feel. No tightening rein her neck ; No saddle-girth, with buckles of steel, Her mighty breathing check. Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen ; Bring me a robe of white ; That all our course we may be seen By the shining of our hght — A glistening glory in forests green, A star on the mountain-height. Like an angel-horse, with a winged bound Forth to the wind she leaps ; Full-filled of light, she skims the ground Into the forest-deeps. Where a torrent of shadows without a sound. Over her ripples and sweeps. 94 PARABLES. And the sun and the wind are life and love. Where the serpent slimed the bark, Broods the silent, the shining dove. Where dragons breathed the dark. Glad troops of children, below, above. Gather with hollo and hark. It is joy, it is joy; to ride the world With a message such as this — That the flag of war is for ever furled. That peace and righteousness kiss. See ! the mane of my mare by the glad winds curled. Is the white flag of coming bliss. And maidens with eyes of light look up From the infants about their feet, With lapfuls of green blade and golden cup, A weaving of garlands sweet ; But on I gallop — I dare not stop — Good news should ever be fleet. And I bear a message of might and mirth — The dawn of another morn. I carry abroad the news of birth THE THREE HORSES. 95 Through city and land of corn. Gracious gladness shall clothe the earth, For a child, a child is born. Strange message ! What means it? — A childis born ! It means the old earth grows young ; That the heart, with sin and its sadness torn. Grows whole and happy and strong ; No more the fountain of fear and scorn. But a fountain of praising song. I will tell, I will tell what the message saith : That the spirit no more shall pine ; That self shall die an ecstatic death. And be born a thing divine ; That God's own joy and God's own breath Shall fill us with living wine ; That Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, And Pride lower and lower He ; Till, for very love of a living thmg, A man would forget and die, If very love were i;ot the spring That all life liveth by. 96 PARABLES. Saith it this ? — all this ? — I dare not ride. I am a fool — a beast. A labour for which God's kings have sighed ! Anointing myself a priest ! — In the worst of all pride — to sit beside The Master of the feast ! Alas ! alas ! Lead her back again. No radiant courser I need. I am overweening, ignorant, vain. Yet, Lord — I -jvill take good heed — ■ Let me wash the hoofs and comb the mane Of the shining gospel-steed. THE GOLDEN KEY. TVr IGHT'S drooping flags were slowly furled ; The sun arose in joy ; The boy awoke, and all the world Was waiting for the boy. And out he ran. Lo ! everywhere Was full of windy play ; The earth was bright and clean and fair, All for his holiday. The hill said " Climb me ; " and the wood, " Come to my bosom, child ; I 'm full of gambols ; they are good, My children, and so wild ! " 98 PARABLES. He went, he ran. Dark grew the skies, And pale the skrinking sun. " How soon," he said, " for clouds to rise. When day was but begun ! " The wind grew wild. A wilful power, It swept o'er tree and town. The boy exulted for an hour. Then sat with head bowed down. And as he sat the rain began. And rained till all was still : He looked, and saw a rainbow span The vale from hill to hill. He dried his tears. " Ah ! now," he said, " The storm brings good to me : Yon shining hill — upon its head I '11 find the golden key." But ere, through wood and over fence. He could the summit scale, The rainbow's foot was lifted thence, And planted in the vale. THE GOLDEN KEY. 99 " But here it stood. Yes, here," he said, Its very foot was set ; I saw this fir-tree through the red, This through the violet" He sought and sought, while down the skies Went, slowly went the sun. At length he lifted hopeless eyes. And day was nearly done. Low radiant clouds of level red Lay o'er a sun-filled tomb ; And all their rosy light was shed On his forgotten home. " So near me yet ! Oh happy me, No farther to have come ! One day I '11 find the golden key, But now away for home ! " He rose, he ran, as yet in play, But rest was now before ; And as the last red streak grew gray Opened his father's door. PARABLES. His father stroked his drooping head, And gone were all his harms ; His mother kissed him in his bed, And heaven was in her arms. He folded then his weary hands. And so they let them be ; And ere the morn, in rainbow lands. He found the golden key. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. A MICROCOSM IN TERZA RIMA. /^UIET I lay at last, and knew no more -*^ Whether I breathed or not. Worn out I lay With the death-struggle. What was yet before I Cared not to meet, nor turned away. I knew my being only in its rest After the torture of the bygone day, And so would linger, painless, nearly blest. Followed a dreamy pause ; and then the sound As of a door that opened — ^in the west Somewhere I thought it was. The noise unbound The sleep from off my eyehds, and they rose, And I looked forth; and, looking, straightway found It was my chamber-door that did unclose ; PARABLES. And by it came a form into my view, Tall, silent, bending almost with repose : It was my brother — ^brother such as few — Bowing in kingly wise his noble head. Then, when I saw his countenance, I knew That I was lying in my chamber dead ; For to my side I saw this brother move, AVhose face from me and his and mine had sped. Like a lost summer, leaving only love. Years, years ago, behind the unseen veil. But though I loved him, all high words above. Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, ^ Knowing that here we live but in a tent. And that our house is yonder, without fail. And now I had him. Towards him I bent — I too was dead, so might the dead embrace — But he stooped not. Silent his hand he lent Me to uplift. I was in feeble case. But growing stronger, stood up on the floor. Right glad I looked upon my own dead face. Leaving it there. " I shall not suffer more," It seemed to think. I turned me away, My brother leading, to the open door. And out we passed, into the night blue-gray. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. IO3 The houses stood up hard in limpid air, And the moon hung in heaven in the old way, And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. / Now I had suffered in my life, as men Must suffer still, that children they may grow ; Suffered to rid me of that self again Which I had made and chosen and turned to — so Forgetting the angel-self that evermore, Moveless, while phantom things flit to and fro. Beholds the Father's face, and stands before The throne of revelation, waiting there. Till we shall find it, far beyond the roar Of vain report, that hides the world's despair. And lose ourselves in living : I had boriie Not one pain more than I had need to bear ; And thus to speak of suffering I would scorn. Even in rhyme, but for what next befell : The trouble all had ebbed hke night fi^om mom, Dissolved and lost in the absorbing swell Of some strange peace, a marvel, to me unknown. 104 PARABLES. As the moon dwelt in heaven, so in me dwell Did this essential calm. Earth's wail and moan Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part In human griefs, my part with them that groan? " 'Tis weariness," I said ; but with a start That set it trembling, and yet brake it not, I found the peace was love. O my rich heart ! For in the blue night every glimmering spot Of window-pane behind which lay a room Where human being slept — in that soul's lot I had a part — I cared for that one, whom I knew not, had not seen, and might not see. And scarce had love drawn after it its gloom. Ere a yet mightier love arose in me. As in a sea a single wave might swell. And heaved the care up to the centre : we Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell ; And then it sank, and all was godlike calm : I gave each man to God, and all was well. On my left hand my brother, with one palm Half-stretched out, open and upward, went One step Jaefore, leading : a heavenly balm Flowed from his presence — soon with sadness blent SOMNIUM MYSTICI. I05 III. No softest murmur through the city crept ; Not one word had my guide unto me spoken, Or I to him : no sooner had we stept From forth the city, than the spell was broken. A cool night wind came whispering. Through and through It made me blessed with the pledge and token Of that sweet spirit-wind which blows and blew In human nature's heart since evermore. And now beneath my feet the grass I knew, Which was love too, and with the love I bore Held mystic sympathy, silent and sweet, For it had known the glad secret of yore. So now I long'd my brother's eye to meet. My brother's voice to hear. Upon the grass Sudden he stood. I stayed my following feet. He turned. The face that in the old time was Again smiled on me. Lord of Life, that smile Was full of thee, and from me will not pass. Fulfilled of strength, and childlikeness the while. I06 PARABLES. It was the same old radiance of the soul, Able my selfish passions to beguile Unto their gladsome death, and on them roll The happy stone of the Holy Sepulchre. " Brother," he said, " now thou art like me — ^whole And sound and well ; and all the pain and stir Uneasy, and the grief that came to us all Because we knew not how the wine and myrrh Could ever from the vinegar and ga,ll Be parted — all is sunk and drowned in God, Who on the past doth let no darkness fall. But a sweet blast of light from light's abode, That slays the false and bringeth out the true ; And in the dreariest path which men have trod. Shows prints of saving feet, both old and new. Going before them and each weeping friend ; Yea, through the desert leading to God's view The desert souls in which the lions rend And roar — the passionate who to be blest Raven as bears, and do not gain their end. Because that, save in God, can be no rest." SOMNIUM MYSTICI. I07 IV. Something my brother said to me Hke this. Like this, I say ; and what more can I say, Seeing his eyes, face, and that smile of his, Yea his whole presence spoke — each word alway Fringed to a star with radiant verity Of absolute utterance, making a day Of truth about him speaking solemnly? Followed a pause ; and after that there came A brothers' talk — a gentle ecstasy. Of which a part I keep, but keep the same Shut in my mind ; another is all a mist. With a strange motion, as of hope in flame; As when a vapour by the sun is kissed Into a tune of colour, fear beguiling With hope of beauty born, which none resist. It was a glory full of reconciling, Of wisdom, and God's faith, and love, and pain ; Of tenderness, and care, and mother-wiling Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. I08 PARABLES. How long the time I have forgotten quite ; Only no sun arose, and fell no rain. It was a pale, moonlit, and starry night. Long as the night of some great spongy stone That turns but once an age betwixt the light And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown ; It seemed such at least — before my face So many visions passed, and veils were blown Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace. I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep Right wilHngly, for in my vacant place The Love of God was watching, in their sleep Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep. Through lanes and streets I followed, undismayed ; Saw brother-men by men despised and cursed ; Saw how smooth men on rough men fed and preyed And thought themselves thus nobler; saw the worst Of all that looks remediless and waste. Savage and cruel, of hatred born, and nursed By pain and need, to action urged and chased By dim recallings of the now unknown. I saw it all. But he shall not make haste Who knows that God may give a seed just sown SOMNIUM MYSTICI. IO9 A thousand years to grow ; a world that lay Wombed in its sun, a moment — one alone, From his red rim to drop, and spin away, Librating ; to take thought, and weary wheel Home in the close of heaven's aeonian day. Who knows God's day, God's thousand years, shall feel No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand ; But keen-dividing, as the sword of steel That from His mouth went forth in Patmos-land, Shall do his work fearless — obedient As He unto the Father's good command. So with a heart of hope, I onward went, Drinking his words, like dew to summer-lea. Filling my heart even with my heart's content. And came at last upon a lonesome sea. V. Stayless of foot, he turned not from the sea — Went on, crushing the bubbles at its brim. I followed, and so walked, cool-footed, free, Out on the water, fearless following him. PARABLES. And like a sea of glass the water, lo ! Lay ever vanishing ; nor shorn, nor dim, The starry host made all as glorious show Under our feet as o'er our heads. When this I saw, a terror to my heart did go. Think : we were moving in a vast abyss Of world-ingulfing blue ; no floor was found Of seeing eye, though the foot met the kiss Of the cool sliding waters, crisping round The edges of the footsteps. I did close My eyes for fear. Then once again the sound Of my guide's voice on the still air arose. " Think'st thou that we no longer walk by faith, Because earth lies behind us with its shows ? Open thine eyes ; take a full valiant breath ; Be fearless ; dare the terror in God's name ; Step wider ; trust the invisible. Can Death Hearten no more the burning of thy flame?" I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, And strode on the invisible sea. The same Moment had vanished all my cowardice. And God was with me. A hollow sphere of stars, All round about me lay the gulfy skies. Silent we walked across the broken bars SOMNIUM MYSTICI. Of moonlight at our feet ; until my guide Turned, stood, and looked at me. No human scars, No furrows of earth's battle I descried On his pure countenance. A peace age-long Brooded upon his forehead fair and wide. Yet with the sight there shot, clear, keen, and strong, A pain into my heart : I saw him stand — Though in the void as close as in a throng — Far on the border of some nameless land Beyond my call ; his face's mystery Caught him whole worlds away, though in my hand His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly. Searched in his countenance as in a mine For jewels of contentment. Satisfy My heart I could not. Sure he did divine My hidden trouble, for he stooped and kissed My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, And held me to his bosom. Still I missed The ancient earthly childhood, when we shared One bed, like birds that nestled in one nest ; Roamed through our father's fields ; together fared Along the dusty roads of the old time. He stood — as if my soul he just had bared — PARABLES. Reading it. Up the heaven unseen clouds climb — So in his eyes tears gathered like the dew- That settles on the earth in hoary rime, But makes the clear stars goldener in the blue ; And on his lips a faint ethereal smile Hung trembling, like the mist of its own hue That hangs about a purple flower, the while That eve is growing brown. " Brotlier," I cried ; But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, And in my bosom all the utterance died. " I know thy pain ; but this sorrow is far Beyond my help,'' gently his voice replied Unto my speechless tears. " See'st thou yon star Half-way to the horizon, all a-blaze ? Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar The lightning peace that from its visage rays. Thou therefore knowest well that world on high. Its people and its orders and its ways ?" " But I love thee," I said ; " and therefore I Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee. Thou art not near me. For my friend I cry." " Not the less near that nearer I can be. I have a world within thou dost not know : Would I could give it thee ! But all of me SOMNIUM MYSTICI. II3- Is thine ; though thou not yet (^nst enter so Into possession, that betwixt us twain The frolic homeliness of love should flow- As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again : A deeper childhood first away must wipe The consciousness which was our manhood's pain ; The godhke then will in thy breast grow ripe, And make thee like me — sons of man once more, The children of one father — ^noble type Of the great father all fathers before." Something like this he said, nor ceased, for still His voice went on hke spring from hidden store Of wasteless waters. But I wept my fill, Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. At length he said : " When first I clomb the hill — With earthly words I heavenly things would reach — Where dwelleth now the man we used to call Father — ah, brother, how he used to teach Us children in our beds ! A temple-hall. Became, when he sat there, the common room- Prone on the ground before him I did fall, So grand he towered above me like a doom ; But now I look into the well-known face, And feel my heart grow younger in the bloom 114 PARABLES. Of his eternal youthfiAess and grace." " But something separates us," yet I cried, " And I shall ever be in evil case Till that begin to melt and to divide, Making a way for vision. In old time, To break the bonds by which our souls were tied. Some holy means lay at the door. To climb, One foot must rise and lift the other higher : Teach me some lesson of the eternal prime." Thereto he answered : " Hearts that will aspire, Must learn one mighty harmony ere they can Falter a perfect note in true love's quire. But thereto am I sent. Come unto one Who is at hand to teach thee everything. Opening all doors that sever man and man, Till to Love's homely palace them he bring." VI. I said no more. For thus he gave me hope. And hope had ever been enough for me — ■ Sufficient to the day : it gave me scope. From bonds of fear and custom set me free, SOMNIUM MYSTICI. US And let my life go working. On we went Over the ocean and its stars, till we Came to a level shore of sand and bent. Beyond the sand a marshy moor we pressed, Silent ; I, for I pondered what he meant, And he, that sacred speech might not be lost. At length we came upon an evil place. Trees lay about like a half-buried host, Each in its desolate pool. Some fearful race Of creatures was at hand ; for howls and cries And gurgling hisses came. With even pace, " Be not afraid," he said, " for this way lies Our journey." We went on. And soon the ground Slowly from out the waste began to rise ; And tender grass, here, there, now all around, Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge Of gentlest green cold-flushing every mound ; At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe. Il6 PARABLES. VII. And last a wildered forest world we find, Not open to the sun : through all the year, Its branches sunder not in any wind ; A world so still, that all its trees appear Pondering on the past, as men may do That see God's finger quench the sparks of fear. I know not if for days many or few. Pathless we threaded the thick forest, for No sun at branch-built windows peeping through Made shadows on the tender mosses, or Warmed my cold feet ; and yet I saw — as men See in a vision — to the vision's core. We reached a glade, soft with deep grasses, when, " Look round," he said ; and I obeyed him, but Saw only great trees stand away — and then, In the free midst, a litde lonely hut. By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. 'Twas built of saplings yet erect, long cut, Clearing the space where since it lonely stood ; Now thick with ancient moss, it seemed to have grown SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 117 Thus from the old brown earth, and ever to brood How to go back, nor any more be known. Up to its door my brother led me. " There, There, is thy school," he said; "there be thou shown That which thou wouldst Awake a mind of prayer, , And prapng enter." " But wilt thou not come. Brother?" I said. " No," said he. And I, " Where Go then thy steps ? Thou wilt not leave me dumb Amidst a press of thoughts unuttered ? " With half-sad smile, and dewy eyes, and some To-and-fro motions of his kingly head, He pointed me to the half-open door. Entering I turned : his form a radiance shed All round — one holy smile was at its core, He looking after me. Then parting slow He went like one whom I should see no more. Nor heard I any footsteps from me go. He drew the clinging door unto the post ; No dry twigs crackled 'neath his going ; no Waftings of wind rose round my brother-ghost. He was not. And I laid me down and wept. And what frooi following held me back the most Was fear I should not see him if I swept Il8 PARABLES. Out after him on wings of famished love. To the foot of the wall, hopeless I crept; And cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above. VIII. I woke, with sacred calmness glorified. Such peace I used to have, waking, when I Lay in my mother's bosom : since I died. The past, even to the dreams, fleeting and shy. That shadowed over my yet unborn brain. Was all uncovered. From a window high. Nearly head-high — a little oval pane — Dimm'd by night-fogs that rise from out the core Of withered leaves, and give an earthy stain — A forest light fell brown upon the floor. And made the hut faintly and softly glad. A little too came in beneath the door ; And I remembered in old years I had Seen something like it : white-veiled women gloomed Upon an earthen floor, with eyehds sad, In a low barn-like house, where lay entombed Their sires and children ; only there the door Was open to the sun, which entering plumed SOMNIUM MYSTICl. II9 With shadowed palms the stones that filled the floor, Set up like lidless coffins. Thus I find, That Memory needs no brain, but keeps her store In hidden chambers of the eternal mind ; And fi-om the floor of that remembrance, I Went back to years all full of mystic signs Unreadable, while yet my soul did lie Closed in my mother's; forward then through bright Summers of being, glad with hopes that fly Bird-like beneath their doming blue and white ; Through days of passion, down to low sad eves Of drizzling rain, fierce dark, and hopeless night ; Up to slow dawns in weeping easts, and leaves Windy with morning ; twilights of content. And worship such as sorrow itself bereaves Of half its pain. And ever as I went, I knew the odour of a something near Which yet I had not — like a letter sent. Not yet arrived ; a footstep I could hear Upon the threshold — no hand on the latch ; A sun on the hill's edge, ready to peer, Yet peering not ; a gazing breathless watch Over a sleeping beauty — ^flitting rhymes About her lips, no winged word to catch. PARABLES. Thus had I grown ; but in eternal times Shut up I lay, a hopeless evermore In low dull gleams of moveless autumn climes. Was it the prison of my sins so sore — A gentle hell compassion dear foredooms For suqh as I whose love is yet the core Of all their being ? The brown shadow glooms About me, warm, persistent, faded, wan ; I lie as in a hearse horrid with plumes. To dream, and be no more a living man. Meet thus the earthy floor and skyey cope ? Is this the sepulchre of daylight ? Can This be the folding of the wings of hope ? IX. That moment through the branches overhead, Sounds of a going went. A shadow fell Prone in the unrippled pool of faint light, fed From the one window lighting my poor cell. I lifted up my eyes. In the oval space A single snowdrop stood, a radiant bell Of silvery shine, stroked tenderly with rays SOMNIUM MYSTICI. Of delicate green that made the white appear As if the sun shone. With a faithful grace It bowed its head, as, in a world of fear, It could not be afraid. If it had swung Its pendent bell, and music sUvery clear, Had, with division sweet its sounds among. Dropped down its meaning tender as flakes of snow, It had not shed more influence as it rung, Than from its look alone did gracious flow. I knew the flower ; saw into its human ways ; Beheld God's secret that had made it grow ; And in my heart woke music's answering phrase. Nature's high laws, beauty's eternal birth. And God who bringeth life from out decays. Light out of darkness, snowdrops from the earth — Truth was all present in that little flower, Instinct with the divine. A holy mirth Awoke within my heart ; for one whole hour I praised the God of snowdrops. Then the stain Of weariness fell. Gone was the sacred power. And gone the snowdrop from the window pane. PARABLES. X. And I began in unbelief to say : " A snowdrop only ! nothing to my heart ! A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play From the weedy pond of Chaos, without part In love divine ; not equalling indeed A fair embroidery, as of needle's art, Upon the hem of nature ; a pretty weed That God nor gardener granteth any claim, And only dreamers give it dreamful heed. Not out of God but nothingness it came. And brought no life, no word, no meaning sweet ; It might return, and earth would lose no fame." When lo, another shadow at my feet ! Uplifting hopeless yet my weary head, Me the Primrose did at my window greet, With a broad smile, from out its rough-leaved bed. Laughing my unbelief to heavenly scorn ; A flower-child, all awake, on green couch laid. Saying its prayers, still lying where it was born. Still looking to the sky. I breathed again; SOMNIUM MYSTICI. I23 Out of the midnight once more came the morn. New truth, as child brings love, comes not in vain, But brings the new faith fresh from out the deep. Though weariness may dull the conscious brain. Truth, beauty are not dead. When our hearts sleep, The vision tarrieth until the day. I tarry also, and I will not weep. Not though my heart grow sick with hope's delay. XI. By these two flowers, and by reviving faith In him who thought them, I forgot my life, And was a child once more, who draws his breath Nor thinks of breathing ; knows, without the strife That comes of knowing that lie knows. My soul Was all with forms of childish gladness rife. A daisy at my window ? Straightway roll Rich fields with red tips crowding through the green, Down many a hollow, over many a knoll. Each vision leads a host of the unseen. In at the window peeps the pimpernel ? I stand in morning scents of thyme and bean ; 124 PARABLES. Dry stalks of grass, each hung with watery bell, Stretch round me, jewel-orchard, many roods ; Ruby suns flash, which emerald suns would quell ; Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes, In coolness of the slanting sun abound ; Above, the lark, high priest of fields and woods — The colours' odour bearing up in sound. Entered unseen within the veil of heaven. Still hovering o'er his five eggs on the ground. But time would fail to tell what flowers were given. What truths they at my window-pane did preach. Nodding and smiling. Days, nights, well nigh seven, I saw them thus. Filled with their floral speech. Their lovely silences of shapeful lore, I sat a happy child, within whose reach The infinite sea flung thought-shells on the shore. Seeing was all the senses unto me. Seven days — seven years — for time was now no more. Then I grew weary, longing earnestly. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. I25 XII. I know not if I slept. No more I know If words will clothe aright the wonders high That next appeared, that next are mine to show. Prone to the revelation I did lie, A passive prophet to its visioned sweep. Like harp ^oHan to the breathing sky. Blest as are children whom the curtained sleep Holds half, and half lets go, so that they hear The whisper' of their hearts, so that they keep Their dreams unbroken till their mothers peer Sunrise upon their rest, and rouse their day. At length the hope that still informs in fear Woke me. " Ah, flowers," I said, " divinely gay ! Ye fill not souls that thirst for heavenly wine ; Full cups reach not their thirsting to allay Who pine for outspread seas of love divine As harts for water-brooks." Sudden a face Was looking in my face, its eyes in mine — Eyes pulsing wells of tenderness and grace : I knew them by their love my mother's eyes, 126 PARABLES. Come reconciling me with all my race. For at the sight such love in me did rise, That weeping I brake out for all the moan My wrongs had caused in this world of cries. " O mother, wilt thou plead for me ? " I groan ; " Not plead with Christ — he pleads alway with me; But plead with those about his humble throne, Who know my deeds and my heart do not see. mother, I am gray ; thou young as when Death set thy everlasting beauty free. Thou didst die soon ; I lived, brought back, times ten. From death's brink, to be led by bliss and woe. Gladness and groans, heatt-loss and spirit-gain. To holy self-indifference, that so 1 might receive, and seek no more my bliss. Oh, help me, telling all the souls I know. That at Christ's feet I lay my selfishness ; That I do love them, else that I would die : They must forgive me, for the truth is this." The face grew passionate at this my cry ; Some hidden fountain trembled, swelled, and rose; Tears flowing that love's pain might thus go by. Vanished the face : I wept as one of those That from a dream of Paradise awake SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 127 To see sad hours beside them labouring close Its opal gates' with stone and beam and stake. XIII. But, O my vision — how to follow thee Through what came next — a storm of human grace, A host of lovely faces, besieging me In the lone castle of my mournfulness ! Was it my mother that those faces sent. Gathering them from the crowd before the face They worship ever — when from me she went — That they themselves might bring the love I sought. And with the burnings of their love all bent Upon it, bum my self-love up to nought ? I dreamed, but I do hold my dream as true As any message by the senses brought, And walk henceforth girt with its heavenly blue. Its golden sun still radiant in my hope. But how shall pencil dare its rainbow hue ? How shall I — with what line of mighty scope — Lead up your dawn of loveliness, my own. 128 PARABLES. On Other lonely minds ? — All, from the cope Of heaven down to my windows, in a cone Still widening upward, mine ! for my love bom ! Saint-sisters, hero-brothers, known, unknown, Beloved faces, many as ears of com Bending one way on autumn harvest-field. Leaned downwards to my windowed hut forlorn. As if with power of eyes they would have healed The heart that lay there moaning selfish fears. Faces that with one look might each have sealed For evermore one fount of bitter tears ! Each face a lamp of God, from which did pass The light of worship out on all its peers ! Each knowing self only in others' glass ; Seeking no love, or worship, or other grace, Which ever endeth in a deep alas, But offering evermore the heart-embrace ! Each form upheld in crowding arms of love, Each heart upholding all the human race ! A cloud of chosen witnesses above. Came narrowing thus to me in mystic cone ; Even thus God's spirit descended like a dove. Giving all hearts to one who sat alone : I saw the glory widen to a cloud — SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 129 For I had risen and to the window gone — Which far aloft over the forest bowed. XIV. With what I thus beheld, glorified then, " God, let me love my fill and die,'' I sighed : Dead, I for love had almost died again. " O fathers, brothers, I am yours," I cried. " O mothers, sisters, I am nothing now Save as I am yours ; nothing I am beside. O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, And infinite abysses in the eyes, Whence God's ineffable looks on me, how Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise ? But that is nothing, so I may love you. Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise, And I am blessed ; for, within your view, I am no more, and ye are all in all. Henteforth there is, there shall be nothing new, For all things now are new." And like the fall Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep : Up in my spirit rose as it were the call 130 PARABLES. Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep. My eyes had fixed upon the face of him Whom I had loved ere I had learned to creep On hands and knees about the old world dim ; And as I gazed the pang shot into me, For there was that about the lovely rim Of his blue eyes I could not rightly see ; And so the doubt, the trouble once more came. And my heart cried " O God," right earnestly, " Is this my endless sorrow or endless blame ? Can there be more to come ? Is this the last ? And is this not enough ? Yet loss the same ? O brothers, sisters, is my glory past ? " XV. And at the word the cloud of witnesses Turned all their faces sideways, aside from me. So that I saw the half of their sweet bhss. And o'er that half I saw— what could it be?— A faintly glad, a glimmering glory glide. Faint as the glimmers which, from off the sea, When the slow moon is waking on the tide. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. I3I O'er the pale face of watching maidens dream. Was it the first of a smile ? And why aside ? Or did they wait some dawn of holy beam ? Then first that it was dead night I did mark, Without a moon or stars, or any gleam Save that shine, as of silver in the dark, Which held my eyes upon their lovely look. And as I gazed, it grew. Then, as a spark Of vital touch had fallen into a nook Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest. And breaking the silence that they could not brook. They sudden burst into their being blest. So from that cone of faces burst a song. Of such a sweet harmonious unrest, That in a storm of weeping — " Lord,' how long ? " I answered it because I could not sing. And as they sung, the light, more and more strong, Uplighted them, until I scarce could bring My eyes the radiance to encounter and bear ; For light their faces, lightnings their eyes did fling. And crowns of light, even their flashing hair, Reigned on their brows. " He comes !" they sang ; '"Tishe! 132 PARABLES. O brothers, sisters, lovely, he is there ! " And as I gazed speechless, it seemed to me That all the faces moved : once more their eyes Were turning on me ! But the holy glee Awoke me to the dark of lower skies. I woke like one that has been glad in vain. Who, free in dreams, awakes to bitterness At weary sound of his old clanking chain. Yet was my heart light and my fever less. I stretched my hand — the curtain drew aside. The room was dark that daylight should not press Upon the slumber that had stayed the tide Of ebbing life. On one that sat alone A faint light fell — on one that sat and sighed : Her face I had beheld amidst the cone Of love and worship ! Faint and sad and wan, The light was there, even the light that shone From the far coming of the Son of Man. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 133 I walk about among my fellow-men, Alive, not dreaming — nor yet as I went, Ere I had seen this vision ; not as then, With thoughts of proud reproof, high discontent : In every eye I see a deeper eye ; In every face I see another blent ; On every brow, the countenance's sky, I see a coming dawn ; each face a heaven That waiteth — for its sun comes by and by. In care, in grief, in pride, in hardness, even In wrong and cruelty, I spy some trace Of that fair light which once to men was given When on the world arose the Human Face. His second coming I expect in these. My brothers, sisters, of our childhood's race. And though the night be long on polar seas. The sun is climbing up his slanting hill. Whether the waiting billows flash or freeze ; Whether the heavy sleep hold dreamers still. Or from their couch the light-stung labourers start ; 134 PARABLES. Whether the ripening sheaves with harvest fill, Or the green blades the cleaving earth-clods part. XVIII. Lord, I have spoken in a parable, Wherein my slow speech says thy name alone Is the deep secret lying in Truth's well. Thy voice we seek in music's every tone ; Thy face in every glory of the earth ; Thy hand in every law ; in every moan. Thy cure, thy love, O woman-born, whose birth Laden with duty made thee strong to be Our human God. Therefore with holy mirth Forth in thy world I go, elate and free ; For though the vision tarry — at length the face Of Him who went about in Galilee Shall rise one morning full of truth and grace. THE SANGREAL. (A part of the Story omitted in the old Romances.) I. How Sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail, "T^HROUGH the wood the sunny day Glimmered sweetly glad ; Through the wood his weary way Rode Sir Galahad. Every side stood open porch, Stretched long cloister dim ; 'Twas a wavering wandering church, Every side of him. 136 PARABLES. What if this should be the one Holiest church of all, Where through ages dim and lone Lies the Sangreal ! On through columns arching high, Foliage-vaulted, he, Rode in thirst that made him sigh. Like a misery. Came the moon, through ghostly trees Glimmering faintly glad ; Worn and withered, ill at ease, Down lay Galahad ; Closed his eyes, and took no heed What might come to pass ; Heard his hunger-busy steed Cropping juicy grass. Sweet to him the cooling blade, Sweet the cold moonshine ; For his labour he was paid — Galahad must pine. THE SANGREAL. I37 Prayer itself was almost dead. Joys he might have had Gathering mournful in his head Made his heart more sad. With the lowliest in the land, He a maiden fair Might have led with virgin hand • To the altar-stair. Youth and strength away would glide, Age bring frost and snow : With no woman by his side. Downward he must go. Once at Arthur's stately board, Arthur strong and wise, He had drunk with stalwart lord, Gazed in ladies' eyes. Now, alas ! he wandered wide, Resting never more. Over lake, and mountain-side, Over sea and shore. 138 PARABLES. Gone was life and all its good, Gone without avail ; All his labour never would Find the Holy Grail. II. How Sir Galahad found and lost the Grail. Galahad was in the night When man's hope is dumb \ Galahad was in the night When God's wonders come. Wings he heard not floating by, Heard not voices call ; But he started with a cry — Saw the Sangreal ! Three feet off upon the moss. As if cast away, Homely wood, with carven cross, Mossy, rough, it lay. THE SANGREAL. I39 Ages hidden from the sun Moon and stars and all — Lo ! from realms of darkness won — Lo, the Sangreal ! To his knees, with fluttering soul, Rose the reverent knight ; Trembling, daring, to the bowl Went his hand of might. In a well his hot hand sinks Full of water dim ; All its green moss floats and drinks. From the flooded brim. Water plenty, but no cup ! Down he lay and quaffed ; Straightway to his feet rose up, Rose and gaily laughed ; Fell upon his knees to thank, Fell and worshipped there : To his heart the water sank. And awoke the prayer. 140 PARABLES. Down he lay and slept a sleep, Healthful as a death ; Like the sun from ocean deep, Rose at morning's breath. Called his steed and drew the girth, Braced his loosened mail : " Come, we '11 find," he said with mirth, " Now the Holy Grail." III. How Sir Galahad gave up the quest for the Grail. As the sun came quivering On the little well, Galahad from earth did spring, Sat full firm in selle ; Merry songs began to sing. Let his matins bide. Rode a good hour pondering, And was turned aside. THE SANGREAL. I4I " Now," said Galahad, " no more Seek I dim chapelle ; But in every forest hoar. Seek its hidden well. " Not my thirst alone it stilled, But my soul it stayed ; And my heart with gladness filled, Wept and laughed and prayed. " Hence let every fountain, whose Waters never fail. Be to me the cup I choose For a Holy Grail !" IV. How Sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail. • On he went, to succour bound. Through the forests dim. Many living wells he found. None to succour him. 142 PARABLES. Never more the throb of prayer Followed on the draught ; Never more from drinking there, Up he rose and laughed. Common water, all they bore, Rose and filled and flowed ; Quenched his thirst, but nevermore Eased his bosom's load. For he sought no more the Best, And he found it not ; Lofty longing laid to rest. Good was all he got. Yearned the thirst in all his mind, Like a stifled wail : " Nought will ease me till I find Yet the Holy Grail." THE SANGREAL. 143 Hcrw Sir Galahad found the Grail. Galahad went on again, Thorough wood and wave ; Sought in every mossy glen, Every mountain-cave ; Sought until the evening red Sunk in shadow deep ; Sought until the moon was dead ; Slept, and sought in sleep. Where he wandered, weary, sad, Story does not say ; But at last Sir Galahad Found it on a day ; Took the Grail into his hand. Had the cup of joy; Carried it about the land, Gladsome as a boy ; 144 PARABLES. Laid his sword where he had found Boot for every bale ; Stuck his spear into the ground — Kept the Holy Grail. Haw Sir Galahad carried about the Grail. Helm and horse and splendour gone, Gone his shield and mail, Singing went he on and on. For he had the Grail. Woods he wandered with his staflF, Woods no longer sad : Earth and sky and sea did laugh Round Sir Galahad. Without place to lay his head. Singing on he went. Every cave a palace-bed, Every rock a tent. THE SANGREAL. 145 Every fruit-tree yielding fruit Was a festival ; . Every fountain at its foot Was a Sangreal. Met he maidens in the vale, Youths on mountains hoar, Them he taught the Holy Grail Might be found once more. Where he went, the smiles came forth. Where he left, the tears. Thus he wandered south and north. East and west, for years. Spur nor charger needed he. Sword nor shield nor mail : Not a foe was left to flee From the Holy Grail. 146 PARABLES, VII. ffew Sir Galahad hid the Grail. When he died, with reverent care Opened they his vest, Seeking for the cup he bare Hidden in his breast. Nothing found they to their will — Nothing found at all : In his bosom, deeper still, Lay the Sangreal. THE FAILING TRACK. "X^ THERE went the feet that hitherto have come ? Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing Past. Slowly and gently, as a song grows dumb, . The grass floats in : the gazer stands aghast. Tremble not, maiden. Let the footprints die. The skylark's way vanishes with his notes ; The mighty-throated, when he mounts on high. Far o'er some lowly landmark sings and floats. Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave Where thousand ships have torn a track of gray, And yet new ships go on, quiet and brave : A changeless heart of iron tells the way. 148 PARABLES. Nor heart of magnet, nor the eye of lark, To guide thy footsteps where old footprints fail ? Ah ! then, 'twere well to turn before the dark : Thy childhood's dreams lie not in yonder vale. The backward path alone is plain to see ; Thy foot hath worn it, weary ways behind ; Back to the prayer beside thy mother's knee ; Back to the question and the childHke mind. Then start afresh — but toward a noble end, Some goal o'er which there hangs a star at night. So shall thou need no footprints to befriend ; True heart and shining star will guide thee right. TELL ME. " "yRAVELLER, what lies over the hill? Traveller, tell to me : I am only a child — from the window-sill Over I cannot see.'' " Child, there 's a valley over there, Pretty and wooded and shy ; And a little brook that says — ■' Take care, Or I '11 drown you by and by.' " "And what comes next?" — "A little town; And a towering hill again ; More hills and valleys, up and down, And a river now and then." IJO PARABLES. "And what comes next?" — "A lonely moor, Without a beaten way ; And gray clouds saihng slow before A wind that will not stay." " And then ?" — " Dark rocks and yellow sand, And a moaning sea beside." " And then ?" — " More sea, more sea, more land. And rivers deep and wide." "And then?" — " Oh ! rock and mountain and vale. Rivers and fields and men. Over and over — a weary tale — And round to your home again." " And is that all ? Have you told the best ?"— " No, neither the best nor the end. On summer eves, away in the west, You will see a stair ascend, " Built of all colours of lovely stones — A stair up into the sky. Where no one is weary, and no one moans, Or wants to be laid by." TELL ME. 151 ' I will go." — " But the steps are very steep ; If you would climb up there, You must lie at the foot, as still as sleep, A very step of the stair. ' Feet of others on you will stand, To reach the stones high-piled. But One will stoop and take your hand. And say — 'Come up, my child.' " BROTHER ARTIST! TDROTHER Artist ! help me, come ! Artists are a maimed band : I have words, but not a hand : Thou hast hands though thou art dumb. Had I hands, when words did fail — Vassal-words their hurrying chief — On the margin of my leaf Wondrous lines should tell the tale. Had I hands and talking ears, I would set the air on fire ; Flames of music should aspire. Waking men with hopes and fears. BROTHER ARTIST ! 153 I have neither — help me, pray ; Bring thy brush and indian ink ; As I bid thee, do thou think ; Through thy heart give mine a way. Draw me, on a grassy plain. With the rocky mountains nigh. Under a clear morning sky. Telling of a night of rain — Huge and rugged, like a block Chosen for sarcophagus To a Pharaoh glorious — One gray solitary rock. Cleave it down along the ridge With a fissure wide and deep. Splitting all the granite heap As by force of riving wedge. Through the cleft let hands appear. Upward-pointed, close-pressed palms, As if worshipping in psalms, Mellowed by an ancient fear. IS4 PARABLES. Turn thee, now— 'tis almost done — To the near horizon's verge ; Make the smallest arc emerge Of the forehead of the sun. Let the first ray linger down On a head all lowly bent, Just enough above the rent To receive the glory-crown. Thanks, dear Painter. That is all. If thy picture one day should Need some words to make it good- I am ready at thy call. SIR LARK AND KING SUN. " f~^ OOD morrow, my lord ! " in the sky alone, Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. " Shine on me, my lord ; I only am come. Of all your servants, to welcome you home. I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear, ' To catch the first shine of your golden hair." " Must I thank you then," said the king, " Sir Lark, For flying so high and hating the dark ? You ask a full cup for half a thirst : Half was love of me, and half love to be first. There 's many a bird makes no such haste, But waits till I come ; that's as much to my taste." 156 PARABLES. And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud, And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; But he flew up higher, and thought, " Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone ; And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold. Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold." So he flew — with the strength of a lark he flew ; But, as he rose, the cloud rose too ; And not one gleam of the. golden hair Came through the depth of the misty air ; Till, weary with flying, with sighing sore, The strong sun-seeker could do no more. His wings had had no chrism of gold ; And his feathers felt withered and worn and old ; He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone. And there on his nest, where he left her, alone Sat his little wife on her httle eggs. Keeping them warm with wings and legs. Did I say alone ? Ah, no such thing ! Full in her face was shining the king. SIR LARK AND KING SUN. 157 " Welcome, Sir Lark ! You look tired," said he. " Up is not always the best way to me. While you have been singing so high and away, I 've been shining to your little wife all day." He had set his crown all about the nest, And out of the midst shone her little brown breast; And so glorious was she in russet gold, That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold. He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till King Sun was away. THE^OWL AND THE BELL. " JQ^^^' ^^'^> ^'^"^' Borne r Sang the Bell to himself in Jiis house at home, Up in the tower, away and unseen, In a twilight of ivy, cool and green ; With his Bing, Bim, Bang, Borne I Singing bass to himself in his house at home. Said the Owl to himself, as he sat below On a window-ledge, like a ball of snow, " Pest on that fellow, sitting up there, Always calling the people to prayer 1 With his Bing, Bim, Bang, Borne I Mighty big in his house at home ! THE OWL AND THE BELL. 159 " I will move," said the Owl. " But it suits me well ; And one may get used to it, who can tell ? " So he slept in the day with all his might. And rose and flapped out in the hush of night. When the Bell was asleep in his tower at home. Dreaming over his £ing, Bang, Borne! For the Owl was born so poor and genteel. He was forced from the first to pick and steal ; He scorned to work for honest bread — " Better have never been hatched ! " he said. So he slept all day ; for he dared not roam Till night had silenced the Bing, Bang, Borne! When his six little darlings had chipped the egg, He must steal the more : 'twas a shame to beg. And they ate the more that they did not sleep well : "It's their gizzards," said Ma; said Fa, "It's the Bell ! For they quiver like leaves in a wind-blown tome. When the Bell bellows out his Bing, Bang, Borne!" But the Bell began to throb- with the fear Of bringing the house about his one ear ; l6o PARABLES. And his people were patching all day long, And propping the walls to make them strong. So a fortnight he sat, and felt like a mome. For he dared not shout his Bing, Bang, Borne! Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, " I do believe the old fool is dead. Now — now, I vow, I shall never pounce twice ; And stealing shall be all sugar and spice. But I '11 see the corpse, ere he 's laid in the loam, And shout in his ear Bing, Bim, Bang, Borne ! — " Hoo ! hoo ! " he cried, as he entered the steeple, " They 've hanged him at last, the righteous people ! His swollen tongue lolls out of his head — Hoo ! hoo ! at last the old brute is dead. There let him hang, the shapeless gnome ! Choked, with his throat full oi Bing, Bang, Borne!" So he danced about him, singing Too-whoo I And flapped the poor Bell, and said, " Is that you ? Where is your voice with its wonderful tone, Banging poor owls, and making them groan ? THE OWL AND THE BELL. l6l A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome ! Too-whoo is better than Bing, Bang, Bome!" So brave was the Owl, the downy and dapper, That he flew inside, and sat on the clapper ; And he shouted Too-whoo f till the echo awoke, Like the sound of a ghostly clapper-stroke : " Ah, ha ! " quoth the Owl, " I am quite at home— I will take your place with my Bing, Bang, Bome!" The Owl was uplifted with pride and self-wonder ; He hissed, and then called the echo thunder ; And he sat the monarch of feathered fowl Till — Bang I went the Bell — and down went the Owl, Like an avalanche of feathers and foam, Loosed by the booming Bing, Bang, Bome 1 He sat where he fell, as if nought' was the matter. Though one of his eyebrows was certainly flatter. Said the eldest owlet, " Pa, you were wrong; He 's at it, again with his vulgar song." " Be still," said the Owl ; " you 're guilty of pride : I brought him to life by perching inside." l62 PARABLES. " But why, my dear ? " said his pillowy wife ; " You know he was always the plague of your life." " I have given him a lesson of good for evil ; Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil." The Owl looked righteous, and raised his comb; But the Bell bawled on his Bing, Bang, Borne ! ROADSIDE POEMS. HE HEEDED NOT. 'T'HE tongues of whispering trees to hear, The sermon of the silent stone, To read in brooks the lessons clear Of Nature working all alone — That man hath neither eye nor ear Who careth not for human moan ; Who takes the city for a waste With his refined poetic eye ; The weak antennae of whose taste From touch of alien grossness fly ; Who draws himself, in shrinking haste. From sin that passeth helpless' by. But he whose heart is full of grace To brothers, sisters, round about, l66 ROAD-SIDE rOEMS. Finds more in any human face, Beclouded all with wrong and doubt, Than shines in Nature's holiest place, Where mountains dwell and streams run out. A noise of strife assailed my ear. As through the streets I went one morn ; A wretched alley I drew near, Whence plainer still the sound was borne — Growls breaking into curses clear. Retorted with a shriller scorn. And round a corner straightway came A man consumed in smouldering ire ; Scarce fit to answer to his name. His senses drowned with revels dire. Flashes of sullen fitful flame Broke from the embers of his fire. He cast a glance of stupid hate Behind him, every step he took, Where followed him, like following fate, An aged crone, whose bloated look Outdid her son's. With feeble gait, She followed, rating him, and shook. HE HEEDED NOT. 167 But why should I discordful things Weave into cadence ordered right ? That, answering them, yet higher strings May sound in praise of love's own might ; Obedient to the law that brings From evil good, from darkness light. The man was barred, checked in his haste. By love that bred him some annoy : In front, no higher than his waist, Against him leaned a tiny boy — A feeble child, ill-clothed, pale-faced, Wliose eyes held neither hope nor joy. But earnestness. You think he pled With drunken sire to keep the peace. And home his wayward footsteps led. To find in sleep his sin's release ? The child in evil born and bred, Strove thus to make the evil cease ? Not so. The boy spoke never word ; But, seeming only to aspire. Like a half-fledged, worm-hungry bird. He stood on tiptoe, reaching higher : l68 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. With anxious care his soul was stirred, With anxious service to his sire. With waking pale, with anger red, He, forward leaning, held his foot, Lest on the darling he should tread : A misty sense had taken root In his poor sin-bewildered head. That round him kindness hovered mute. And o'er the child his words of ill Were gently, dumbly, powerless borne ; They hurt him not : the fleet bee will The falling hail, uninjured, scorn. He heeded not, but, reaching still, Buttoned his father's waistcoat worn. Over his calm, unconscious face. There passed no troublous change of mood ; It kept its quiet earnest grace, As round it all things had been good ; Clear as a pool in its own place. Unsunned within a sunless wood. HE HEEDED NOT. 169 Was the child deaf? — the tender palm Of him that made him, folded round The little head, to keep it calm And fearless ; so that every sound Grew nothing there ; nor curse nor psalm Could thrill the globe thus grandly bound ? Or was it that, by nature's law, Accustomed words themselves efface ? Or was he too intent for awe, Love filling up the thinking place? I cannot tell ; I only saw An earnest, an untroubled grace. From evil men whose tongues are swords. Who speak and have not understood. Lord, keep us. From the strife of words Fold up our hearts in something good. Make silence with the hand that girds The silent mountain, silent wood. THE SHEEP AND THE GOAT. "XTOT all the streets that London builds Can hide the sky and sun, Shut out the winds from o'er the fields, Or quench the scent the hay-swath yields All night, when work is done. And here and there an open spot Lies bare to light and dark. Where grass receives the wanderer hot, Where trees are growing, houses not ; — One is the Regent's Park. Soft creatures, with ungentle guides, God's sheep from hill and plain. Are gathered here in living tides. Lie wearily on woolly sides. Or crop the grass amain. THE SHEEP AND THt GOAT. 171 And from the lane and court and den, In ragged skirts and coats, Come hither tiny sons of men, Wild things, untaught of book or pen, The little human goats. One hot and cloudless summer day. An overdriven sheep Had come a long and dusty way : Throbbing with thirst the creature lay — A panting woollen heap. But help is nearer than we know For ills of every name : Ragged enough to scare the crow, But with a heart to pity woe, A quick-eyed urchin came. Little knew he of field or fold ; Yet knew enough : his cap Was just the cup for water cold — He knew what it could do of old ; Its rents were few, good-hap ! 172 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. Shaping the brim and crown he went, Till crown from brim was deep. The water ran from brim and rent ; Before he came the half was spent — The half, it saved the sheep. O httle goat, born, bred in ill. Unwashed, ill-fed, unshorn ! Thou meet'st the sheep from breezy hill. Apostle of thy Saviour's will In London wastes forlorn. And let priests say the thing they please. My faith, though very dim, Thinks he will say who always sees, In doing it to one of these. Thou didst it unto him. THE SHADOWS. A/T Y little boy, with round fair cheeks, And dreamy, large, brown eyes. Not often, little wisehead, speaks, But will make some replies. His sister, always glad to. show Her knowledge, for its praise, Said yesterday : " God's here, you know ; He's everywhere, always. " He 's in this room." His large brown eyes Went wandering round for God. In vain he looks, in vain he tries. His wits are all abroad. 174 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. " He is not here, mamma ? No, no ; I do not see him at all. He 's not the shadows, is he ? " So His doubtful accents fall — Fall on my heart, like precious seed. Grow up to flowers of love ; For as a child, in ignorant need. Am I to Him above. And ere the morn began to break, Ere day began to be. In my dim room I too did take The shadows. Lord, for thee. But now I know each shadow there. Slow remnant of the night, Is but an aching longing prayer For thee, O Lord, the Light. AN OLD SERMON WITH A NEW TEXT. ]\ /r Y wife contrived a fleecy thing Her husband to infold, For 'tis the pride of woman true, To cover from the cold : My daughter made it a new text For a sermon very old. The child came trotting to her side. Ready with bootless aid. " Lily will make one for papa," The tiny woman said. Her mother gave the needful things, And a knot upon the thread. " The knot, mamma ! It won't come through Mamma ! mamma !" she cried. 176 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. Her mother cut away the knot, And she was satisfied, Pulling the long thread through and through In fabricating pride. Her mother told me this. It gave A glimpse of something more : Great meanings often hide themselves With little words before ; And I brooded over this new text, Till the seed a sermon bore. Nannie, to you I preach it now — A little sermon, low : Is it not thus a thousand times. As through the world we go ? Do we not pull, and fret, and say, Instead of "Yes, Lord," "No"? Yet all the rough things that we meet. Which will not move a jot — The hindrances to heart and feet — The Crook in every Loi — What mean they, but that every tliread Has at the end a knot? AN OLD SERMON WITH A NEW TEXT. l^^ For circumstance is God's great web — He gives it free of cost ; But men must help to make it clothes To shield their hearts from frost : Shall we, because the thread holds fast, Think all our labour lost ? If he should cut away the knot, And yield each fancy wild. The hidden life within our hearts — His life, the undefiled — Would fare as ill as I should fare From the needle of nly child. For as the cordage to the sail, As to my verse the rhyme. As mountains to the low green earth. So fair, so hard to climb, As call of striking clock, amid The quiet flow of time. As blows from sculptor's mallet on The marble's dawning face. 178 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. Such are God's Yea and Nay unto The spirit's growing grace ; So work his making hands with what Does and does not take place. We know no more the things we need Than child to choose his food ; We know not what we shall be yet, So we know not present good ; For God's ideal who but God Hath ever understood ! This is my sermon. It is preached Against all useless strife. Strive not with anything that is — To cut it with thy knife. Ah ! be not angry with the knot That holdeth fast thy hfe. THE WAKEFUL SLEEPER. "\ ^fHEN things are holding wonted pace In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder ; Sometimes, from other realms a tone, A thought, a vision, swift, alone, Breaks common life asunder. So it fell out one music night, Where men and women, cheerful, bright. Wafted away their leisure ; For midst the city's noisy care. The silent ear will claim its share Of self-consuming pleasure. They listen, listen, all around. As, gush on gush, the bubbling sound l8o ROAD-SIDE POEMS. Breaks now like spring o'erflowing, Now ebbing wavers — on its streams Floating its waifs of rainbow dreams, Still coming and still going. When — silent as a tone itself Before the finger frees the elf Bee-like, with honey laden — The door comes open, just ajar — A little further — ^just as far As shows a tiny maiden. Softly she comes, her wee pink toes Daintily peeping, as she goes. Her long nightgown from under. With countless change of mien and look. All gazed. She glided through, nor took Least notice of their wonder. They made a path and she went through : She had her little stool in view. Close by the chimney-corner. She turned — sat down before them all, Stately as princess at a ball. And silent as a mourner. THE WAKEFUL SLEEPER. But when she turned her face anew, They saw what had escaped their view, As past them she came creeping : 'Twas this — that though the child could walk, And on her sweet lips hovered talk, Not less the child was sleeping. Play on, the mother whispered, play ; When she has enough, she '11 go away, They played and she sat listening. Over her face the melody Floated hke low winds o'er the sea ; Her cheeks like eyes were glistening. Her clasped hands her bent knees hold. Like long grass drooping on the wold, Her sightless head is sleeping. She sits all ears, drinking her fill. Beneath her long white garment still Her rosy toes outpeeping. , Ah ! little maiden, listen so. Who knows what into thee will go — l82 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. What strength for future sorrow? What hope to help thee in the day When earnest creeps into thy play — For thou wilt wake one morrow ? But little as thou then wilt know Whence comes the joy that meets the woe — Of what thou art partaker ; As little know we what, when sleep Is bathing us in stillness deep, Comes to us from the Maker. Wake, or sleep on, and sleeping go. If thou shouldst wake, thou wouldst but know What sets thy heart a glowing ; But we, when we awake at last. Shall hear old songs we mourned as past. Find past in present flowing. A DREAM OF WAKING. A CHILD was born of sin and shame, Wronged by his very birth, . Without a home, without a name, A stranger in the earth. A servant's child, all undesired, Ungreeted he appears ; His cry no wife's proud joy inspired. Allayed no husband's fears. Heaven's beggar, all but turned adrift For knocking at eartli's gate, His mother from the unsought gift Recoiled almost with hate. 184 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. And now the mistress on her knee The unloved baby bore, The while the servant sullenly Prepared to leave her door. Her eggs are dear to mother-dove, Her chickens to the hen ; All young ones bring with them their love. Of sheep, or goats, or men : Shall this one child from heaven have come For love in vain to seek ? Let mother's hardened heart be dumb, A sister-babe will speak. God's child shall not have only shame ; Sooner the stones shall rise : Asserter of Love's mighty claim. The mistress' daughter cries : " Mamma keep baby, keep him so. Don't let him go away.'' " But, darling, if his mother go. The baby cannot stay." A DREAM OF WAKING. 185 " The baby 's crying — hear him cry ! He 's thirsty, I do think. I cannot bear it. Let me try If I can make him drink. " O baby ! baby ! Mamma, do Let the poor baby stay. He '11 cry all day to come to you,; Don't let him go away, " For Jane will hurt him. Mamma will Let the poor baby stay?" The mother's heart grew sore ; but still Baby must go away. The red lip trembled ; the slow tears Came darkening in her eyes — Dim agony of griefs and fears That had no voice for cries. At length as if on Chebar's tide, The dawn began to break ; Child-prophetess, aloud she cried : " Mamma ! when shall we wake ? " l86 ROAD-SIDE POEMS. O happy ignorance, to think That grief can only seem ! — When torture swells above the brink, It can be but a dream ! Nay — happy wisdom ! Darling, keep Such ignorance all thy life ; For we are dreaming, fast asleep. This dream of ache and strife. But when above God's eastern hill. His morn our dream shall quell, With waking tears our eyes will fill, To know that all is well. Lord of our dreams ! rule thou the night ; Hold fast our sleeping soul : Thou sittest in the high daylight — Around us shadows roll. One day in thy light, light we see, But now in dreams we quake, And hft the child's cry unto thee — " Father ! when shall we wake ?" ORGAN SONGS. A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS. T\/TAR Yfor water Jesus sent, From where by Joseph's bench he stood. With pitcher in his hand he went, And drew the water very good. Then home upon his head he bore The pitcher, to the brim -apfiUed ; But ere he reached the cottage-door, The pitcher broke, the water spilled. His cloak upon the ground he laid. And in it gathered up the pool; Obedient there the water stayed. And home he bore it sweet and cool. 190 ORGAN SONGS. Eligius said : " It is not good : The hands that all the world control, Had there been room for wonders, would Have made his mother's pitcher whole. " But even an ancient fable, told In love of thee, the Truth indeed, Like broken pitcher, yet may hold Some water for a loving need. " Thy living water I have spilt. I thought to bear the pitcher high ; I stumbled on the stones of guilt, And there the scattered potsherds he ! " Christ, gather ,up my life's poor hoard — It sinks and sobs into the ground ; Bear in thy woven garments. Lord, The water in thy well I found. " Brother, to help thy brothers come, Leave me not lost in bootless care : What will they do I left at home. When I can neither draw nor bear ? A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS. igi " What will He say whose love will drink Of any cup that love hath filled, If I sit here on Sychar's brink, My pitcher broke, thy water spilled ? " Lift, Lord, and bear my life, thy gift, Too easy to be lost for me ; And I the cross will try to lift And bear ail-humbly after thee." HYMN FOR A SICK GIRL. "CATHER, in the dark I lay, Nor my soul had light ; Helpless, but for hope alway In thy father-might. Now 'tis morn. I see the sun, And I live again. All the darkness now is gone ; Gone is all my pain. So to life one morn I start, Fresh, and strong, and brave ; All the sad death-fearing part Ready for the grave. HYMN FOR A SICK GIRL. I93 For this form shall one day lie Underneath the ground ; But awake, not sleeping, I Shall in him be found. But some shadows yet within This glad soul of mine, Tell me yet that death and sin Strive with life divine. Father, help thy little child ; Be thou strong for me ; Till the sinful undefiled Shall arise in thee. A CHRISTMAS CAROL FOR 1862, THE YEAR OF THE TROUBLE IN LANCASHIRE. 'T^HE skies are pale, the trees are stiff, The earth is dull and old ; The frost is glittering as if The very sun were cold. And hunger fell is joined with frost. To make men thin and wan : Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost ; Be born, O child of man. The children cry, the women shake, The strong men stare about ; They sleep when they would keep awake. They wake ere night is out. A CHRISTMAS CAROL FOR 1862. I95 For they have lost their heritage — No sweat is on their brow : Come, babe, and bring them work and wage ; Be born, and save us now. Across the sea, beyond our sight. Roars on the fierce debate ; The men go down in bloody fight. The women weep and hate. And in the right be which that may, Surely the strife is long : Come, son of man, thy righteous way, And right will have no wrong. Good men speak lies against thine own- Tongue quick, and hearing slow ; They will not let thee walk alone. And think to serve thee so : If they the children's freedom saw. In thee, the children's king. They would be still with holy awe. Or only speak to sing. 196 ORGAN SONGS. Some neither lie nor starve nor fight, Nor yet the poof deny ; But in their hearts all is not right, — They often sit and sigh. We need thee every day and hour, In sunshine and in snow : Child king, we pray with all our power- Be bom, and save us so. We are but men and women. Lord ; Thou art a gracious child ; O fill our hearts, and heap our board. Of grace, this winter wild. And though the trees be sad and bare. Hunger and hate about, Come, child, and ill deeds and ill fare Will soon be driven out. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. "D ABE Jesus lay on Mary's lap ; The sun shone in his hair ; And this was how she saw, mayhap, The crown already there. For she sang : " Sleep on, my little king ! Bad Herod dares not come ; Before thee sleeping, holy thing, The wild winds would be dumb. " I kiss thy hands, I kiss thy feet. My king, so long desired ; Thy hands shall never be soiled, my sweet, Thy feet shall never be tired. igS ORGAN SONGS. " For thou art the king of men, my son ; Thy crown I see it plain ; And men shall worship thee, every one, And cry, Glory ! Amen." Babe Jesus opened his eyes so wide ! At Mary looked her Lord. And Mary stinted her song and sighed. Babe Jesus said never a word. THE SLEEPLESS JESUS. "T'lS time to sleep, my little boy ; Why gaze thy bright eyes so ? At night, earth's children for new joy Home to thy father go, But thou are wakeful. Sleep, my child ; The moon and stars are gone ; The wind is up and raving wild ; But thou art smiling on. My child, thou hast immortal eyes That see by their own light ; They see the children's blood — it lies Red-glowing through the night. ORGAN SONGS. As if for refuge, to thine ear Cry after cry doth run ; Thou seemest not to see or hear, But only smilest on. When first thou earnest to the earth, All sounds of strife were still ; A silence lay about thy birth. And thou didst sleep thy fill. Thou wakest now, and weepest not ! Thy earth is woe-begone ; Both babes and mothers wail their lot, But still thou smilest on. I read thine eyes like holy book ; No grief is pictured there ; Upon thy face I see the look Of one who answers prayer. Thine eyes they see, beyond this wild, The will of God well done ; Men's songs are in thihe ears, my child, And so thou smilest on. THE SLEEPLESS JESUS. They say : " I will arise and go." God says : " I will go meet." Thou seest them gather, weeping low, About the Father's feet. And for their brothers men must bear. Till all are homeward gone. Answered, O eyes, ye see all prayer. Smile, Son of God, smile on. THE CHILDREN'S HEAVEN. 'X'HE infant lies in blessed ease Upon his mother's breast ; No storm, no dark, the baby sees Grow in his heaven of rest. His moon and stars, his mother's eyes ; His air his mother's breath ; His earth her lap — and there he lies, Fearless of growth and death. And yet the winds that wander there Are full of sighs and fears ; The dew slow falling through that air — It is the dew of tears. THE children's HEAVEN. 203 Her smile would win no smile again, If baby saw the things That rise and ache across her brain, The while she sweetly sings. Alas ! my child, thy heavenly home Hath sorrows not a few ; Lo ! clouds and vapours build its dome. Instead of starry blue. Thy faith in us is faith in vain — We are not what we seem. O dreary day, O cruel pain. That wakes thee from thy dream ! Dream on, my babe, and have no care ; Half-knowledge brings the grief: Thou art as safe as if we were As good as thy belief. There is a better heaven than this Whereon thou gazest now ; A truer love than in that kiss ; A peace beyond that brow. 204 ORGAN SONGS. We all are babes upon his breast Who is our Father dear ; No storm invades that heaven of rest, No dark, no doubt, no fear. Its mists are clouds of stars, inwove In motions without strife ; Its winds, the goings of his love ;■ Its dew, the dew of life. We lift our hearts unto Thy heart. Our eyes unto thine eye. In whose great light the clouds depart From off our children's sky. Thou lovest — and our babes are blest, Poor though our love may be ; Thou in thyself art all at rest. And we and they in thee. REJOICE. " 'DEJOICE," said the Sun; "I will make thee gay With glory and gladness and holiday ; I am dumb, O man, and I need thy voice." But man would not rejoice. " Rejoice in thyself," said he, "O Sun, For thou thy daily course dost run. In thy lofty place, rejoice if thou can : For me, I am only a man." " Rejoice," said the Wind; "I am free and strong ; I will wake in thy heart an ancient song. In the bowing woods, hear my singing voice !" But man would not rejoice. 206 ORGAN SONGS. " Rejoice, O Wind, in thy strength," said he, " For thou fulfillest thy destiny ; Shake the trees, and the faint flowers fan : For me, I am only a man." " I am here," said the Night, " with moon and star ; The Sun and the Wind are gone afar ; I am here with rest and dreams of choice." But man would not rejoice. For he said — " What is rest to me, I pray. Whose labour brings no gladsome day ? He only should dream who has hope behind. Alas for me and my kind !" Then a voice that came not from moon or star, From the sun, or the wind roving afar, Said, " Man, I am with thee — therefore rejoice." I And man said, " I rejoice." THE GRACE OF GRACE. "LT AD I the grace to win the grace Of ancient man in lore complete, My face would worship at his face, I sitting lowly at his feet. Had I the grace to win the grace Of childhood, loving shy, apart, The child should find a nearer place. And teach me resting on my heart. Had I the grace to win the grace Of maiden living all above, My soul would trample down the base, That she might have a man to love. 2o8 ORGAN SONGS. A grace I had no grace to win Knocks now at my half-open door : Ah ! Lord of glory, come thou in; — Thy grace divine is all, and more ! ANTIPHONY. ■n\AYLIGHT fades away. Is the Lord at hand, In the shadows gray Steahng on the land ? Gently from the east Come the shadows gray ; But our lowly priest Nearer is than they. It is darkness quite. Is the Lord at hand, In the cloak of night Stolen upon the land ? ORGAN SONGS. But I know not night, For my Lord is here ; With him dark is light, With him far is near. List ! the cock's awake. Is the Lord at hand ? Cometh he to make Light in all, the land? He hath come to make Morning in my heart ; Now I am awake ; Shadowy things depart. Lo, the dawning hill ! Is the Lord at hand, Come to scatter ill, Ruling in the land ? He hath scattered ill. Ruling in my mind. Growing to his will. Freedom comes, I find. ANTIPHONY. We will watch all day, Lest the Lord should come ; All night waking stay, In the darkness dumb. I will work all day, For the Lord hath come ; Down my head will lay. All night glad and dumb. For we know not when Christ may be at hand ; But we know that then Joy is in the land. For I know that where Christ hath come again, Quietness without care Dwelleth in his men. DORCAS. /^NE day a woman, gently bowed, As with his easy yoke, Stood on the borders of the crowd Listening as Jesus spoke. She saw the garment knit throughout ; Forgot the words he spake ; Thought only " Happy hands that wrought The honoured robe to make ! " Her eyes with longing tears grew dim : She never can come nigh To do one service poor for him For whom she glad would die. DORCAS, 213 Across the crowd, borne on the breeze, Comes — " Inasmuch as ye Did it unto the least of these, Ye did it unto me." Home, home she went, and plied the loom, And God's dear poor arrayed. She died — they wept about the room, And showed the coats she made. MARRIAGE SONG. • T^HEY have no more wine," she said. But they had enough of bread ; And the vessels by the door Held for thirst a plenteous store : Yes, enough; but Love divine Turned the water into wine. When should wine not water flow. But when home the heart doth go ? When in holy bondage bound. Soul in soul hath freedom found ? Meetly then, a sacred sign, Turns the water into wine. MARRIAGE SONG. 215 Good is all the feasting then ; Good the merry words of men ; Good the laughter and the smiles ; Good the wine that grief beguiles ; — Crowning good, the Word divine Turning water into wine. May the Master with you dwell ; Daily work this miracle ; In the things that common grow Waken up the heavenly show ; Ever at your table dine, Turning water into wine. Then at last you shall descry All the patterns of the sky : Earth a heaven of short abode ; Houses temples unto God ; Waterpots, to vision fine, Brimming full of heavenly wine. BLIND BARTIMEUS. AS Jesus went into Jericho town, 'Twas darkness all from toe to crown, About blind Bartimeus. He said, " Our eyes are more than dim. And so, of course, we don't see him, But David's son can see us. " Cry out, cry out, blind brother — cry ; Let not salvation dear go by. Have mercy. Son of David." Though they were blind, they both could hear- They heard, and cried, and he drew near ; And so the blind were saved. BLIND BARTIMEUS. 217 Jesus Christ, I am deaf and blind; Nothing comes through into my mind ; I only am not dumb : Although I see thee not, nor hear, 1 cry because thou may'st be near : O son of Mary, come. I feel a finger on mine ear ; A voice comes through the deafness drear : " Be opened, senses dim ! " A hand is laid upon mine eyes ; I hear, and hearken, see, and rise — 'Tis He : I follow him. COME UNTO ME. r^OME unto me, the Master says. But how ? I am not good ; No thankful song my heart will raise, Nor even wish it could. I am not sorry for the past, Nor able not to sin ; The weary strife would ever last If once I should begin. Hast thou no burden then to bear? No action to repent ? Is all around so very fair? Is thy heart quite content ? COME UNTO ME. 219 Hast thou no sickness in thy soul ? No labour to endure ? Then go in peace, for thou art whole ; Thou needest not his cure. Ah ! mock me not. Sometimes I sigh ; I have a nameless grief, A faint sad pain — but such that I Can look for no relief. Come, come to him who made thy heart ; Come weary and oppressed ; To come to Jesus is thy part. His part to give thee rest. New grief, new hope he will bestow, Thy grief and pain to quell ; Into thy heart himself will go. And that will make thee well. BLESSED ARE THE POOR IN SPIRIT: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. /^UR FaT;her, hear our longing prayer, And help this prayer to flow, That humble thoughts, which are thy care, May live in us and grow. For lowly hearts shall understand The peace, the calm delight Of dwelling in thy heavenly land, A pleasure in -thy sight Give us humility, that so Thy reign may come within, And when thy children homeward go. We too may enter in. BLESSED ARE THE POOR IN SPIRIT. 221 Hear us, our Saviour : ours thou art, Though we are not like thee ; Give us thy spirit in our heart, Large, lowly, trusting, free. BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN : for they shall be comforted, C PEAK to our hearts, O Father ! Say What we have been to thee ; How we have wandered far away, And hardly turned to see. Then Hfted hands will hide the face ; Then tears our grief will prove That such hath been the Father's grace. And such the children's love. Then shall our spirits hold at once A comfort and a pain ; For we shall know thy wandering sons Are turning home again. BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN. 223 With such glad grief, such tearful joy, Be our repentance blest ; Thy comfort then, without alloy, Shall give us heavenly rest. BLESSED ARE THE MEEK: for they shall inherit the earth. f~\ SON of man — name of thy choice, Our brother-Lord, our life, The story says thy noble voice Was never heard in strife. Loving always, asleep, awake. Talking, or drinking wine — Even uttering woe, thy love would make The sons of God divine. Without a place to lay thy head. That head yet wore earth's crown ; At thy command diseases fled. The winds, and waves lay down. BLESSED ARE THE MEEK. 225 In all things like thy brethren made, Grant, king of kings, that we, In humble royalty arrayed, Possess the earth like thee. BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HUNGER and thirst after righteousness : for they shall be filled. TF we were longing for the bread That Cometh down from heaven ; If for the water that he said To thirsty souls is given ; Then boldly should we'come to thee, And plead for that we want ; For in our souls desire would be An earnest of the grant. But when thy sun shines from the skies, . Earth smiles back to her lord : In upward looks our hopes arise, Responsive to thy word. BLESSED ARE THEY THAT HUNGER. 327 Our souls, dry empty vessels set Thy rain to hold and lend, Lie open to thy heaven, O let The righteousness descend. BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL: for they shall obtain mercy. TT was an awful hour that gave Thee, Lord, the strength to win Unholy men up from the grave Of darkness and of sin. And is this all thou dost require For thy forgiveness now — That we to loftier bliss aspire By doing even as thou ? Thou risest on our darksome earth, Radiant of human light, That men may see, recall their birth. And claim its lofty right ; BLESSED ARE THE MERCIFUL. 329 The right to pardon and to bless, By service high to rule ; Upheld with wealth of tenderness From God the pitiful. BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART : for they shall see God, "PATHER, our bosoms, dark and drear, Are in such evil case With hate, ambition, care, and fear, We cannot see thy face. Cast out our Legion ; cleanse thy room. But not to leave it Ibare ; Let Christ into his temple come, And devils will not dare. His light will cleanse the eyes to see, Open the ears to hear ; And so the house prepared for thee, Thy vision will draw near. BLESSED ARE THE PURE IN HEART. 231 Thy glory shall free entrance win, When thou com'st to thy place ; And full of holy eyes within We shall behold thy face. MORNING HYMN. Tj^ATHER in heaven, I praise thy name With sounding words of song ; With gladsome words aloud proclaim That I to thee belong. I see thy light, I feel thy wind ; The world is all a sign ; Each thing that wakes my heart and mind, My life and hope, is thine. The living soul which I call me Doth love and seek and know ; It is an utterance of thee, Hidden in whom I grow. MORNING HYMN. 233 Therefore I choose my highest part, And turn my face to thee ; Therefore I stir my inmost heart To worship fervently. Lord, let me live and act this day, Still rising from the dead ; Lord, make my spirit good and gay — Give me my daily bread. Within my heart, speak. Lord, speak on, My heart alive to keep, Till the night comes, and, labour done, In thee I fall asleep. EVENING HYMN. (~\ GOD, whose daylight leadeth down Into the sunless way, Who with thy sweet repose dost crown The labour of the day ! Take it, O Lord, and make it clean With thy forgiveness dear j That so the thing that might have been. To-morrow may appear. And when my thought is all astray, Yet think thou on in me ; That with the new unsullied day My soul wake fresh and free. EVENING HVMN. 235 And when tliou givest dreams to men, Give dreams, O Lord, to me ; That even in visions of the brain, I wander towards thee. THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS. T LOVE thy skies and sunny mists, Thy fields, thy mountains hoar, Thy wind that bloweth where it lists — Thy will, I love it more. I love thy hidden truth to seek All round, in sea, on shore ; The arts whereby like gods we speak — Thy will to me is more. I love thy men and women. Lord, The children round thy door ; Calm thoughts that inward strength afford- Thy will, O Lord, is more. THE BEAUTY OF HOLINESS. 237 But when thy will my life doth hold, Thine to the very core, The world, which that same will did mould, I shall love ten times more. VIOLIN SONGS. THE THANKLESS LADY. T T is May, and the moon leans down all night Over a blossomy land. By her window sits the lady white, AVith her chin upon her hand, ■' O sing to me, dear nightingale, The song of a year ago ; I have had enough of longing and wail, Enough of heart-break and woe. ' O glimmer on me, my apple tree. Like the birthplace of the snow ; Let odour and moonlight and melody In one old harmony flow." 242 VIOLIN SONGS. The dull odour swims ; the cold blossoms gleam ; And the bird will not be glad. The dead never speak when the living dream — They are too weak and sad. She listened and sate till night grew late, Bound by a weary spell. Then a face came in at the garden-gate, And a wondrous thing befell. Up rose the joy as well as the love. In the song, in the scent, in the show ! The moon grew glad in the sky above. The blossom grew rosy below. May passed into June in the scent and the tune ; They filled the veins of night ; But they had no thanks for the granted boon, For the lady forgot them quite. THE SEA-SHELL. " T ISTEN, darling, and tell to me What the murmurer says to thee, Murmuring 'twixt a song and a moan, Changing neither tune nor tone.'' " Yes, I hear it — far and faint. Like thin-drawn prayer of drowsy saint ; Like the falling of sleep on a weary brain. When the fevered heart is quiet again." " By smiling lip and fixed eye, You are hearing more than song or sigh : The wrinkled thing has curious ways — I want to know what words it says." 244 VIOLIN SONGS. " I hear a wind on a boatless main Sigh like the last of a vanishing pain ; On the dreaming waters dreams the moon, But I hear no words in their murmured tune." " If it does not say that I love thee well, 'Tis a senseless, ill-curved, worn-out shell. If it is not ■of love, why sigh or sing ? 'Tis a common, mechanical, useless thing." " It whispers of love — 'tis a prophet-shell — Of a peace that comes and all shall be well ; It speaks not a word of your love to me. But it tells me to love you eternally." AUTUMN SONG. A UTUMN clouds are flying, flying, O'er the waste of blue ; - Summer flowers are dying, dying, Late so lovely new. Labouring wains are slowly rolling Home with winter grain ; Holy bells are slowly tolling Over buried men. Goldener light sets noon a sleeping Like an afternoon ; Colder airs come stealing, creeping After sun and moon ; 246 VIOLIN SONGS. And the leaves, all tired of blowing Cloud-like o'er the sun, Change to sunset-colours, knowing That their day is done. Autumn's sun is sinking, sinking Into winter's night ; And our hearts are thinking, thinking Of the cold and blight : Our life's sun is slowly going Down the hill of might ; And no cloud shines rosy-glowing On the slope of night ? But the vanished corn is lying In rich golden glooms. In the churchyard, all the sighing Is above the tombs. Spring will come, slow lingering, Opening buds of faith : Man goes forth to meet his Spring Through the door of death. Welcome then, with love more lowly. Evening lines of gx-ay ; AUTUMN SONG. 247 Welcome footfalls moving slowly Towards the coming day. And if thought back-looking lingers On youth's withering, 'Tis to mark that Autumn's fingers Paint in hues of Spring. AN AUTUMN WIND. '"PHE autumn winds are sighing Over land and sea ; The autumn woods are dying Over hill and lea ; And my he^t is sighing, dying, Maiden,' for thee. The autumn clouds are flying Homeless over me ; The homeless birds are crying In the naked tree ; And my heart is flying, crying, Maiden, to thee. AN AUTUMN WIND. 249 My cries may turn to gladness, And my flying flee ; My sighs may lose the sadness, Yet sigh on in me : All my sadness, all my gladness, Maiden, lost in thee. DAYS OF OLD. "QAYS of old, Ye are not dead, though gone from me ; Ye are not cold. But like the summer-birds gone o'er the sea. The sun brings back the swallows fast. O'er the sea : When thou comest at the last, The days of old come back to me. THE WATERS ARE RISING AND FLOWING. '"PHE waters are rising and flowing Over the weedy stone — Over it, over it going : It is never gone. So joy after joy may go sweeping Over the ancient pain : Drowned in waves and waves of weeping — It will rise again. A SONG OF THE SEA. 'X'HERE is a plough that hath no share, But a coulter that parteth keen and fair. The furrows rise To a terrible size, Or ever the plough hath touched them there. 'Gainst horses and plough in .wrath they shake : The horses are fierce ; but the plough will break. And the seed that is' dropt in those furrows of fear, Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear. Down it drops plumb. Where no spring-times come ; Nor needeth it any harrowing gear : Wheat nor poppy nor any leaf Will cover this naked ground of grief. A SONG OF THE SEA. 2S3 But a harvest-day will come at last, When the watery winter all is past ; The furrows so gray Shall be shorn away By the angels' sickles keen and fast ; And the buried harvest of the sea Stored in the barns of eternity. FOR CHILDREN. WHAT MAKES SUMMER? A child's question. A ^7 INTER froze the brook and well; Fast and fast the snow-flakes fell ; Children gather'd roupd the hearth, Made a summer of their mirth ; When a child — so lately come That a month was one great sum Of days and nights, of rides and rambles, Of sleeping dreams and waking gambols — Said aloud, " I wish I knew What makes summer — that I do." And the answer to his question. Pretty good, was not the best one. 258 FOR CHILDREN. 'Tis the sun that rises early, Shining, shining all day rarely ; Drawing up the larks to meet him, Earth's bird-angels, wild to greet him ; Drawing up the clouds, to pour Down again a shining shower ; Drawing out the flowers to stare At their father in the air ; He all light, they how much duller ' Yet little suns of every colour ; Drawing out the grass and clover — Blossoms breaking out all over ; Drawing out the flying things — Out of eggs, fast-flapping wings ; Out of lumps like frozen snails. Butterflies with splendid sails ; Beetles with their burriish'd backs. Living gold in earthy cracks ; Drawing out upon the trees Clothes of green of all degrees ; Drawing sparkles out of water, Dancing, glancing, as he taught her ; Drawing children out of doors, On two legs, or on all fours ; WHAT MAKES SUMMER? 259 Drawing out of gloom and sadness, Hope and blessing, peace and gladness ; Sending winds to every nook, To see that nothing is forsook ; Making man's heart sing and shine In his brilliancy divine. Then so slowly, down the west. Lingering, he goes to rest ! Like a child so blissful yet, So unwilling to forget. That though sleepy, heels and head, He thinks he cannot go to bed ; And when he is down the hill He is looking backward still, And his glory with the night Makes the lovely gray twilight ; Drawing out the downy owl. With his musical bird-howl ; Drawing out the leathery bats- Mice they are, turn'd airy cats — Noiseless, sly, and slippery things. Swimming through the air on wings ; Drawing out the feathery moth. 26o FOR CHILDREN. Lazy, sleepy, very loath, Hardly knowing where she flits, Sleeping instant when she sits ; Drawing light from glowworms' tails. Glimmering green in grassy dales. Then the moon comes up the hill, Wide awake, but dreaming still ; Soft and slow, as if in fear. Lest her path should not be clear. Like a lady she doth rise. Making moons in all our eyes ; Till at length, weary with pleasure, Every eye shuts up its treasure ; All the children He like dead. Sleeping in God's summer-bed ; And the now triumphant moon. High as is the sun at noon. Draws out dreams, all sweet and wild. From sleeping father, mother, child ; And the stars, and bats, and things, With sparkles, feathers, hooks, and wings. Peeping from their heavenly holes, Or creeping out of cracks and boles. WHAT MAKES SUMMER? 261 Sparkle, peep, and watch, and play — Have it all their funny way ; Night into a dream they make, Full of creatures wide awake : What a strange delight is out. When nothing human is about ! 'Tis the sun that does it all ; 'Tis his warmth when night-shades fall ; 'Tis his radiance backward strewn From the mirror of the moon ; Everywhere it is his power Maketli summer every hour. But when the nightingale is there, He puts it all, so queer and fair, In a never-ending song. Which he sings the whole night long. When I heard him last, he sang Till the woody echoes rang ; This is what he sung and spoke : — This is for us older folk ; Not for you, you little starers. Not for you, for-nothing-carers ; 262 FOR CHILDREN. Go to sleep, you darlings, go ; Dream of roses till they blow ; You may ride the nightmare's crupper, With such poetry for supper. — Here 's the song the creatures heard From the little, mighty bird : " Beautiful mother is busy all day — So busy she neither can Sing nor say ; But lovely things, with a music-flow, Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go ; , - Thought and sight, and sound and scent. In a dream of royal, full content. "But when night is' come, and her children asleep. Beautiful mother her watch doth keep ; Then with glowing stars in her dusky hair, Down she sits to her music rare ; And her instrument that never fails. Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales." THE MISTLETOE. T^ ISS me, kiss me, little Neddy. Ah ! you see her, staring steady, For your eyes there 's not a wonder Can escape, above or under. You have caught the pretty creature Sitting on her nest A neater Never bird built on this planet ; Never was a sweeter than it ; Never brood was such as this is : That 's the nest of all the kisses. That 's the Kissing-bird that 's sitting Christmas through, and never flitting ; Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching — Sweetest birdies, for the catching. 264 FOR CHILDREN. There ! that 's one I caught this minute. Musical as any Unnet. Where it is, your big eyes ask me ? That 's a question will not task me. There it is — upon mouth merry ; There it is — ^upon cheek cherry ; There 's another on chin-chinnie ; Now it is away to Minnie ; There 's another on nose-nosey ; There 's another on lip-rosy ; And the Kissing-bird is hatching Hundreds more for only catching. Why the mistletoe she chooses. And the Christmas-tree refuses ? Minnie, you think that 's a puzzle ? I your little mouth will muzzle With another question, able Quite to quench the unreasonable. Tell me, then, you sly young monkey. Or be witched into a donkey. Why the wren should choose an apple ; Or the rook with beadles grapple. Building in a windy steeple. Far above the solemn people ; THE MISTLETOE. 265 Or the limping, cheating plover Not upon an elm-tree hover, But prefer in fields to grubble With the partridge — which the stubble Will betray, with ruined fancies, To a thousand sad mischances. — Tell me this, and I will tell you Why this birdie, soft and mellow. In the mistletoe aye buildeth. Though the shade be small it peldeth. No, you cannot. I don't doubt it. Then I '11 tell you all about it. You may take it, or may leave it, Scorn my reason, or receive it. 'Tis because the mistletoe will Never yet consent to grow well But upon some tree-stem planted — And for kissing two are wanted. Therefore 'tis the Kissing-birdie Chooses not the oak-tree sturdie, But the plant that grows upon it — • Like the wreath on my new bonnet. But, my blessed little mannie. All the birdies are not cannie 266 FOR CHILDREN. That the Kissing-birdie hatches. Some are worthless little wretches — Have no life in them to speak of, And are dead your very cheek off May such kisses never touch you, For they only smear and smutch you ! — It depends what kind of net you Set to catch one. It will fret you If you catch a winged mole, or Any other flying crawler : You won't like it, little Neddy ; Therefore, sir, be wise and steady. Kisses vain and kisses greedy. Kisses careless, kisses needy. Are as poor and mean and empty As your favourite Humpty Dumpty After his tremendous tumble. Shedding brains it could not jumble. — Be you worthy of such kisses As the true heart never misses ; And of birds not one or other Kiss you worse than your own mother ! WILD FLOWERS. "DOUNTIFUL Primroses, With outspread heart that needs the rough leaves' care, As in his mother's lap a little child Courts shelter shy from his own open air ! Hang-head Bluebell, Bending like Moses' sister over Moses, Pull of a secret that thou dar'st not tell ! Fluttering wild Anemone, so well Named of the wind, to which thou art all free. Yielding so helpless-wilfuUy, With Take me or leave me. Sweet wind, T am thine own Anemone ! Thirsty forest Arum, ever dreaming Of lakes in sunny deserts gleaming ! 268 FOR CHILDREN. Fire-hearted Pimpernel, Communing with some hidden well, And secrets with th'e sun-god holding; At fixed hour folding and unfolding ! How feel you, earthly children all. When human children on you fall. Gather you in eager haste, Forget your beauty in their waste, Fill and fill their full-filled hands ? Goeth a tearing through your breast, A fainting, melting' of your bands ? Do you know When the spoilers near you come By a shuddering in your gloom ? For blind and deaf we think you are, Hearing, seeing, near nor far. Is it so ? Is it only ye are dumb ? You alive at least I think, Trembling almost on the brink Of our awful consciousness : If it be so. Comfort you can take from this, For the breaking of your rest. WILD FLOWERS. 269 For the tearing in your breast : That the children's wonder-springs Bubble high at sight of you, Lovely, lowly, common things ! They believe although they see, When ye float into their view, Stems and spring-buds glimmering through ; That ye, brave things, creeping out, , Smile into our manhood's doubt ; Teach us hope though age is nigh. Thus ye die not, though ye die ; Thus ye yield your being up, Like a nectar-holding cup : Deaf, ye give to them that hear. With a greatness lovely-dear ; Blind, ye give to them that see. Poor, but bounteous royally. Lowly servants to the higher. Burning upwards in the fire Of Nature's endless sacrifice, Thus in Nature's life ye rise, Leave the earth and self behind, And pass into the human mind. WHAT THE OWL KNOWS. ■jVrOBODY knows the world but me. When they 're all in bed, I sit up to see. I 'm a better student than students all, For I never read till the darkness fall ; And I never read without my glasses, And that is how my wisdom passes. I can see the wind. Now who can do that ? I see the dreams that he has in his hat ; I see him snorting them out as he goes — Out at his stupid old trumpet-nose. Ten thousand things that you couldn't think, I write them down with pen and ink. WHAT THE OWL KNOWS. 2fl You may call it learning — I call it wit. Who else can watch the lady-moon sit Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl, On her nest, the sea, all night, but the owl ? When the oysters gape to sing by rote. She crams a pearl down each stupid throat. So you see I know — you may pull of your hat. Whether round and lofty, or square and flat. You can never do better than trust to me ; You may shut your eyes so long as I see. While you live I will lead you, and then — I 'm the owl — I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl. WHAT THE BIRDS SAID AND WHAT THE BIRDS SUNG. " T WILL sing a song. I 'm the owl." " Sing a song, you sing-song Ugly fowl ! What will you sing about, Night in and day out?" " Sing about the night : I 'm the owl." " You could not see for the light, Stupid fowl !" " Oh ! the moon ! and the dew ! And the shadows ! — tu-whoo !" WHAT THE BIRDS SAID. 373 " I will sing a song. I 'm the nightingale." " Sing a song, long, long, Little Neverfail ! What will you sing about, Day in or day out?" " Sing about the light Gone away ; Down, away, and out of sight — Poor lost day ! Mourning for the day dead, O'er his dim bed." " I will sing a song, I 'm the lark." " Sing, sing. Throat -strong. Little Kill-the-dark ! What will you sing about. Now the night is out ?" 174 ^O^ CHILDREN. " I can only call ; I can't think. Let me up — that 's all. Let me drink ! Thirsting all the long night For a drink of light." BALLADS. THE UNSEEN MODEL T^ORTH to his study the sculptor goes In a mood of lofty mirth. " Now shall the tongues of carping foes Confess what my art is worth. In the womb of my brain one night she grows- One more shall see her birth." He stood like a god. With creating hand, He struck the formless clay : " Psyche, arise," he said, " and stand In beauty confronting the day. I cannot find thee in any land— I will make thee. And so I say." 278 BALLADS. The sun was low in the eastern skies, And the day was in its youth, When the sculptor said, " I will arise " ; And he makes his " woman in sooth," Till the shadows gather as daylight dies. Like questions around the truth. But the sculptor said " My lamp burns bright. I will work on,'' said he, " In spite of the darkness. The very night Shall hurry and hide and flee From the glow of my lamp, and the making might That shineth out of me.'' The sculptor modelled, the sculptor made. But neither line nor limb Either obeyed or disobeyed — Not yielding all to him. He knew it not, yet he grew afraid : " Night-work in clay is grim. " 'Tis the lamp," he said. " It will not burn right. But the morning comes amain." He had wrought and modelled the livelong night, THE UNSEEN MODEL. 279 At the Psyche of his brain, When, Hfting his eyes, he saw the light Looking in at his window-pane. The lamp went out. The gray light spread Through films of window-dew. Melted the shadows ; stared the casts dead; Glimmered each marble blue. The sculptor dropped his arms, and said, " Now I shall have a view." Backward he stepped. A dumb dismay Turned his face to a mask of fear. There she stands — no ideal in clay ! No Psyche from upper sphere ! But the form of a maiden dead — away — Forgotten for one long year. Her soul to his he had witched and wiled, And gently she drew to his side. He wearied and went. The maiden smiled. And with dying autumn she died. Now risen, she stands the sculptor's child. No more to be denied. 28o BALLADS. His Pride on Art's throne would have leapt — Love is henceforth his doom. Psyche awoke her; forth she crept; He made her in the gloom. Henceforth she stands where once she slept, In his bosom's secret room. For his soul shall haunt her form with sighs ; And his heart shall pine and rue ; And still in his study, where shapes arise, Each marble they carve and hew Shall have this maiden's mournful eyes. And her shape shall glimmer through. LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. "pRINCE BREACAN of Denmark was lord on the land, And lord upon the sea : Lord of the sea and lord of the sand, He might have let maidens be. He met a maiden with locks of gold, A walking by the sea ; And she listened as maidens listened of old— - And lonely walketh she. He left the tears where he found the smiles ; And he sailed over the sea. Till he came to the shores of the Scottish Isles : Now give me thy daughter, said he. 282 The Lord of the Isles rose up and said, None but a King of the Sea The Maid of the Isles shall woo and wed. Now hearken well to me. Hold thine own three nights and days In this whirlpool of the sea, Or turn thy prow and go thy ways, And let the sea-maid be. Prince Breacan he turned his sea-dog prow. And back went over the sea. Wise women, he said, now tell me how In yon whirlpool to anchor me. Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool. And a cable of maidens' hair ; And hie thee back to the roaring pool. And anchor in safety there. Twist the brown hair for one strand. And the raven for another ; And twine the third in a golden band. To bind the one to the other. LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN. 283 He gathered the hemp, and he shore the wool. And the maidens brought their hair. To hold him fast in the roaring pool By three anchors of iron rare. And he twisted the brown hair for one strand. And the raven for another ; And he twined the golden in a band, To bind the one to the other. And he took the hemp, and he took the wool. And he took the maidens' hair, And he hied him back to the roaring pool, And he cast three anchors there. The whirlpool roared ; and the day went by, And night came down on the sea. But or ever the morning broke the sky. The hemp had broken in three. But the wool held out ; and the whirlpool ran. And the storm it hailed and blew. But or ever the third morning began. The wool had parted in two. 284 BALLADS. And the storm it roared all day the third, And the whirlpool reeled about ; And the night came down like a wild black bird, But the maidens' hair held out. And round and round with a giddy swing, Went the sea-king through the dark ; And round went the rope in the swivel-ring, And round went the straining barL Prince Breacan he sat by the good boat's prow, A lantern in his hand : Praised be the maidens of Denmark now ! By them shall Denmark stand. He watched the rope through the storm so black, A lantern in his hold : Out, out, alack ! one strand will crack ; And it is of shining gold ! And the morning broke and the sun came out : Nor lord nor ship was there. For the golden strand in the cable stout Was not all of maidens' hair. T THE DEAD HAND. HE witch-lady walked along the strand ; Heard a roaring of the sea ; On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, Good for a witch-ladye. Light she stepped across the rocks, Came where the dead man lay : Now maiden fair, with your merry mocks. Now I shall have my way. On his finger gleamed a sapphire blue. Oh that's my ring ! she said ; And back I take my promise true, For the old love is dead. 286 BALLADS. She took the dead hand in the live, And at the ring drew she ; But the dead hand closed with its fingers five, And they held the witch-ladye. Cold, cold with death, came up the tide. In no manner of haste ; Up to her knees, and up to her side, Up to her wicked waist. And over the blue sea went the bride, All in her true love's ship ; And up and up came the blue tide Over the witch's lip. For the hand of the dead and the heart of the dead Are strong hasps they to hold ; The new love went with the fair fair maid, And left the witch with the old. SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE. A NNIE she 's dowie, and Willie he 's wae. What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae — For Annie she 's bonny 's the first o' the day, And Willie he 's Strang and honest and gay ? Oh ! the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud They lo'ed ane anither, and said their say — But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae. LASSIE AYONT THE HILL! r\ LASSIE ayont the hill, Come ower the tap o' the hill, Or roun' the neuk o' the hill. For I want ye sair the iiicht. 1 'm needin' ye sair the nicht, For I 'm tirfed and sick o' mysel'. A body's sel' 's the sairest weicht : lassie, come ower the hill ! Gin a body culd be a thoucht o' grace. And no a sel' ava ! 1 'm sick o' my heid and my han's and my face, And my thouchts and mysel' and a'. O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL. 29I I 'm sick o' the war!' and a' ; The licht gangs by wi' a hiss ; For throu my een the sunbeams fa', But my weary hart they miss. O lassie ayont the hill ! Come ower the tap o' the hill, Or roun' the neuk o' the hill ; Bidena ayont the hill. For gin ance I saw yer bonnie heid, And the sunlicht o' yer hair, The ghaist o' mysel' wad fa' doun deid, I wad be mysel' nae mair. I wad be mysel' nae mair, Filled o' the sole remeid, Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, Killed by yer body and heid. O lassie ayont the hill ! &c. But gin ye lo'ed me ever sae sma', For the sake o' my bonnie dame. Whan I cam to life, as she gaed awa', I culd bide my body and name. 292 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. I micht bide my sel', the weary same — ' Aye settin' up its heid Till I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame, As gin they war roun' the deid. O lassie ayont the hill ! &c. But gin ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you, I wad ring my ain deid knell ; My sel' wad vanish, shot through and through Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel'. By the shine o' yer sunny sel', By the licht aneath yer broo, I wad dee to mysel', and ring my bell. And only live in you. O lassie ayont the hill ! Come ower the tap o' the hill. Or rouri' the neuk o' the hill. For I want ye sair the nicht I 'm needin' ye aair the nicht, For I 'm tired and sick o' mysel'. A body's sel' 's the sairest weicht : O lassie, come ower the hill. A SONG OF ZION. A NE by ane they gang awa'. The gatlierer gathers great and sma'. Ane by ane raaks ane and a'. Aye whan ane is ta'en frae ane, Ane is left ahint to mane. Bide a we6 — they '11 smile again. Whan God's hairst is in er' lang, Golden-heidit, ripe, and Strang, Syne begins a better sang. GAEIN' AND COMIN'. 1 1 rHAN Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed, The lift was lowerin' dreary ; The sun he wadna raise his heid ; The win' blew laich and eerie. In 's pooch he had a plack or twa — I vow he hadna mony ; Yet Andrew like a linty sang, For Lizzie was sae bonny ! O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonnie lassie ! Bonny, saucy hizzie ! What richt had ye to luik at me. And drive me daft and dizzy ? Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam. The sun was shinin' rarely ; gaein' and comin'. 295 He rade a horse that pranced and sprang — I vow he sat him fairly. And he had gowd to spend and spare, And a hert as true as ony ; But 's luik was doon, and his sigh was sair, For Lizzie was sae bonny ! O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzie ! Ye 've turned the dayhcht dreary. Ye 're straucht and rare, ye 're fause and fair — Hech ! auld John Armstrong's deary ! THE WAESOME CARL. '"PHERE cam a man to our toon-en', And a waesome carl was he ; Wi' a snubbert nose, and a crookit mou'. And a cock in his left ee. And muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, But the burden o' his sang Was aye the same and ower again : There 's nana o' ye a' but 's wrang. Ye 're a' wrang, and a' wrang. And a'thegither a' wrang ; There's no a man aboot the toon But's a'thegither a' wrang. That's no the gait to bake the breid, Nor yet to brew the yill ; That's no the gait to haud the pleuch. Nor yet to ca the mill ; THE WAESOME CARL. 297 That's no the gait to milk the coo, Nor yet to spean the calf; Nor yet to fill the girnel-kist — Ye kenna yer wark by half. Ye 're a' wrang, &c. The minister wasna fit to pray, And lat alane to preach ; He nowther had the gift o' grace, Nor yet the gift o' speech. He mind't him o' Balaam's ass, Wi' a differ ye may ken : The Lord he opened the ass's mou', The minister opened 's ain'. He 's a' wrang, &c. The puir precentor cudna sing. He gruntit like a swine ; The verra elders cudna pass The ladles till his min'. And for the rulin'-elder's grace. It wasna worth a horn ; - He didna half uncurse the meat. Nor pray for mair the mom. He 's a' wrang, &c. 298 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. And aye he gied his nose a thraw, And aye he crook't his mou' ; And aye he cockit up his ee, And said — Tak' tent the noo. We leuch ahint cor loof, man, And never said him nay ; And aye he spak — set 'm up to speik ! And aye he said his say : Ye 're a' wrang, &c. Quo' oor gudeman : The crater's daft ; But wow ! he has the claik ; Lat's see gin he can turn a han', Or only luik and craik. It's true we maunna lippen till him — He's fairly crack wi' pride ; But he maun live — we canna kill him — Gin he can work, he s' bide. He was a' wrang, &c. It 's true it 's but a laddie's turn, But we '11 begin wi' a sma' thing : There 's a' thae weyds to gather and burn- And he 's the man for a' thing. THE WAESOME CARL. 299 We gaediOur wa's, and loot him be, To do jist as he micht ; We think to hear nae mair o' him, Till we come hame at nicht ; But we 're a' wrang, &c. For, losh ! or it was denner-time, The lift was in a low ! The reek rase up as it had been Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. We ran like mad ; but com and byre War blazin' — wae's the fell ! — As gin the deil had brocht the fire, To mak anither hell. 'Twas a' wrang, &c. And by the blaze the carl stud, Wi' 's ban's aneath his tails ; To see him maisthan' drave us wud, We scarce could haud oorsels. It 's a' your wite ; I tauld ye sae ; Ye 're a' wrang to the last : What gart ye burn thae deeviHch weyds, Whan the win' blew frae the wast ? 300 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Ye 're a' wrang, and a' wrang, And a'thegither a' wrang ; There 's no a man in a' the warl' But 's a'thegither a' wrang. THE EARL O' QUARTERDECK 'T^HE wind it blew, and the ship it flew ; And it was " Hey for hame ! And ho for hame !" But the skipper cried, " Haud her oot o'er the saut sea faem." Then up and spoke the king himsel' : " Haud on for Dumferline !" Quo the skipper, " Ye 're king upo' the land- I'm king upo' the brine." And he took the helm intil his hand, And he steered the ship sae free ; AVi' the wind astam, he crowded sail, And stood right out to sea. 302 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Quo the king, " There 's treason in this, I vow ; This is something underhand ! 'Bout ship !" Quo the skipper, " Yer grace forgets Ye are king but o' the land !" And still he held to the open sea ; And the east wind sank behind ; And the wast had a bitter word to say, Wi' a white-sea-roarin' wind. And he turned her head into the north. Said the king : " Gar fling him o'er." Quo the fearless skipper : " It 's a' ye 're worth ! Ye '11 ne'er see Scotland more." The king crept down the cabin-stair. To drink the gude French wine. And up she came, his daughter fair. And luiket ower the brine. She turned her face to the drivin' hail, To the hail but and' the weet ; Her snood it brak, and as lang 's hersel'. Her hair drave out i' the sleet. THE EARL O QUARTERDECK. 303 She turned her face frae the drivin' wind — "What's that ahead?" quo she. The skipper he threw himsel' frae the wind, And he drove the helm a-lee. " Put to yer hand, my lady fair ! Put to yer hand," quo' he ; " Gin she dinna face the win' the mair. It's the waur for you and me." For the skipper kenned that strength is strength, Whether woman's or man's, at last. To the tiller the lady she laid her hand, And the ship laid her cheek to the blast. For that slender body was full o' soul, And the will is mair than shape ; As the skipper saw when they cleared the berg, And he heard her quarter scrape. Quo the skipper : "Ye are a lady fair. And a princess grand to see ; But ye are a woman, and a man wad sail To hell in your company. 304 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. She liftit a pale and a queenly face ; Her een flashed, and syne they swam. " And what for no to heaven ? " she says, And she turned awa' frae him. But she took na her hand frae the good ship's helm, Until the day did daw ; And the skipper he spak, but what he said It was said atween them twa. And then the good ship she lay to. With the land far on the lee ; And up cam the king upo' the deck, Wi' wan face and bluidshot ee. The skipper he louted to the king : " Gae wa', gae wa'," said the king. Said the king like a prince, " I was a' wrang. Put on this ruby ring." And the wind blew lowne, and the stars cam out. And the ship turned to the shore ; And afore the sun was up again, They saw Scotland arice more. THE EARL O QUARTERDECK. 305 That day the ship hung at the pier-heid, And the king he stept on the land. " Skipper, kneel down," the king he said, " Hoo daur ye afore me stand?" The skipper he louted on his knee ; The king his blade he drew : Said the king, " How daured ye centre me ? I'm aboard my ain ship noo ! " I canna mak ye a king," said he, " For the Tord alone can do that ; And, forby, ye took it intil yer ain han', And crooned yersel sae pat ! " But wi' what ye will I redeem my ring ; For ance I am at your beck. But first, as ye loutit Skipper o' Doon, Rise up Yearl o' Quarterdeck." The skipper he rose and looked at the king— In his een for all his croon : Said the skipper, " Here is your grace's ring. And yer daughter is my boon." 306 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. The reid blude sprang into the king's face — A wrathful man to see : " The rascal loon abuses our grace ; Gae hang him upo' yon tree." The skipper he sprang aboard his ship, And he drew his biting blade ; And he struck the chain that held her fast ; But the iron was ower weel made. And the king he blew a whistle loud ; And tramp, tramp, down the pier, Cam twenty riders on twenty steeds, Clankin' wi' spur and spear. " He saved your life !" cried the lady fair ; His life ye daurna spill ! " " Will ye come atween me and my hate?" Quo the lady, " And that I will !" And on cam the knights wi' spur and spear, For they heard the iron ring. " Gin ye care na for yer father's grace. Mind ye that I am the king." THE EARL o' QUARTERDECK. 307 " I kneel to my father for his grace, Right lowly on my knee ; But I stand and look the king in the face, For the skipper is king o' me." She turned and she sprang upo' the deck, And the cable splashed i' the sea. The good ship spread her wings sae white. And awa' wi' the skipper goes she. Now was not this a king's daughter ? And a brave lady beside ? And a wom9.n with whom a man might sail Into high heaven wi' pride ? THE TWA GORDONS. PART I. 'HPHERE was John Gordon and Archibald, And a yerl's twin sons were they. Whan they were ane and twenty year auld, They fell out upo' their birthday. " Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither o' me ! Turn ye, fause and fell ; Or doun ye s' gang, as black as a lee, To the muckle deevil o' hell." "And quhat for that, Archie Gordon? I pray. Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" " Fause-faced loon, ye sail rue the day Ye get yer answer frae me. THE TWA GORDONS. 309 " For mine will be louder than Lady Janet's, And spoken i' braid daylicht ; And the wa' to speil is my iron mail, No her castle-wa' at nicht." " I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw, I' the roarin' win' yestreen ; And I sat in her bower till the gloamin' sta' Licht-fittit ahint the mune." " Turn ye, John Gordon, fause brither, Turn ye, and haud yer ain ; For ane sail lie on a cauld weet bed, And I downa curse again." " O Archie, Janet is my true love. Quhat for should I speer at thee ? " " Gin that be true, the deevil 's a sanct, And ye are no tellin' a lee." Their swords they drew, and the sparks they flew Like the sparks frae a bumin' peat, And the, blude ran doun, till the grund a' roun' Like a verra bog was weet. 3IO SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. " O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper- O' steel without a grace. Ae grip o' yer han', afore ye gang, And turn me upo' my face." But he 's turnt himsel' upo' his heel, And wordless awa' he 's gane ; And the corbie-craw i' the aik abune Is roupin' for his ain. PART II. Lady Margaret, her hert richt gret, Luiks ower the castle wa'. Lord Archibald rides ower the brig in state, Ahint him his merry men a'. With all his band, to the Holy Land He 's boune wi' merry din ; A white Christ's cross upo' his back. In his breast an ugsome sin. THE TWA GORDONS. 3TI And the white cross burned him Hke the fire, That he couldna sleep nor rest ; It burned in and in, to win at the sin That lay cowerin' in his breast. A mile frae the shore o' the Deid ^ea., The army lay ae nicht. Lord Archibald rase, and out he gaed, A walkin' in the munelicht. And on he prest, wi' his heid on his breast, All in the licht o' the mune. Michty stanes lay scattert like sheep, Whaur ance they worshipt Mahoun. The slimy shore o' the deid saut sea Lay i' the mune like day ; The bones o' the dead on the edge o' its bed — It lickit them as they lay. He sat him doun on a half-sunk stane, And he sighed sae dreary and deep : ■ The deevil may tak' my soul whan I wauk, Gin he wad but lat me sleep. 312 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. " I wad burn in hell for ever and aye Wi' endless dule and smert, To sleep a' nicht like a bairn ance mair, And forget my burnin' hert." Oot frae ahint a marble stane Cam a voice like a buddy craw's ; " Behaud there, Archibald Gordon," it said ; "Behaud — ye hae gude cause." " I '11 say what I like," quoth Archibald, " Be ye ghaist or deevil or quhat ! '' " Tak tent. Lord Archibald, quhat ye say — ■ Ye may tyne yer soul for that." Lord Archibald leuch wi' a loud ha ! ha ! Gruesome and eerie to hear. " A bonny bargain Auld Cloots wad hae ! It has ilka faut but fear.'' "Dune, Lord Arcliibald?" croaked the voice. " Dune, Belzie ! " cried he again. The white stanes glimmered, the white mune shone. And Lord Archie was alane. THE TWA GORDONS. 313 And back he gaed to his sleepin' men, And doun in his cloak he lay, And soun' he sleepit : a pale-faced man Sat by his 'bed till day. And whenever he moaned or turned him roun', Or his broo began to lower. Oh ! bonny and clear, i' the sleepin' man's ear. He wad rown sweet words o' power. ■ And the glint o' a smile wad quiver ower His cheek sae thin and broun ; And a tear wad gather aneath his ee-lids, And sometimes wad rin doun. Ilka nicht cam the pale-faced man And sat by his bed a' nicht ; And in mail rust-broun, wi' his vizor doun, Rade at his knee in the fecht. But wat ye fu' weel, it wasna the deil That took Lord Archie's pairt, But his twin-brither John, he thocht deid and gone, Wi' love Hke a lowe in his hert. 314 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. PART III. Hame cam Lord Archibald, weary wicht, Hame to his ain countree ; And he cried as his castle cam in sicht, Now Christ me sain and see ! He turned him roun' and the man in rust-liroun Was gane, he kenned nocht quhair. And doun he Hchtit, and into the ha' — Lady Margaret met him there. Reid, reid war her een, but high was her mien, And her words war sharp and sair : " Welcome, Archie, to dule and tene. And welcome ye s' get nae mair. " Quhaur is yer twin, Lord Archibald, That lay i' my body wi' thee ? I misdoubt ye sair, he 's lyin' cauld Whaur the daylicht comesna to see." THE TWA GORDONS. 3IS Lord Archibald dochtna speak a word, ' For his hert was like to break. He turned to gang ; and the huddy craw W^s roupin' upo' the aik. " Now whaur are ye gauin, Lord Archie," she said, " Wi' yer lips sae white and thin?" " Mother, gude bye ; I 'm gauin ance mair To lie wi' my brither-twin." He cam to the aik. " God guide us !" quo' he, "Has he lain there ever sin syne !" And he thocht he saw the banes sae bare Throu the rusty armour shine. " brither ! brither !" quo' the Yerl, And the tears begud to fa', " To put the life intill yer banes I wad gie ye my soul and a'." " Na, na," quo' a voice frae oot the helm — And the joints began to close, And the iron clattered apd tore the gerse As up the armour rose— 3l6 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. " Ye hae na a soul to put in his banes, On his feet yer brither to set; For the sleep was thine, and thy soul is mine- And, Lord Archibald, weel met ! " " Twa words to that, Hornie !" quo' he, " For my burnin' hert bums on ; And the sleep, I sweir, was none o' thine. For it gae me back my John. " But I carena a crack for a soul sae black. And ye may hae her yet. And burn awa' yer will at her. Gin John alive ye set." He liftit the visor frae his face — Archie thocht to see Mahound ; But John smiled oot o' the rusty iron : O Archie, ye are found ! " Yer soul is mine, brither Archie," quo' he, " And I yield ye it back again ; Never a deevil cam near ye, waur Than a brither o' yer ain." THE TWA GORDONS. 317 Lord Archie he fell upon his knee On the ower green grassy sod : " The soul that my brother gies back to me Sail be thine for ever, O God." THE LAST WOOING. " /^ LAT me in, my bomiy lass >. It 's a lang road ower the hill ; And the flauchterin' snaw begud to fa', As I cam by the mill." " This is nae change-hoose, John Munro, And ye needna come nae mair : Ye crookt yer mou' and lichtlied me, Last Wednesday, at the fair." " I Hchthed ye ?" — " Aboon the glass." " Foul-fa' the ill-faured mouth That made the leein' word to pass. By rowin' 't i' the truth. THE LAST WOOING. 319 " The fac' was this : I dochtna bide To hear yer bonnie name Whaur muckle mou's war opened wide Wi' lawless mirth and shame. " And what I said was : ' Hoot ! lat sit She 's but a bairn, the lass.' It turned the spait o' words a bit, And loot yer fair name pass." " Thank ye for naething, John Munro ! My name can gang or bide ; It 's no a sough o' drucken words Wad turn my heid aside." " O Elsie, lassie, be yersel' ! The drift is cauld and Strang ; O tak' me in ae hour, and syne I '11 gather me and gang." " Ye 're guid at fleechin', John Munro, For ye heedna fause and true. Gang in to Katie at the mill — She lo'es sic like as you." 320 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. He turned his fit ; he spak' nae mair. The lift was like to fa' ; And Elsie's hert grew grit and sair At sicht o' the drivin' snaw. She laid her doun, but no to sleep, For her verra hert was cauld ; And the sheets war like a frozen heap O' snaw aboot her faul'd. She rase fu' eaf. And a' theroot Was ae braid windin' sheet ; At the door-cheek, or winnock-lug, Was never a mark o' feet. She crap a' day aboot the hoose, Dull-fitit and hert-sair, Aye keekin' oot like a frichtit moose^ But Johnnie cam nae mair. And whan the thow began to melt Awa' the ghaistly snaw. Her hert was safter nor the thow, Her pride had ta'en a fa'. THE LAST WOOING. 32I And she oot ower the hill wad gang, Whaur the sun was blinkin' bonnie, To see his auld minnie in her cot, And hear aboot her Johnnie. But as oot ower the hill she gaed, Throu snaw and slush and weet, She stoppit wi' a chokin' cry — 'Twas Johnnie at her feet ! His heid was smoored aneath the snaw. But his breist was maistly bare ; And 'twixt his breist and his richt han', He claisp't a lock o' hair. 'Twas gowden hair — she kent it weel. Alack ! the sobs and cries ! The warm win' blew, the laverock flew, But Johnnie wadna rise. The spring cam ower the wastlin hill. And the frost it fled awa' ; And the green grass luikit smilin' up, Nana the waur for a' the snaw. 322 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Saft, saft it grew on Johnnie's grave, Whaur deep the sunshine lay ; But lang er' that, on Elsie's heid The gowden hair was gray. A^ TIME AND TIDE. S I was walkin' on the strand, I spied an auld man sit On ane auld rock ; and aye the waves Cam washin' till its fit ; And aye his lips gaed mutterin', And his ee was dull and blae. As I cam near, he luik'd at me, But this was a' his say : " Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore : Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns. And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." " What can the auld man mean," quo' I, " Sittin' upo' the auld rock ? The tide creeps up wi' moan and cry, And a hiss 'maist like a mock. 324 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. The words he mutters maun be the en' O' a weary dreary sang — A deid thing floatin' in his brain, That the tide will no lat gang.'' " Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore : Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns. And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar.'' "What pairtit them, auld man?" I said; " Did the tide come up ower Strang ? 'Twas a braw deith for them that gaed, Their troubles wama lang. Or was ane ta'en, and the ither left — Ane to sing, ane to greit .■' Its sair, richt sair, to be bereft; But the tide is at yer feet." " Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore : Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." " May be," quo I, " 'twas Time's gray sea, Whase droonin' 's waur to bide ? TIME AND TIDE. 325 ' But Death 's a diver,, seekin' ye Aneath its chokin' tide; And ye'll luik in ane anither's ee, Triumphin' ower gray Time." Never ae word he answered me, But ower wi' his dreary chime — " Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns, And they played thegither upo' the shore : Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns. And pairtit the twa wi' an eerie roar." " May be, auld man," said I, " 'twas change That crap atween the twa? Hech ! that's a droonin' awfu' strange. And waur than ane and a'." He spak nae mair. I luikit and saw That the auld lips cudna gang. The tide unseen tuik him awa' — Left me to end his sang : " Robbie and Jeannie war twa bonnie bairns. And they played thegither upo' the shore : Up cam the tide 'tween the mune and the sterns, And tuik them whaur pairtin' shall be no more." ALL SOULS' EVE. C WEEP up the flure, Janet; Put on anither peat. It 's a lown and starry nicht, Janet, And nowther cauld nor weet. And it 's open hoose we keep the nicht For ony that may be oot. It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls, Whan the bodiless gang aboot. Set the chairs back to the wa', Janet ; Mak ready for quaiet fowk. Hae a'thing as clean as a win'in' sheet : They comena ilka ook. ALL souls' eve. 327 There 's a spale upo' the flure, Janet ; And there 's a rowan-berry : Sweep them into the fire, Janet, Or they '11 neither come nor tarry. Syne set open the door, Janet — Wide open for wha kens wlia ? As ye come benn to your bed, Janet, Set it open to the wa'. She set the chairs back to the wa'. But ane made o' the birk ; She sweepit the flure — left that ae spale — A lang spale o' the aik. The nicht was lowne, and the stars sat still, A glintin' doon the sky ; And the souls crap oot o' their mooly graves, A' dank wi' lyin' by. They faund the doors wide to the wa'. And the peats blawn rosy reid : They war shoonless feet gaed oot and in. Nor clampit as they gaed. 328 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Whan midnicht cam, the mither rase — She wad gae see and hear. . Back she cam wi' a corp-Uke face, Sloomin' for verra fear. There 's ane o' them sittin' afore the fire ! Janet ! gang na to see. Ye left a chair afore the fire, Whaur I tauld ye nae chau' suld be. Janet she smiled in her mother's face : She had brunt the redden reid ; But she left aneath the birken chair The spale frae a coffin-lid. She rase and she gaed butt the hoose, Aye steekin' door and door. Three hours gaed by or her mither heard Her fit upo' the floor. But whan the gray cock crew, she heard The sound o' shoeless feet ; Whan the reid cock crew, she heard the door, And a sough o' wind and weet. ALL souls' eve. 329 Whan the gowd cock crew, Janet cam back ; Wi' a wan. face back cam she ; And she laid her doon by her mither's side, And she closed her bonnie ee. Never a word to her minnie she spak, But sound asleep fell she. Nor ever after she spak lood oot — ■ Her voice was like ower the sea. And no man ever heard her lauch. Nor yet say alas or wae ; But a smile aye glimmert on her wan face, Like the munelicht on the sea. And ilka nicht 'tween the Sancts and the Souls, Wide open she set the door ; And she mendit the fire, and she left ae chair, And the spale upo' the floor. And at midnicht she gaed butt the hoose. Aye steekin' door and door. Whan the gowd cock crew, she came benn the hoose, Aye wanner than afore — 330 SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Wanner her face, and sweeter her smile ; Till the seventh All Souls' Eve. Her mother she heard the shoeless feet, Said, she '11 be back belive. But she camna benn; Her mother rase ; For fear she 'maist culdna stan' ; She grippit the wa', and benn she gaed — For the gowden cock had crawn. And there sat Janet upo' the chair. White as the day did daw ; Her smile was a sunglint' left on the sea, Whan the sun has gane awa'. TO A. I. N. B. nPHEY followed hard, for riches' sake, The searching men of old, After the secret that would make The meaner metals gold. A nobler alchymy is thine, O lady born to bless : Gold in thy hand becomes divine — Grows truth and tenderness. TO GARIBALDI. (WITH A BOOK — ^WHEN HE VISITED ENGLAND.) ■11 THEN, at Philippi, he who would have freed Great Rome from t)T:ants, for the season brief That lay 'twixt him and battle, sought relief From painful thoughts, he in a book did read, That so the death of Portia might not breed Too many thoughts, and cloud his mind with grief : Brother of Brutus, of high hearts the chief. When thou in heaven receiv'st the heavenly meed, And I shall find my hoping not in vain. Tell me my book has wiled away one pang That out of some lone sacred memory sprang,' Or wrought an hour's forgetfulness of pain, And I shall rise, my heart brimful of gain. And thank my God amid the golden clang. THE END. Printed by R. Sanson, Edinburgh. January, 1868. 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