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PR 4839.K43B6T88?''' "'"''' 
 nAJ'oo'' Of dreams. 
 
A BOOK OF DREAMS 
 
B^y THE S.A-3S^E .A.TJTI5COIS-- 
 
 THE DISCIPLES. Elzevir Edition. Printed 
 on Hand-made Paper. Cloth, gilt top, 6s. 
 
 *+* A New and Cheaper Issue, the Ninth, of the Original 
 Edition, may also be had, price 5^. 
 
 ' A very remarkable poem. The writer does not seem so much to 
 compose it as to breath it forth ; it is the fruit of intense personal 
 feeling ; it glows with the fic^s of an absolute conviction. It is a 
 hymn of praise, a chaunt of sorrow, suffering, and glory.' 
 
 Saturday Review. 
 
 'Unwavering faith and sustained intensity of feeling. . . . 
 Altogether "The Disciples" is a volume of great though esotric 
 interest.' — Academy. 
 
 ' Mrs. King can write good verses. The description of the cap- 
 ture of the Croats at Meshre is extremely spirited ; there is a pretty 
 picture of the road to Rome from the Abruzzi, and another of 
 Palermo-' — Athen^um. 
 
 ' In her descriptions of Italian scenery, sensuous perception and 
 spiritual insight are infused ; but her greatest power is in the tender- 
 ness of pathos, and in the exhibition of human character as influenced 
 by the loftiest and most holy motives. Her poem Is worthy of the 
 cause it celebrates and of the heroes of whom it sings.' 
 
 Daily News. 
 
 London : 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., r Paternoster Square. 
 
BOOK OF DREAMS 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON KING 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'the DISCIPLHS' 'asPROMONTe' ETC. 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 LONDON 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., i PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1888 
 
(The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A DREAM MAIDEN I 
 
 THE BLUE DISTANCE 4 
 
 FOUR WATCHES 7 
 
 REMEMBERED PATHS 1 5 
 
 A HOLIDAY 24 
 
 A MOONLIGHT RIDE 30 
 
 A PALACE 33 
 
 A STARRY SIGN 41 
 
 A MID-MAY MYSTERY 5 1 
 
 A HAUNTED HOUSE 54 
 
 SUMMER LOST 58 
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY'S DREAM . . . . 60 
 
 AWAKE 89 
 
A DREAM MAIDEN. 
 
 My baby is sleeping overhead, 
 
 My husband is in the town j 
 In my large white bed uncurtained, 
 
 All alone I lay me down. 
 
 And dreamily I have said my, prayers. 
 
 And dreamily closed my eyes, 
 And the youth in my blood moves sweetly 
 
 As my pulses fall and rise. 
 
 I lie so peaceful and lonely, 
 
 A maiden in spirit-land, 
 With the moonbeams in at the window, 
 
 And hand laid close to hand. 
 
 B 
 
A Dream, Maiden. 
 
 I wander forth in the moonbeams, 
 
 All free of heart alone, 
 Neither awake nor dreaming. 
 
 To-night it is all one. 
 
 Light of step across the carpet 
 Of the flower-entangled spring. 
 
 Light of spirit through the haunted 
 Wood pathways murmuring. 
 
 The earth is telling her secrets, 
 Never shy or strange to me ; 
 
 My heart beating only silence, 
 One with her mystery. 
 
 All over the beautiful distance 
 The air is so fresh and pure. 
 
 The night is so cool and silvery. 
 The calm is so secure. 
 
 And afar, down into the sunrise, 
 The glittering dream-v/orlds shine ; 
 
 And by this free heart triumphant 
 I pass on to make them mine. 
 
A Dream Maiden. 
 
 O elfin maiden, turn homeward, 
 And dream not so cold and wild!- 
 
 Have I not turned a woman? 
 Have I not husband and child? 
 
 B2 
 
THE BLUE DISTANCE. 
 
 Far off in the enfoldings of the hills, — 
 Violet and blue and purple hues of air, — 
 
 A haze of light the western distance fills, 
 Autumnal warm and fair ; — 
 
 Midway upon their gentle shadowy slope. 
 Shutting the world out, open to the skies ; — 
 
 Perchance a shimmer of the ocean scope 
 Down in their opening lies. 
 
 They wind together in so close a maze, 
 
 It seems the path that follows to their heart 
 
 From valley unto valley streams and strays. 
 Showing but part and part. 
 
The Blue Distance. 5 
 
 Not where it leads into that inner fold, 
 Where surely doth the warm sun rest and stay, 
 
 And still such utter peace the day doth hold, 
 It broodeth there alway. 
 
 Are there not two this shining afternoon 
 Sitting within that hollow of the hills? 
 
 Wrapped all around with t,hat low murmuring tune 
 The golden air which fills. 
 
 Do they not rest in one unshadowed trance, 
 Their blissful eyes reflected each in each? 
 
 The hours go by them in a slow sweet dance. 
 Too satisfied for speech. 
 
 There are they sitting in the mist of azure, — 
 Surely I mark the happy spot afar, — 
 
 There is the path whence I can find by measure 
 That fair place where they are. 
 
 Have they been resting there while cloudless flitting 
 The noon has past, and sunset now draws nigh? 
 
 Or was it yesterday they so were sitting? 
 — Or have there years gone by? 
 
I The Blue Distajice. 
 
 Shall I again find two, still rapture-hearted ? 
 
 Are they there now, and is it always so ? 
 Or will there be but one, and one departed? 
 
 This vexes me, to know. 
 
 How many times have I set out already ! 
 
 It is so golden in the afternoon : 
 Immortal shines the halcyon light and steady, 
 
 And I shall find it soon. 
 
 But when I start upon the journey thither 
 The sky above my steps is dull and grey, 
 
 And all around the path hangs darkling weather, 
 Like light of common day. 
 
 And as I go it seems to draw no nearer, 
 But the embosoming hillsides intervene ; — 
 
 Each as I pass, I lose the distance clearer. 
 For turning-points between. 
 
 Surely if I can find it once more only. 
 That purple hollow in the purple hill, 
 
 Though I am one upon the road and lonely, 
 There will be two there still. 
 
FOUR WATCHES. 
 
 NOON. 
 
 Apple- BLOSSOM, apple-blossom — all the low boughs 
 pass 
 Rosy overhead, letting the deep sky through ; 
 Dark the hyacinth bows above the long lush grass, 
 Hardly waves the west wind from the far-off 
 fields of blue. 
 
 All around, the thrushes, all around the orchard 
 bower, 
 Sing so loud, so loud no other voice is heard ; — 
 All around, the humming bees weave out the golden 
 hour 
 In a chain of filmy rustlings ; — softly, softly 
 stirred ; 
 
8 Four Watches. 
 
 Silent falls a shower of petals white and rosy, 
 Warm upon my neck and arms and face ; — 
 
 Soft, soft again, another shower drifts slowly : 
 — Why am I standing all alone within this place ? 
 
 Heart, my heart, why beatest thou ? The sudden 
 white and pink 
 Over my face why waver they, and pass? 
 Can I not look upward ? Wherefore start and 
 shrink 
 At the coming — what is coming? through the 
 grass. 
 
Four Watches. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 Roses, red roses, — in a low wall at my feet, 
 
 Roses all behind me, higher than my head, 
 Roses on either hand, crowding upwards full and 
 sweet, 
 And far in front the sunset, over heaven out- 
 spread. 
 
 Crimson sinks the sun in a burning crystal sea. 
 Crimson the cloudlet isles float over the stainless 
 glow. 
 Crimson the breathless earth enkindles suddenly 
 In the swift and sweeping wave of the heavens' 
 overflow. 
 
 All one way to the west the roses hearken and turn, 
 Far away are the heavens ; but the quiver and 
 thrill are near ; — 
 Is it the flame in the west, that my cheeks so 
 crimson burn? 
 Why am I all alone among the roses here ? 
 
lo Four Watches. 
 
 Heart, my heart, be still ! Why through the still- 
 ness glowing 
 Beat so loud, so fast, I cannot hear a tread ? 
 Why does the low light dazzle my eyes from know- 
 ing 
 Who is coming near and nearer where the roses 
 are so red ? 
 
Four Watches. 1 1 
 
 MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Orange-blossom, orange-blossom, — all the Southern 
 night 
 Lit by the large moon, over the purple seas. 
 Out of the purple heaven, — all the earth unfolded 
 white, 
 And the white flowers shining, sparkling on the 
 trees. 
 
 Heavy and warm with fragrance, the air of the 
 night is still, 
 Down the white walls of my chamber the shadow 
 is stealing soon ; 
 The frogs croak out of the pools,— over scented 
 grove and hill 
 White miles of the orange-blossom meet the 
 whiteness of the moon. 
 
 Fast sleep the shadows on the floor of silver 
 thrown. 
 Not a bright leaf rustling low, or brushed aside ; — 
 
12 Four Watches. 
 
 All alone in the shadow, — am I all alone? 
 And why are the doors and windows open all so 
 wide? 
 
 Heart, my heart, breathe free ! wherefore sink or 
 swoon ? 
 What is there but silence, but sweetness in the 
 hour ? 
 Am I so white, so white, with the glory of the 
 moon ? 
 Dare I not look round me through the maze of 
 orange-flower ? 
 
Four Watches. 1 3 
 
 SUNRISE. 
 
 Passion-flower, passion-flower, — through the break- 
 ing grey 
 The wreathen, pallid blooms look in through the 
 window pane ; 
 Opening, and opened, and faded, and dying before 
 the day. 
 The wan sprays beaten with wind and wet with 
 the pouring rain. 
 
 Pale their starry faces crowd the window ; they beat 
 and call 
 Against it, waxen-pale, with the passionate purple 
 streak ; 
 Out beyond them the sky in the east stretches 
 ghostly pale, and all 
 The shelterless waste of wind drives blind and 
 bleak. 
 
 The cold pale light is here, but all is misty and far; — 
 Am I here all alone ? Why is it I cannot see ? 
 
14 Four Watches.. 
 
 Or are there many here? — no matter now if there 
 are, — 
 Or is there only one, O hand that is holding 
 me ! 
 
 Heart, my heart, be still ! why, through the dawn- 
 ing early, 
 So faint, so cold, so slow, with all the passion 
 past? 
 Why are my eyes so dim, I know, yet see not 
 clearly 
 Who is coming, — who is come — who is with me 
 now at last? 
 
15 
 
 remembs:red paths. 
 
 I WILL arise and go to-day ; 
 
 Surely I cannot miss the way. 
 
 It is not far, — one morning fair 
 
 We walked in autumn sunshine there; — 
 
 How young and strong and glad we were ! 
 
 A thinly-wooded glen began, 
 
 A hurrying streamlet downward ran ; 
 
 The woodland ways were soft and green. 
 
 The little rivulet between 
 
 In merry flashes heard and seen. 
 
 It dances downward from its source 
 In quick clear streams of mountain force ; 
 Headlong its light cascades it throws. 
 Over the stones it churns and flows, 
 And bubbles on without repose. 
 
1 6 Remembered Paths. 
 
 So narrow that from moss to moss 
 At first we lightly stepped across ; 
 But as we walk it swells beside, 
 And now it rushes wild and wide, 
 All foaming white with rapid tide. 
 
 The firwood darkens o'er it still, 
 The odours of the firwood fill 
 The air, and underneath a bed 
 Of the dry needles fallen is spread. 
 Smooth and elastic to our tread. 
 
 A river now it rolls along 
 In the broad valley swift and strong ; 
 Close by, with all their flocks of snow. 
 Ceaseless against the rocks below 
 The multitudinous waters flow. 
 
 So near it is — why has it been 
 So long since I the place have seen ? 
 When was it last? At least no more 
 I will delay, — I go before 
 Another hour of light is o'er. 
 
Remembered Paths. 17 
 
 Neighbours and friends, bridegroom and bride, 
 We walked that morning side by side; 
 Our steps were light, our talk was gay ; — 
 Shall we not go again that way? 
 Will it not be as bright to-day? 
 
 Are all of us not here who came? 
 Why should not all things be the same? 
 Something is strange, — because I seem 
 To know so well the rush and gleam 
 Of that resounding forest stream : 
 
 And yet I cannot tell the day 
 When last I saw it, — and alway 
 When I remember it, my mind 
 Is to go there once more to find 
 That morning long since left behind. 
 
 And still I stir not, though I know 
 That close at hand it winds below ; 
 And so the time slips idly on, 
 Till all is shadowy and unknown ; — 
 Now then at once I will begone. 
 c 
 
1 8 Remembered Paths. 
 
 There comes a blinding cloud of rain 
 And blots all waymarks out again ; 
 Darkness comes on, and it is night, 
 And suddenly before my sight 
 Something breaks off the memory quite. 
 
 Again and yet again it calls, 
 That noise of streaming waterfalls ; — 
 What does it matter, wind or rain? 
 A few steps bring me there again. 
 And I shall know it sure and plain. 
 
 And passing that, what came the next 
 
 Is somewhat to my sense perplext : 
 
 But after no long while our feet 
 
 Were on a down whose turf made fleet 
 
 The miles, with thyme and eyebright sweet 
 
 The white clouds in the clear blue sky ! 
 Why do the dull dark days go by, 
 And heavy toils chain down, and care, 
 While all that open noon is there. 
 The thistledown upon the air? 
 
Remembered Paths. 19 
 
 The careless speech, the sunny hours, 
 The untired limbs, — and all are ours. 
 Is it not strange that we who knew, 
 Meet not more often to renew 
 The joys so easily that grew? 
 
 And from those grassy slopes, I know 
 A deep and hollow wood below 
 We entered, — but beyond no more 
 Can I recall : these paths of yore 
 Meseems some wave has here swept o'er. 
 
 I know that at the end of all 
 There was another waterfall : 
 But this one from an awful height, 
 A wonderful and far-famed sight 
 Fell roaring down and lost in night. 
 
 This was our pilgrimage's goal ; 
 Not far, — for twas a morning's stroll 
 But if it still be there I doubt, 
 So many years have blotted out 
 The paths and country all about. 
 
20 Remembered Paths. 
 
 This moment must I seize to seek, 
 Or all may vanish as I speak ; 
 So many a day, so many a year 
 Of fruitless wishes hovering near, 
 While yet the very scene is here. 
 
 Still I am here — what binds me fast? 
 Another vision too is cast 
 Before me, of a field full-blown 
 I wandered into once alone, 
 And ever since its place is gone. 
 
 It lies high up the meadow land. 
 All round it other meadows stand. 
 No landmark shows it — unaware 
 I entered one cool evening there 
 Through the grey grasses tall and fair, 
 
 Rustling around my knees to pass ; 
 
 But tall amid the flowering grass 
 
 Stood pale rare flowers, long sought unseen. 
 
 Orchis, day-lily, and helleberine. 
 
 And others crowding through the green. 
 
Remembered Paths. 21 
 
 They vanished with the setting sun, 
 Before I stooped to gather one ; 
 Nor will they reappear ; but still 
 I wander on with dreaming will, 
 To find another western hill. 
 
 But this was far — so far — away, 
 I reached it but at close of day, 
 And many a hill which now is lost 
 I rounded tired and travel-tost. 
 And many a rivulet I crost. 
 
 Till suddenly, I know not how, 
 
 I came out on the purple brow, 
 
 All mantled with the heather hue ; 
 
 And mid the bracken-gold I knew 
 
 One straight stalk where the moonwort grew. 
 
 But, facing full, the setting sun 
 Sank down again, and all was done ; 
 Yet in that moment's russet glow 
 I caught blue glimpses far below 
 That seemed like fairy-land to show. 
 
22 Remembered Paths. 
 
 And as I trod the lonely ground, 
 
 So deep a sense of peace breathed round, 
 
 I seemed the borderland to press 
 
 Of some enchanted wilderness 
 
 Springing in unknown loveliness. 
 
 Could I once more that summit win, 
 It seems as if there would begin 
 A golden way on every side, 
 Stretching into the moorland wide. 
 Irradiate and glorified. 
 
 But when I ponder on the quest, 
 All things are difficult at best ; 
 Right out of mind the way has past. 
 And if I find it at the last, 
 The evening, will be closing fast. 
 
 Therefore at least it would be wise 
 At earliest daylight to arise, 
 And start ; — then if good hap attend, 
 I might have there, ere daylight end, 
 Some hours of afternoon to spend. 
 
Remembered Paths. 23 
 
 How many hours, how many days, 
 How many years the self-same ways 
 Of thought and memory I have traced. 
 Now or no more ! — At once make haste ! 
 — And still the moments run to waste. 
 
24 
 
 A HOLIDAY. 
 
 A FRESH new day dawns for the world and me, 
 And all the day is consciously my own. 
 I am alone, and free, and without care ; 
 Having forgotten all that went before, 
 Having no guess of anything to come ; 
 Unchained to any ceaseless wheel of toil. 
 Hunger and thirst are not importunate, 
 There is no weariness of brain or limb. 
 Nor any failing of the even pulse. 
 To make the merely living less of joy. 
 I am not haunted by the absent eyes, 
 I am not longing for the parted hand ; 
 My heart is all my own, my life is mine ; 
 All is unknown and new, and I myself 
 Am to myself unknown ; and where I am 
 Is unknown to me, also whence I came. 
 If any shadow, as 1 dimly dream. 
 
A Holiday. 2; 
 
 Hovers around, if there be anywhere 
 A common lot in which the common life 
 Is woven out of twisted dusty strands, 
 Inextricably mixed in cross and care. 
 At least I am outside of it to-day, 
 I have awakened in another sphere. 
 
 I would not lose one of these daylight hours 
 Of liberty, and that keen secret sense, 
 Most infinite in all its endless chance. 
 And most exhaustless in its earliest spring, 
 Of the unknown delight the day must bring. 
 Therefore, arising with the rising sun, 
 I pass alone into the open air. 
 The clear air with the low Ught all around ; 
 No smoke obscures the pale and shining sky, 
 Though this is a great city, and no stir 
 Of wheels or passengers is yet abroad 
 On the wide empty pavements swept and smooth. 
 
 A spacious city, with a forest growth 
 Of land and water, for a hundred spires 
 Tower over all, and the broad waterways 
 Glide through its midst, and ancient houses grey. 
 With high red roofs, are crowded to their edge, 
 And bridges cross beyond, and far away 
 
26 A Holiday. 
 
 Are stately openings, like a glimpse confused 
 Of fretted piles behind a thousand masts, 
 That line the port ; but close at hand the quays 
 On which I walk are solitary still. 
 And all the brigs and barges seem to sleep. 
 Yet here and there some early wayfarer 
 Is passing, like myself, but distant still. 
 How lucent is the morning 1 It would seem 
 As if a great rain yesterday had washed 
 All things beneath the sky, both underfoot 
 And overhead : — in deep transparence blue 
 The shadows lie all down the gabled streets 
 As if in mountain valleys, and the light 
 Catches the gilded weathercocks like peaks. 
 But here the central space and waterside 
 Is rolled and flooded by the mounting sun, 
 And straight into the sunshine I walk on. 
 While momently the sunshine grows and spreads. 
 And from the shadows some fresh shapes stand clear ; 
 And chimes of bells begin to float above. 
 And mingle with the slight awakening sounds 
 Below : — and now, while still the morning air 
 Breathes its first freshness — what shall be the gift 
 The hour shall bring me ? what the springing flower 
 To meet the joyous springing of my blood ? 
 What is the quickening spirit on the wind 
 
A Holiday, 27 
 
 That quickens as with wings my unbound feet ? 
 Unguided and unbidden, what compels 
 My. aimless steps to follow to their goal ? 
 What fortune of the future unforetold, 
 Moments of pearls strung on a golden thfead, 
 Lies hidden in this daylong labyrinth ? 
 Within what folding of these walled ways 
 Waits the foreshadowed reading of the tale ? 
 Which is the way to turn? and what shall be 
 The new delight of the new scene disclosed ? 
 What figure even now is on its way, 
 Through glittering haze of sunlight undiscerned, 
 Till face to face we meet, and I shall know 
 Why forward still I fare, and what is fate? 
 
 I pass adown a shadowed garden walk 
 That bends downhill ; a thicket either hand 
 O'erarches in a high and ancient growth 
 Of dark and shining foliage still as sleep, 
 And. all the path is overgrown with moss. 
 The sunbeams in their flickering green and gold 
 Still hold the morning light, as it might seem. 
 Three hours to noon. The wood-gloom soft and 
 
 damp 
 Is heavy with the scented laurel-bloom, 
 
28 A Holiday. 
 
 Now turning faint with languishment of joy, 
 Having kept wakeful all the warm night through ; 
 And on th' expectant air there hangs a dream 
 As if from hidden beds of hyacinths, 
 Down In the dell below among the leaves. 
 There is a swooning sweetness in the hour, 
 All overcharged with its own deep perfume. 
 And dim with rapture of the sunbeams stolen 
 Into the haunted heart of the smooth shade, 
 Which calls perforce upon the place, the time 
 To answer to its yearning self-delight. 
 And to let loose the soul invisible. 
 For surely, as I pass, the conscious air 
 Can hold no more its secret, but must speak. 
 Already overladen with its sighs 
 Of fragrance, and the balm of the musk-rose ; 
 And at the next turn of the golden day 
 The fate that trembles unrevealed around 
 Must step forth in some semblance palpable. 
 And must make one the heart of all things here. 
 Which now are throbbing to the unknown joy. 
 There cannot be but close, unutterable, 
 The coming of the crowning of the year. 
 
 And at my feet a flutter — and behold ! 
 I tread among a softly-stirring crowd 
 
A Holiday. 29 
 
 Of slow and half-awakened butterflies, 
 
 As if the moist and tender heat of earth 
 
 Had breathed them forth new-born to the new day. 
 
 All down the path is suddenly alive 
 
 With grey and glistering films that break to life, 
 
 Their wet, furled wings unclosing momently. 
 
 About to spread into a golden cloud. 
 
 Folded in dew and moss and speechless sleep 
 
 Waiting ; — and now th' enchanted hour has come 
 
 That sets them free — a mist of starry shapes 
 
 They rise, to wander down the noonward way. 
 
30 
 
 A MOONLIGHT RIDE. 
 
 Through the lands low-lying, fast and free 
 I ride alone and under the moon ; 
 
 An empty road that is strange to me, 
 Yet at every turn remembered soon : 
 
 A road like a racecourse, even and wide, 
 
 With grassy margins on either side ; 
 
 In a rapture of blowing air I ride. 
 With a heart that is beating tune. 
 
 Light as on turf the hoof-beats fall. 
 As on spongy sod as fast and fleet,' 
 
 For the road is smooth and moist withal, 
 And the water springs under the horse's feet ; 
 
 And to every stride sounds a soft plash yet, 
 
 For all the length of the way is wet 
 
 With many a runnel and rivulet 
 That under the moonlight meet. 
 
A Moonlight Ride. 31 
 
 surely the water lilies should be 
 Sunk away and safe folded to rest ! 
 
 But, no ; they are shining open and free, 
 White and awake on the water's breast : 
 On the long and shimmering waterway, 
 All silver-spread to the full moon's ray. 
 The shallow dykes that straggle and stray 
 With their floating fringes drest. 
 
 The road will flow winding and winding away 
 Through the sleeping country to-night ; 
 
 All one long level of dusky grey, 
 
 The border hedges slip past in flight ; 
 
 Turning and twisting in many a lane, 
 
 Mile after mile of a labyrinth chain 
 
 1 have seen before, I shall see again, 
 Yet remember not aright. 
 
 And somewhere all out of sight there stands 
 A sleeping house that is white and low. 
 
 Hid in the heart of the level lands. 
 
 The lands where the waters wander slow. 
 
 Embowered all round by the thickset ways. 
 
 Set in a silent and stately maze 
 
 Of high-grown ilex, arbutus, bays, — 
 If I ever saw it, I do not know. 
 
32 A Moonlight Ride. 
 
 Shall I ever reach it? or ere the day 
 Breaks, will it all have passed away? 
 
 If only the night might last ! 
 While the mists of moonlight the warm air fill, 
 Out of boskage and bower so deep and still 
 There reaches afar the glimmer, the thrill, — 
 
 O the night is flying too fast ! 
 
33 
 
 A PALACE: 
 
 In a vast court are many fountains playing, 
 Upon their silver spray the moonlight falls, 
 
 With broken shadows down their long line straying, 
 About them stand the great quadrangle walls. 
 
 Like spreading lakes the even waters sleeping 
 Within their banks of marble brim the space ; 
 
 Bright columns upward from their surface leaping, 
 And flashing through the wide enchanted place. 
 
 The countless casements from afar look down, 
 The moonbeams sparkle on them full and fair ; 
 
 I never once have seen them open thrown, 
 Nor any face for but a moment there. 
 
 D 
 
34 A Palace. 
 
 In the lone nights it is a long delight 
 To bathe at will in those moon-lighted waves, 
 
 Floating from fountain unto fountain white, 
 Into the heart of their foam-wreathen caves. 
 
 Where, bubbling up and up and curling o'er. 
 Their mazy circles break, and from them all 
 
 A thousand waves at once bewildering poui 
 In the swift dashing of the waterfall. 
 
 And passing under them, to lie beside 
 
 The tall thin columns held in glittering thread, 
 
 That high in air drop their cold showers aside, 
 Slow and delicious on the yielding bed. 
 
 Enfolded round in all that liquid chillness. 
 Shadowed among the shadows, it is sweet. 
 
 Borne scarcely moving through the smoothed stillness, 
 Where musical the flowing waters meet. 
 
 I weary not, for ever-changing dashes 
 From the dark ripple of the endless pool 
 
 The margin-mist of pearl, and diamond flashes 
 Shoot towards the stars, with wafts of winnowing cool. 
 
A Palace. 35 
 
 Ceaseless they stream, far down in rapid glimmer 
 They mingle still and pour above, below, 
 
 Passing into the shadow dim and dimmer ; — 
 I have not seen their end nor where they go. 
 
 I cannot tell within what lonely land 
 These watery ranges are enclosed and laid. 
 
 Nor the surrounding piles that silent stand 
 Stretching afar in broken light and shade. 
 
 Nor by what spell at nights they reappear, 
 When they have long been lost and out of mind, 
 
 The same as they have stood for many a year, 
 With darkness all around them and behind. 
 
 These marble courts have been so long deserted, 
 My step the solitude rings through and through 
 
 Half fearful of itself and half uncertaia 
 If in its echoes others mingle too. 
 
 Some presence, hiding part and part revealing. 
 Lurks in each darkling porch and buttress cleft ; 
 
 From pillar unto pillar quickly stealing, 
 
 I cross the ground, looking not right nor left. 
 
36 A Palace. 
 
 Till shelterless the moon's full rays discover 
 A terrible white stretch of snow-white stone ; 
 
 An unknown peril drives me breathless over, 
 Yet having passed, I still am there alone. 
 
 And entering through the palace-doorways open, 
 I find the vast and empty halls my own ; 
 
 Year after year the place has been familiar, 
 Yet its whole length has never yet been known. 
 
 Dimly and softly lamps unseen are burning 
 All down the endless vista every side, 
 
 Broad flights of stately stairs lead upward turning 
 In shadowy heights, and right and left divide. 
 
 And other sombre staircases are leading 
 Down underground mysterious and cold ; 
 
 Opening all round, and out of sight receding 
 The long and vaulted corridors unfold. 
 
 Into this deep and labyrinthine hollow. 
 Where the same mild unchanging light has shone, 
 
 Fearless and with a keen intent I follow 
 Through empty passages still on and on. 
 
A Palace. 3 7 
 
 Each time I find myself within the winding 
 Of this low wandering crypt known but to me, 
 
 This time at least must fortune favour, finding 
 At last, I hope, the long-sought mystery. 
 
 Yet it remaineth without end or reading, 
 Suddenly gone, before I touch the clue : — 
 
 On other days my search bends upwards, leading 
 To the dim galleries lengthened out of view. 
 
 Door after door all down the archways splendid 
 
 I open and I enter, and behold 
 The dusky rows of chambers never-ended, 
 
 All richly furnished, waiting as of old. 
 
 But never any sign of presence living. 
 
 Nor sound of any movement but my own, 
 
 As fast I tread the floors of velvet giving 
 A muffled echo to my steps alone. 
 
 They stand and wait, in unexplored number. 
 Darkling in gloom confused that shifts and errs. 
 
 — Through the recesses of its charmfed slumber, 
 Yet are there other nights when something stirs. 
 
38 A Palace. 
 
 And all the great mysterious mansion quivers, 
 And moves, with shadows everywhere unseen 
 
 But close at hand ; yet none of them delivers 
 By speech or shape what their uprisings meaa 
 
 All is awakened, and the night is trembling 
 With a strange sense of wonder and of fear ; 
 
 AA'ho knoweth what they are, or why assembling, 
 That have possession of the darkness here? 
 
 The fear grows fast, — I fly, — as if pursuing 
 The palace all behind me seems to close ; 
 
 But opens still before at the undoing 
 
 Of each new door, and still new scenes it shows. 
 
 Between the gilded rooms, no signal guiding. 
 With trembling fingers I unlock the door, 
 
 Knowing not but that at the next in hiding 
 I meet the very thing I flee before. 
 
 Yet still the fear is mastered by the wonder. 
 The swift, strange glimpses fresh at every turn, 
 
 The secret things that lie beyond and under 
 Impatient to my restless question burn. 
 
A Palace. 39 
 
 The heavy curtains sweep in purple shimmering 
 Down the whole height of the luxurious walls, 
 
 And from the pictured ceilings silver glimmering 
 A fluctuating lustre softly falls. 
 
 Books are there, floating perfumes, vases golden. 
 Unfolded silken coverings orient-dyed. 
 
 Signs all about of costly service holden. 
 And scattered robes thrown carelessly aside. 
 
 Within these mazes manifold entangled 
 I traversing these great saloons perceive 
 
 Each of them has four doors and stands four-angled, 
 And one of these I choose, and three I leave. 
 
 Which is the right one? But no time to ponder, 
 For the wild terror seizes me too near ; 
 
 Behind me the unseen, before me yonder 
 
 The unknown — both a breathless rush of fear. 
 
 If I should miss ! — then all at once is over ; — 
 And yet not fear alone my flight compels : 
 
 The longing some strange secret to discover 
 Is still the strongest of these silent spells. 
 
40 A Palace. 
 
 Dashing through one, and in an instant's glancing 
 Choosing the next, and bounding straight across 
 
 The spacious passage, in the swift advancing 
 Of those who follow, every moment's loss 
 
 Destruction ! — scarce my fingers turn for trembling 
 The handle, and no time to draw it close ; 
 
 Open behind me streams the endless mystery 
 Of all this magic midnight house of foes. 
 
 Yet, head to foot with the approaching capture 
 Panting and shuddering, mingles therewithal 
 
 An unexplained and unaccounted rapture 
 As of some mighty marvel to befall. 
 
 I turn at length, still onward blindly speeding, 
 Into one room from whose enclosing wall 
 
 There is no other door nor opening leading ; 
 — I am at the inmost chamber of them all ! 
 
 Here is the end, and I am trapped within it ; 
 
 My eyes are hidden waiting for the blow 
 To fall, — at last has come the fatal minute : — 
 
 For what? — I wake, and still I do not know. 
 
41 
 
 A STARRY SIGN. 
 
 I DWELT within a city of old days, 
 
 Beside a river ; — all who dwelt therein 
 
 Feared God, and served him, and obeyed his 
 
 voice. 
 And listened for it, and abode in peace. 
 There was no thought of poverty or wrong 
 Between us, and our prayers rose day by day 
 In harmony, and all the days were fair ; 
 Yet hope of something fairer ever kept 
 The stirring of a live flame at the heart. 
 And in those days a new portent was seen 
 In heaven ; — for in that city night by night 
 All read the stars, — having no other book, 
 And knowing them by name, and loving them 
 As living lights along the mortal way. 
 But now amid the white familiar host 
 Would suddenly break forth some unknown star, 
 
42 A Starry Sign. 
 
 Or sometimes many stars, of splendour strange, 
 
 And mystic message from the lords of life. 
 
 At even or at midnight or towards dawn 
 
 The vision came, and in the depths of heaven 
 
 The new stars shone, and this was in their power — 
 
 One only could behold them, and that one 
 
 Who saw them, him they called and drew away. 
 
 So that he might but follow, east or west. 
 
 As the sky held them ; and he passed the gate 
 
 With his eyes fixed upon them, following 
 
 Their glory, else invisible to all. 
 
 But none of all who passed returned again. 
 
 Nor could they speak aright the semblances 
 
 Of what they saw, nor that whereby their star 
 
 Differed from other stars ; but most the light 
 
 On their own faces told us of some joy 
 
 Hidden from us, and incommunicate. 
 
 Now over all the city sweet and still 
 Brooded a shadow of mysterious hope. 
 Unmixed with fear, for heaven and man were 
 
 friends ; 
 Yet not on every night the signs appeared, 
 But often far between, — or yet again 
 On some auspicious hours they crowded in. 
 Fast following, or together : therefore all 
 
A Starry Sign. 43 
 
 Watched the blue skies and waited their own turn, 
 Each prayincr for this favour of the spheres ; 
 And as the sun set and the twilight grew, 
 The footfalls of the multitude would pass 
 And murmur of their voices through the streets. 
 And twilight deepened, and the echoes spread. 
 Until some happy eyes beheld at length 
 Their own, their star, in heaven ! Then thrilled 
 
 the throngs 
 With but the shadow of the gift unseen ; 
 But they, the seers, departed, leaving those 
 Behind them, still uplifted with desire ; 
 And some would watch all night unsatisfied. 
 
 The sun had set — the Evening Star shone clear 
 In a clear sky, and a half-moon arose ; 
 The roofs lay low on the horizon line. 
 And wide between the river and the street 
 Stretched the embankment, to and fro of which 
 I wandered with the rest ; — the air was cool ; 
 Upon the moving faces out of doors 
 Dimness began to fall, and through the dusk 
 Thickened the stream of voices and of feet. 
 When lo ! it was there before me — mine alone, 
 My star ! — I knew it, and my heart stood still. 
 O glory greater than beUeved before ! 
 
44 A. Starry Sign, 
 
 There throbbing through the depths electrical, 
 
 Not one but seven, a constellation hung 
 
 Low down in the violet North, in ordered sign. 
 
 Large golden-globed like lamps, and in their light 
 
 Burned words and utterance greater than all words; 
 
 While round about me buzzed the rumour caught 
 
 Of my preferment in the grace of heaven, 
 
 And all the eyes were straining after mine 
 
 To share the opened treasure — but in vain. 
 
 But I no longer knew of aught save joy, 
 
 And a quick pulse of measureless desire 
 
 Close to the height of its accomplishment; — 
 
 Whither, O whither ? Stay ! I come, I come ! 
 
 I know not now if there was any one 
 Or anything to leave : I had no care 
 But to press onward through the golden door. 
 Kind hands and voices bade farewell to me, 
 Wistful and yet not envious, and I went 
 Out of the gates alone ; — I crossed the bridge ; 
 And on to meet the heavenly messengers 
 Moved through the night ; there floated scents of 
 
 hay 
 And dewy honeysuckle as I trod 
 The river-meadows deep in folded flowers 
 Cool to the feet ; but still those burning stars 
 
A Starry Sign. 45 
 
 Burned in my heart, and held my eyes apart 
 From all the under-world. I scarcely knew 
 Whether I passed by bush or brake or bower; 
 The flutterings . of the young birds in the nests, 
 The stirrings of small wild things in the grass. 
 The whirring past of dusky wings awoke 
 The silence of the shadows round the way ; 
 But music visible was awake in heaven, 
 And all my spirit, awake and answering, 
 Moved to its measure without speech or sound. 
 O golden lights, how stedfastly ye glow ! 
 
 Pass not too soon, O Night ! Keep close awhile 
 The folded secret of thy solemn skies ! 
 Let not the full light stream from open doors 
 So golden-glorious as to overpower 
 The silver silence of these hours of thine ! 
 O passionate and overcoming spell, * 
 
 Sweeping with measured strokes to the unknown, 
 — Whether more sweet than music of a dream, 
 Whether more terrible than trump of doom, — 
 Can that once known be once or evermore 
 So precious as this shadowy suspense? 
 O over-swift and over-exquisite 
 Passage of unfulfilled expectancy. 
 Lengthen out all thy limits to the last ! 
 
46 A Starry Sign. 
 
 What can the whole heaven give to me when 
 
 gained 
 More than this fleeting rapture of the way? 
 For I am coming, coming at your call, 
 Immortal ! yours I am whose motions sway 
 All worlds in unity, and with their own 
 Measure and rule the motions of my blood ; — 
 Whose waves of fire sweep down the fretted 
 
 chords 
 Through all the heights and depths of cosmic 
 
 change 
 In the illimitable fountain stream, 
 Downward in dissolution slow and sad, 
 Upward in rushing resurrection flame ; 
 Who, through the uttermost deeps invisible, 
 Spirit to spirit make the music sound 
 That endlessly unites and re-unites 
 In breathless chain without an interval. 
 That reaches to you in the conscious will. 
 That quickens to you in the blind desire. 
 Bursting the cerecloth of the buried seed, 
 Stirring the young life in the orbfed shell 
 To tender flutter under brooding wings ; — 
 One of your kingdom, signed and sealed to you 
 By visible bond and token, even mine, 
 The question of your face is turned on me. 
 
A Starry Sign. 47 
 
 And all my life incorporate with yours 
 Springs upward in one answer, home to you ! 
 
 Deepen, O darkness of the hollow blue 
 Around me ! crowded with the quivering plumes 
 That in pale flame invisible shoot up, 
 Opening and shutting, to the highest arch 
 Of palpitating heaven ; that fan the ni^ht 
 With airs whose fulness steals the soul away 
 To the unseen dominions whence they breathe. 
 Float ever thinner, veils of filmy light. 
 Drawn from refulgence of another sphere, 
 That hath in it no heat or heart of fire, 
 Yet whose illumining is as a robe 
 Surrounding soul and sense with outward joy, 
 And an investiture of wings supreme. 
 O pause in heaven, ye stars ! and grudge me not 
 The minutes of this priceless wandering ! 
 Once yours, I never can be here again 
 Part of this earth whereon I still set foot, 
 And all her works and ways that mix in me, 
 And make this message that I have of you 
 A something strange and new and wonderful 
 Whereof I am not wholly yet possest. 
 The mystery of your undeciphered scroll 
 Beats in my heart, a joy too great to hold. 
 
48 A Starry Sign. 
 
 And at the threshold of your palaces 
 
 I linger long on every crystal stair 
 
 Bridging the fathomless gulfs of ecstasy ; 
 
 And tremble as before the temple doors, 
 
 While from within them sweeps a breeze of sound 
 
 Dissolving heaven with sweetness, and the soul 
 
 Swoons, and is changed within it, and forgets ; 
 
 And lift no hand in haste toward the veil, 
 
 Lest the unutterable splendour strike 
 
 This starry purple into distance cold. 
 
 The heart of heaven is open everywhere. 
 Hearkening in infinite hush of ravishment. 
 And in the midst my soul, stayed in her flight. 
 Hovers in the clear darkness of suspense. 
 Listening intent and saying. Not yet, not yet ; 
 Be not too quick in coming ; leave me still 
 The shadowy glories of the unfulfilled. 
 The faint far snatches echoing worlds away. 
 I ask not whither ye are leading me. 
 For, filled with the delight of following. 
 No room is left me to desire the end. 
 
 I am in the open, many miles away. 
 High on the slope of a long shelving down. 
 And under me the wide and waving weald 
 
A Starry Sign. 49 
 
 Grows wider with each upward step I take. 
 The lapsing hours have changed the starry face 
 Of the clear sky, and up to regnant height 
 The sovereign moon has floated through the midst ; 
 And fronting still, still level to my eyes 
 Those seven fair faces shining full on me. 
 All silent, in a calm and raptured dream 
 Slumbers the earth, lying with upturned face 
 All one white rippling smile, that far away 
 In bosoming woods and fields and villages 
 Sinks to the ring of shadowy under-world. 
 Stretching in long uninterrupted light, 
 Low at my feet the delicate hillside turf 
 Glitters in threads of silver all the way. 
 All the wide world is empty, save of peace 
 And utter radiance of the heavenly height ; 
 And the cool air that wavers fitfully 
 Across the flood of glory golden-white 
 Breathes through me with a rapture swift and strong 
 The thrill of that disclosure presently. 
 Above me, to the vanishing of space. 
 Heaven beyond heaven arises, thronging through. 
 Ready to bear the wingfed soul away ; 
 While earth enlarges her horizon bound. 
 And grows more lovely and more lustrous pale 
 For every instant of the blissful night. 
 E 
 
50 A Starry Sign. 
 
 I know I am all alone on the white down ; 
 My eyes are to the stars, and following them 
 My feet are half forgetful that they climb ; 
 But something sudden on the smooth ascent 
 Draws my looks downwards in a moment's pause, 
 And there I see a flower felicitous 
 Spread to the moon — spread low, a coronal 
 Of pointed leaves, and in the midst one stalk 
 Of starry faces, the auricula. 
 In the strong moonlight all their open eyes. 
 The dusky richness of their velvet hues, 
 Startle me with distinctness, and I stand 
 Amazed and lost in a new wonderland 
 Of strange delight. What mystic influence 
 Already has begun to change for me 
 The surface of the world? — for never yet 
 A flower like this was seen on hills like these. 
 And stooping down to pluck it I perceive 
 That in a moment all the grass has grown 
 Alive with springing of them everywhere. 
 Full-blown and wide-awake ; I cannot step 
 For fear of treading on them strewn so thick ; 
 They almost speak, they look up in my face. 
 As the clustered stars look down. — Ah ! what is 
 this? . . . 
 
51 
 
 A MID-MAY MYSTERY. 
 
 A SILVER dream of waters to the East, 
 A golden dream of meadows to the West, 
 A rosy dream of blossoms to the South, 
 A shadowy dream of elm-trees to the North. 
 
 The East lies charmed and stilly through the white 
 Midnight wherein the maythorns meet the moon ; 
 The strewn pear-blossom and the daisies light 
 The long grass and the edges of the pool. 
 
 The West lies all one sloping spread of gold 
 Down the wide meadows to the setting sun; 
 A sea of buttercups, beneath whose fold 
 The earth lies warm and laughs with living light. 
 
52 A Mid-May Mystery. 
 
 A little gust of wind may stir and pass 
 Among the wilderness of apple-trees ; 
 All the deep sky above, all the deep grass 
 Below, is filled with bloom innumerable. 
 
 Tall stands the wall of trees within the line 
 Of its own shadow, ever dusk and dim, 
 Down at its feet th' unfading laurustine, 
 And the blue iris weave a mist of flowers. 
 
 Four walls of dreams, and what should they uphold 
 But the blue dome of heaven in all its height? 
 And what of sunny space should they enfold 
 But all the open glory of the day? 
 
 And yet not so, — a measured sanctuary 
 
 Is theirs, and passing feet may enter in : 
 
 The gates of it are seen as men go by. 
 
 And some have dwelling there, and some have life. 
 
 They do indeed encompass and enclose 
 A very pleasure-house of cedar shade. 
 With gleam of lawns and crimson tulip-glows. 
 And flutter of white robes and youthful feet. 
 
A Mid-May Mystery. 53 
 
 But whereof are they boundaries, and for whom ? 
 Are they from inside or from outside set? 
 Spread from some conscious centre in their room, 
 Or built round guarded treasure hidden there? 
 
 The jewel lighting up the inmost shrine, 
 The soul that outward weaves its sanctuary. 
 Both are the same, and both seem half-divine 
 In the throbbing air mixed by the nightingales. 
 
 What name, what form ? — A lamp ? — a hearth of 
 
 home ? — 
 A poet's heart ? — a rose of man's desire ? 
 Or of a full-blown hour not twice to come, 
 The crowning, still more radiant and more fair ? 
 
 Here set beyond the chance of time and change, 
 Awhile at least to sense and sight revealed, 
 That which makes all the sunlight rapture-strange, 
 That which makes all the moonlight magical. 
 
 More white than folded lilies of the East, 
 More golden than the meadows of the West, 
 More rosy than the orchards of the South, 
 More shadowy than the dark dream of the North. 
 
54 
 
 A HAUNTED HOUSE. 
 
 The lawns are bright, the paths are wide, 
 The roses are bursting on every side. 
 
 All around the bowers are green. 
 
 And the shining laurels a folding-screerL 
 
 The large fruit ripens on many a tree. 
 Purple and gold drooping heavily. 
 
 Of health and wealth a hidden spell 
 Is scattered by hands invisible. 
 
 Young, and gladsome, and free they meet- 
 Voices of laughter and running feet 
 
 Whether the seasons be dark or fair, 
 It is always summer and sunshine there. 
 
A Haunted House. 55 
 
 And like a fountain that springs and falls, 
 There flows sweet music between the walls. 
 
 Among the guests one comes and goes 
 Whom no one sees and no one knows. 
 
 A neck more stately, a face more fair 
 Than any that meet and mingle there. 
 
 There is heaped up many a gay sea-stone, 
 One pearl lies among them all alone ; 
 
 With a golden halo all about, 
 
 The full moon's face from the clouds looks out ; 
 
 All cold on the breast of the crimson sky, 
 The star of the evening seems to lie. 
 
 Shining as pale, apart as far 
 
 As the pearl, or the moon, or the evening star, 
 
 That orbfed face, with its curvings rare. 
 Floats out from its waves of dusky hair, 
 
 With its eyes of shadow, its archfed eyes, 
 Whose lost looks dream upon Paradise. 
 
56 A Haunted House. 
 
 One only knoweth it in the throng ; 
 
 One knoweth too well, and knoweth too long. 
 
 The others are ever unaware, 
 
 Though it pass and meet them in the air, 
 
 With sighs like the sighs of the summer night, 
 Breathing of love and of lost delight. 
 
 That haunting vision of yearning pain, 
 One moment strikes and then fades again. 
 
 It rises up at the music's sound. 
 
 And sinks before they can look around. 
 
 If they catch one sight of the crownfed brow, 
 A sunbeam glances from bough to bough. 
 
 If a low voice thrills in the air along. 
 It is but the dying note of the song. 
 
 Not to sadden, only to share. 
 
 To the feast unbidden that guest comes there. 
 
 Lovely as lilies ungathered, and white. 
 The house is filled with a dream at night. 
 
A Hatmted House. 57 
 
 From chamber to chamber, from door to door, 
 Not a sound is heard, nor step on the floor ; 
 
 Through the shadowy hush as white wings win j — 
 Peace be to this house, and to all within ! 
 
 The little children sleep soft and sweet ; — 
 Who stands beside them with soft white feet? 
 
 The soft white hands pass over their hair ; — 
 Sleep on, dear children, so safe and fair ! 
 
 Till, where two are sleeping side by side, 
 Doth a dream at last between them glide. 
 
 Of all the angels that guard the place, 
 The least is not that forgotten face. 
 
58 
 
 SUMMER LOST. 
 
 What is the summer 
 Of which they speak? 
 
 How shall we find it ? * 
 Where shall we seek ? 
 
 The spring has passed over, 
 It would not stay ; 
 
 It was too bright, 
 So it vanished away. 
 
 I saw the white stars 
 
 Over the grass, 
 And the daffodils golden 
 
 Arise and pass. 
 
Summer Lost. 59 
 
 The merles were singing 
 
 As evening fell 
 Of something coming 
 
 Too sweet to tell. 
 
 A whisper flushed 
 
 Through the twilight pale ; 
 The lily, the rose, 
 
 And the nightmgale. 
 
 I listen for them ; — 
 And what has come? 
 
 The leaves are falling. 
 The birds are dumb. 
 
 The scentless sunflowers 
 
 Are open brown; 
 Through empty branches 
 
 The rain pours down. 
 
 Is this the summer 
 
 I waited for? 
 Is it come? or coming 
 
 Nevermore ? 
 
6o 
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY'S DREAM. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 At midday or at midnight it is dim 
 Under the Dome ; but the high altar lights 
 Mark the high hours, and one forgets the sun. 
 For never could in any sunshine sweep 
 Such floods of music, overmastering 
 The vast and glooming spaces, sad and strong 
 As Love in strife with Death. The full choir swells 
 And falls, in long-drawn passionate harmony. 
 And all the great Dome seems as built and borne 
 On music only, save where gloriously 
 Burns the high altar in its hundred lights 
 Dazzling and tall, and over all of them 
 Rises the Crucifix, and from its height 
 Christ with the Crown of Thorns looks down and 
 reigns. 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 6i 
 
 I know not whether it was night or day, 
 
 Being always twilight there ; — the music pealed ; 
 
 Row above row the altar tapers burned 
 
 Up to the feet of Christ ; — the incense rose 
 
 In dreamy clouds, and higher rose the chaunts. 
 
 As if they sang for One, and One alone. 
 
 He hearkening in His passion unto them. 
 
 O Christ ! they chaunted, conquer Death for us ! 
 
 Rerhember us as we remember Thee; 
 
 We are Thine, and Thou art ours for evermore ! 
 
 And in the midst, Christ crucified, adored, 
 
 Uplifted on the music and the lights, 
 
 Seemed not to suffer, only to endure 
 
 In silent rapture of unshrinking calm. 
 
 The hour is come, the Son is glorified, 
 
 And Thou, O God, art glorified in Him ! 
 
 Sang the sweet voices in a solemn strain. 
 
 And still the heart and eyes drew to the One 
 
 Set for a sign there betwixt earth and heaven, 
 
 And felt it was not hard to watch with Him. 
 
 I know not how the passionate hours went by ; 
 But they were ending, and the High Mass done : 
 And those who filled the great cathedral floor, 
 Seeming at home in the warm shadowy space. 
 Began to pour away ; the chaunts went low 
 
62 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 And sorrowing, and single voices wailed 
 
 As in farewell ; and one by one the lights 
 
 Extinguished on the altar, left the Dome 
 
 In darkness, and the last note sank away. 
 
 The footfalls of the multitude grew faint 
 
 Toward the far doors, and none turned back to 
 
 look, 
 Departing to the outer life and air. 
 The dim and empty height grew cold and grey; 
 The smoke from dying tapers curled around 
 The dying Christ, and He was left alone 
 Upon His Cross, without a worshipper. 
 And now indeed the Passion of His soul 
 Began to enter into me, and I 
 Was loth to leave Him too ; — the hour of light 
 And music was for Him and us ; but all 
 The hours of silence and of darkness were 
 For Him alone; and while we slept or went, 
 Upon the Cross He suffered evermore. 
 So some long time it seemed I watched with Him, 
 Under the drooping brows and stiffening limbs ; 
 And then my heart was weary too, and I 
 Left Him, and He remains there all alone. 
 
A Midsiimmer Day's Dream. 6 
 
 o 
 
 PART n. 
 
 I found myself abroad in the fresh dark ; 
 The dawn was not yet broken ; — where I was 
 I knew not, but I walked upon my way 
 Swiftly and surely, neither wondering 
 Why I was there, nor thinking where I went. 
 It may have been a short road or a long, 
 Before I heard a. twittering from the roofs, 
 And saw the faint low light round all the sky, — 
 For it was Midsummer Day. Then I perceived 
 The open cornfields either hand of me ; 
 And, far away, beheld the shadowy plain 
 Before me break into a billowy crest 
 Of high and higher hills ; and still beyond, 
 The great veiled altar steps, height above height. 
 Thrilled me with their grey glimpses ; but as yet 
 The darkness and the mists were over them. 
 
 Then knew I, I was walking all alone 
 Through the Garden of the Earth : and as I went 
 Familiar things grew clear about my path. 
 
64 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 The swinging garlands of the happy vines 
 From mulberry tree to mulberry ; the upspring 
 Of the maize stems ; the meadows rather blue 
 Than green, for flowers ; the frequent villages 
 Awaking, with their gilded metal signs, 
 And stir of swallows, and the trailing rose 
 Of the carnations in their balconies. 
 
 All shapes grew plainer. Now upon my right, 
 I saw the Mountain of the Sanctuary, 
 Still sleeping, white ; and farther yet the hills, 
 Clear, separate, perfect each from base to crown. 
 Each with its immemorial name and tale. 
 Which rise so gently from the flowery plain. 
 That one may stand knee-deep in grass below. 
 And lay one's hand upon the soft green swell, 
 And say, This is the first step of the stair 
 That reaches up to Heaven. And far in front 
 Stretched the dark line of the sublimer range 
 From farthest heaven to heaven ; and still beyond, 
 Chain above chain the awful Alpine heights 
 Began to form themselves in misty air. 
 Peak after peak stood out in its own place, 
 Grey from the purple. In the very midst, 
 Far over all, hung high in upper blue, 
 Above the myriad mighty mountain-tops, 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 65 
 
 A vision that might be the Throne of God 
 Brake forth unfolding, unapproachable, 
 Pale, shadowy, peerless ; and I bowed my head, 
 For I knew the Queen of Heaven. 
 
 The light spread fast, 
 The sky was growing radiant Now drew nigh 
 The hour supreme of all the earth, that brings 
 Once every day the marriage of the Sun 
 With Monte Rosa ; and of all the year 
 This was the day supreme. The earth lay still 
 And waited in a deep and dewy calm : 
 The bloom of all the year was at its full. 
 
 The glorious mountain stands white as a bride, 
 Alone, above. The lesser mountain lights 
 Stand for a hundred miles from east to west 
 Unkindled yet. Unnumbered shimmering ways. 
 Melting from moonlight into ashen grey, 
 Mark the mysterious kingdom of the snow ; 
 The upper world, with all its territories. 
 Stretches itself in revelation clear 
 At this pale hour. Suddenly quivers up 
 A flame in the East. The white side thrills and 
 
 heaves 
 In a wave of gold, as if a chord had struck 
 F 
 
66 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 Of a vast music, and we scarce can tell 
 If we see or hear, so fast the glory rolls 
 In the great rush of the angel of the light 
 Whiter and whiter shine th' immortal fronts 
 Before the coming touch, till all at once 
 The colour and the radiance break on them, 
 And lift them into unapproachfed heaven, 
 Lying aloft there in their crimson dream ; 
 While sweeping giant shadows to the West 
 In violet darkness go before the fire. 
 
 Slowly it comes — it comes ! The beacon-fires 
 Draw towards the feet of the Mount marvellous, 
 A change begins to flutter over her. 
 The Flower of the World unfolded waits to know 
 The mightier Monarch, and the Master's rod 
 Omnipotent, and all her pride grows pale. 
 Through all the silvery spaces in the highest, 
 Of the supreme and solitary shape, 
 A murmurous movement like a child's asleep 
 Rises and falls, until our own hearts beat. 
 Hush now ! she stirs, — she has felt the wings afar 
 Sweep through the sapphire silence of the skies 
 The awfulness of a great change comes close. 
 And now one wan swift shudder visibly 
 Runs over her, and leaves her still more white. 
 
A Midsummer Days Dream. 67 
 
 There is a moment that we dare not see. 
 
 Then we look up, and lo ! the glory in heaven ! 
 
 One reddening wave of utter loveliness 
 
 Drowns all her pearly light in overflow ; 
 
 And glowing through the still suspended depths, 
 
 The lamp of roses, the celestial face 
 
 Seems lighted from the passionate heart within ; 
 
 Till all th' intense blue of the heavens beyond 
 
 Seems to burn from her, set a sovereign there, 
 
 With the resurrection kiss upon her brow. 
 
 O Rose of God, fade not, nor float away ! 
 
 Crowned by thy conqueror, rule and reign the 
 
 lands 
 That blossom from the rivers of thy breast ! 
 
 The sun is in heaven, the larks are in the air. 
 This was a battlefield of liberty 
 Not long ago ; the very earth I tread 
 Seems to send back glad echoes to my feet 
 Beside the fountain of Saint Ambrose sat 
 A child of three years old with naked limbs. 
 And blue eyes sweet and fearless, and bright hair 
 And cheeks, — some mother's perfect piece of joy. 
 This was the first face I had met that morn : 
 It laughed good-morrow to me with a kiss. 
 
68 A Midsummer Dafs Dream. 
 
 Leaving the main road I began to ascend 
 A circuit to the right Past gate and shrine, 
 A broad and stony road, the Pilgrim's Way, 
 Wound upward, with a chapel at each turn. 
 The banks were delicate with harebell stems 
 Taller than the tall grass, and wild deep pinks ; 
 The chestnut trees threw shadows on the moss. 
 As I gained higher, the unfolding hills 
 Opened themselves beneath me, dale and swell 
 Of smoothest sward for many a heaving mile. 
 With many a green track leading to the brow, 
 Then dropping downward to some hollow unknown. 
 — Fain would I follow, and find the other side, 
 But my way held me to it. Overhead 
 In front of me the hillside falcons wheeled ; 
 And as the slope grew steeper, down below 
 Sheer from the wall the meadows fell away 
 In one long roll of herbage deep and damp, 
 Golden with globe-flower and marsh-marigold 
 I passed the Station of Calvary, nor sighed ; 
 And quickly mounting through the morning air. 
 Stood at the steps of the Sanctuary itself, 
 The centre of the little huddled pile, 
 That on the summit of a thousand feet 
 In ancient rock and masonry is set 
 Together, like one many-cornered stone. 
 
A Midsummer Days Dream. 69 
 
 Hostel and street and walls were all awake 
 On the Mount of the Madonna ; fresh and clear 
 The new day shone upon the gilded spires 
 And the white Convent. Entering into shade 
 Of the low inn, I found a spacious room 
 Set ready for me, cool and brown and dim. 
 There I sat down, — and as one waited for, 
 They put their best before me : fresh baked loaves. 
 Whereon to break my fast, new milk and eggs. 
 White mountain cheese, and fruit, and tender meat 
 In crisp and yellow fillets, parsley strewn : 
 Closed by a cup of cool and purple wine 
 From the hill's foot. The walls were bare and 
 
 rough, 
 And the low windows looked into the street 
 In shadow ; but the farther end was lit 
 Towards a rude loggia looking to the sky. 
 And through the window opening to the ground 
 A sunbeam stole ; — I rose and followed it 
 Out to a little terrace and low wall ; 
 There leaned and looked — but looked and saw no 
 
 more. 
 For on my knees I sank, and hid my eyes 
 In a rain of tears, so suddenly it brake, 
 A vision like to Moses' ere he died ; 
 For,— rested in mid air, and all the earth 
 
yo A Midsummer Days Dream. 
 
 A thousand feet below me, — lay the land, 
 
 — The tears rise now when I remember it,— 
 
 The land lay all below me far away ; 
 
 The land that all men have desired and dreamed, 
 
 The land that ever ravished cannot fade. 
 
 The land that ever trampled cannot die. 
 
 The land that draws a thousand miles away, 
 
 Unerring through the awful mountain gates. 
 
 Unknown the unknown spoilers on their march, — 
 
 The Plains of Promise to the pilgrim's feet, 
 
 Stretching for ever in level of living green, 
 
 Lost low down in the glory of the light. 
 
 \Vhile silver bands unrolling glittered out 
 
 In league-long stretches, here and there, away, 
 
 Historic rivers of the sacred soil. 
 
 And the first lake was silver, and the next 
 
 Opal between low hills, and on the third 
 
 The light of heaven lay blue, and farther yet 
 
 Lake beyond lake in purest azure lay 
 
 Beneath the morning mountains. On the vei^e 
 
 Of the horizon, rather felt than seen, 
 
 Hovered and brooded in a radiant haze 
 
 Many a musical and ancient name. 
 
 There on the utmost East a light film lies, 
 Wavering and grey, with broken gleams of white. 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 71 
 
 There is it, but I know not if I see, 
 
 My eyes strain to it, my blood thrills to it, 
 
 All the plain reaches to it gloriously, 
 
 The great old City of the Emperors. 
 
 And as I gazed, and strove to find it clear. 
 
 The vision of it seemed to rise on me 
 
 And overshadow, and I stood within 
 
 The vast and vaulted space, the golden choir 
 
 Gleaming amid the gloom, the rainbow-flood 
 
 Of splendour smiting from the farther side, 
 
 And drowning all between in one full flow. 
 
 A mighty floor of shadow and stateliness. 
 
 Ready for sweeping in of some high pomp 
 
 In movement measured by the music's march ; 
 
 The iron crown upon a monarch's brow 
 
 Won from the wars, or marriage of a queen. 
 
 Thousands still pressing onwards, and still room, 
 
 Crimson and gold and shining white array 
 
 Mingling from pillar to pillar; — and at once, 
 
 Here as I dream, what is it suddenly 
 
 Rings with a silver clangour that stirs the blood ? 
 
 A peal of coronation 1 — such a sound 
 
 As from the highest tower of any town 
 
 Floats far and wide to tell triumphant news. 
 
 Can the bells sound so fifty miles away? 
 
 Or is it there, or here, or out of heaven, 
 
72 A Midsummer Days Dream. 
 
 The faint, far, glorious sound? Howe'er it be, 
 I still was standing on the Holy Mount, 
 Quiet above the noises of the world, 
 And still was gazing on the peaceful plain, 
 Lovelier than the lost Eden, yet still mine. 
 And all the stillness of the morning stole 
 Into my spirit ; and the cloudless light 
 And the unspeakable sweet strength of the air 
 Breathed into me, and I, felt calm and glad. 
 
 Needs must I leave the hospitable house : 
 The day was but begun ; — who knows how far 
 One has to travel ere the day be done ? 
 All the poor people of the little place 
 Thronged at the doors to see a stranger pass ; 
 And many of them sad and over-aged, 
 Sick, dull, disfigured, in the midst of all 
 The glory round them ; — why should these things 
 
 be? 
 But then it grieved me not, — I only knew 
 They asked of me, with hands and voice and eyes, 
 As of one going, happier than themselves. 
 And what I had of money, among them all, 
 All showering ' God be with you ' with one voice, 
 I gave away, and saw their eyes grow glad, 
 And hardly noted I had nothing left 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. "jt, 
 
 Myself; — but I was light of heart that morn, 
 And free, and set forth on my way once more. 
 As one who had no more need of anything 
 Silver could buy, nor would want food again. 
 
 Under the very sanctuary I passed. 
 The way being built and hollowed in the rock ; 
 And in the vaulted roof a stone is set, 
 Most ancient, that from immemorial times 
 Has here been guarded on the Sacred Mount, 
 Engraved with letters of an unknown tongue ; 
 And none of all the wise and learned men 
 Who from all lands have hither, pilgrims, come, 
 Can read the letters or can tell the tongue. 
 Or guess its history or its intent. 
 
 Issuing upon the other side, the way 
 Was hot already, for the sun was high : 
 Still there were hours to spare before the noon. 
 Midsummer Day is long : if God should give 
 But one day in our lives for happiness. 
 Surely it would be kind to choose that day. 
 
 Out of the white rock leaned and brushed my hand 
 A flower of velvet, rich and dark and strange. 
 Lightly I plucked the light green tender stalk, 
 
74 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 And took the orchis, larger than the wont 
 Of the bee-orchis, like the queen of them, 
 A mystic message marking in its flesh 
 Letters more rare than on the graven stone, 
 Not to be spelled by every careless eye. 
 For many flowers are lettered curiously. 
 And few have read them ; or, if they have read. 
 Fewer have told their secrets ; — and to some 
 Such reading is not needed, being themselves 
 One with the flowers in life more clear than speech. 
 Knowing them, and are known to them afar. 
 And having one growth with them underground. 
 And such a life and such a gift have I, 
 Which often in dark hours, in prison and pain, 
 Hath brought me subtle comfort, such as springs 
 In draughts of water freshly drawn from earth. 
 And such as steals down moonbeams winter-white, 
 Or is wafted by the wandering thistle-down 
 Out of the wild waste places far away. 
 But nought of secret or of spiritual aid 
 Needed I then, beneath the open skies 
 And open sun, for on this fair free day 
 All things were friendly to me, — even fate. 
 
 A few steps farther, and I came upon 
 A grassy promontory, hitherside 
 
A Midsummer Days Dream. 75 
 
 The Mount ; for now the plain behind me lay, 
 
 And hidden by the walls : another view 
 
 Lay full before me, opening up between 
 
 The hilli, to meet the mountains and the lakes. 
 
 Entranced I paused, forgetful of the way, 
 
 For far beneath and far away, enclosed 
 
 In a dark frame of over-arching woods, 
 
 Down a long vista of the purple hills, 
 
 Lay the blue waters with a sacred name 
 
 Beyond them, waters never seen before. 
 
 As still as heaven, and deeper in their blue. 
 
 And all around and all beyond arose 
 
 The wilderness of mountains, with the hues 
 
 Of morning on them, and the morning clouds 
 
 Moving in softest shadows over them 
 
 I needed not to rest, yet could not pass 
 The picture magically fair and still ; 
 So down I lay upon the thick warm grass, 
 Fragrant and full of many-coloured bloom, — 
 Milk-wort and orchis, clover, arnica, 
 Burnet and sage, daisy and astragale. 
 Bright lady's-fingers, and the meadow rue, 
 Scabious, and iris with the scarlet seed ; 
 And over them the joyous little moths, 
 Red, blue, and yellow, hung in company. 
 
76 A Midsummer Days Dream. 
 
 There was no other stir in the air, — I lay 
 And watched the perfect sapphire shine in sight, 
 Through the many miles of violet- shadowed air, 
 Till half I dreamed, and half I slept, o'erfiUed 
 With loveliness that left not one desire. 
 
 But something touched me and I started up, 
 As one who has lost time. The way led now 
 At the same level, round the outer side 
 Of the next mountain, which at once arose 
 A clear two thousand feet above the first : 
 — ^The Mountain of Three Crosses, somewhat steep, 
 And on one side precipitous : — the brow 
 Is crowned with the Three Crosses, all of iron. 
 The largest in the midst. There were they found 
 These many hundred years ago, deep down 
 Below the earth, buried by unknown hands. 
 And by a vision to a Saint revealed ; 
 But whence they came, and how, and at what 
 
 time, 
 Remains a mystery, like the mural stone. 
 And from the second summit leads a path 
 To another mountain yet, the Field of Flowers, 
 The third one, and the highest of the range ; 
 Four thousand feet in height, a long fair ridge, 
 With soft and even slope on either side. 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 'jy 
 
 All green, all smooth, a perfect league of space. 
 
 For in the early ages, a great Saint, 
 
 The same whose name is all about the land, 
 
 Made war, and hither drove the Arian host, 
 
 And massacred them most religiously 
 
 Down to the last. This blood of heretics. 
 
 Spilt on the open hillside, left no voice 
 
 Of glory, but all humbly reconciled 
 
 With earth and dews and slow activities 
 
 Kept no more memory of men and strife. 
 
 But now the mountain is alive again 
 
 With the quick-springing armies of the soil, 
 
 And who can reach it (for the way is long) 
 
 In April, finds the distant sheets of snow 
 
 Drawn nearer change into the shining beds 
 
 Of the narcissus, and unwillingly 
 
 Treads down a hundred stars at every step ; 
 
 And all the round of the year the mountain keeps 
 
 Its constant crown of flowers, from month to month 
 
 Flushing into a warmer wealth of bloom. 
 
 Not over, but around the mountain flank 
 My way was — a mere track upon the turf — 
 Turf as of sheepwalks, delicate and warm, 
 And all embedded, like the twisted hairs 
 In a bird's nest, with myriad tiny flowers 
 
78 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 O hills ! which but to feel one's feet upon 
 
 Is worship ; where for every least footfall 
 
 Ten columns of campanulas bow down ! 
 
 It was an air to bathe in ; every breeze 
 
 Streaming around me in a buoyant wave, 
 
 And flowing in full joy through every vein ; 
 
 And in this radiant morning, this sweet air, 
 
 The very earth I trod on seemed more rich 
 
 In mere content than any paradise. 
 
 Low wild rose-bushes straggled here and there 
 
 With open crimson flowers ; small downy tufts 
 
 Of the pink everlastings made a bed 
 
 Silkier and softer even than the sward. 
 
 With pillows of wild thyme ; the slope was strewn 
 
 With coloured stars, gentian and centaury ; 
 
 The wild laburnum copses to the left 
 
 Shaded away to meet the tangled heights, 
 
 And in their thickets the wild peony glowed. 
 
 Here it was joy to be alive and move ; 
 
 For such a quickness and a springing strength 
 
 The glorious freshness lent to heart and limb. 
 
 All thought of rest lay far away behind. 
 
 And I would so be going evermore, 
 
 Fearless and fleet, free and yet following. 
 
 As the swallow follows the spring across the sea. 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 79 
 
 At times the slope was mossy soft and damp, 
 With shade of chestnuts scattered ; under them 
 The beds of the May lilies still lay green, 
 But their white music gone. Round every stem 
 The green shoots clustered, and about them all 
 Green fairy gardens of the columbine, 
 And the tall Seal of Solomon bent down. 
 And the white orchis sprang up everywhere 
 Single above the moss, and all the flower 
 Of grasses trembled in a silver spray 
 Glistening through the green shadows ; wild and 
 
 white 
 Gleamed the large lamia with the purple spots ; 
 Hither and thither glanced the humming bees. 
 All things said, Stay, and keep the perfect hour ; 
 Once it is thine, it may not come again : — 
 Yet something unknown, unuttered, took me on. 
 
 Short seemed the miles ; at every turn sailed in 
 New mounts of marvel on the walls of heaven. 
 One I remember a few miles from here, 
 Perfect and clear in shape, from every point 
 It met me, in a steep and even slope 
 All round, and to the summit grassy smooth 
 With such grey-headed awful majesty 
 
8o A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 That as I gazed upon it ever rose 
 The thought of a mysterious altar spread 
 High under heaven, and immemorial rites. 
 And here, I said, have my forefathers come, 
 Druids and Seers, and worshipped j for they knew 
 The spirits of the mountains in their forms. 
 And over all the world the second sight 
 Can note the sacred river, grove, or hill ; 
 And by the stirring of my blood I knew 
 This was an olden mountain of my race. 
 And drew me to it ; though I could not learn 
 Its name, yet I had seen it in the North, 
 And in the West before. Now, far away. 
 Eastward, where, inaccessible, the crags 
 Beyond a sea of mountains catch the light, 
 I saw the giant pair of eagles rise. 
 Whose shadows, like the shadows of a storm, 
 Sweep the long lake in one o'erdarkening rush 
 To mark the hour, then vanish till the next. 
 These I saw plunge into their path of light. 
 Till the great heights opposing darkened them. 
 
 I turned the mountain shoulder, heaving down 
 In long soft swells to meet the road again : 
 To the last mound I came, and waited there. 
 All round lay old white quarries, whence the town 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 8i 
 
 Before me had been hewn ; among the heaps 
 Of broken stone the giant mulleins sprang. 
 Before me swam the liquid field of light, 
 The open lake that changes every hour 
 With all the living colours of morn and eve ; 
 And farther out five lakes flashed far and near, 
 Each a low sapphire set in golden round. 
 Spreading out sparkles under all the sky. 
 A light air moved through the delicious heat, 
 And softly stirred the hair about my neck ; 
 And looking downwards somewhat languidly, 
 I for the first time took note of myself. 
 And that I wore a summer gown of white, 
 Open and light : — and a vague wonder passed 
 Across me how I came there, and wherefore 
 I went : but on, without much pause or thought, 
 I moved again, descending to the road. 
 
 Now was the sun both high and hot in heaven, 
 And lizards darted all about the stones 
 Of the low wall on either hand, o'erspread 
 As with a curtain of the finest lace. 
 By countless delicate crimson -threaded stars 
 Of the white sandwort, and the waxlike blush 
 Of stonecrop all in flower, and interwoven 
 With all the starry and suspended bloom 
 a 
 
82 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 Of saxifrage and starwort. As I neared 
 The town, a great black viper suddenly 
 Glided across the whole breadth of the road, 
 And plunged into the flowery crevices ; 
 A fearful power and swiftness in the coils 
 That quivered into darkness. The first house 
 I passed had set from garden-gate to door 
 An avenue of lilies white and tall. 
 Full-blown, and thick together. Next I passed 
 Under high walls all clothed and waving down 
 With the valerian's deep red tapestry. 
 Glorious and crimson as if hung to greet 
 A conqueror's entry. The small town was gay 
 With children and with noise of crowing fowls ; 
 A gilded crown of laurel for a sign 
 Swung from the inn ; and opposite, the wall 
 Was hollowed to a fountain, overhung 
 With maidenhair ; many rude frescoes stood 
 Over the gateways looking on the street. 
 
 I came down to the corner of the lake. 
 Where grassy shore and shallow water meet ; 
 And for some time the way wound by low creeks 
 And brimming pools, where waterliUes lay 
 Large and wide open, filled with frosted dew. 
 The channels of the water-reeds were filled, 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 83 
 
 Through wandering levels of mysterious miles, 
 With hovering clouds of azure dragon-flies, 
 And greater brown ones glancing in swift pairs 
 Above the dazzling waters. 
 
 Thence I came 
 Out all among the cornfields and the vines. 
 The exquisite silver bloom of the wheat ears 
 Above the myriad sea-blue of the stalks, 
 Grown quick and fresh in slender stateliness 
 Told of no thwarting of the wind or rain 
 Love in a mist and Venus' looking-glass 
 Made gardens in the forest of the corn, 
 In dazzling masses. As the day drew on 
 All the more great and distant mountain heights 
 Drew like a heavenly amphitheatre 
 Nearer and clearer; round the crystal sky. 
 Fading in every hue of hyacinth 
 From deepest purple to the palest rose. 
 
 Above the flowery bushes hovered clouds 
 Of butterflies just born, alive in the heat ; 
 AVherever glanced a tiny watercourse, 
 I'ndcr the chestnut or acacia leaves, 
 Out they flew as I passed, and fluttered on 
 Startling and silent, straight before my feet, 
 G 2 
 
84 A Midsummer Days Dream. 
 
 Ill gorgeous pairs with peacock wings immense, 
 
 Or a strange splendour of living marigolds ; 
 
 Yet in their winged glory, these bright things, 
 
 With but one day to live, and that for love, 
 
 In a mysterious salutation bowed, 
 
 — This is thy day, not ours. First one, and then 
 
 Another took up the perpetual chain 
 
 Of spangled dance that quivered down the road, 
 
 A flying line of fairy chamberlains, 
 
 ^Vho pointed to some magic palace doors. 
 
 The open country narrowed by degrees 
 Into a closed and grassy vale, between 
 Wild slopes and cliffs, all of whose sides were 
 
 clothed 
 With flower and leaf in tangle, ivory heads 
 Of privet, and tall orange lilies, mixed 
 With traveller's joy, and all the lesser bloom 
 Of pink and- blue that carpeted the sward ; 
 The little waterfalls leaped down the rocks 
 At every turn. On a smooth open space 
 I came upon a rosebush standing wild 
 And all alone ; as tall and thick it stood 
 As the white thornbush of a hundred years 
 Where sings the nightingale. As I approached, 
 I saw that it was wreathed from head to foot 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 8; 
 
 With the wild roses all in one full bloom 
 Hastened together ; every sweet rose smiled 
 Upon me as I came, all open wide 
 As if they waited for me, and just then 
 A sudden breeze as I passed under them 
 Shook down a shower of petals over me, 
 And I was covered by the lovely rain 
 All in a moment, soft on hands and face. 
 
 There was no cloud ; the full heat of the sur> 
 Poured down upon me, but oppressed me not, 
 Nor I did weary with the length of way. 
 The amethystine mountains seemed to smile 
 Out of immeasurable heights of calm. 
 And all things waited for a trumpet burst 
 Of triumph. Now the little streams began 
 To gather into one, and slowly poured 
 Into a peaceful chain of narrow lakes ; 
 And down their bed the water-ousel flew 
 From stone to stone beside me, fearing not 
 
 A little shallow lake without a bank. 
 Brimming the meadows either side of it. 
 All in one sheet of purple flower and flag. 
 But no firm footing ; all around it lay 
 The beds of myosotis, heavenly blue ; 
 
86 A Midsummer Days Dream. 
 
 Myriads and myriads of the tenderest flowers 
 Wreathen in islands from the darker blue. 
 And as I passed they seemed to call to me 
 Half- wistfully, ' Thou art going, but we stay ; ' 
 And by their clear innumerable eyes 
 Withholding me again a moment more — 
 ' Can life be sweeter anywhere than ours ? 
 Set here between soft water and soft sky 
 In the soft air ; we measure not our joy 
 By any pain or any hardness known ; 
 Nor ever will one cold wind blow on us ; 
 It is always summer where we are born and die.* 
 But swiftly on I passed, while still they gazed : 
 ' Forget-me-not ! Forget-me-not ! ' they cried 
 In a million small sweet voices, and their cry 
 Entered into my heart. 
 
 Again I came 
 Into the open country, out among 
 The long lines of the mulberries and maize. 
 And now at full the fervour of the day 
 Began to stir the whole wide earth and heaven ; 
 The mountain peaks high up in shimmering heat 
 Like breasts of goddesses began to heave 
 Rosy amid the palpitating air ; 
 And all the .world began to be alive 
 
A Midsummer Day's Dream. 87 
 
 With a strange throb and tumult in my ears. 
 On the white road the chicory blue burned faint, 
 Strewn there like stars, and each star seemed a face 
 With dumb impatient passion beckoning me, 
 Come, come, make haste ! — I followed where they 
 
 led. 
 There were no shadows : all the burning sun 
 Poured down upon me, but I slackened not 
 My pace, untired : the countless cicala 
 In every leaf, above, below, around. 
 Had but one note. Be quick, be quick, be quick ! 
 The pink glad garlands of convolvulus 
 Ran down before me like the rose-leaves strewn 
 For a bride's steps, opening as fast and fleet 
 As I passed over them, and by their bells 
 I knew that it was on the stroke of noon. 
 
88 A Midsummer Day's Dream. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 « * * » « 
 
 * * » » » 
 
 ***** 
 
 * * * » 
 
89 
 
 A WAKE. 
 
 Rise up, rise up, O dreamer! 
 
 The eastern sky is red ; 
 The trumpet's note is calling, 
 
 The storm is overhead. 
 
 Out of the myrtle mazes 
 
 Rise up and come away, 
 And leave thy charinfed slumbers 
 
 At breaking of the day. 
 
 Come down, come down, O dreamer ! 
 
 From thy aerial height. 
 Thy solitary strongholds 
 
 And mountains of delight 
 
QO Awake. 
 
 Down in the trodden highway 
 Goes to and fro the crowd ; 
 
 About the market-places 
 The tumult waxes loud. 
 
 The gates of sleep slide open, 
 And past them lies a strand 
 
 That seems like one remembered, 
 The last of English land. 
 
 Where bent before our coming, 
 And smoothed beneath our tread, 
 
 The gold of gorse, the waxen heath. 
 The wild bog-myrtle bed ; 
 
 Bowed crisp and close and even 
 
 As for a dancing floor. 
 With fresh crushed odours speeding 
 
 The fleet feet evermore. 
 
 But in the world of waking 
 Whoso the straight path goes 
 
 Will find it steep and narrow, 
 With iron gates that close. 
 
A wake. 9 1 
 
 And there the feet pass bleeding, 
 
 O'er flint and thorn and brier, 
 And burning desert phantoms 
 
 But mock the parched desire. 
 
 And every breath is battle, 
 
 And every step a fall ; 
 And less than loss of all things 
 
 Shall win no way at all. 
 
 And all around are pressing, 
 
 Darkness behind, before. 
 Souls low and heavy-laden. 
 
 In struggle sad and sore. 
 
 These are thine own, thy nearest. 
 
 For this brief human space ; — 
 Break not thy bonds before-time, 
 
 Nor spurn the earth-bound place. 
 
 And if awhile thy dreaming 
 
 Did seem to bear thee far, 
 Rejoice it was but seeming. 
 
 While here thy brethren are. 
 
92 Awake. \ 
 
 Rejoice that if the night-time 
 Did bring thee songs hke these, 
 
 That to the pure come only, 
 White sails from shoreless seas ; 
 
 That if no hands of foemen 
 
 Could touch the citadel 
 Wherein these thronfed visions 
 
 Still smile, impregnable ; 
 
 That if the utmost malice 
 
 Which fortune's hate might prove 
 Could wither not one leaflet 
 
 Of thy enchanted grove ; 
 
 That if, the world forsaking, 
 And false friends turned to foes, 
 
 The angel wings unfolded 
 To curtain thy respose ; 
 
 That if from deeps of sorrow 
 The airs about thee blown 
 
 Had sound of silver trumpets 
 Uplifted round a throne ; 
 
Awake. 
 
 That if, 'mid hurling torrents, 
 And 'mid the winter sleet, 
 
 The purple amaryllis 
 
 Still sprang around thy feet ; 
 
 That if from darkened chambers 
 And lips in anguish dumb 
 
 The breeze of mountain summits 
 Across the world has come ; — 
 
 That not as this world giveth 
 These gifts were given to thee, 
 
 And never was thy daytime 
 From loss or anguish free ; 
 
 That never soil of riches 
 Might cleave unto thy hand. 
 
 That thou dost lone and portionless 
 Among thy brethren stand; 
 
 That all thy will was answered, 
 However flesh might shrink, 
 
 That of the full cup's bitterness 
 No drop was spared to drink ; 
 
 93 
 
94 Awake. 
 
 That never other guerdon 
 Of service thou didst gain 
 
 But trebly-added burden 
 Of labour and of pain ; 
 
 That with her spray of olive 
 
 Above the waters dark, 
 Thy dove still flies unresting, 
 
 And finds no sheltering ark. — 
 
 And henceforth unescaping 
 
 The station of the Cross, 
 Renounce the lonely favour. 
 
 And take the lowly loss. 
 
 For oversweet is slumber 
 So near the dawn of day ; — 
 
 Could ye not watch with me one hour? 
 The signals seem to say. 
 
 Thou pourest forth no comfort 
 
 For thirsting hearts below ; 
 Thou drawest down no lover 
 
 Thine own delight to know ; 
 
Awake. 95 
 
 Thou fleetest through the forests 
 
 By moonlight o'er the snow, 
 Behind thee shut the windows, 
 
 The homestead fires aglow ; 
 
 Thou hearest ' magic melodies 
 Beneath the waning moon, 
 
 Far from the children's voices 
 That may be parted soon; 
 
 Thou liest as thine own child 
 Might lie upon thy breast, 
 
 While purgatory holdeth 
 Its saved souls in unrest. 
 
 In this short spell of slumber 
 Some sweet and common pain 
 
 May have been lost already 
 Amid thy shadowy gain. 
 
 O parted from the sighing, 
 
 That ever seems to say. 
 With love more deep than anguish, 
 
 Forget me not, but pray ! 
 
go Awake. 
 
 O parted from the laughter 
 And light of children's eyes, 
 
 The little busy chatterings 
 That round me fall and rise, 
 
 By that enraptured raiment 
 
 Of dreamland round me thrown ;- 
 Farewell, O fields of Faerie, 
 
 I come unto mine own ! 
 
 O gift unearned, unsought for ! 
 
 O wafted ghostly grace ! 
 Dost thou not mistlike sever 
 
 My heart from its own race? 
 
 For ever falls a curtain 
 
 Of visionary sheen. 
 Where face to face we gather, 
 
 And all is dim between. 
 
 And ever floats a music 
 Which no one else can hear. 
 
 Where I and others mingle, 
 And then no talk is clear. 
 
Awake. 97 
 
 O magical pale banquet, 
 
 No common bread and wine, 
 Which all may share together 
 
 Where simple households dine ! 
 
 O thin enchanted armour ! 
 
 moonbeam-woven mail ! 
 No more ! Let human sorrow 
 
 Strike me without thy veil ! 
 
 O gardener of that garden, 
 
 Take back thy golden key ! 
 Where others may not enter, 
 
 1 pass no more with thee. 
 
 robe star-strewn, embroidered, 
 O royal purple pall ! 
 
 1 loose you from my shoulders, 
 Till my last sleep shall fall. 
 
 O passionate eyes imploring ! 
 
 O breast that was my own ! 
 Dreams bring us never nearer: 
 
 We meet in prayer alone, 
 n 
 
98 Awake. 
 
 O lovely heads that cluster 
 About the firelight still, 
 
 Let every thought be your thought 
 Henceforward, if God will ! 
 
 O ye who served and serving 
 Are with me every day. 
 
 More wholly near and present 
 Amongst you I would stay. 
 
 O friends that have not failed me, 
 The best, the few, the true, 
 
 Who have so long been patient, 
 Let me return to you ! 
 
 O world that needest singers 
 Like churchbells clear and strong. 
 
 Let me ring truly in the strife 
 With human woe and wrong ! 
 
 O Christ whose hour of coming 
 The stars of morning keep, 
 
 Let me be found to meet Thee, 
 Waking, and not asleep 1 
 
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