Cornell University Library 
 PR 57O9.T8B3 
 Battle and after, concerriirig Sergeant Th 
 
 3 1924 013 566 520 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013566520 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 CONCERNING 
 
 SERGEANT THOMAS ATKINS 
 
 GRENADIER GUARDS 
 
 WITH OTHER VERSES 
 
 St. JOHN TYRWHITT 
 
 CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD 
 
 ILonUon 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1889 
 
 Ail rights reserved 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The fragment which gives its name to this httle 
 book contains a speculative analogy, which has 
 doubtless occurred to many other persons, and 
 which, as I am advised, is harmless in a doctrinal 
 point of view. It is as follows. Taking Matter and 
 Force as the ultimate (and univei'sally recognised) 
 factors of all things, it seems highly credible to us, 
 who also believe in Spirit, that a spiritual force is 
 as real as a material force. Consequently, what we 
 call a law of gravitation in material things, may 
 operate quite as naturally in spiritual things. We 
 may call one attraction or gravitation, the other 
 affection or sympathy ; but they act similarly. 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 As there is a law of matter which draws bodies 
 to a common centre, so there is a law of spirit which 
 draws spirits in like manner. Human affection is an 
 instance of this, perhaps the commonest and clearest 
 instance. It unquestionably exists, and Christians 
 regard it as a reflection of the love of God, and of the 
 laws by which His love works on all created things. 
 
 Further, it is evident that that element of the 
 human spirit, which we call its free-will, is able to 
 interfere in minute but quite perceptible ways with 
 the action of the material law of gravitation. If 
 Newton had caught the apple in his hand, and placed 
 it on a table, it would not have fallen any farther, 
 and so far the law of gravitation would have 
 ceased to operate. The corner-sJ:one of an entabla- 
 ture continues to hang between heaven and earth 
 quite securely until the time appointed. This is the 
 natural, wholesome, and continual exercise of man's 
 free-will in material things. It is the permitted use 
 
PREFACE VII 
 
 of powers committed to man. He is allowed to 
 modify the laws of physical things ; and he is also 
 enabled to counteract the spiritual laws of things by 
 disobedience. No doubt this is a very different 
 thing from making slight changes in the order of 
 nature, which he is allowed and commanded to do. 
 Still our free-will is able to break the law of love, 
 as well as to modify the working of the law of 
 gravitation. 
 
 It is at least a defensible speculation that the 
 law, or methods of operation, of the love of God on 
 spiritual natures is similar (or very closely analo- 
 gous) to that of gravitation in matter. Two things 
 we are told of God in Holy Scripture which it takes 
 an advanced state ot denial to deny. One is, 
 that He is Love ; another is contained in the words 
 of Christ, not yet sacrificed for man, " I, if I be lifted 
 up, will draw all men unto me." The " argument," 
 so to call it, of the following fragment is that the 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 latter statement is verified somewhat literally 
 in the spiritual world. There, as everywhere, 
 we hold with Dante that the love of God is the 
 law of all things, the method and order by which 
 they operate.^ But there, we apprehend, no more 
 possibility remains of suspension of that law by the 
 human free-will. It is one of our chief hopes that 
 that element of the human soul will, in the world to 
 come, be identified with the will or love of God, and 
 have no more separate existence. It appears as if it 
 would naturally be so with all spirits whose tendency 
 and effort, while here, is to identify their wills with 
 the will of God. It is promised them that they 
 shall be drawn near to Him, whatever the words 
 shall mean when fulfilled ; and they believe their 
 perfect and endless happiness will be to exist with 
 Him in perfect harmony with His law of love. But 
 this prospect wears a different face to those who 
 
 ^ Paradiso, i. 72. See Hooker, I. iv. i. 
 
PREFACE IX 
 
 have clung to their free-will, and used it against the 
 love or law of God. It is not identified with Him, 
 and they must retain it. But after the change of 
 death we cannot suppose it will confront the law of 
 God, as it does in this world, with powers of its own, 
 and with impunity. 
 
 Imagine an attraction or gravitation in the world 
 to come which irresistibly draws the human spirit 
 toward the centre of spiritual life, to its Maker 
 and Judge ; and that whether it be prepared or un- 
 prepared, desirous to be with Him or not, full of 
 disobedience and crime, or the contrary. Suppose 
 that its unreadiness or its crime keep it back, that 
 being unfit to draw near it cannot draw near, yet is 
 compelled to approach, drawn as by natural forces 
 which cannot but act and allow no appeal. Sup- 
 pose that there may be in such cases, a longing 
 and intolerable desire to draw nearer and nearer 
 to Him, a spiritual want deeper than death and 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 cruel as the grave, like natural hunger or thirst : 
 and that the unfitness of past sins prevents 
 the unfit from drawing near ; so that the suffering 
 spirit may be racked as by blind merciless natural 
 forces, and that for eternities, or indefinite incalcul- 
 able periods of endurance. All that we can say is, 
 that this is possible in the nature of things : that 
 this view, which is wholly and entirely Christian, 
 embraces a great part of the highest heathen specu- 
 lation (as Plato's in the Phsdo), as well as all the 
 popular conceptions lately revived by psychical in- 
 quirers of the burdened or polluted soul's long 
 detention among the traces of its ill-doing. All this 
 seems to fall in singularly with many expressions 
 in Holy Scripture, with words of the Lord's own 
 saying, and with Christian meditation on the subject 
 in all ages. It seems to admit the idea of a progress 
 of the soul, and also of a discipline — which latter 
 may be penal. As to the severity, final effectiveness. 
 
PREFACE XI 
 
 or endless duration of that discipline, it gives us no 
 
 data beyond what we already possess. 
 
 It is possible that comparisons may be made 
 
 between this fragment and Cardinal Newman's 
 
 " Gerontius," which I feel must be gravely to the 
 
 disadvantage of the former. But I do not think 
 
 there is any plagiarism in it. 
 
 R. St. J. T. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Battle . . i 
 
 In the Spirit . 5 
 
 Strophe. Souls rising . 13 
 
 Antistrophe de profdndis. Souls sinking . 20 
 
 Ministering Voices . 23 
 
 The Mount of the Beatitudes . . 27 
 
 Epode . . 30 
 
 Malham Cove, High Craven, Yorkshire 37 
 
 Earth-Life . . 40 
 
 Beside the Deer 42 
 
 By the Gray Stone . 46 
 
 West Ross-shire, 1855 . 50 
 
 A Dream, dreamed July 1863 . 52 
 
 In Eremo — A Fragment . .58 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 St. Catharine's Hill, Rouen 
 
 III at Lucerne, i888 
 
 Lauterbrunnen — " The Mountain Gloom " 
 
 Age . 
 
 Skolion 
 
 Ballade of Eveline 
 
 A Photograph 
 
 Oxford — Summer Term . 
 
 A Welsh Song 
 
 Late Spring in Florence 
 
 Tobar-na-fashaich 
 
 PAGE 
 63 
 
 66 
 70 
 74 
 78 
 83 
 85 
 87 
 89 
 91 
 94 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Thomas Atkins, late sergeant, Grenadier Guards, 
 prologiseth of the fight of Abou Klea 
 
 ^E marched through the arid midnight, we marched 
 
 through the burning day : 
 he water was hot and sandy ; the halts were worse than 
 
 the way ; 
 was sand for ever and ever, the long days seemed like 
 
 years ; 
 nd still they hovered and galloped about us, the Desert 
 
 spears. 
 
 hey bristled against the sunset, they glanced in the early 
 dew, 
 
2 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 We never thought much how many, so angry we were and 
 
 few, 
 Death seemed so near and welcome, one didn't have hopes 
 
 or fears, 
 And it held off, lowering always, the cloud of the Desert 
 
 spears. 
 
 Coolly enough we took them ; it wasn't a matter of strength : 
 Would they come, ten times the number, and give us our 
 
 chance at length ? 
 We were sixteen hundred ; the Rifles were next to us 
 
 Grenadiers, 
 And the niggers were thousands and thousands all round — 
 
 the Arab spears. . 
 
 And at home, the usual story was told in the usual notes. 
 There were losses, of course, in Egypt ; but soldiers have 
 
 got no votes ; 
 Especially dead ones ; and therefore the public stopped 
 
 their ears, 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 3 
 
 And were watching the bye - elections ; we watched the 
 Desert spears. 
 
 The Wells, the Wells in an hour — their masses were closing 
 
 fast. 
 Long we had waited, and thirsted, but all comes round at 
 
 last; 
 Water and battle — O sweeter than voices of loves and 
 
 dears 
 Was the word to form up square : and we marched on the 
 
 Desert spears. 
 
 rheir long-range bullets came plashing among us now and 
 
 then, 
 i;hance shots of the coward, they always pick out the bravest 
 
 men — 
 Stewart, Darcy, Earle — not a moment now for words or tears; 
 rhey were on us, hammer and tongs, the herds of the 
 
 Desert spears. 
 
4 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 They were on us, the plucky blackguards, in even-rushing 
 
 form ; 
 With no more notion of stopping than rooks before the 
 
 storm ; 
 We were deadly thirsty, and didn't run much to British 
 
 cheers : 
 But we all held straight and low, and down went the Desert 
 
 spears. 
 
 And the volleys cut them in lanes ; and the file-fire rolled 
 
 and pealed : 
 There were three of 'em speared the Colonel : 'twas his 
 
 and their last field. 
 Two I shot — and — a pang, and a crash, and a blindness 
 
 gray— 
 And heaven and earth — and the battle — the whole of it 
 
 sailed away. 
 
 ***** 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 IN THE SPIRIT 
 
 The Guide, to soul of Thomas Atkins — 
 
 I am with thee, brother : stay and rest awhile. 
 
 {Soul of T. A. meditateth) — 
 
 I am myself, and where ? 'tis very still — 
 
 I know not if I feel or move or see ; 
 
 No fire, or blows, or blood, or shouts, or thirst — 
 
 I have ceased willing to hurt any man — 
 
 And thou ? 
 
 Guide. Thy guide — thine angel, and thy Lord's — 
 
 Soul. My Lord's — O Christ — I am not lost from Thee ? 
 
 Not so, I feel it surely — I am drawn 
 
 With need and pain towards thee — being divorced 
 
 From all that was — I seek thee, I would rise — 
 
 Guide. Rest yet awhile, 'tis not yet time for thee, 
 
 Since thou hast died hard-biting, like thy race. 
 
 Thou need'st must unlearn battle in the flesh. 
 
6 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Now thou art Spirit, and thou shalt be pure ; 
 
 Made clean to bear the brightness of this Face. 
 
 Thou didst not utterly reject His love, 
 
 And now it shall constrain thee to be clean. 
 
 Sotil. Clean, wholly clean ; and His — why, so they said,. 
 
 And I did wish it sometimes — is it near ? 
 
 For I am pained with longing and desire 
 
 I cannot frame to tell of — let me rise. 
 
 Guide. Cast off thy memories first, then, if thou canst^ 
 
 Hate and death-dealing, shouts, and shots and blows. 
 
 Forgive thy slayer, and thy slain, and all. 
 
 Soul. Of course : I never knew or hated either — 
 
 Not hated — I was wroth and I despised, 
 
 I gave and took, and struck mine enemies ; 
 
 You cannot love them while they spear your friends. 
 
 Guide. Anger is deadly, and a thing of death, 
 
 Thy death is past. These are no more for thee. 
 
 Thy wrath was like thy rifle — let them rest. 
 
 And bow thy pride, and thou shalt mount the sooner — 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 What seest thou, spirit, without thy mortal sense ? 
 
 Soul. I know not : there is neither near nor far, 
 
 And all the past is present to my thought — 
 
 I have a sense of speed and yet of rest, 
 
 And a great longing, and a deeper joy. 
 
 There is a purple dimness, full of light 
 
 And luminous orbs that seem not here or there 
 
 Or anywhere in measurable space : 
 
 But watched by vast and lovely forms who guide 
 
 Their mighty motion in a perfect rhythm 
 
 For ever, as it seems — such cannot change. 
 
 And I am smaller than a grain of sand, 
 
 Yet also feel myself move tunefully ; 
 
 But always I desire it with desire 
 
 To rise up near and nearer — 
 
 Guide. It is well — 
 
 For some there are who see not for awhile, 
 
 They would know nought in life save by the sense. 
 
 And now their senses are not, and they lie 
 
8 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Perhaps for ages, crying for the light 
 
 To whom they looked not in their mortal pride. 
 
 Soul. I had no knowledge : I did sometimes pray 
 
 And seek forgiveness of the sins I did. 
 
 And yet they seem to look on me with eyes, 
 
 All floating on behind. Had I not best 
 
 Wheel round and face them ? one would know the worst. 
 
 Guide. Thou hast no more to combat or endure ; 
 
 Look forward till thou findest Him who bore them. 
 
 But hast thou any sense of other things? 
 
 Soul. I hear faint voices, and have filmy sight 
 
 Of forms and faces — some who rise, and some- 
 
 Who sink away lamenting. 
 
 Guide. That must be : 
 
 They prayed not : and they share not, for a time, 
 
 In that up-bearing force of human prayer 
 
 AVhich aids all souls who joined in it below. 
 
 And many sinned and never owned their sin, 
 
 And it is with them now, and bears them down — 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 9 
 
 Or farther from the glory of the Lord. 
 
 Since up or down is near or far from Him, 
 
 There is a spirit-gravitation here 
 
 Tho' Time and Space and Form all suffer change 
 
 Like you, who thought and knew by their conditions. 
 
 Soul, But — how they sigh and mourn — have mercy, Lord — 
 
 Guide. Rightly thou prayest : but 'tis His Love that pains 
 
 them 
 Mark thou — as Force and Matter tipon earth 
 Are His, His Hand and working and effect. 
 So Love is Force in this His spirit-world, 
 And sways all Being with a steadfast Law 
 And searches out all Spirit, and pervades 
 And permeates every willing soul with joy ; 
 'Tis our Attraction and our Atmosphere : 
 Those, then, who loved not, neither sought His love. 
 It finds them here — they feel it otherwise. 
 For like the centre on a falling stone 
 It bears coercive on the loveless soul. 
 
10 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Know — Everywhere, since He was lifted up, 
 
 Within the fleshly garment or without 
 
 He draws man always by the cords of Love, 
 
 Strong, yet by man's free-will resistible. 
 
 These did resist, and drew not near to Him. 
 
 Their knowledge, will, and rhetoric served them there 
 
 But now, in His real spirit-world, His Love 
 
 Is Nature, and constrains ten-thousandfold 
 
 Stronger than Death, more cruel than the Grave. 
 
 The free-will they boasted there detains them here 
 
 It chains them with a chain, and they are racked 
 
 'Twixt longing and the bond of will and sin. 
 
 They staid them once on buoyant Vanity ; 
 
 And lightly he upbore them in the world. 
 
 Here, he is dead-weight insupportable. 
 
 Soul. But God hath mercy ? 
 
 Guide. Yea. Yet ask no more. 
 
 These things He hath not told us, and we too 
 
 Desire to look therein. This mayest thou know. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 rhou art as they are ; with a kindred strife 
 
 Between thy sins, and the attracting force 
 
 Df Love thou hast not knowingly defied ; 
 
 iVhich conquers in thy gentle gradual rise : 
 
 Soon may it grow more speedy : for the prayers 
 
 Df all the Churches aid and wing thee still. 
 
 rhey too are Forces in the spirit-world. 
 
 f\.nd prayer and striving that seemed vain below 
 
 ^.re yet effective here and unforgot. 
 
 Spirit is Force where we are. 
 
 Sau^. I do hope 
 
 This is His Love : yet thoughts and things and men 
 
 ^re pressing in upon me — I would mount 
 
 Towards Him for ever — but they rise up fast 
 
 rhey float up lightly from those crimson sands 
 
 With red wounds streaming — and they smile, and pass. 
 
 i^es, there are smiles on faces swart and grim 
 
 Not yet unset from smiting. 
 
 Guide. Why, thine own 
 
12 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Hath only now resigned a certain joy 
 
 O'er the fallen foe. Canst feel thy cloven head ? 
 
 He passes there who slew thee, slashed half through. 
 
 Thy captain's hand was heavy — and he lives 
 
 Right glad to have avenged thee. What sayest thou ? 
 
 Soul. I know not, Sir : I have not wept for years ; 
 
 But could that be, and could I say a word 
 
 To yon stout Arab with the ugly wound 
 
 Who gave me such a crack before he died ? 
 
 Guide. Let it suffice, he goeth to his place. 
 
 He hath much to learn beneath due discipline. 
 
 But thou mayest rise toward the Vale of Tears, 
 
 To bathe in that clear lymph of Penitence 
 
 Where sin is wholly purged, and death forgot. 
 
 Lethe, or Jordan, or the Outer Sea, 
 
 Or any symbol name that suits mankind — 
 
 But watch these flying floating multitudes. 
 
 There speeds a valiant one — 
 
 Soul. Ay, is He gone ? 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 13 
 
 ''riiide. Finance and England sold him to his death. 
 L.nd England takes the same complacently 
 Lnd thanks her God of Flies that she is rid 
 )f Christian Heroes. He hath done and died 
 i.nd fast he rises where he fain would be. 
 le is but one of the great multitude 
 7hat flying drift of sever'd souls, like thee, 
 Vho rise or sink, and find their place and level, 
 Vhat, hast thou Life enough, and canst thou join 
 The song of souls uprising ? It is well. 
 
 STROPHE. SOULS RISING 
 
 Lord, what know we ? we are here 
 And we feel Thy Love compelling : 
 
 Lo, it soothes the racking Fear 
 
 Which made dark our mortal dwelling. 
 
14 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 As Thou wilt, it shall be so. 
 Once we doubted, now we know. 
 
 Thus a great prevailing Rest 
 
 Doth renew our outworn being. 
 We are freed who were oppress'd. 
 We were blind, and we are seeing, 
 All are grown believers now : 
 Naught is left for us but Thou. 
 
 Naught but Thou : and all this space. 
 
 Which knows neither bound nor border. 
 With the reflex of Thy Face 
 Shineth in a stately order ; 
 
 And our long procession wends 
 Glowing still as it ascends. 
 
 Only, gazing in our eyes. 
 
 Done to death in Human fashion, 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 15 
 
 Thou art there, our Sacrifice 
 In a sorrow past all passion. 
 
 ^^'orse than scourge or nails or spear 
 Seem our sins as we draw near. 
 
 Thou hast pardoned and set free 
 
 All our guilt is clean departed — 
 Yet we cannot look on Thee — 
 
 Count us with Thy broken-hearted, 
 For our spirit wholly dies 
 At the sorrow of Thine eyes. 
 
 Guide. Thou seest, tho' earthly ages wax and wane 
 
 The Lord is present to each soul that dies. 
 
 And surely cometh quickly, even at Death. 
 
 Then His pervading element of Love 
 
 Which is the soul of all this spirit-world 
 
 Here seizes on man's being, and exalts 
 
 With longing, and the throes of newer Life — 
 
i6 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Or searches with dread contrast, and repels. 
 
 Soul. I think I know, and somewhat hate myself; 
 
 Yet am drawn on and upwards — and I love, 
 
 Or there has entered me a Love not mine 
 
 Which seems to melt and break me wholly down — 
 
 I know not of my body or mine eyes 
 
 But I am what I am — and I must weep. 
 
 Guide. It is not very far beyond thee now. 
 
 The purifying Vale of Tears and rest. 
 
 It had been farther had thy sin been worse 
 
 Or more against the light — yet thou hast sinned, 
 
 Thou wert and art redeemed, forgiven, beloved. 
 
 But He thy Lord endured for what thou didst. 
 
 And thou must look on Him whom thou hast pierced. 
 
 For He is lifted up, and draws thee on 
 
 And from of old forgave thee. Now thou seest 
 
 His pardon hath a sweetness and a pain, 
 
 And all these feel it, and are sick with Love 
 
 Till He make glad their faces. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER i/ 
 
 Soul. But the rest ? 
 
 Guide. All things are His, they are not lost to Him. 
 
 And He is Love, and the Most Merciful. 
 
 Such as they came into the spirit-life, 
 
 As in the earthly, what they are they are. 
 
 Here Error and Opinion are no more. 
 
 And the Subjectives trouble not the mind. 
 
 Men can obey the drawing of His Love 
 
 And wholly quit the region of free-will : 
 
 They must in any case obey His Law. 
 
 From Law, His shadow, none fleeth any whither,^ 
 
 It takes these as it finds them. Much they knew 
 
 Of laws and forces in the world of Nature, 
 
 1 Hooker, Ecd. Polity, Book I. iii. § i. "For what good or 
 ril is there under the sun, what action correspondent or repugnant 
 ito the Law which God hath imposed upon His creatures, the second 
 w eternal — but in or upon it God doth work, according to the Law 
 hich He hath eternally proposed to keep, the first law eternal?" 
 
 Cf. Aquinas, 0pp. xi. 202 (Th. I. i, 2, q. 93, art. 4, S, 6. 
 SJuUomodo aliquid legibus Summi Creatoris ordinationique subtrahitur \ 
 
 C 
 
1 8 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 They bowed down to the work of their own hearts : 
 
 They set up Goddess Nature to do all things : 
 
 To maul creation like an untaught nurse, 
 
 And oust the Judge of all, who doeth Right ; 
 
 He ruled by law of Nature, if ye will ; 
 
 By ordinance of matter and of force ; 
 
 Whereas He ruleth here by law of Love 
 
 Free from all matter, having perfect work : 
 
 And every spirit owns it, straight from Him. 
 
 They who have seen and hated are at strife 
 
 With the one Element here. 
 
 Soul. Shall they have peace ? 
 
 Guide. It may be, when they will. Their will remains 
 
 And still is all to them ; 'twas ever so ; 
 
 a quo pax imiveisitatis administratur. Immo et peccatum, quatenus 
 a Deo justo permittitur, cadit in legem aeternam. Etiam legi aeternae 
 submittitur peccatum, quatenus voluntaria legis transgressio poenale 
 quoddam incommodum animae inserit, juxta illud Augustini?' '"Jus- 
 sisti, Domine, et sic est, ut poena sua sibi sit omnis animus inordinatus.' " 
 Augustine, Cotif. lib. i. cap. 12. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 19 
 
 rhey never gave it Him, He leaves it theirs, 
 '.t strains against the all-compelUng Love : 
 
 '.t holds them back to all they willed and ruled 
 
 \.nd knew, and praised, and throve by. 
 
 ioul. And I sinned 
 
 <"ar worse than these, it may be, when it comes 
 
 To deed of hand and body ? 
 
 ^ui'de. Ay, good sword, 
 
 i.nd thou didst seek for pardon, and thou hast it. 
 
 ^he brave more freely give themselves to Him 
 
 \^ho yield their sinful lives for Duty's sake. 
 
 ^'hese had their rights, and views, and claims, and merits, 
 
 v\\ cumbrous matters here. The needle's eye, 
 
 Thou know'st, is narrow for the loaded beast. 
 
 ^'hey all must drop the weight of their great selves. 
 
 Lnd some have darker deeds they justified. 
 
 md where they sink it is not ours to tell 
 
 Tor thine to hear of. All is His alone. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 ANTISTROPHE DE PROFUNDIS 
 SOULS SINKING 
 
 What can we be without our Fame, 
 
 The wonders we have thought and done ? 
 
 Is it that this one only Name 
 
 Must overwhelm our lives' endeavour, 
 And sound for ever and for ever 
 
 In Cherub song and Seraph call ? 
 And He have all and we have none. 
 
 And we be nought, and He be all ? 
 
 For O we sink, we sink yet lower ! 
 
 This subtle starry atmosphere. 
 This piercing Love that bids aspire 
 
 Is Force and Mind and Movement here : 
 It recks not of our gathered store 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Of lingering knowledge sadly won, 
 Of grave experience 'neath the sun, 
 Of praise that iilled our souls' desire. 
 
 We are borne down away from Thee, 
 The Hope and Fountain of all bliss, 
 
 Because seeing all, we could not see, 
 And learning all things, knew not this. 
 
 Through all the long truth-seeking day ; 
 Through riddles of the painful earth, 
 Through good and ill and death and birth- 
 
 That Thou art Life, and Truth, and Way. 
 
 What may we do in our distress 
 
 If Thou beholdest us even yet. 
 But weep before Thee, scattering wide 
 
 All honour of our earthly lot ? 
 And welcome all self-emptiness, 
 
 And so our very selves forget. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 As Thee we utterly forgot 
 In the short day of Will and pride ? 
 
 Soul. And must they sorrow always without end? 
 
 Guide. Till they be wholly emptied of themselves, 
 
 By pressure of the Deep of the Abyss 
 
 Of Distance from the centre of all Love — 
 
 As in the earthly Ocean — why not here ? 
 
 Then, all exploits and dignities forgot, 
 
 They may pass onwards to the Vale of Tears, 
 
 Where thou goest also. There the inner stain, 
 
 The earthly lusts of World and Pride and Flesh 
 
 (Natural I may not call them) — shall be gone. 
 
 And thou another creature, yet thyself; 
 
 Thyself, yet not thine own nor wishing it. 
 
 But His, and liker Him for evermore. 
 
 Soul. It must be near : for I am broken down 
 
 By a great grief I never knew of yet ; 
 
 Because as we fare forward to this vale. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 23 
 
 All sins I ever did come grieving back ; 
 Not threatening or upbraiding, but forgiven 
 Of Him who died. And now He comes again, 
 The Vision of Him — He is Crucified 
 As He beholds them, every lust and rage ; 
 As if He felt their smart, and look'd on me. 
 — Mine eyes are waters — only leave me here. 
 
 MINISTERING VOICES 
 
 These be the last, the final tears : 
 
 Stained and beloved, have thou no shame, 
 But sorrow 'here among thy peers, 
 
 And let the heahng drops run free. 
 Thy very heart and mental frame 
 
 Shall grow like His who died for thee : 
 Thou shalt be tender even as He, 
 Who 'mid His marvels wept and sighed. 
 
24 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Thine shall a higher manhood be, 
 And in His image thou shalt feel 
 Another heart than heart of steel, 
 Which was thy soldier pride. 
 
 These be the last, and purest tears. 
 Awhile the drops are cold and slow ; 
 
 As vex the spirit-eyes with pain, 
 
 And fiery heat of fevered brain. 
 
 Where sin hath wrought a deeper woe 
 
 Than harmless grief of suffering years. 
 Yet run they brighter and more bright. 
 
 In vision of the Crucified, 
 
 Until their passion is delight, 
 Until His word of love and might 
 
 Bids them be wholly dried. 
 
 These be the last, the tenderest tears : 
 Hear now, ye sighing sons of men 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 25 
 
 O dearly loved and long forgiven ! 
 For ever be it in your ears. 
 
 Ye shall go on from strength to strength, 
 To the new Earth and the new Heaven, 
 
 And never weep again. 
 
 Your still endurance ends at length. 
 Ye folded up your hearts of old. 
 
 Now open them for evermore 
 Upon the Crystal sea of gold, 
 
 That spreads without a shore. 
 
 Lo, they are shed, the final tears. 
 
 They blind not now, look up and see. 
 
 He hath effaced them utterly, 
 
 And ye behold Him as He is, 
 Ye see not now the Crucified, 
 But Him, who liveth and hath died, 
 God's Image manifest in man. 
 
 In perfect radiance He appears. 
 
26 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 The Lord of Life since Life began, 
 He bids you to His Bliss. 
 
 Guide. Abide in peace, and thou shalt be as these ; 
 Thou thinkest not of on and upward now. 
 But thy call forward cometh in its time, 
 And He shall give thee word to mount again. 
 Through the wide Heavens of the Beatitudes. 
 The circles of the Lord around this Hill ; 
 Then, when He calls thine inner spirit up, 
 Thy mighty longing shall give mightier powers. 
 And thou shalt rise and rise eternally, 
 And ever live intensely with His life ; 
 And ever love more dearly with His love. 
 And draw more near in love to all His Saints, 
 And ever be more likened to His Image, 
 And change ; and be ye changed for evermore. 
 Even by that Sight .which maketh your true bliss, 
 Until ye lose your sole and separate thoughts. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 27 
 
 And all your life be wholly hid in His. 
 Until being yet yourselves, ye live in Him. 
 In joy that none endureth in the flesh, 
 In song that none can utter save yourselves 
 In ecstasy for ever and for aye. 
 
 THE MOUNT OF THE BEATITUDES 
 (Sou/s and Ministering Spirits) 
 
 First Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye were the poor in spirit ; and ye thought 
 Small things on earth sufficient for your need. 
 Ye asked not power or glory, neither had them ; 
 Thus saith the Lord, yours is the realm of Heaven. 
 
 Second Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye were the mourners of the suffering Earth, 
 Ye knew its grief, and sorrowed for your kind : 
 
z8 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 And ye desired the King, the Comforter 
 And He shall solace you for evermore. 
 
 Third Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye were the meek, ye strove not, neither cried 
 But did contend in meekness, and prevail : 
 Ye made the old earth sweeter with your life. 
 And the new Heaven shall be your heritage. 
 
 Fourth Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye sought the Right with hunger and desire : 
 Ye thirsted for the Good in all that is ; 
 Ye were sore straitened, ye have waited long : 
 Come now, have perfect fulness of your need. 
 
 Fifth Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye were the merciful, and hated sin 
 Yet spared the sinner, and let Evil die ; 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 29 
 
 Yet made all burdens lighter with your lives 
 And ye shall fully know His tenderness. 
 
 Sixth Voice from Above — 
 
 Ye were the pure in heart and sight and deed, 
 Therefore your eyes are mighty to endure 
 The infinite clearness of the sapphire throne, 
 And ye shall have full vision of your God. 
 
 Seventh Voice from Above — 
 
 When the Lord came. His angels sung of peace 
 And love to men of love : and such were ye. 
 And as ye laboured life-long for His peace 
 Ye shall be called the Children of our God. 
 
 Eighth Voice, with others — 
 
 Ye were afflicted sore for righteousness ; 
 Ye are the red-robed host of Witnesses : 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 All ye who bowed the patient neck to Pain ; 
 All ye whom men reviled because of Me. 
 Behold, rejoice and be exceeding glad 
 That ye are strengthened to behold this sight, 
 Man in God's Image, also God in Man : 
 That, in the Golden City of the Lord 
 For all, and each, a mansion is made sure. 
 Therein shall every man have praise of God. 
 
 EPODE 
 
 (Souls and Ministering Spirits Ascending) 
 
 Lo, the Holy Hill before us 
 
 Towers beyond all spirit-sight 
 While we mount in circling chorus 
 With a spiral eagle-flight 
 Winging wider, higher, deeper, all into the Light of Light. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 31 
 
 And beneath that flame of ages 
 
 Mournful memory wanes and faints, 
 Dying from these starry stages 
 Of the Blessedness of Saints ; 
 Where is all the fading echo of our passionate complaints ? 
 
 What was Evil ? by faint flashes 
 
 We remember mournful hours 
 Of a Past, like thin gray ashes. 
 
 Like sad scent of poisoned flowers ; 
 That Unknown our bosoms beat for — it is here, and it is 
 ours. 
 
 There were longings, there were pleasures ; 
 
 There were hopes of many days. 
 Nigh forgotten, tender treasures 
 
 Which we lose in light of Praise. 
 In the glory of the Vision, in the fire of its white rays. 
 
32 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 Is it past ? or was it ever ? 
 
 All that dismal blank of Doubt — 
 All that thwarted souls' endeavour 
 Fear within and strife without, 
 And the sophist's loud confusion, Babel and its learned 
 rout ? 
 
 There was Beauty, who pervaded 
 All things God made fair or dear ; 
 
 Of a truth she is not faded 
 
 From our cycles floating here. 
 In the passion of her presence, in her fragrant atmosphere. 
 
 O our Queen, O soul-inciting. 
 
 Still thou leadest where we go ; 
 Yet thou look'st not down inviting 
 As we saw thee there below. 
 But thine eyes and ours are lifted up unto the light we 
 know. 
 
BATTLE AND AFTER 33 
 
 Can it be, thou art yet fairer ? 
 
 Do we see thee only now, 
 In the glow thou hast, being sharer 
 In the brightness of His brow ? 
 Did He shine upon us through thee ? His reflection, was it 
 thou? 
 
 There was steadfast Valour, summing 
 
 Deed and patience all in one : 
 In the vigour of whose coming 
 
 All was borne and dared and done — 
 iVas He too Thy glance commanding, O our Victor, O our 
 Sun? 
 
 But the vision comes back clearer 
 All remembered things above. 
 Than all past soul-relics dearer — 
 
 When we name the name of Love — 
 Vas He of Thyself, Thine essence, and the hovering of 
 Thy Dove ? 
 
34 BATTLE AND AFTER 
 
 All that ever strove to win us 
 
 To true following of Thy call 
 It was Thine and Thou within us ; 
 Bidding upward to Thy hall. 
 Thine we are and in Thee only ; be Thou ever all in all. 
 
LAST LYRICS 
 
MALHAM COVE, HIGH CRAVEN, YORKSHIRE 
 
 The autumn gale is sad and strong 
 
 And buffets at this cloven hill : 
 But all the sheltered dale along 
 
 The air is hushed and sweet and still. 
 
 The winds may rage, the winds may rove, 
 'Tis quiet here in Malham Cove. 
 
 Around that dizzy limestone edge 
 
 A hundred battling jackdaws wheel : 
 And welling 'neath its lowest ledge 
 Its golden secret waters steal. 
 
 Wide shall they range, far shall they rove, 
 The waters wan of Malham Cove. 
 
38 MALHAM COVE 
 
 About their stones the ouzel flits 
 
 White-tied, like Curate on his round : 
 Where mice and wrens and chats and tits, 
 All tiny pleasant things abound — 
 
 The winds may rave, the winds may rove, 
 They take their ease in Malham Cove. 
 
 Look, a small Friar of orders gray : 
 A Badger takes his walks abroad. 
 Like Tuck of Sherwood on his way. 
 The sturdy hermit goes unawed. 
 
 All the wide world may range and rove. 
 And he abide in Malham Cove. 
 
 He quarrels not, nor bites his thumb, 
 
 He gravely keeps within the law ; 
 But stubbornly to all that come 
 Shows iron hide and armed jaw. 
 And ever with all foes that rove, 
 Doth battle keen in Malham Cove. 
 
MALHAM COVE 39 
 
 His earth's below yon giant Rose 
 
 High towering, sweetness all and hue ; — 
 They hide his track, those scented snows 
 That drift so soft upon the dew ; 
 
 Gently they droop, though winds may rove, 
 'Tis lown and low in Malham Cove. 
 
 One feels the smart, in many a grove 
 Of Joy that is not, and hath been : 
 But here I never met my Love, 
 So sorrow enters not herein. 
 
 And Death may range, and Death may rove. 
 And meet me here in Malham Cove. 
 
EARTH-LIFE 
 
 What is the Presence of this new-comer, 
 A light of Hght on the dreary day ? 
 
 It is the burst of the mighty Summer, 
 
 The conquering glow of the glorious May. 
 
 Lo, there is Life in the frozen prison, 
 Lo, there is pity for Earth's annoy : 
 
 The Lent is over, the Lord is risen, ' 
 
 He hath thrown wide open the gates of Joy. 
 
 We have been with Grief, we have not miss'd her. 
 Long she has taught us day by day : 
 
 But O brief visit of that strange sister, 
 Flushing and flitting an hour in May. 
 
EARTH -LIFE 41 
 
 Yes, we are passing, failing, dying. 
 
 Have we a hope, or a care to stay ? 
 Sighs — we have got through our share of sighing — 
 
 This is our hour, and the hour of May. 
 
 Youth is over and strength is going, 
 
 Shall not He give and take away ? 
 But the new earth-life sets old blood flowing 
 
 Again, again, with the breath of May. 
 
BESIDE THE DEER 
 
 It is a dreamy autumn noon ; 
 
 The winds are lown and low, 
 In shade or light the hills are bright 
 
 With their own golden glow. 
 Soft Sunshine, thou hast hardly power 
 
 To grant her brighter dress, 
 O fairest in her fading hour. 
 
 The lovely Wilderness. 
 The Northern trumpets challenge soon- 
 
 Their snow-clouds' sweeping stride 
 Shall whiten like the winter moon 
 
 The winter mountain side. 
 
BESIDE THE DEER 43 
 
 So sit we where the topaz rill 
 
 Wells out of emerald green ; 
 For every pace from crawl to race, 
 
 Has tried our limbs, I ween. 
 The stalk was long, the breeze was coy, 
 
 We've won the Death-drink here. 
 Once more, the hunter's sullen joy. 
 
 The hard hill forest cheer. 
 The rest beside the brindled rock. 
 
 The broad view far and near. 
 The wandering, pondering dream of dreams, 
 
 Beside the fallen deer. 
 
 Red hide, long antler, ranging eye, 
 
 Fleet hoofs of fire and air — 
 The grouse may crow and plover cry. 
 The loveliest hind may pass thee nigh. 
 
 And thou take little care — ■ 
 Unmarked the lurcher keen go by. 
 
44 BESIDE THE DEER 
 
 The thunder idly scare. 
 Yet deadly-kindly sped the ball 
 
 That smote thy shoulder thorough, 
 And come my death as quick as thine, 
 
 We've never a call for sorrow — 
 And may we spread out on the sward, 
 
 A bulk like thine to-morrow ! 
 
 The green leaves come, the red leaves fall, 
 
 And all fair colours fail — 
 Death has his day : so have we all. 
 
 Thus runs the oft-told tale. 
 I know not how the world would fare. 
 
 If none drew painful breath. 
 Life would be often like Despair, 
 
 Without the hope of Death. 
 Two things there be beneath the sun, 
 
 To still the heart or move, 
 And many a time they meet in one, 
 
BESIDE THE DEER 45 
 
 And they are Death and Love. 
 So for to-day no more of Death 
 
 And white-wing'd fancies, roam ! 
 Up, on the south wind's bated breath, 
 
 Like loosed doves flying home. 
 Bright as this heather-purpled knoll. 
 
 Deep as yon sunlit sea. 
 Again, again they seek their goal. 
 
 Where O that I might be : 
 And yet once more, soul of my soul. 
 
 My heart flies back to thee. 
 
BY THE GRAY STONE 
 (loch laggan side, 1879) 
 
 Seven long miles by heather and brae, 
 Seven long miles and never a stay. 
 Old I grow, still wandering wide, 
 Ajid cannot hold with the gillie's stride. 
 Yet he says " we cam' forrat fine " — 
 And his brown face is as hot as mine. 
 Once more, colour and sether and space ; 
 Once more, gladdening toil of the chase. 
 Days and braes where one's soul's one's own, 
 So I feel by the old gray stone. 
 
BY THE GRAY STONE 47 
 
 By the gray stone I think I dare 
 
 Look in the grayer face of Care : 
 
 Long he hath crouched on the croupe behind, 
 
 Now I turn with a willing mind, 
 
 Though he may bide the soberer pace, 
 
 He'll never rough-ride me through the chase. 
 
 Care, gray Care, the slowhound true, 
 
 That hunts the hunter the long day through. 
 
 Up the high corrie he is not known. 
 
 So I think by the old gray stone. 
 
 Him I mark not : but soft and dear 
 Dark-eyed Memory, come thou near : 
 Lay thy tenderest hand's control 
 On all the chords of the sounding soul : 
 Thought of the lamp and flash of the brain. 
 Fanfare haughty and dying strain, 
 All that can move or warm or shine, 
 Mother of Muses, all is thine. 
 
48 BY THE GRAY STONE 
 
 Call thou hither, Mnemosyne, 
 
 Her, who on earth was most like thee. 
 
 Never — O perfect love and wife ! 
 Thou may'st not break from the other life. 
 Well I trust — and it well may be, 
 Seeing thy Lord, thou markest not me. 
 Thou art freed and thy soul hath way : 
 I am laden and bound with clay. 
 Dwelling with all things cursed and banned : 
 Thou art far, in the purple land- 
 Yet through all earthly time and tide, 
 Soul of my soul must needs abide. 
 
 Many an hour, when Spring was gay, 
 I've watched those eyes of the violet gray ; 
 Many a time in the waning year, 
 I've thought of them beside the deer. 
 
BY THE GRAY STONE 49 
 
 All is over, and right well done : 
 
 We have dealt truly under the sun. 
 
 We have known Love to the dear heart's core : 
 
 Our Lord, He only can teach us more : 
 
 I am but hunter weary and lone, 
 
 Watching the deer by the old gray stone. 
 
WEST ROSS-SHIRE, 1855 
 
 Ground swell from far Labrador 
 
 Roll onward and long, 
 Great wind of the Western sea 
 
 Fill heaven with thy song. 
 O false and fair, both sky and sea 
 Yet sing or thunder on to me, 
 Ye frown and laugh so carelessly 
 So tender and strong. 
 
 Ere the morrow's sun be risen warm 
 Ye shall reel dark and pale 
 
 To the pipe of the seaward storm 
 That comes without fail. 
 
WEST ROSS -SHIRE 51 
 
 Yet the rollers laugh and say 
 Lo, we leap and shine to-day : 
 Canst not thou too cast away 
 The thought of the gale ? 
 
 It is well, roll on merrily, 
 
 Be glad while you may, 
 Tho' the grim clouds rise verily 
 
 Cold purple and gray ; 
 For the bugle of the risen blast 
 And to-morrow's cloud-rack racing past 
 Will be blither than the dim forecast 
 
 And fear of to-day. 
 
A DREAM, DREAMED JULY 1863 
 
 Whence they come I cannot tell, 
 If it be from Heaven or Hell 
 That the weird Dreams rush amain 
 On the sleeper's will-less brain. 
 If the Tempter must give token 
 Ere his chain awhile be broken 
 And he do his mission fell — 
 This, I say, I know not well. 
 But this on my soul was borne 
 In the dawning hours forlorn 
 All between the night and morn. 
 
 I was by old Christ Church Hall 
 
A DREAM S3 
 
 Where the ribs of its palm-hke pillar spread 
 
 Up to the groin'd roof overhead, 
 As I mind in mine own day, 
 
 In the pleasant times that were. 
 But no gallant lads were there. 
 Such as then lounged up the stair 
 Hungering for their massive fare 
 With a hunger huge and gay. 
 
 Round, on every side, 
 Black-brow'd arches of rough stone 
 Leading down to vaults unknown 
 
 All ways wander'd wide 
 Whispering to the dreaming soul 
 Formless horrors past control, 
 Of ugly deeds done darkling there : 
 Of unheard victims' hopeless prayer. 
 Rack and wheel that scorch and tear, 
 Spells unnamed, and the witch-fire's glare. 
 
54 A DREAM 
 
 It was a feast of the days of old 
 
 They were spreading under the oak-ribb'd roof: 
 On its hearths burnt roaring flame 
 Sewer and butler went and came 
 And I moved among the same — 
 And sometimes nigh, sometimes aloof, 
 
 With her broad brows bound with gold, 
 In her stature towering-tall. 
 Yet unmarked among them all, 
 With vast eyes that clung to me. 
 Moved in might the Weird Ladye. 
 
 Belted huntsmen, dimly seen 
 All in buff and forest green ; 
 Most like tapestry-figures tall. 
 That wave upon a twilight wall. 
 
 When the mouldering logs are stirr'd — 
 Faces set in ghastly frown, — 
 Entering, cast their quarry down. 
 
A DREAM 55 
 
 And went forth, saying no word. 
 Theirs was little of the cheer 
 Of the gentle forestere ; 
 Careless casting on the floor 
 Hart and hind, wild bull and boar ; 
 
 And as wondering I drew near 
 
 Down they hurl'd one great red-deer. 
 And I knew, without word said, 
 In that form a knight lay dead 
 
 Once that rode without a peer. 
 All convulsed and smashed and torn ; 
 Eyeless, foul, with splintered horn. 
 
 With a brute-look of despair ; 
 And I wist that he had been 
 That Weird Woman's love in sin — 
 
 She had witch'd and slain him there. 
 
 But the knaves bore the glamour'd corpse aside ; 
 And the Ladye's looks met mine wild-eyed, 
 
56 A DREAM 
 
 As I turned to her in wrath and dread ;- 
 But still she held me with her eye. 
 And false remorse and falser Love 
 Shone from her face entreatingly 
 
 And, "All was dared for thee," she said 
 And in the weakness of the dream, 
 
 (I pray mine own soul sinn'd not then) 
 I knew not how, mine arm did seem 
 
 To wind around her waist again. 
 
 But then half-rose a dismal sound 
 From forth that sunless under-ground ; 
 Through all the vaults, far-ranging round 
 
 Wander'd a sigh of utter wail. 
 Began to blow a hideous Wind, 
 A long low miserable moan : 
 As if the deadly sin was sinned ; 
 
 As if all help of Heaven must fail : 
 
A DREAM 57 
 
 As if that black deed unforgiven 
 Had open'd Hell and sealed up Heaven ; 
 As if the fiends might claim their own. 
 
 And many an hour my soul was fray'd 
 
 Because unwitting she had stray'd 
 
 The viewless gates within, 
 Where, snake-ring'd under fiery-shade 
 
 Sits aye the Portress Sin. 
 
IN EREMO— A FRAGMENT 
 
 The red sand sent the morning's fire 
 
 Back in our faces, ray for ray, 
 The mirage vex'd us with desire 
 
 Of water, many a mile away ; 
 I shook my rein and chck'd my tongue, 
 
 And cantered on a little while ; 
 Nor waited that grim Sheykh for long. 
 
 But raised his brown hand with a smile, 
 And press'd his calf and spurless heel 
 
 Like fire against his stallion's side : 
 Nor whipcord cut nor stroke of steel 
 
 Could more have stirred his pride. 
 
 Without the mighty English stride. 
 
IN EREMO — A FRAGMENT 59 
 
 But with a sharp and noiseless bound, 
 And stagUke hoofs scarce marking ground 
 
 Did he devour the way. 
 The dark-gray mare had httle care, 
 Nor I, to stay a length behind : 
 She switched her saucy tail in air 
 
 And gave her small hoofs to the wind 
 And, snorting, stretch'd away. 
 The glittering sand it shower'd behind, 
 
 The ringed horizon fled before. 
 And light up-sprung the Desert wind 
 And kiss'd our faces o'er and o'er. 
 As if the gay and careless speed 
 
 That swept us over sand and stone 
 Showed we were something of his breed 
 
 And children of his own — 
 Ah me, that weight must tell on speed ! 
 The light Sheykh took and kept the lead. 
 It may not be denied. 
 
6o IN EREMO — A FRAGMENT 
 
 Though the gray mare ran stout and true 
 As e'er ran chestnut Canezou 
 
 By mighty Surphce' straining side. 
 
 — 'Twas nothing but a rattling ride, . . . 
 Yet, I thank God, awhile it stole 
 A dead weight from a weary soul. 
 
 Full fast we rode by the Dead Sea shore ; 
 
 You had scarcely heard the light hoofs fall 
 On its steaming shingle and salt sand hoar 
 
 Where the gentle gray set her pastern small 
 
 Side by side, with an even stride. 
 So the horses went alway ; 
 And the riders turned in their seats, and eyed 
 
 Each other's faces and array. 
 He gazed, with a kindly pride 
 
 Glancing from each haughty feature. 
 Nor am I wont to turn aside 
 
 Mine own sad looks from any creature. 
 
IN EREMO— A FRAGMENT 6i 
 
 And so, half pleased and willingly 
 I looked at him, and he at me. 
 
 He was small and light of limb. 
 
 Red-haired as the Duke of Edom : 
 Sun and frost had wasted him 
 Till his falcon face look'd grim, 
 
 And untamed his eye of freedom. 
 Saracen black, with a raw-silk sleeve. 
 
 Careless pride in every fold. 
 Such as wives in Baghdad weave, 
 
 Streamed behind his mash'lah old ; 
 His Wahab hood was scarlet and gold ; 
 His saddle was worn, but his horse was gay. 
 
 His hilt was crack'd, but his blade was keen. 
 Wild, wild was his whole array. 
 
 All unwash'd was his carcase lean. 
 Chain or jewel wore he none. 
 
 Only one broad turquoise ring ; 
 
62 IN EREMO — A FRAGMENT 
 
 White with dust and black with sun 
 
 So he bore him like a king. 
 His sceptre and throne were spear and selle 
 I wot the two became him well. 
 
ST. CATHARINE'S HILL, ROUEN 
 
 Rest on this chalk-hill's shaven sward 
 
 Like some old English down, 
 And hear its murmur rise abroad 
 
 The fair old filthy town. 
 Above its stirring chattering swarm, 
 
 Against the western fire 
 Upsoars for aye one giant form. 
 
 The gaunt Cathedral spire. 
 Close by are lovelier sister-towers, 
 
 St. Ouen reigns hard by — 
 The fair Seine winds rejoicing on 
 
 Into the evening sky. 
 And yet that iron skeleton 
 
 Hath power upon the eye. 
 
64 ST. CATHARINE'S HILL, ROUEN 
 
 Look yet, before the sun be down, 
 
 Before the red hght fade, 
 How all across the humming town 
 
 He throws his belt of shade. 
 The people fret about him still, 
 
 Kind light, soft shade, beneath — 
 As their vain heart and thankless will 
 
 Frets 'neath the ancient Faith. 
 Men tell us they grow wiser now. 
 
 Being sadder — and they may : 
 But that which bowed the soul of Rou 
 
 May bend his sons to-day. 
 
 Down goes the sun in all his strength 
 With never a stain of cloud : 
 
 The bells of Eve speak out at length 
 More awful deep than loud. 
 
 Not all the city's smoke and stench 
 Can dull that flaming round ; 
 
ST. Catharine's hill, rouen 65 
 
 Not all its noise of fretful French 
 
 Keep out that lordly sound. 
 Great viewless blaze of formless light 
 
 Great voice that saith no word : 
 They strike the soul without the sense, 
 
 Felt, though unseen, unheard. 
 Time speaketh, hear him as thou wilt, 
 
 And see, if thou wilt see, 
 The smoke of toil and suffering, gilt 
 
 By glory that shall be. 
 
ILL AT LUCERNE, 1888 
 
 Chimes about the dawning, light and sweet exceeding, 
 Many an hour forgotten, now ye have your turn. 
 
 Many a time I've heard the midnight chimes unheeding, 
 Sinking now I Hsten, bells of old Lucerne. 
 
 No, I never heeded, keen on toil or pleasure ; 
 
 Ye were but a sweetness of the night forlorn. 
 Say your say, I listen, chide me in full measure, 
 
 All things seem reproachful between the night and morn. 
 
 Chimes 
 
 Hear thou, O man, this is our cry. 
 As a 7nan lives, so shall he die : 
 
ILL AT LUCERNE 67 
 
 As a man dies, so shall he be 
 All through the days of Eternity. 
 
 What of the night, poor Watchman, tossing there and 
 waking ? 
 
 Feverish night it cometh, also feverish day. 
 Dehcate notes about me as the light is breaking 
 
 Cheer my heart a little, dancing through the gray. 
 
 Day was made for working, stout and honest doing : 
 Where is all thy little heart and hand and brain ? 
 
 Night when none can work — and yet I rest not from 
 pursuing 
 Sleep that I knew yesterday, and supplicate in vain. 
 
 Chimes 
 
 Hear thou, O man, this that we say 
 Night is far spent, lo it is day. 
 Strive thou or cry, all things must cease : 
 Ere thou go forth, look to thy peace. 
 
68 ILL AT LUCERNE 
 
 There's the pleasant early twittering stir beginning 
 
 And the blue-backed swallows glance across the pane — 
 
 Rise up at the bird's voice, loving, labouring, sinning : 
 Rise up yet unbeaten — try again, again. 
 
 No, I strive and cry not now, and it may be never. 
 
 And it's not the swallows ; Solomon meant the cocks. 
 Only all night they crow, the brutes, for ever and ever, 
 
 Worrying all the sleepless, dies sit vel nox. 
 
 There is a sound of waters ; Reuss is hoarsely swelling. 
 
 Even now Dawn is cold on our northern streams afar. 
 Shall I see Ribble again, through his salmon-pools deep- 
 welling. 
 
 Or hear Wharfe murmuring darkly under the morning star? 
 # * * * * 
 
 Pain ? No, doctor, I'm thankful ; only a little fever. 
 
 Still I think it will serve ; I know I'm weaker to-day. 
 Yet I would go in His name, a sinful sad believer ; 
 
 Be it a passive rest, or a speeding away, away. 
 
ILL AT LUCERNE 69 
 
 Chimes 
 
 Wherefore, O man, ere thou depart, 
 Down with thy pride, up with thy heart. 
 Spirit and voice, say thou one word. 
 All things that be, praise ye the Lord. 
 
LAUTERBRUNNEN 
 ' THE MOUNTAIN GLOOM " 
 
 The red clouds fly wheeling 
 
 In rank and in choir : 
 Like circles of angels 
 
 All forms of clear fire. 
 The low breeze comes faintly 
 
 Along this deep glen : 
 So sounds to the blessed 
 
 The sighing of men. 
 
 O breeze moving slowly, . 
 
 So sad though so free, 
 As thou sighest lowly 
 
 So I sigh with thee : 
 
LAUTERBRUNNEN 71 
 
 Say, art thou aweary 
 
 Because thou art bound 
 To wander unresting 
 
 The wide world around ? 
 
 Or art thou so homeless 
 
 As lone as gray Fate ? 
 AATiile all other creatures 
 
 Turn each to his mate ? 
 And doth it torment thee 
 
 To pass on thy way 
 And miss Love's awakening 
 
 At sweet set of day ? 
 
 Or doth thy soul sicken 
 Because of the Pain 
 
 Thou hast seen under heaven 
 And shalt see again ? 
 
72 LAUTERBRUNNEN 
 
 For fever and hunger 
 In many a fair scene ; 
 
 For sties of foul cities 
 
 Thou canst not make clean ? 
 
 For the snow-wreaths, down rushing 
 
 Beneath thy soft breath : 
 For the grind of the glacier 
 
 Blue-white, like grim death ? 
 Which onwards and onwards 
 
 Ploughs fatefuUy past 
 Like the mills of God, grinding 
 
 To powder at last ? 
 
 For breath of all sorrow 
 That loads thy light wings, 
 
 For wasting and fading 
 Of all lovely things ? 
 
 For hope and long waiting. 
 For joy, God knows when ; 
 
LAUTERBRUNNEN 73 
 
 For sadness and madness 
 And sighing of men ? 
 
 " No — mine is no sadness 
 
 To vex the faint nerve : 
 I am but a servant 
 
 DeHghting to serve. 
 'Tis thine heart is sickly, 
 
 Thine own sullen blood 
 With the dulness and chill 
 
 Of the black Northern mood. 
 
 " True, fair things pass fleeting, 
 
 And joy cometh slow, 
 When, God knoweth only 
 
 But still, He doth know. 
 So wait thou upon Him, 
 
 Be still until then : 
 And take thy part gravely 
 
 In sighing of men." 
 
AGE 
 
 If all were sweet, still nought can last. 
 
 All wanes and pains, and halts full slow : 
 The crimson of the summits past 
 
 Is turned to pallid Alpen-glow, 
 Nor cares the modern Mouth of Gold 
 
 What song the ancient Muses sung. 
 Greece and old books — of course they're old, 
 
 But when we read them, we were young. 
 
 And I remember it is writ, 
 
 When Socrates was near his hour 
 
 His iron arm and piercing wit 
 
 Had failed in neither point nor power. 
 
AGE 75 
 
 And then the God who loved him best 
 
 And ever led him darkling on, 
 Laid on his soul one sure behest 
 
 When day was dying and not done — 
 
 " Rise up, thou wisest I have taught, 
 
 Say thy last to fool and knave. 
 Come, bravest Greek that ever fought 
 
 And sing the death-song of the brave. 
 Heaven hath no ear for Athens more. 
 
 Yet I reject not praise from thee. 
 Sing homeward, pilgrim hard and hoar. 
 
 And die at bay, and come to me." 
 
 The Sage obeyed, though scholiasts say 
 
 Right little of his lyric strain : 
 The hemlock-draught alone could stay 
 
 The deep soul-music of his brain. 
 
76 AGE 
 
 The many-winter'd swan that floats 
 
 To death, down Hebrus wild and wan, 
 
 Poured forth no sweeter parting notes 
 Than did that old and matchless man. 
 
 His song is gone, his faith is here. 
 
 The substance of his hope unseen : 
 We, with Christ's word and presence near 
 
 Can but be strong, as he hath been. 
 Nor strive, nor cry, nor greatly fear 
 
 The bellowing of the herded age. 
 The jester's sentiment or sneer. 
 
 The pedant's cold apostate rage. 
 
 LEnvoy 
 
 Dear lads, this tiresome life runs by 
 
 From " rather " bad to " rather " worse : 
 
 And when you're " rather " near to die — 
 There comes an end to reckless verse. 
 
AGE 77 
 
 :n, when you feel the hemlock's cold ^ 
 Vill Song avail ? and if so, how ? 
 [ you read Swinburne when you're old ? — 
 \.t least, the Laureate charms me now. 
 
 1 PhEedo ad fin. 
 
SKOLION 
 
 At a banquet of ancient Greece the lyre and myrtle branch, which 
 implied a call to sing, were handed from guest to guest in a zig- 
 zag (crKoXi6s) or accidental order expressed by this adjective ; 
 which came to mean the song itself.] 
 
 A GUEST at life's tumultuous board 
 
 I sate, and ate and drank my share. 
 A viewless Hand the wine outpoured, 
 
 'Twas sweet or bitter, like the fare. 
 The revel seem'd both sad and long. 
 
 The dearest were the first to flee — 
 But now — the myrtle and the song 
 
 Are come, and Life is come to me. 
 
 Right lordly sounded many a strain 
 
SKOLION 79 
 
 Of mighty minstrels, in their hour : 
 All mine had seemed so weak and vain, 
 
 A reedy pipe of little power — 
 Gladly I listened to the strong 
 
 And held my tongue full willingly. 
 But yet — behold, the branch and song 
 
 Are here, and life is come to me. 
 
 Late comes the call ; the fountain fails, 
 
 The fire at heart is dying fast. 
 And hunter's chant and true-love tales 
 
 Seem Nothings of a wasted Past. 
 But could Thy servant be preferred 
 
 Even now, to speak the praise of Thee, 
 To own Thee with one fitting word. 
 
 Then life itself were come to me. 
 
PETITS-VERS 
 
BALLADE OF EVELINE 
 
 I OUGHT to be a kind of Sage 
 
 In life and letters " not unseen ": 
 
 But there is scorn on mine old age, 
 And folks correctly call it green, 
 
 Because at this untoward stage, 
 I'm sighing after Eveline. 
 
 Our race are rather good at sighs, 
 And taciturn in " dule and teen "; 
 
 Nor think it grief to analyse 
 
 The has-been and the might-have-been, 
 
 And 'tis delight, whoe'er denies, 
 To sigh about one's Eveline. 
 
BALLADE OF EVELINE 
 
 There is a clear cup passion-bright, 
 And hope and honour foam therein : 
 
 Surely true love is true delight 
 
 Until ye drug the draught with sin — 
 
 I see her eyes of star and night — 
 'Tis well to sigh for Eveline. 
 
 EEnvoy 
 
 Prince, go your way and seek your fate. 
 Think one true-love enough to win : 
 
 Far may ye fare and long may wait, 
 Before ye meet your Evehne. 
 
A PHOTOGRAPH 
 
 Thus saith Dan Virgil of the Sun, 
 
 " There is no falsehood in his rays," 
 Sure, in dames' pictures he hath done, 
 
 He errs not on the side of praise. 
 O flower-like cheeks and gem-like eyes, 
 
 He recks not of your tender sheen. 
 He mostly makes you awful Guys ; 
 
 Why is he just to Eveline ? 
 
 He loved her — 'tis not far to seek — 
 Full often under fairer skies. 
 
 He flushed that dark transparent cheek. 
 He put the flame in those black eyes. 
 
A PHOTOGRAPH 
 
 He smiled upon the sable thumbs, 
 
 Which plied that odd Profile-Machine,^ 
 
 The whole concern in fact becomes 
 A tribute unto Eveline. 
 
 That hand has rested warm in mine, 
 
 In the long pressure of delight, 
 When Love allows one silent sign, 
 
 When breath comes short, and eyes are bright. 
 Those eyes have read my own full well. 
 
 That form is thine, my queen, my queen. 
 Those lips — I have no tales to tell 
 
 About the lips of Eveline. 
 
 1 See Pickwick Papers. 
 
OXFORD, SUMMER TERM 
 
 (by an unmarried tutor) 
 
 he Soiree — 
 
 All forms and faces look more gay, 
 
 And merrier seems the swarming hall, 
 Because that you, my Far-away, 
 
 Are mine, and sweeter than them all. 
 The brown and gold, the black and gray. 
 
 For me are all as like as peas : 
 They look their best ; I only say. 
 
 You are far fairer than all these. 
 
 'le School — 
 
 They throng the Schools, a graver sight. 
 Than any party of the Tea, 
 
88 OXFORD, SUMMER TERM 
 
 With glances irritably bright, 
 
 Pince-nez' d, expectant of Degree. 
 
 They write like mad the livelong day. 
 They dot the i's, they cross the t's, 
 
 " Go look in any glass," and say, 
 'Am I not fairer than all these?'" 
 
 The Stadium — 
 
 Then Cricket rules the noontide hours 
 
 And maidens in and out of teens 
 Peruse each others' lace and flowers. 
 
 And wonder what on earth it means. 
 The ball is smacked about the ground ; 
 
 And careless Beauty never sees ; 
 Lo, I have walked the stand around. 
 
 And find you fairer than all these. 
 
"A WELSH SONG, SUNG BY N. OR M." 
 Oxford, 187— 
 
 (stage direction, " HENRY IV.") 
 
 It was a song of the Southern lands 
 
 As sweet as their jessamine gales ; 
 Light talk'd the keys to the fair long hands, 
 
 Up soar'd the voice of wild Wales. 
 how it thrilled from the lady's throat 
 
 Silvery-strong in its clarion note, 
 With a pleasure and pain that went through one's brain 
 
 With the passion of nightingales — 
 
 What was the song Lady Mortimer sang 
 That irked the hot Percy to hear. 
 
90 A WELSH SONG 
 
 When the Shrewsbury trumpets rattled and rang 
 Their merry death-call in his ear ? 
 Had he but listened as I did then, 
 
 He might have gone on to threescore and ten ; 
 He had dwelt with his Kate, and had come by his fate 
 Through the doctor instead of the spear. 
 
 Maids we have known — they are mostly fled 
 
 Away with the last year's flowers ; 
 And " the tender graces of days that are dead " 
 
 Sing now in no garden of ours. 
 But the Southern notes and the Western tone 
 
 Now and then they are still our own : 
 Voice like a pearl, come back to the Turl, 
 
 And gladden the storm-beaten hours. 
 
LATE SPRING IN FLORENCE 
 
 Soft is the voice of Tuscan rills 
 
 Unlike the natives' usual screech. 
 They meet like lovers on their hills 
 
 And each talks softly unto each. 
 And far above the flowery braes 
 
 Where violet and narcissus grow, 
 There breaks a light thro' fading haze, 
 
 The candid flame of new-fallen snow. 
 
 A tardy Spring withholds her sweets ; 
 
 For Florence, April seems too keen. 
 Though midnight waken in her streets 
 
 To murmurs of the mandoline. 
 
92 LATE SPRING IN FLORENCE 
 
 'Tis cold : but Beauty will requite, 
 Each way by Arno's yellowing flow ; 
 
 Where Alp and Apennine are bright 
 With glory of the new-fallen snow. 
 
 To tell old Florence of her fame 
 
 The Vacca ■*■ lows her ancient knell, 
 In science, art, and gallant game 
 
 Her youngest-born become her well. 
 Rich is the civic Lily-bell 
 
 With all its heart's blood crimson glow : 
 But gentian and pale soldanelle 
 
 Are breaking through the Switzer snow. 
 
 Lo, I have bowed my Teuton head 
 And shunned the ultramontane beer ; 
 
 1 Great bell of the Palazzo Publico — in existence before Savonarola. 
 
LATE SPRING IN FLORENCE 93 
 
 Much Dante have I duly read, 
 
 But Dante was no mountaineer/ 
 Full long we've lain in Capua here 
 
 And studio painting waxes slow, 
 So Northward with the buxom year 
 
 And try your stride on Switzer snow. 
 
 1 I believe this has been disputed, but prefer my old master's 
 opinion in Modern Painters, vol. iii. p. 243. It is certainly a violation 
 of the historic ideal to imagine Dante showing his legs. — Author. 
 
tobar-na-fAshaich 1 
 
 The little rill is drained and dry, 
 
 That tried to make me glad of yore ; 
 'Tis worth the briefest word and sigh, 
 For that it ran, and runs no more : 
 It only dripp'd, it could not pour : 
 It made its little patch of green, 
 It had a pleasant moorland taste, 
 And made low music to the waste — 
 Why hath it ever been ? 
 
 Perhaps the roe-deer came at night, 
 Or little birds at morning still — 
 Or setter check'd his gallop light 
 
 1 "The Well in the Desert." 
 
TOBAR-NA-F^SHAICH 95 
 
 In the hot noon, and drank his fill, 
 Then pressed his beat along the hill 
 
 A^'ith swinging stern and dripping head ; 
 While the green hollow filled anew 
 For scattered grouse that call'd and crew, 
 Forgetfiil of their dead. 
 
 "Well, I am sorry 'tis all done : 
 
 My heathery haunt is far away. 
 Where I could mount with morning sun. 
 And settle for the livelong day. 
 And make my canvas all too gay 
 
 With crimson bloom and emerald fern : 
 Yes, all was sweet, but all is past : 
 Kind harmless hours, they could not last. 
 Life knoweth no return. 
 
 Fruited i>y R. & R. Clark, Edinbnrsh. 
 
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