Bnalidh Collection THE GIFT OF 3am«s fMorgan Hart D5 Cornell University Library PR6031.O85C51889 A Christmas legend, and other verses. 3 1924 013 662 683 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013662683 A Christmas Legend: And other Verses. BY ISABELLA J. POSTGATE. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. BIRMINGHAM AND LEICESTER: MIDLAND EDUCATIONAL COMPANY. PREFACE. Many of the Poems in this Book passed through my hands as they were written. I had the privilege of examining them one by one, and of introducing them to other readers. I welcomed the suggestion of a reprint of the verses in which I had been interested. It is an additional pleasure to find in the volume a " Part " which is quite new to me. The work presents great variety, and gives promise of much usefulness. I do not pretend to be a competent critic. But I am glad, as an ordinary reader, to express my appreciation of the pages that follow. High and good thoughts in verse often find a response in hearts that coldly turn away from subjects presented in less attractive form. IV. PREFACE. In consenting to the publicatioa of this volume, the author has been influenced by the advice of friends. I believe that her verses will gain many more friends, who will feel but perhaps never express their obligations. One arrangement, however, is entirely her own ; I mean, the intention to assist Mission Work in which she has personally laboured for several years. JAMES S. POLLOCK. S. Alban's, Birmingham, November yth, 1888. CONTENTS. Part I.— CARMINA SACRA. I. A CHRISTMAS LEGEND 11. NOEL in. CAROL - IV. HOLY innocents' DAY ■ V. THE EPIPHANY VI. " NUNC DIMITTIS " VII. A LENTEN HYMN - VIII. THE ANNUNCIATION IX. EASTER EVE- X. THE SLEEP OF THE MASTER XI. S. ALBAN XII. S. JAMES THE APOSTLE Xin. S. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS XIV. ALL SAINTS' DAY XV. "the door WAS shut" XVI. HYMN TO the HOLY NAME XVII. AN ASPIRATION XVIII. HOLY MOUNTAINS XIX. THE GOOD PHYSICIAN XX. "benedicite" XXI. SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS PAGE I 6 7 9 / T I 13 15 17 19. 22 24 27 30 32 34 36 39 40 42 44 - 46 VI. CONTENTS. XXII. HIDDEN MEMORIES XXIII. THE FAR-OFF LAND XXIV. NO MORE SEA XXV. IN MEMORIAM XXVI. THE PASSING OF HILDA XXVII. THE CALL OF CAEDMON XXVIII. THE mother's DREAM - XXIX. A BENEDICTION PAGE - 49 - SI S3 54 r 57 59 6i 63 Part II.— VARIA. I. PERDITA II. CORDELIA III. DESDEMONA - IV. THE GRAVE OF OPHELIA V. "JUDITH SHAKESPEARE" VI. THE WAKING VII. THE angel's ANSWER VIII. SPRING DAWN IX. NOCTURNE X. THE prisoner's SONG XI. THE DEAD LARK XII. TO THE LITTLE BIRDS XIII. THE RAINBOW XIV. TO THE STARS XV. THE LAST SWALLOW XVI. " IRIS " XVII. THE FATE OF A FLOWER 67 68 70 72 74 78 80 82 84 86 88 90 91 92 94 96 97 CONTENTS. XVIII. TO MY BROTHER PERCIVAL ■ XIX. HID TREASURE - XX. LINES XXI. THE LITTLE SHROUD XXII. CIRCE XXIII. PAOLO AND FRANCESCA XXIV. "till death" XXV. Wa!nDERER'S SONG XXVI. A LOOSED CORD - XXVII. ALTERNATIONS XXVin. LIFE, DEATH, AND LOVE XXIX. MUSIC IN DEATH XXX, love's PATIENCE XXXI. " REQUIESCAT " XXXII. MY LITTLE SISTER XXXIII. FLOWER-DE-LUCE XXXIV. "WHEN THE LEAVES FALL" VII. PAGE 99 lOO lOI I02 103 106 108 109 III 112 114 116 118 119 121 Part III.— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I. LENT LILIES II. TWO CROWNS III. SUNSET HYMN IV. THE children's BLESSING V. SHUTTING OUT THE LAMBS - VI. S. COLUMBA VII. A NEW year's BLESSING VIII. THE SILENT MONK 125 127 128 130 136 137 Vlil. CONTENTS. PAGE IX. LIGHT IN SHADOW 139 X. COUNSEL TO CROWDS 14I XI. RESURGAM - 142 XII. AN EASTER GREETING 144 XIII. A DIRGE FOR PRINCE MAMILIUS - I46 XIV. MACBETH 1 48 XV. FROM THE "GLOBE" TO THE "LYCEUM" 150 XVI. A LOST LOVE 152 XVII. THE TORCH- WEED I S3 XVIII. THE ROBING OF THE FOREST 155 XIX. THE FAITHFUL HORSE 1 57 XX. A LOST HARVEST 159 XXI. LAETA SORS - 1 60 XXII. "RAYON DE LA LUNE" 161 XXIII. CHARON AND THE LOVER 162 XXIV. wind's love 164 XXV. HOME-SICKNESS 1 66 XXVI. baby's FOOTMARKS 167 XXVII. THE DYING POET TO HIS WIFE 1 69 XXVIII. STRAY BLOSSOMS 1 70 XXIX. SHUT DOORS 171 XXX. TO PSYCHE SLEEPING - 1 72 XXXI. THE BLOSSOM OF PATIENCE 1 74 XXXII. ONE GUISE OF LOVE 1 75 XXXIII. A DREAM OF DANTE 1 76 XXXIV. SILVER AND GOLD 179 XXXV. THE ROSE 1 80 XXXVI. MY DOVE 181 TO M. B. (Biit for whom these pages had been unwritten). Saint Dorothea's Roses, Fresh from the sunlit Land — The white and fragrant Lily That bloomed in Gabriel's hand — All plants that bless with beauty Or bring from pain release — Then, by the Crystal River, The Palms that grow in peace — Such were meet gifts. Beloved, Had I an Angel's might. For thee, who midst earth's shadows Art " refuge and delight." Mine are but wayside blossoms. Gathered in dust and heat — Perchance the love that binds them May make them fair and sweet ? November, i88S. PART I. CARMINA SACRA. A CHRISTMAS LEGEND. FROM THE GERMAN. I. Through the cold streets one Christmas eve. In winter bleak and wild, Wandered, with bare and aching feet, A little stranger child. How brightly through each window pane Shine the clear-lighted rooms, Where stand the sparkling lamp-lit trees. Laden with Christmas blooms ! Alas ! no comfort can they bring This little lonely heart : Fast fall his tears to see the joy In which he hath no part. " Each child has for his own to-day A Httle tree and light ; I only have no gift at all, Outside in the cold night. "In my dear home so far away One also burned for me : Brothers and sisters round its gleam Shouted and danced for glee. " Now all the joy is fled away, Broken the happy band. And I, forgotten and alone. In this cold foreign land. " Will no kind mother let me in, For sake of charity ; Is there not, by so many hearths. One little nook for me ? " I ask not, from your laden trees, A single gift or toy — Only a place to sit apart. And see the children's joy.'' Timid he knocked at gate and door ; But deaf were all within : None came, with gentle voice and hand. To bid him welcome in. The parents gave the Christmas gifts, And on their children smiled : Each thought of his own little ones ; None of the lonely child. " O holy gracious Christ," he cries, " No parent have I here ; No help is left save only Thee, O Jesu blest and dear ! " He rubs his little frost-chilled hand, And, stiff with cold and pain, Lingers to watch the casements' glow, Crouched in a narrow lane. II. God hears the prayer that man denies — For see ! a lovely sight, A glory clearer than the sun Makes the dark alley bright ; While, gliding soft in snow-white robe. There came anotlier Chili : Like music from the Heavenly Land Sounded his accents mild — " I am the Blessed Christ," he said, "XDnce born a child like thee : Poor little lone forsaken one, Thou art most dear to Me. " A tree more lovely far than all Which thou hast seen to-night, I will Myself uprear for thee Under the sky's clear height." Thus graciously the Christ-Child spake. And waved to Heaven His Hand, When lo ! more fair than earth's best blooms Behold the Tree doth stand ! How full of clustered stars it gleams. With branches wide outspread, While wondrous radiance, far and near, Its Heaven-lit tapers shed ! The child looks up with deep wide eyes ; Strange awe his breast doth fill : Then, gazing on the Heavenly sight, The little heart grew still. It seemed to him a lovely dream ; Till, bending from the Tree, Fair white-winged Angels reach their hands And draw him lovingly : And, from earth's narrow, darksome ways, By sin and woe defiled, The Saviour's gracious Arms once more Take up a little child. He lay, a stiff and lifeless form. In. morning grey and chill : And they who found him, wond'ring saw The pale lips smiling still. Thank God ! no more in cold and pain The little wanderer sighs ; And soon forgotten is earth's grief In peace of Paradise ! II. NOEL ! This Day may every weight be lifted From weary heart and brain, While once more through earth's clouds, star-rifted. Soft floats the Angel strain ! This Day may troops, white-robed and shining. Descend the Heavenly stair, And shower, from gracious hands and loving. Such gifts as Angels bear ! May Christ, the King of earth and Heaven, The Babe on Mary's breast, Grant us this Day His Benediction, And evermore, His Rest ! III. CAROL. ■ How calm lies each hill and green valley Hushed into a silence deep, While earth holds her sleeping children As still as her folded sheep ! In wonder and rapt adoration All Heaven expectant waits, Till the bright-winged Herald full gladly Shall pass through its shining gates. To the plains where the flocks are resting, Swift speeding at God's command. He draweth night's dark purple curtain Aside with a gentle hand. Behold, then, how glories of Heaven Through the rifted ether pour ! O list to a jubilant chorus That echoes for evermore ! For God, in His wonderful mercy, Peace and goodwill hath given ; And for us men and our salvation The Word hath come from Heaven. O hasten to Bethlehem's stable Where shineth the heavenly light ! Turn aside with the gladsome shepherds To see this most wondrous sight ! How He lieth at rest in a manger, Cradled with beasts of the field, The glory and might of His Godhead In lowliest guise concealed ; Who, leaving His Throne in high Heaven A stranger on earth to roam. Came down as our Flesh and our Brother To bring the King's banished home. No sceptre and purple of monarch His state as a King reveal, Yet here, in the might of God's Presence, Veiled seraphs in worship kneel. And we, His own ransomed children, In His love have yet dearer part — Brought nearer to Him than the Angels, Let us give to Him all our heart. IV. HOLY INNOCENTS' DAY. " God hath chosen the weak.''— I Corin., i. 27. Behold the noble martyr army- Is by the children led ; And first, among the flock elected, Christ's tender lambs have bled ! Hear how the feeble lips of infants God's perfect praise may speak ; Learn how in wondrous power and mercy ■ He doth exalt the meek ! Fierce pangs were theirs and anguish bitter. As fell the flashing sword, And for His sake unconscious dying They glorified their Lord. Meek doves for sacrifice made ready. They shed their infant blood ; Then, safe and pure, God's Hand receives them Drawn from the crimson flood. So, from earth's dimness and affliction, They pass to light and calm ; Beyond the noise of Rachael's weeping To Sion's peaceful psalm ! Fair as the first pale stars of twilight, They shed a ray benign, Young heralds of that host triumphant,. Which as the sun shall shine. Sweet buds torn off and rudely broken. Ere their soft leaves unclose — Shall not they find their place in Heaven Near the Heart of the Mystic Rose ? V. THE EPIPHANY. S. Matthew, ii. 1 1 . They come from far a King to seek, They find a Babe and Maiden meek, A low-roofed oxen stall : Yet rightly richest gifts they bring, This Babe is of all kings the King, The God and Lord of all. Bright gold one offers now to Him, Whose glory makes the fine gold dim, His kingly state to show ; And myrrh the bitter hour of strife. When He, Who giveth all things life, In death's dust lieth low. One offers incense sweet and rare. The symbol meet of praise and prayer, Before the Cradle-Throne ; For surely God is in this place. And in the Blessed Infant's Face The might of God is shown. Lord, grant us, as the Kings of old, By faith the glory to behold Which Thy poor Form doth veil ; Within the stable's narrow bound To know a spot of holy ground And kneel our God to hail : — That, in dark shades of sinful night. Since Thou dost call us to Thy light, We may no longer roam ; But, lifting heart and eyes to heaven. Follow the sign Thy love hath given Till the star leads us home ! 13 VI. "NUNC DIMITTIS." Clad in weakest human nature, Borne in feeble human arms, The Christ draws nigh, while through His earthly- temple Echo celestial psalms. Not in pride and pomp of kingship, As Israel's monarchs came ; Wearing no crown, in silent state He cometh His Father's House to claim. Lowly and poor are those God calls To see the wondrous sight, Where, shedding His first beams of life and healing, Dawneth the Light of Light. Here, with folded wing, Death's Angel Waiteth a little space, For God hath granted to His faithful servant To see the Saviour's Face. " Lord, let Thy servant now depart, Let his long travel cease. Since he hath seen with eyes age-dimmed and weary Thy Christ Who bringeth peace." 14 ~ Now open stand the holy gates, All may the blessing share ; Henceforth God's House shall be for every nati( The home of praise and prayer. Henceforth, with brighter glory filled, The earthly temples shine, Where, shrined within the houses He hath hallov Dwelleth the Word Divine. The Highest deigns in His " sure love " To make His glory known. And His majesty, in earthly substance'veiling. Reigns from His Altar Throne ! Here mav sin-stained and laden souls VII. A LENTEN HYMN. " Your God . . . fighteth for you, as He hath promised." — Joshua, xxiii. lo. Help us, O Lord ! our soul grows faint and weary ; More darkly fall the shades of night : As in the days of yore, our eyes are holden, VVc cannot see the light. Ever around us false lights gleam and vanish, While demon-voices mock and scare : Grant us Thine aid, ere hope and faith shall fail us, And doubt become despair ! Without Thy Church fierce waves of strife are raging. Within, chill mists of error creep ; While coward hearts repeat the tempter's taunting — " Doth yet your Pilot sleep ? " Peace : let us trust Him ; have we not His promise ? His word of love so true and deep ; Those whom His Life-Blood once so dearly purchased Shall He not ever keep ? i6 From holy Heaven His blessed Angels watch us Singing glad songs of hope and cheer : They know that God Himself is our Defender, And see the victory near. Then let us stand, true soldiers of our Captain, Strong in the love of His dear Name ; Christ leads us forth, and where His armies follow Is glory and not shame 1 Still let us, bearing high His Holy Banner, Bravely press on to meet our foes ; And He, Who fights beside us in the battle. Shall crown us at its close ! I? VIII. THE ANNUNCIATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. " Exaltavit humiles." Within the humble chamber Where Blessed Mary kneels, Softly as twilight shadows The Heavenly Presence steals. Unction from Heaven descending, Rays of the Light Divine, Make the poor room God's Temple, Mary His Holy Shrine. Like a pure lily bending Swept by the Breath of God, She waits the wondrous message Of grace on her bestowed. Questioning not, nor doubting. Meekly she hears the word ; And whispers lowly answer — " The Handmaid of the Lord ! " i8 Wings of the Highest fold her, Bright Angels near her move ; While she in awe and wonder Ponders the word of love. Deep in her heart's recesses The blessed Hope she keeps ; Trusting His love unfailing, Who slumbers not, nor sleept Till, in His time's fulfilment, God shall His will disclose ; And from His chosen Lily Shall blossom Sharon's Rose ! 19 IX. EASTER EVE. Over the " holy fields " night's shades fall softly, To end a day of pain ; And hide the deed of darkest shame and horror That e'er God's earth did stain. No more, in sorrow like no other sorrow, Forth stretch the nail-pierced Hands ; The bare Cross — empty of its precious Burden, — A silent witness stands. The bitter cup unto its last dregs emptied, The strife and anguish o'er — The sinless Heart that broke for our salvation Throbs in deep pain no more. For a brief space the Form, so marred and wounded, Rests in Its garden grave, Laid by the reverent hands of loving mourners Safe in the rock-hewn cave. Then to the prisoners bound in Death's sad prison The King comes with great grace, Bearing the torch of life, to be for ever A light in that dark place. Henceforth, the valley of dread unknown horror Gleams with a ray Divine : A radiant pathway, where its gloom is deepest The Blessed Footprints shine. Henceforth, its King — no more a King of Terrors — Shall come in Angel guise, With tender touch to fold the weary fingers And close the aching eyes. And we, in the still shadow of God's Acre, In hope may lay to rest, And calmly yield to God, when He shall need them, " Our dearest and our best." In the safe shelter of His Hand enfolded, We know they are in peace : Yet who may say the sleep they sleep is dreamless, That love's sweet care must cease ? Do we forget, spite of all veiling shadows That hide them from our sight ; And can we deem that they shall not remember Who dwell in Love's clear light ? Are we not brethren still — in one Communion ? Is not one Master ours ? He Who hath made the Curse for ever stingless And wreathed the tomb with flowers. In faithful words He saith, that when all passcth, Love doth for aye endure — And shall not theirs, drawn nearer to His Presence, Grow yet more strong and pure ? And if, sometimes, the dusky veil uplifting Shows us they still are near, Shall we not bless the gracious revelation. Not shrink or start with fear ? Rejoicing that for dear ones God hath taken. Nor prayer nor love is vain. Until at length, in glorious Easter brightness. He makes us one again ! THE SLEEP OF THE MASTER. " The Shadow of Death till the Morn." All day the Shepherd sought the sheep. Calling them home to rest ; Now His pierced Head lies pillowed Gently on Earth's green breast. She, at least, loved Him as her Child, And did her Maker hail ; For in His hour of anguish Her very sun grew pale. He trod her thorniest pathways. His Footprints traced in blood ; Knowing full well His guerdon- Nails and a Cross of wood ! To see God thus, the Holy Ones In lowly reverence bow ; But His own brethren mark not The glory round His brow. 23 He bears long years of toil and pain, Paying for them the price ; And pours at last His Life-Blood To crown the sacrifice. Now for a space the Earth He made Holds Him in her embrace ; While soft white wings of Angels Shadow the Holy Place. Soon will He waken. Night speeds fast. The golden Day is near : See, in the far East glowing, Signs of the Dawn appear ! A ray of Heaven's own brightness Pierces Death's ancient prison ; The Angels fold their pinions And whisper, " He is risen." 24 XI. S. ALBAN, MARTYR. June i^th. " Greater love hath no man than this : that a man lay down his life for his friends." — S". "John, xv. 13. Saint Alban ! dear and honoured name, 'Mid summer joy and light ! We bless God for the noble deed That keeps his memory bright. His was the greatest human love — A soldier true and brave, He dared a doom of shame and pain. His friend from death to save. To him, who spared not for love's sake His own life to lay down, God added yet more noble fame — A martyr's shining crown. Scarce made a soldier of the Cross, Its royal way he trod ; And, faithful to the glorious Sign, Fell in the cause of God. 25 Ah ! then as o'er death's gathering gloom The hght shone from above, Through his rapt soul the meaning thrilled Of a yet greater Love ! No more an English hillside fair, Where flickering sunbeams play, He sees — but in an Eastern land — " A green hill far away ; " Where One, His Father's Well-Beloved, A Victim without spot, Gives up His life in pain for men Who knew and loved Him not. He hears that Voice, most sweet of all, Whisper, " Thou, too, shalt be This day, O servant true and tried, In Paradise with Me." Therefore, with heart that faltereth not. He sees the end draw near. And meets the headsman's lifted sword Without a thrill of fear. We praise Thee, JESU, for the light Thy blessed martyr shed ; May we, too, tread the Royal Way, And follow where he led ! 26 May we, though in more humble guise. Still strive as lights to shine, And show our smaller flame is fed By the same Fire Divine. Thy warriors, may we still uphold Thy Banner manfully, Till, like Thy valiant soldier-saint, We fall asleep in Thee ! 27 XII. S. JAMES THE APOSTLE. July 2i,th. "Herod . . . killed James the brother of John with the sword. — Acts, xii. i, 2. " Killed with the sword ! " say rather, out of darkness Translated into light ; From all earth's sadness, all of sin's pollution, Drawn upward to God's sight ! The mystic words find now their full completion : The sharp sword doth not spare ; And in the Master's brimming cup of anguish The servant hath a share. Those vain and passing glories charm no longer That once his heart desired ; He seeks for realms unseen and everlas.ting. With holier ardour fired. Discerning now in clearer revelation The mission of his King, No more he dreams that transient earthly splendour Christ came on earth to bring. 2 8 No earthly crown rewards his faithful service, No crumbling earthly throne ; But the bright crown of life and fame undying God keepeth for His own. Once, by the Lake, a humble fisher dwelling, In quiet ways he trod, Till on a day made thus for ever blessed He heard the call of God. Thenceforth he daily learns the holy lesson Of Christ's humility — How still the true disciple's greatest glory Is as His Lord to be. One of the chosen three, in close communion Drawn nearer to the Lord ; He bears the Cross through shame and tribulation, Then wins the great reward. Once more the Voice, whose thrilling sweetness reached him. Borne on the wind's soft breath, Bids him arise and witness to his Master, Passing to Life through death. Once more, as leaving all he held most precious. He rose without delay, He follows now in faith and love unfaltering The strait and thorny way. 29 Sharp was the pang, O true and faithful Martyr, That loosed thy fleshly chain, But who may measure what exceeding glory Atones for thy brief pain ? Beyond the swift flash of the ruthless weapon The glorious guerdon lies. Amid death's darkness gleam the white-winged Angels And whisper, " Paradise ! " 3° XIII. S. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS. September 2gth. For all the blessed Angels Who serve around Thy Feet, Accept, O Loving JESU, A hymn of worship meet ! Michael, the strong Archangel, The Warrior of the Lord, Who, in each hour of peril. Unsheathes his mighty sword. Gabriel, who to the Purest, Sent with the lily bloom. Brightened with beams from Heaven Blest Mary's humble room. And that most gentle Angel, Who, when in garden glade Thy soul grew faint with anguish. Came near with Heavenly aid. 31 For all our Guardian Angels, Thy ministers of grace, But most for those beholding In Heaven Thy Father's Face ! That we, though tempted sorely. May keep our innocence, Grant us Thy pure strong Angels For succour and defence ! Strengthen our weak endeavours ; Help us to faithful stand ; Take us in Love's due season Home to the Angel's Land ! 32 XIV. ALL SAINTS' DAY. November 1st. About us the dead leaves are falling, Nipped off by the chili wind's breath ; All the voices of nature calling Speak but of decay and death. Yet, a light amid darkness springing. Comes the Church's song of praise : Sweet as music from far chimes ringing The anthem her children raise ; As she calls them in glad strains blended To honour the pure and blest. To whom, now their conflict is ended, God gives His Eternal Rest. How calmly on earth's bosom sleeping Whom Christ for His own receives. They wait for the glorious reaping. The harvest of golden sheaves ! 33 Gentle plants of our Lord's own sowing Made fair with His precious Blood, 'Mid earth's thistles and rank weeds growing. How lovely and pure they stood ! Now, transplanted to fairer meadows, They bloom under cloudless skies, Where God giveth, for earthly shadows, The sunshine of Paradise ! And to us, who, by earth-storms driven, Still wander 'mid clouds and night, He sets, as in far-off heaven. These stars for a beacon light. May we follow their rays in meekness. Until, where all tempest dies. We, the seed Christ soweth in weakness, In glory and power shall rise ! 34 XV. THE DOOR WAS SHUT. 5". Matthew, xxv. lo. " The door was shut" Hath it not long stood open, Held by a pierced Hand, While yet within the shining hour-glass lingered One grain of golden sand ? Did not the Master rise betimes and call us, Pleading in accents meek : " O children, while the torch of life still flameth, Spare not My Face to seek 1 " Year after year, above earth's strife and turmoil, Was not His Voice still heard, As ever with each note of Advent warning The Church's heart was stirred ? Hath He not offered still for strength and healing Himself the Living Bread, When day by day upon each sacred Altar The Mystic Feast was spread ? 35 Did we not, since the radiant dawning brought us Promise of wondrous power, Stand idle till the dial's solemn finger Pointed the day's last hour ? Ah ! then, indeed, the hearts of slothful servants Despair and anguish filled ; As the dread cry — " Behold the Bridegroom cometh" — The deepening shadows thrilled. No more, in accents of a loving Shepherd, Doth Christ still call in vain : The Voice we hear is that of most just judgment Parting the flock in twain. Never within the dark and empty lantern May Wcike a wasted flame : What wedding-robe for thankless guests remaineth Save nakedness and shame ? O Jesu ! Who art still amongst us standing. The Shepherd of the sheep ; We pray for grace, while yet the door is open, Within Thy fold to keep : Lest we, when the last trumpet's awful summons Pierces the far-spent night. Found at the Wedding Feast, unclothed and speechless, Be driven from Thy sight ! 36 XVI. HYMN TO THE HOLY NAME. To Jesus — Name most holy — Let all yield homage meet ! Veil your bright faces, Angels, Kneeling around His Feet ! Men ! bow your heads in worship, Naming the Blessed Name, Borne by the Lord of Heaven Dwelling in human frame. Breathe It in awestruck accents, With reverent speech and slow ; Sign of the Gift most wondrous God gave to men below. Name ! by the white-robed Angel Brought to the Mother blest. Name that she softly whispered Soothing her Babe to rest ! Name of His holy Childhood, His Manhood's toiling years ; Name that henceforth hath hallowed All human smiles and tears ! 37 Name ! borne with stainless honour, When in the deadly strife He quelled the hosts of evil; Winning us crowns of life. Written in blood-stained letters Over the Cross of shame ; Sign of His hard-won triumph, Behold this human Name ! Then, in Ascension glory, Raised to the heights unknown. Where jESUS, the Son of Mary, Shareth the Father's Throne. We, too, bear names God-given, When once in days of old. Thy Hand, O Faithful Shepherd, Drew us within the Fold. That day, to cleanse and save us. Thy loving Spirit came ; And at the Church's threshold Thy sheep were called by name. Therefore, O mighty Saviour, Master and gracious Lord, Grant to the failing succour. Strength to the weak afford ; 38 That we may give Thee gladly All Thy great love doth claim ; Nor bring by deeds unholy Scorn on Thy Holy Name ; Still, as sheep of our Shepherd,. Follow Thy Footsteps here :. Worship with holy worship. Serve Thee with holy fear ! So may we, when life endeth And shadows round us fall. Hearing our name breathed softly^ Answer the Master's call ; Then, with white robes invested, Free from all sin and shame, In the pure light of Thy Presence Worship the Holy Name 1 39 XVII. AN ASPIRATION. In hours of gloom and sadness Still hast Thou faithful proved, Jesu, of friends most loving, Though of all friends least loved ! In sympathy all human, In mercy all Divine, Thou, Who in fleshly temple The Godhead didst enshrine ! What if with earthly vision We see not now Thy Face, Nor hear 'mid human voices Thy accents full of grace ? We in Thy Hand are holden. We by Thy love are blest ; And, kneeling round Thine Altar, Our souls find fullest rest I 40 XVIII. HOLY MOUNTAINS. "The Holy Mount," Calvarv,'' . . . . " The Place which is called " The Mount called Olivet." Ere, in the last dread hour of strife, Love's work is made complete, Christ seeks that mystic holy mountain Where light and shadow meet The chosen Three, who, with their Lord, Have climbed the sacred height, Behold, through veil of Human Vesture, Shine forth the Heavenly Light. See ! Calvary now before Him lies- No earthly friend is near ; And for the circling light of glory Death with its gloom and fear. 41 Hidden is now the Father's Face ; While through the darkened sky Thrills from those Lips, so pure and loving, , The prayer of agony. A little while, and Olivet Is very gate of Heaven, Where, to His servants tried and faithful, Their sacred charge is given. And how with glory most Divine This " Holy Mountain " shone. As the cloud of welcoming Angels Bore the Victor to His Throne ! 42 XIX. THE GOOD PHYSICIAN. 5. Matiltew, viii. 14, 15. Once, in His days of earthly toil, the Master A saddened home drew near, Wherein a hovering shadow hushed each footfall And stilled each heart with fear. There, worn with tossing on a bed of suffering, One lies with gasping breath ; While o'er her features, wan and fever-wasted. Darkens the shade of Death. Amid the throng of those who weep around her Behold the Saviour stand ! Above the sick in tender pity bending, He takes the fevered hand. No longer wildly leap the frenzied pulses : With new-born life they thrill ; And, owning straight the power of Death's Destroyer, She rose to do His Will. 43 We too, O Lord, wait for Thy touch of healing' In weariness and heat ; For still with every pain sin's curse hath given Our hearts in anguish beat ; Till Thou shalt bid, in accents calm and gentle^ Our throbbing pulses cease ; And from the tossing of life's " fitful fever " Call us unto Thy Peace. In that new life Thy love for us makes ready No flaw or stain shall be ; And we, with hands and feet no longer feeble,. Shall minister to Thee. Then, where no sin may ever let or hinder. Shall Thy blest Will be done ; And we shall know the perfect bliss of service When " will and power are one." 44 XX. "BENEDICITE." ' God . . left not Himself without witness. — Acis, xiv. 17. O PRAISE and magnify our God For all the gifts of love He poureth down unceasingly From His high throne above. He made all creatures good at first ; And now, though stained with ill, They keep the impress of His Hand And bear Him witness still. Still doth His sun give life and light. Still fall His quickening showers ; Nor yet earth wearies to put on Her green robe starred with flowers. Nor, in each season's ordered time. Doth she her fruit refuse ; While still the " faithful witness " glows In seven perfect hues. The orb He gave to rule the night Doth light our darkness still, And from the sun's o'erflowing beams Her crescent lamp doth fill. 45 Fulfilling still their Maker's word, The storm-winds fiercely blow ; Or, in the forest, cool and dim, Soft breezes whisper low. The clouds like gorgeous banners still Stream in the eastern sky ; Or seem to bring, when daylight fade's,.. Celestial glory nigh. Still in their silent grandeur stand The everlasting hills ; And still for beauty and delight Gush forth the freshening rills. The depth of ocean breaketh not Its firm eternal bars ; And still in the blue height of heaven. Clear burn the steadfast stars. Thus ever in the world He made The Hand of God is seen ; In dreary hours of winter gloom Or summer days serene. Then let His children praise Him still And yield Him honour due ; Waiting in thankful hope and love Till He makes all things new. 46 XXI. SOLDIERS OF THE CROSS. ■" Christ's faithful soldiers and servants." — Baptismal Service. In days long past a great and glorious army- Went forth, with might and fame, To guard the Holy Tomb of Christ our Saviour From foul despite and shame. That these old knights were true and gallant soldiers Their noble stories tell ; For God and Holy Cross their strong swords wielding They did their duty well. And in the rear of this great army followed A young and feeble band,* Who left in faith their homes and loving kindred. Their own dear native land, * " In France, A.D. 1212, 30,000 children encamped around Vendome ; 10,000 were lost or had strayed away before they reached Marseilles ... at length, two merchants offered 'for the cause of God and without charge' to convey them in ships to Palestine, and the 5,000 children who sailed from the harbour chanting the 'Veni ■Creator Spiritus ' found themselves at the end of their voyage in the slave markets of Alexandria and Algiers. 20,000 German girls and boys set out in the same year from Cologne, under the peasant lad JNichoIas, of whom 5,000 only reached Genoa; of the rest, some had returned home, some marched to Brindisi and, setting sail for Palestine, •were never heard of more." — The Crusades: Sir G. W. Cox. 47 ■Changing the joy and love of peaceful homesteads For battle's din and strife ; They dare for God hard toil and direst peril And give for Him their life. Some by the hands of treacherous foes were taken ; Some lost in ways unknown ; Never again to their fair land returning — Yet God doth keep His own. Now, though no longer in such earthly warfare God's vassals fight for Him ; We may not say the Church's children falter, Or that her light burns dim. We all are called to be Christ's faithful soldiers ; Sworn in our infancy To hold aloft the Sign in which He conquers, And in His ranks to die. And see ! where round His Holy Altar kneeling, A band of children throng ; Receiving from God's free and gracious Spirit Gifts that make pure and strong. Surely no souls the Blessed Lord hath ransomed Are to His Heart more dear ; And surely while the mystic words are spoken Hover His Angels near I 48 Bright may His warriors keep the heavenly armour Their Captain gives this day ; And in the perfect freedom of His service Abide and live alway ! Still may God grant for sure defence and succour His Angel's sheltering wing ; Till in the sunlit City where He dwelleth, His servants serve their King : And, after manful fight beneath His banner, Lay their tried weapons down ; And from His Hands, whose love and might upheld them, Receive the palm and crown ! 49 XXII. HIDDEN MELODIES. (suggested). The air was filled with music Of joy and holy mirth When the exultant Angels Welcomed a God to earth. The ground once cursed is blessed By treading of His Feet, And still may earthly pathways The holy sounds repeat. His sweet and gracious accents Made hearts of men to thrill : E'en now, through earth's harsh noises, We hear their echo still. Could we but rightly listen, Such strains might reach our ears As in the light's first dawning Held mute the listening spheres. 5° One day the Great Musician Shall tune each jarring chord ; And every hidden harmony Be at His touch restored. Then far away for ever All discord shall be driven. And earth once more with gladness Shall hail the choirs of Heaven. 5' XXIII. THE FAR-OFF LAND. " Thine eyes shall see the King in His beauty : they shall behold the Land that is very far-off." — Isaiah, xxxiii. 17. A I^K^V) far-off. How like a wailing minor Woven in harmony This note amidst the Prophet's song of triumph Lingers regretfully ! Ah ! not in truth " far-off," the Land we sigh for Full close to us it lies ; A little space beyond this vale of .shadows Its golden turrets ri.se. A fair wide City, where no rough crowds jostle, Where none forsaken roam ; But where, for all His feeble toiling children. Our Father finds a home. " Threshold of Peace ! " How doth our storm-tossed spirit Desire thy port to gain, How still our ears, sore wearied with earth's discora, Long for thy restful strain ! 52 Yet joy is ours. God's love is ever round us, God's Angels with us still : And have we not like them a blessed mission To do our Father's will ? E'en now, in beauty, thought and speech surpassing. The King doth near us stand. Bidding us follow where in God's clear sunlight Fair shines the " far-stretched " Land. 53 XXIV. NO MORE SEA. (suggested). " I saw a new Heaven and a new Earth . . . and there was no more sea." — Revelation, xxi. i. Ah ! can it be that earth must miss Her beauteous rock-hewn caves ; That never in God's new-made world Shall floods lift up their waves ? No : but that there shall never rise Fierce storms and conflicts sore ; And the " Dead Sea " of curse and pain Alone shall be no more. Perchance in this fair future land The waters calmly sleep ; And God doth not in tempest show His wonders in the deep. It may be that the perfect Heaven He keeps for His beloved ; Is earth with all its beauty left And all its stain removed. 54 XXV. IN MEMORIAM. Alexander Heriot Machonochie : Born August nth, 1825 ; Found dead in Kinloch Forest, December 17th, 1887. Long years he bore the Cross in faithful service ; Then rose to take the Crown In a lone place, where watch the steadfast mountains. And the still stars look down. They found him lying 'midst the forest shadows In deep and sweet repose ; Above him — a fair shroud of God's own weaving — Drifted the silent snows. Seeking, from the great city's din and turmoil. For a brief space to rest ; A better rest to this His long-tried servant God gave, Who knoweth best. Like a true soldier, far from friends and kindred, God willed to call him home : Alone — as Moses once on Pisgcih's summit. He heard the voice say, " Come." ss Meet was it, one who fought for Christ so bravely, A soldier's death should die ; Fight his last fight with only God to aid him, And win the victory. What if no human footfall broke the stillness, Nor voice of human cheer ; Call not his deathbed lonely or forsaken. For surely God was near ! Perchance, as the dark shadows fell around him, Fair sights and sounds were given ; And angel-visions made his stony pillow A very gate of Heaven. Perchance, soft echoing through the stormwind's wail- ing, He heard the Heavenly psalm ; Till He Who stilled Gennesaret's troubled waters Made this storm, too, a calm. Not ours to grudge, when from life's weary toiling Our God His own doth claim : So, for this pure soul, freed from fleshly burthen. We bless His Holy Name. And for that flock, whose faithful shepherd leaves them Ne'er to return again ; May Christ, who wept amongst the human mourners. Bring solace to their pain. S6 May they still hear his voice they loved so dearly Speaking as from the dead ; Still may they keep the words of truth he taught them And follow where he led ! God grant them grace, like him, through toil and sorrow. Firm in the Faith to stand ; Till they, too, anchor in the wished-for Haven, And reach the Blessed Land ! Till where God's Presence gives eternal sunlight. Where storms no more may beat : In God's fair pasture-lands — by His still waters — The sheep and shepherd meet ! Christmas Day^ 1887. 57 XXVI. THE PASSING OF HILDA. November 17th, A.D. 680. With sounds of sobbing in its waves 'The cold sea shoreward creeps : Around the Abbey's stately towers The solemn night-wind sweeps. Within, in a dark lowly cell, A precious life-flame dies ; For there, with wasting fever spent, The holy Hilda lies. Behold, in distant convent walls One waketh out of sleep, Hearing a strange and solemn sound Startle night's stillness deep ! She riseth straight from pallet low With visage changed and pale, As one who in a vision blest Sees Angels bear the Grail. 58 " Say, Sisters sweet," she whispereth low„ " What may such sign foretell If one perchance in dreams should hear The solemn passing-bell ? And in a rapture strange and sweet Should see with mortal eye White Angels with a ransomed soul Soar upward to the sky ? " Then forth upon the midnight air The chapel bell doth toll. Asking, with deep and thrilling tone, Prayers for a parting soul. And in the dim and silent aisles The pious Sisters kneel Till, a pale streak through chancel-pane. The winter dawn shall steal. Then with swift feet and boding hearts They seek the distant fane — But no more on her narrow bed Doth Hilda lie in pain. The Heavenly Sign had spoken true, For in the silent night Angels had borne blest Hilda's soul Into the Land of Light. 59 XXVII. THE CALL OF CAEDMON, A.D. 670. As once a sweet-voiced minstrel. In Israel's ancient days, Was taken from the sheepfolds The Name of God to praise ; So, too, the lowly Caedmon, After long silent years, Within his straw-thatched stable A wondrous message hears. To him, poor, lone and aged, Amid night's darkness came The Voice that in his spirit Woke the God-kindled flame — " Take up the harp and say not Thy hand or voice is weak ; For he may not stand silent Whom God hath called to speak." Go Straightway, with touch of magic, He sweeps the mighty string To strains such as in rapture The Morning Stars might sing. In festal hall no longer The harp doth pass him by. Who sings with passing sweetness The praise of God most high. Still stands the " wind-swept headland " That heard his melody : Still at its foot for ever Breaks the unresting sea ; And still, first of all singers That win our England fame Shall stand to God's great glory A peasant's humble name ! 6i XXVIII. THE MOTHER'S DREAM. (a true story), While on her bed in grievous pain The stricken Mother lay, God took, it seemed with cruel hand,. Her new-born Babe away. In patient meekness till that day She suffered and was still ; But now in bitterness of soul She murmured at His will. " It was the only joy I had," She whispered as she wept. Till by her pain and sorrow spent A little while she slept. Then in a happy dream she stood In pleasant garden bowers, Where One, more fair than sons of men,. Seemed Guardian of the flowers. She saw Him pass those blossoms by That in full beauty shone. And gather, with a pierced Hand, A rosebud scarcely blown. 62 "" How strange to choose a folded bud," The Mother wondering said, ■" When glowing fair on every side More perfect flowers are spread ! " He smiled and spake : " This infant flower Shall blow in fields more blest : " Then the closed petals gently raised And laid upon His Breast. The Mother's heart, with grief so rent. Now thrills with rapture deep ; From such a sweet and blessed dream She waketh not to weep. For a brief space His praise to speak God wills her to remain : Then, as He giveth His beloved. He gave her sleep again. And in the quiet waiting place Beneath the Church's shade, The Mothei and the tender Babe In one low grave are laid. Thus did our Father teach His child To trust His loving care ; .And now both bud and blossom wave In His own Garden fair. 63 XXIX. A BENEDICTION. God's love be ever with thee, Sweet, Thy soul to keep and shield, In every hour of peril A sword of strength to wield ! All gracious gifts of God the Son Be thine to bless and cheer. As the beloved Disciple Mayst thou His Heart be near ! O'er thee, with all the light and grace Such Holy Presence brings. Still rest for peace and shelter The Dove's o'er-shadowing wings ! Beside thee still in joy or gloom May God's dear Angels stand. Till, at the shining Gateway, Christ takes thee by the hand ! Christmas Eve, 1886. PART 11. VARI A. 67 PERDITA. " I would I had some flowers o' the spring."— A Winter's T.ile. O GIVE US of thy flowers, Sweet Maid, Or tell us where they grow ; For not in our most cherished beds Blossoms so fair may show ! Our daffodils are not so bright As those that kissed thy feet ; Nor can we by our woodpaths find Violets so " dim and sweet." The sunny south lands now so long Our swallows from us keep ; Nor can our spring blooms' beauty lay The winds of March to sleep. Our Shakspere's lute was full as sweet As Orpheus' magic lay, Is it that when his music ceased Some sunshine went away ? We search in vain for Shakspere's flowers Our fields and woodland shades. Perchance such blossoms only grew In his enchanted glades ! 68 II. CORDELIA. " I blight have saved her ; now she's gone for ever." — Lear. I. A FACE of twilight tenderness, Eyes true and clear as morn ; Lips that with pain might quiver, But never curve in scorn. A blossom among poisonous weeds. Sweet, fair and undefiled, A queen in gracious beauty. In guileless truth a child. II. Such was she once. — Ere yet the dread Wheel's circling Had drawn her in its power : Full in its pathway now she lieth, Crushed like a trampled flower. "Thy truth then be thy dower." — Such was the sentence. Now reads its meaning plain. Her white throat in fulfilment beareth That deep and purple stain. The feather stirs not. Take away that mirror. It shows no mist of breath. No coronet the pure brow graceth Save that still crown of Death. 69 " Cordelia, Cordelia !— Stay a little." Is this his voice whose tone ■ Withheld once in blind wrath and frenzy Grace, love and benison ? Hers was such love as counts it joy and honour To pay love's bitterest price ; And the high gods themselves throw incense Upon such sacrifice. And what of him who once in fatal blindness Thrust from him such a love ? Is there for him henceforth no solace In earth or Heaven above ? With him, indeed, the Wheel hath come full circle ; All hope and help is vain : The rack now holds him, crushed and bleeding, Bound fast with his own chain. The low soft voice keeps now eternal silence, His cries pierce not her ears ; And " very bootless " now his anguish, Remorse and bitter tears. Peace ! Let him pass. The Wheel hath stopped its turning. The throbbing pulses cease. See ! o'er him bends the quiet Angel And gives the kiss of peace. 70 III. DESDEMONA. " Unfailh in aught is want of faith in all. It is the little rift within the lute That by and bye will make the music mute." — Tennyson. An ! how by ruthless hand the lute lies shattered, For ever mute the strains once passing sweet : No frenzied cry its subtle tones may waken, Bidding a still heart beat. Ay, 'tis indeed " too late." No touch of magic Can e'er give back to the pllicked rose its bloom : Never may any fire of " heat Promethean " The torch of life " relume." Well might'st thou pause, most blind and erring spirit, And view, with throbbing pulse and bated breath. The love-sweet eyes unclose e'en while their beauty Grew dark with pain and death. The lids are close shut now ; no day shall wake them : With bruised petals the dead flower doth lie, While the still voice of Death's relentless silence " Bids thee despair and die." 71 Time was, when in the bliss of love's fruition, No shadow stained a sky serenely clear ; And none who saw the brightness of the dawning Dreamed of a tempest near. A whisper came of foul and hateful meaning Mingling with love's clear, strains a jarring tone ; And thou didst listen to the words of evil, " Turning within to stone." Thenceforth, no more the stars like angel faces ' From their blue heaven look down to bless and heal -; But in their very courses seem to battle With glittering points of steel. To nights, by " sweet sleep medicined " no longer, Peace cometh not with cheerful light of morn, And e'en earth's blossoms in their gentle beauty Seem but to smile in scorn. Alas ! a " little rift " hath stilled the music ; A little cloud hath turned fair day to night ; For Love's clear harmony is discord given, Hell's blackness for God's light. Ah me ! that life with pain and mystery mingled Full oft a skein of ravelled threads appears, With no solution of its knots and tangles Save the " Blind Fury's " shears ! THE GRAVE OF OPHELIA. " I would give you some violets ; but they withered all." — Hamlet. I. Whence come these " sweet dim " violets of the woods, Shedding pale lustre in the Place of Death, And spreading through its dank and sombre shades The subtle scent of Cytherea's breath ? This is a place of rest for one whose life Wrecked ruthlessly fair hopes which once it gave : These tender blooms, the flowers of love and youth. Now for all comfort blossom on her grave. The raindrops on their petals softly fall. Close to their leaves the sweet wild swallows skim. The sunrays touch them lightly, and the winds Sigh o'er this grave that missed the funeral hymn. How dear to nature seemed this " Rose of May ! " A flower for sunshine and for fragrance made, Till the storm broke. Then bruised and drenched with rain The pallid blossom in the dust was laid. 73 II. Now life is passed with all its strife and turmoil ; Hushed now are all the harsh and jangled chords : For a brief space there shall be sleep and silence, Then a soft strain, and sweet and loving words. For One speeds swiftly to the unknown region, Who " in this harsh world drew his breath in pain.'' " The rest is silence." But in calm and sunshine May not earth's storm-bent blossoms lift their heads again ? 74 V. "JUDITH SHAKESPEARE." (A' REMINISCENCE). Inscribed respectfully to Mr. William Black. I. Through a fair land she wanders, Wrapped in a golden dream ; Where through green meadows glideth Our England's dearest stream : Or, where in woods' recesses. The " dim sweet " violets blow. While to the budding branches The breezes murmur low. The day is " filled with music " ; • Glamour is all around : And in her quiet chamber Still floats the magic sound : There, the first sunrays softly Creep through the lattice bars ; Or clinging ivy maketh A leaf-frame for the stars. 75 And, crown of all the beauty, There springs a wondrous flower- A Rose of fragrant blooming — Within this Maiden's bower ! Know, (would ye learn the secret Of such a mighty spell) Miranda must dream sweetly In Prosper's magic cell ! II. dosed is the Maiden's casement ; No song the house doth fill : Round the forsaken arbour The weeds grow up at will. The sunshine all hath vanished That once so brightly shone ; For the dear Rose she cherished Is " from her garden gone " ; And one beside her pillow Watches a dying flame : From heights of fame and glory To that still couch he came. In a far heavenly city Swing back the shining gates — Here in a shadowed chamber The white-veiled Angel waits. 76 Before his awful Presence The elves and fairies flee ; And even the harp of Ariel Dare wake no melody. He calls the Maiden gently : She may not halting stand, But with slow wistful footsteps Follows the beckoning Hand. HI. But, see ! while Angels welcome her And in glad song rejoice ; She pauses near the portal bright Hearing an earthly voice. One writes that Love may conquer Death With might more strong and sweet ; And in his love that stays her steps The whole world's heart doth beat ! So she, to bless dear earth again Descends the mystic stair — • In her sweet eyes the light of Heaven, Its gleam upon her hair. Miranda's loving feet once more Enter the magic cell ; Till Prosper breaks his staff of might In that dear spot to dwell. 77 Once more the elves and fairy sprites Dance in the moon's soft ray, And with " quaint Ariel " at their head Resume their ancient sway. The wondrous Rose blooms rich again ; Its grace shall ne'er depart ; For, evermore this happy Maid Wears it upon her heart ! 78 VI. THE WAKING. ' Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead."— R. Browning, See ! she has kept your token, You remember what you said ? Wait ! the green leaf is withered : She will give you now instead Her heart, a bright red blossom, That in shade and quiet grew ; No bud with close-shut petals — ■ Flower of spirit, flame and dew. You deemed her far above you. That Evelyn of sixteen years ; She lay so white and silent. Heeding not your hopes and fears. Your heart's voice then she heard not, Nor in speech replied that day ; Now the leaf its secret telleth. Hearken what her sweet tones say 1 79 Your love saw hope beyond you, As it gleamed, a distant star : Say now, as the glory brightens. Was it ever faint and far ? She lay at sunset sleeping. Your leaf in her sweet cold hands ; With dawn her soul hath wakened ; She remembers and understands ! 8o VII. THE ANGEL'S ANSWER. See R. Browning's "Guardian Angel" O STRONG sweet voiced singer, with brow by thought expanded, In labour high and noble many fleeting years have sped Since that bright day at Fano, when from Guercino's canvas The beauty of his Angel o'er thy soul like balm was shed ! There, as thou breath'dst thy prayer in soft and measured cadence, Sweet as the low-toned murmur of the wavelets on the beach, Was not in living beauty the Angel hovering near thee, Though of such gracious Presence there might not be sign or speech ? Has thou not heard full often, when thy right hand of cunning Wakened to mighty music the sweet harp's echoing string. 8i Still ever and anon through earth's din and discord stealing The Guardian Angel's whisper, the soft sweep of his strong wing ? Yea ! doth he still not linger, until one day his coming Shall end for thee for ever all of pain below the skies ; And the hand, whose quiet pressure lays to sleep all sorrow, Be laid for health and soothing tenderly upon thine eyes? Thus then, as once thou pray'dst, shall God's dear Angel guide thee ; Bid thee in soft-toned accents lay each earthly burthen down ; And thy dearest boon, perchance, where "love," in truth, " is duty," Shall be the pure and gentle love that was thy. earth- life's crown. And if then thou shouldest, as again his bright sphere leaving, In all his white-winged glory he stoopeth to thy side. And the door of Paradise thou seest for thee stand open, A moment turn thine eyes away, thy Angel shall not chide ! May jtk, 1888. VIII. SPRING DAWN. " Lo, the Winter is past." Above the hills the sun glints softly : Tender light is in the skies : In verdant hollows safely sheltered The flock yet slumbering lies. What promise fair of summer glory In the East now shines afar ! And in the wood's dim twilight gleaming, See ! the first faint primrose star. Now all green blades with new life kindle, Overswept by spring's soft breeze. Which whispers still of bloom and fruitage To the buds upon the trees. Soon each dark pine in forest standing, Clad in robe of tender green, May well forget in new-found beauty All bare boughs that may have been. 83 Through old Earth's heart a thrill is passing : Soon will wake her sleeping seeds ; And she, for fairest bridal raiment, Will put off her mourning weeds. E'en those low mounds, where wayworn pilgrims Lie so still on breast of Earth, Made bright with'flowers to new life risen, Preach not Death, but wondrous Birth. JLaster Day, 1888. 84 IX. NOCTURNE. (from the GERMAN). On the steep hill's summit standing; As fared the sun to rest, I saw the forest's greenness In gold of evening drest. Shed from fair clouds of heaven Soft dew fell peacefully ; The sweet-toned bells of even Rang nature's lullaby. I spake — " O heart so restless Unto this sweet spell yield, And lay to sleep thy sorrow Like each child of the field ! " Each bright and fragrant blossom Doth now its sweet eyes close ; With scarcely ruffled bosom The brooklet softly flows. 8s Within a leaf-fold crinkled Now the tired elf doth keep ; While on the reed dew-sprinkled The firefly falls asleep. The gold-winged beetle slumbers, Rocked on the rose's breast : Both weary flock and shepherd Seek now their place of rest. In dewy clover meadow The lark her nest doth find ; The forest's woven shadow Shelters the roe and hind. The peasant in his cabin Is now of rest full fain ; A dream brings back each wanderer To fatherland again. Ah ! midst this peace of nature Deep longings fill my breast, That I might, upward soaring, Reach Home this hour of rest ! 86 X. THE PRISONER'S SONG. (from the ITALIAN). O BRIGHT-WINGED Swallow, sweet and fleet, Thou comest back each morn. And to my dungeon, low and dark. Thy plaintive wail is borne. What means the piteous strain thou dost repeat, Tell me once more, O Swallow, sweet and fleet ? Swallow, art thou forgotten, too. Forsaken by thy mate ? Widowed art thou and left forlorn, Like me, disconsolate? Then, well may our laments and wailings meet In one sad minor. Swallow, fleet and sweet ! Yet, Swallow, hast thou solace left : Swift pinions bear thee still Lightly to seek the faithless one O'er lake, and vale, and hill ; Free air, not prison bars, thy bright wings beat. Calling him ever, Swallow, sweet and fleet 1 87 Could I as thou ! . . but this forbids — ■ A low and narrow cell, Where never sun-ray or soft breeze May tales of summer tell. Where this sad plaint, uttered in pain and heat. Reaches thee faintly, Swallow, fleet and swift ! But swift draw near the autumn days. When thou wilt cross the strand To greet new seas and mountain heights In a fair far-off land. Still shalt thou there thy plaintive strain repeat— Thy pilgrim song, O Swallow, sweet and fleet ! Then for thee each drear winter morn My tear-dimmed eyes shall seek. Till through the silence of the snow I think I hear thee speak ; Coming once more my solitude to greet With pitying lay, O Swallow, fleet and sweet ! When spring-tide brings thee once again, A cross will mark this spot ; Rest thy tired wings upon its arms. It shall reproach thee not. For then at last, dear Swallow, sweet and fleet. Thy vesper hymns shall tell how sleep is sweet ! 88 XI. THE DEAD LARK Ah ! dead amongst his clover blooms The stricken warbler lies ; Never again in joyous flight To cleave the sunny skies. Are these thy wings, once swift and light, That droop so heavily ; Could this rent bosom e'er pour forth A " rain of melody " ? This morning, sunward in delight Thou soar'dst, a winged song. Nor dreamt that in God's happy world Any would do thee wrong. A click ! a flash ! .In sudden pain Thy life and song both die ; And thou art but a mangled form That heedless feet pass by. Say ! Is it envy of their song Or of their soaring wings That moves the ruthless hand to slay God's " happy living things " ? 89 Methinks they might have left in peace A little brown bird's nest, Nor with their deadly weapon stilled The music of thy breast ! Ah, skylark sweet ! men are too base Celestial strains to heed, Or surely, such a song as thine Had earned a better meed ! Why didst thou not in cloudland stay, Or soar away to Heaven, Where Angels, better taught than men, Prize gifts that God hath given ? 90 XII. TO THE LITTLE BIRDS IN MY GARDEN. (from the ITALIAN). Dear little birds, so gay and free ! That still on joyous wing, As dawns God's light in a new day, Glad songs of welcome sing : The harmony of this sweet hour Within your hearts is shed ; While through the ever brightening sky Joy with your song is spread. Dear little birds, our Father's care ! Methinks 'twere little wrong To hold my mother's gentle faith That prayer is in your song ? Surely it is a sacred thing Amidst sin's ruin set. Lest the pure joy of upward flight The world should quite forget I 91 XIII. THE RAINBOW. (from the GERMAN). Where each bright rainbow touches eartb There gleams a cup of gold, And whoso finds the magic spot Its brightness may behold. Brimming within the golden cup Sparkles bright wine of Heaven, And from all lips the draught that drain Thirst is for ever driven. By day and night the gleam to gain I sought the wide world round ; But never came to any land Where rainbows reach the ground. Never I found in any land The golden wine-cup filled, And the long thirst that burns my heart Will not be quenched or stilled. 92 XIV. TO THE STARS. (from the GERMAN). Stars ! In the heaven's blue distance, That upon our twilight rise ; And, celestial radiance shedding. Earthward bend with angel eyes. Do not your sweet and gracious beams bid strife and pain depart. And breathe the blessed peace of Heaven into our storm-tossed heart ? Stars ! In your far blue distance Do they dream life's fleeting dream ? Do they feel the pangs or pleasures That we joy or sorrow deem ? Still may the spirit sigh with grief, or thrill with deep delight. Beyond the narrow sunlit space that bounds our earthly sight ? Stars ! In the far blue distance E'en now as ye softly shine, Ye shed from your far-off glory A promise of peace Divine, 93 Will ye not then one day from your golden pastures- bend, And let your perfect calm and rest on weary souls descend ? Stars, in, the far blue distance 1 Till my spirit breaks its chains, And with swift eager pinion Soareth to your peaceful plains, With yearning hope and steadfast faith I lift my eyes to you : O Stars, so sweet, and pure, and fair, your message must be true 1 94 XV. THE LAST SWALLOW. Yes, Sweet : the summer's fair long days are over, The western wind blows cold ; E'en in the dim depths of the sheltered woodland Fast fades rich autumn's gold. No more on bright fleet wing the flashing swallows Gleam in a sunlit sky : -One only — last of our dear summer heralds — Lingers to say good-bye. Why dost thou follow his swift flight so fondly With wistful tender eyes ? Will he bear thy heart away with him, O maiden, To the sunny southern skies ? Bare winter comes. Close folded in Earth's bosom Each gentle flower will sleep ; And thy sweet eyes, O Love, will ache with watching When the snow lies white and deep. 95 Then, never let thy heart forget the springtime Through winter dark and long ; For, surely, from its chill and barren silence Shall break at length a song ! Are not two Angels, Faith and Hope, still left thee To soothe thy hour of pain ? — When the first swallow comes with spring's glad greeting, He shall bring Love again ! Christmas, i88g. gfi XVI. " IRIS." A TWILIGHT face, where light and shade Meet as in summer skies : Like star-gleams in deep silent pools The soul- light in her eyes. Sweet lips that keep like crimson buds Their secret yet untold : Hair like the dusky wing of Night Just touched with Morning's gold. A voice which, as a tremulous harp When wandering winds sweep by, Breathes forth in tones to hold men mute The soul's deep melody. One in whose presence care seems light, Earth-mists are backward rolled ;. And once again our tired hearts dream The Angel-dreams of old. 97 XVII. THE FATE OF A FLOWER. (a conceit). I. A PROUD, sweet, purple lily Grew by the river's edge. Among the reeds and grasses And ragged broken sedge. The velvet leaves lie sleeping, Close-wrapped in bright green sheath, Till the Spring-Spirit passes And wakes them with soft breath; Ah, then the winds and sunbeams A royal sight behold ; The purple petals open And show a heart of gold ! Now all the fragrant blossoms Joy in a queen so fair ; And even the reeds and sedges The same sweet burden bear. 98 The wild and free Wind-Spirit Lingers the Flower to greet, With soft caressing touches And whispers low and sweet. The birds with joyous trilling Seem still to sing its praise ; And all around is brightness In those fair summer days. II. A many-tinted Dragon-Fly Flew by on burnished wing : The Lily saw the dazzling sheen, But recked not of the sting. Deep-piercing through its golden heart, The cruel thirsty Fly Spared not the purple cup to drain ; Then left the Flower to die. Its royal raiment soiled and rent, It lies among the weeds : The birds still warble, but the Whid Sighs in the bending reeds. 99 XVIII. TO MY BROTHER PERCIVAL. There are who tell us old romance is fable ; King Arthur but a poet's idle dream ; That chivalry hath from the world quite vanished — A passing golden gleam. Surely soul-blindness, born of earth and Mammon, Bids men embrace a creed' so cold and bare : Not yet, methinks, "dissolved the whole Round Table," Its deeds and glories rare ! Nay : but while one, true, pure, high-souled, unselfish. Doth 'mid our dark and tangled earth-ways tread. Bearing a Knight's name in an unstained scutcheon, The old Knights are not dead ! October 24th, 1888. lOO XIX. HID TREASURE. (from the ITALIAN). 'TiS night, and the " vexed Sea," of rest deprived, Climbs to the sky above ; And strives with waves that ceaseless foam and toss To reach the Moon his Love. In vain he tries that giddy height to scale — A fond and fruitless quest ; Ah, foolish One ! canst thou then not perceive Her light in thine own breast ? Doth not thy Love, from thee though far away, In thy heart prisoned lie ? What boots it then if in material form She stoop not from the sky? XX. LINES. (from the FRENCH). O COME, when on my couch I sleeping lie, As Laura once to gladden Petrarch's heart, Let thy breath touch me as thou passest by With a swift sigh My lips shall part ! Let thy glance, shining as a fair star's beam, Shed o'er my troubled brain its gracious light. Where ends, perchance, a long and hateful dream With the swift gleam My sleep grows bright ! Upon my lips, where love God pure doth make. Trembles like flame, then softly drop thy kiss, And no more Angel, Woman's aspect take . . In what swift bliss My soul shall wake ! XXI. THE LITTLE SHROUD. (from the GERMAN). The little Baby died. Ah ! how the Mother wept ! Watching by day and night, For tears she hath not slept. The Babe came back, a shadowy form, All pale, in death-robe drest : It plaintive speaks : " Ah, Mother mine, Lay thyself down to rest ! See how my little garment drips With tears thy love doth weep. Sweet Mother, in so cold a shroud Thy Baby cannot sleep." The gentle Vision disappears. The weeping Mother dries her tears. 103 XXII. CIRCE. " Dusk-haired and gold-robed, o'er the golden wine She stoops, wherein, distilled of death and shame. Sink the black drops ; while, lit with fragrant flame, Round her spread board the golden sunflowers shine." — D. G. ROSSETTI. Yes, She is very fair. Men learn it but too surely : Sweet are her eyes and deep ; from her red lips soft words, Distilled like honey drop ; yet bleeding hearts bear witness How that they oft may wound and pierce as very swords. Her baleful loveliness, born not of earth or Heaven, Is of those Hateful Ones whose steps draw nigh to Hell: Those once within her toils she follows unrelenting And ever round them weaves her dark and fatal spell. Before her sons of men pour forth in full libation The gifts that God bestows most precious and divine : She treads them in the dust ; and then, with scorn and loathing. Offers them in return her draughts of deadly wine. 104 Yea : oftentimes she cometh vested as an Angel, And with enchanting voice doth as a siren sing : She snareth victims fast ; nor, till her net enfolds them, Hear they in her sweet song the tones of mockery- ring. Full are her lavish hands of gifts that seem most goodly. Fair doth she promise bliss it ne'er was hers to give : Her fruit is that of Sodom, bitterness and ashes, Whereof man never yet was found to taste and live. Yet doth she reign — a Queen, enthroned in might and splendour — Leading earth's noblest children captive at her will : And we who see oft ask, with hearts perplexed and doubting, Why hidden under beauty lie snares the soul that kill? p Yet God is still above, and from all things He fashioned His Hand shall surely sweep all trace of ill away ; Then in a fair new world, where all is as it seemeth, Beauty and goodness shall be one that day ! 105 XXIII. PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. (a picture by g. f. watts). Dante. Inferno v. Behold these Spirits who in robes of mourning Cleave with swift wings Hell's thick and noisome air, No light of hope in their sad faces kindles, Grey with the ashen colour of despair ! In earth's sweet light erewhile they walked in pleasure, Seeing the fair sun rise, the pale stars shine Until the fatal hour that lit a flame unholy — Look in their faces and behold the sign ! Still bound together fast by links unhallowed, For their lost peace these anguished Spirits yearn ; For flames that seem on earth to warm and lighten In Hell have power only to sear and burn. From memory or hope no comfort may they borro\\-, Their only solace, " sorrow's crown of sorrow ! " io6 XXIV. "TILL DEATH." They met and parted. (God in Heaven shall judge All souls He made one day.) The fair spring sky above them glowing Seemed turned from blue to grey. Why must their lips pour forth to pierce and rend Words like envenomed darts, Yet all the while a peace unspoken Is nestling at their hearts ? O'er each heart lies close-drawn a shadowing veil, Between them walls of ice : Could it lift or thaw a moment, Behind is paradise ! But Pride bars the way with a sword that flames ; And now through all the years Hope gives place to a passionate yearning And searching with bitter tears. Cold falls the rain and slow from leaden clouds ; Set is the sun at noon : The air is filled with sounds of wailing ; Lost seems life's dearest boon. 107 Henceforth they tread in aching hopeless pain With weary bleeding feet, Paths that lie close, yet far are sundered, Lines which may never meet. Yet Hope lives ! See, an Angel draweth near- A King who endeth strife : An olive branch he bears for sceptre. And Death gives more than Life ! io8 XXV. WANDERER'S SONG. (from the GERMAN). When long shadows from the mountains Stretch darkly o'er the sea, Then the heart, thrilled with sweet sorrow. Looks backward longingly. When in flocks the snowy seamews Fly. shorewards o'er the main, Then a faithful heart's calm shelter I seek to ease my pain. Glad and gay, in morning sunshine, The wanderer loves to roam : Ever still as fall the shadows The heart will sigh for home. 109 XXVI. A LOOSED CORD. I. Together in a dream of bliss We trod the woodland ways ; Methought that Nature's very heart Seemed throbbing with your praise. The sun-rays touched you, artist-wise, And painted, unaware, Light in your dark eyes' liquid deeps, Gold in your dusky hair. Hope sang that day from every bough. And glowed in every flower ; We walked no more on earth-paths old But in lost Eden's bower. II. What voice, more sweet than earth's love-tones. Hath laid you thus to sleep. And hushed the music of your speech To silence long and deep ? What kiss upon your rose-sweet lips Hath left them pale and cold ; And bade your eyes like mist-veiled stars Their light a secret hold ? What touch hath stilled your heart's quick pulse ; And crossed, in marble rest, The hands love's pressure could not hold Thus meekly on your breast ? III. Ah, Sweet, a Love more deep than mine Hath bent you to Its Will :— For this, with lilies o'er you strewn. You lie so white and still. A seal, by God's own Hand impressed. Is on your quiet brow ; No furrow born of care or pain M-ay mar its beauty now. Let it be so. The love and faith You gave, are mine to keep : More than I could, God loved you. Sweet, And so you fell asleep. XXVII. ALTERNATIONS., (from the GERMAN). The autumn wind wails through the forest Already the swallows are flown : How soon stand the trees bare and lifeless, Ah ! how soon, Sweet, the summer is gone ! Ere spring's fair blooms scarce have unfolded, Scarce budded the rose in May, And love in the young heart scarce wakened ; The leaves fall, and — all passes away. Our love and delight, care and sorrow. All swift as a dream's shadows fly : What is left to us. Sweet, when day closes ? Can we answer with aught save a sigh ? Yet where this rose now breathes its perfume. Next year one as fragrant may wave ; And the vows of two hearts full as loving Be whispered one day o'er our grave ! XXVIII. LIFE, DEATH AND LOVE. I. A VIGIL spent in darkness, in deep gloom and heavy night — A grey cold sky at dawning, a flush of rosy light — A burst of waking sunlight, and such grace to life is given That each dark vale and barren peak gleams with the gold of heaven. With all the old sweet glamour Love is weaving Eden's bowers, And glorious show on Life's fair Tree the red and glowing flowers. Swept by Love's light swift wing the heart thrills like a trembling lyre. And its harmony seems echoed by a hidden heavenly choir. II. Just the passing of an Angel, the shadow of its wing, And bare and silent winter follows one day of spring. 113 The silver string is loosened ; the harp's sweet music mute ; And hanging on Life's blasted Tree dead leaves for golden fruit. III. Yet may the mute harp wake again to sweeter melody ; And a new spring make fair once more the bare and blasted Tree. Though Death a while may triumph, Love still doth reign a King, And o'er the Grave's grim trophies hovers Psyche's radiant wing ! 114 XXIX. MUSIC IN DEATH. (from the fkench). Friends, woilld ye aid me in my hour of anguish, Let speech in silence die ! But let soft music round me lingerj Stilling death's agony. The heart by music's tone is soothed and lifted Till Heaven's own chant is heard — Therefore, O Friends, I will that music waken, But speak to me no word. No more of harsh, perplexing words. My spirit, Nearing the " Silent Land," Cares but for sounds that to the heart speak softly. Too tired to understand. Let such a strain as bathes the soul in rapture Come, with its magic breath. And draw me gently from life's fierce delirium Through a sweet dream to death ! XXX. LOVE'S PATIENCE. I CARE not that in days of joy and sunshine Thy heart should turn to me : Wait till the song hath ceased, the sheaves are gar- nered, No leaf is on the tree. I would not lay upon a young life's gladness The shadow of my years ; Nor mar the music of thy soul's blithe singing With sound of falling tears. I ask not now to see my hope's fruition ; I am content to wait : One day, I know, back on its tardy hinges Will swing the golden gate ; And we into the golden Land of Promise Shall enter hand in hand ; My heart will whisper then its happy secret. And thou wilt understand ! ii6 XXXI. REQUIESCAT. Sleep ! with the kiss of Azrael upon thine eyes Each throb of pain to heal ; Never shall any light from earthly skies Break that enduring seal. Sleep ! for the veiled Angel peace with him doth bring: — The sun slants to the west : Then shrink not if beneath his dark-plumed wing He fold thee to his breast. His voice is solemn ; on his brow, sad as a dream, No joyous smile appears : The gems that on his sombre vesture gleam Are bitter human tears. Amid the sons of men he walks with soundless tread, God's Messenger unseen ; Yet oft his touch upon a pain-racked head A welcome thing hath been. Sleep ! for the watch he keeps in dim and silent night Lasts but a little space ; Another Angel of excelling might Waiteth to take his place. 117 His robes are radiant ; as from Heaven's portal Light o'er his path is shed : Earth's fairest flowers, made by his touch immortal, He wreathes about his head. With all fair fruits he sowed for his own reaping His gracious hands are filled : Each wail of pain and sound of human weeping Is at his whisper stilled. Then sleep : and to thy sealed eyes be given Visions of joy and bliss. Till, bending o'er thee with the smile of Heaven, Love wakes thee with his kiss ! ii8 XXXII. MY LITTLE SISTER (from the GERMAN). Little Sister, whom with child-tales Once I sung to sleep ; The sweeter Angels now have lulled thee Into rest more deep ! Little Sister, thou didst slumber, To wake where tempests cease : Farewell ! we still are midst the breakers, Thou in the Port of Peace ! 119 XXXIII. FLOWER-DE-LUCE. Sweet Flower, the praise of all Earth's fairest children To thee were scanty meed ; Yet bend to-day and hear, low-breathed and tender, A message from the reed ! — " Most dear of all dear flowers God's hand hath planted," Well may my spirit deem An Angel led me to the place of blessing Where thy fair petals gleam ! " Thou cam'st, O Flower of Light, a Heaven-sent Herald " To cheer the hour of gloom ; And with the gracious sweetness of thy presence To bid the desert bloom ! Now, filled with nectar of thy purple chalice. My heart deep joy receives ; Therefore, my Flower, with love's best benediction, I kiss thy fragrant leaves. God send thee, while thou makest fair Earth's garden, The softest of His showers ; Then plant thee by the quiet streams of Eden Among His choicest flowers ; And grant thee, where the bands of white-winged Angels Gather around His Feet, The smile wherein all Earth and Heaven's best sun- shine In perfect concord meet ! January Jth, i8S8. XXXIV. WHEN THE LEAVES FALL . . (from the ITALIAN). When the leaves fall, and my low grave Thou seek'st In hallowed ground — A quiet nook where green boughs wave And blossoms spring around — Then linger, ere from that still place Thy loving steps depart. And gather, thy dark locks to grace, These flowers born of my heart ! They are my songs that unsung died away — Those words of love I found not voice to say. PART III. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ALL' PIU CARA. O'&R thee, in all its fulness, Descend the Holy Breath That bade the Lily blossom In lowly Nazareth ! His peace, Who from the stable, Where in low crib He lay. Put all earth's strife to silence. Enfold thy heart to-day ! Till, in the Many Mansions, All toil and sorrow ends. Our Father be thy Keeper, His Angels be thy friends ! Christmas Eve, iSSg. 125 LENT LILIES. " Consider the lilies of the field."— 5. Matt., vi. 28. Pale tender blooms, not yours such hues As theirs that once of yore In more than regal gloiy dressed Adorned Gennesaret's shore. Ye rise while still the bleak winds blow Fair from your chill dark bed, Though o'er you pallid Northern skies For Eastern blue be spread. Ye spring, ere earth hath scarcely doffed Her mantle cold and white, And gather in your golden cups All that ye may of light. Sure He, who from the Eastern flowers His holy lessons drew, Bids us who would His teaching heed Regard these lilies too. 126 For in the garden of His grace He souls as flowers doth tend, And there all tints, or bright or pale, In harmony may blend. There some, in royal purple robed. The martyr's colours bear ; And some. His lilies wan and sweet, A paler garment wear. Yet all these blossoms of His hand The Gardener's love doth bless ; And for each one the garb He gives Is its own fitting dress. All have received His quickening showers, O'er all His sun hath shone ; And His own hand one day shall cull The plants Himself hath sown. Then, in one perfect garland twined. Its beauty each shall yield When with pale Lenten blooms He binds Bright " lilies of the field." 127 II. TWO CROWNS. Despised and scorned, in mocking purple drest, Christ wore a crown of pain, That we through His long agony might rest And crowns eternal gain. Now crowned with glory in the Heaven's height, By God the Father's side, He wields the sceptre of all-conquering might — Who liveth, and hath died. Henceforth two crowns He beareth on His Brow, A mingled diadem ; And every thorn that pierced and rent is now In beauty like a gem. Henceforth, for those who follow where He led, No pang shall be in vain. Since light from His triumphal crown is" shed Upon their crowns of pain. 128 III. SUNSET HYMN. Father, Who hath taught us That sweet Name to say, Thy sure love hath brought us To the close of day ! Thou to us hast given All we have of good. E'en Thy Son from Heaven Sparing not the Rood. JesU, full of pity, Succour to us send. From their golden City While Thine Angels bend ! . Thou hast known each sorrow Human hearts may bear, Who from us didst borrow Robe of flesh to wear. 129 Spirit, pure and loving, In Thy might draw near, From our souls removing All that makes us fear ! Where Thy wing doth hover All is pure and bright, Grant us that safe cover Through the hours of night. Now dark shades have found us, Day no more we see. With Thy love surround us, Blessed Trinity ! Amen 13° IV. THE CHILDREN'S BLESSING. (suggested). "They brought young children to Him . . . and He put His hands upon them and blessed them." .S". Mark, X. 13, 16. " Through laying on of hands the Holy Ghost was given.'' Acts viii. 18. Hath He then left us orphans Who for Judah's children cared, Are we debarred the blessing That they once with gladness shared ? Must we, who to the Saviour By His Cross are brought so nigh. Raise for His benediction An exceeding bitter cry ? Nay : Christ, Who on the children Once in blessing laid His hands, Christ, Who is with us always, Now before His Altar stands ; And richer blessing crowneth Gentile children when they kneel, And God's own hand endows them With the Spirit's Holy Seal. Then be the vows breathed softly, Vows they cannot choose but pay, Echoing the earlier promise Of each blest baptismal day ! Be God's Voice heard above them, As He from His glory bends, And each meek soul that seeks Him With His heavenly grace defends ! Thus m^de His own for ever. Endued with sevenfold might. They will set their stedfast faces Towards the shining of God's light. And sure as faithful soldiers They may never fail to stand Whom our Father dowers thus richly With the strength of His Right Hand ! February 3rd, i88g. 132 V. SHUTTING OUT THE LAMBS. 5. Luke, xvii. 2. Outside the fold in sin and darkness straying, With fleeces torn and stained, The flock that should have drunk the living waters And the green pastures gained ! Are these the lambs for whom the faithful Shepherd Endured the Cross and shame — Those lambs for whom His soul in anguish travailed. Those whom He calls by name ? The little ones, on whom in pity gazing Perchance His eyes grew dim ; Whom knowing well the perils that beset them He bade us bring to Him ? Yes : these are they whom, faithless hireling shepherds, We starved, who should have fed ; Whom, when they hungered sore for heavenly know- ledge, We gave a stone for bread. 133 Are earthly pathways, then, such easy treading, That in our sinful pride We dared withhold the blessed light God giveth The little feet to guide ? Surely not theirs the blame if to the tempter They fell an easy prey. And left, for paths that end in shame and sorrow. The safe and narrow way. Let us take heed, lest on our failing vision Pale forms of children rise. With little hands outstretched in piteous pleading And sad reproachful eyes ; Lest through our fault the little souls Christ ransomed Sin's robe of sorrow wear ; Lest little lips we never taught to praise Him An awful witness bear, As on our ears in all its woe and terror Falls the dread word, " Too late," And round our neck in righteous retribution Is hung the " millstone's " weight ! 134 VI. S. COLUMBA. June gth (Scotch Kalendar). S. Colamba left Ireland, A.D. 565, to preach to the Ficts in the Scottish Highlands. He settled in lona, a rocky island three miles south of Staffa, and there built a church and monastery, which became a centre of learning and education. Here he laboured until A.D. 595, when he died at the age of 77 years, and was buried in the monastery which he had founded. One of his favourite occupations seems to have been that of transcribing copies of the Gospels and other parts of Holy Scripture ; and his biographer records that he was overtaken by death while engaged in copying the 34th Psalm. A Dove from Christ's own Ark sent forth The stormy wave to breast, Columba to the Western Isles Doth bear His message blest. Where nature's voices harsh and wild Their concert never cease, He plants amid the roar and strife An olive branch of peace. By grace of God so thrived and grew The holy seed he bore, That soon a garden of the Lord Smiles on the wave-gashed shore. 135 The Voice that once bade blessed John In lonely Patmos write, Now bids Columba's rocky isle Hold forth the word of light. Long years with faithful voice and pen He laboured for his Lord, Till, borne one day on June's soft breath. There came a sweeter word ; And then, like dove that sinks to rest With song at sunset calm, God's sleep stole o'er him while he penned Lines of the holy Psalm. Did not the Angel of the Lord Still tarry round his way. And draw with smile of heavenly love More near at close of day. And upward bear the saint of God, Where — rich and sweet reward ! — In fuller bliss he tastes and sees How gracious is the Lord ? 136 VII. A NEW YEAR'S BLESSING. May He upon the Rood Who died Draw thee, Beloved, to His side ! • May He Who trod our earthly ways Uphold thy footsteps all the days ! Thy shield be God Who reigns above, Thy shelter His eternal love ! Though earthly loves may pass or fail, That star for thee grow nfever pale Till, for thee from the Blessed Land Shall bend a loving Angel band. And, gathered to the Saviour's breast, Toil is no more, but most sweet rest ! New Year's Eve, i88g. 137 VIII. THE SILENT MONK. (founded on an old legend). " Ah ! why dost thou, O Brother, ne'er, as it still is meet. Uplift thy voice in praise unto our Lord most sweet ? " Thus day by day the Monks within their cloister wall Upon the Silent Brother cease not still to call. The slow sands many years drop silent through Time's glass. But never word of praise that Brother's lips did pass. In Compline Psalm his voice no note would ever raise : In Vesper anthem never swell the chant of praise. At length through his dim. cell a veiled Form doth steal. And sets on those still lips a more enduring seal. Loud wail the Monks, " Alas ! the day of praise is o'er ; Our silent Brother now hath power to sing no more." ■" Can any power avail speech from dead lips to win ? " Ah, deaf ears that had missed the strains that stirred within ! 138 With such sad speech they bear and lay him low to rest ; Nor dream that who is silent sometimes singeth best. But see ! from that darii mound wherein the Dead they lay A gracious lily springs to greet the new-born day. Fair shine the clustered leaves, meet for an Angel's bower, And fair the blossoms gleam of blessed Mary's flower. No more a fountain sealed, from that still heart up- springs Praise that the Angels hear, and stay with folded wings. Amazed the Monks draw near a sight so strange to see, And whjsper, "Sure this must a Heaven-sent token be." Now mute themselvfes, they learn, their eyes all dim with tears, The secret, wondrous sweet, of those long silent years, When, as with God's own hand in Pentecostal flame, They read on each white leaf inscribed the Holy Name ! 139 IX. LIGHT IN SHADOW. The Curse hath made earth dreary, Her paths full hard to tread ; Yet are there rays of brightness Upon the darkness shed. The bramble's thorny branches Withhold not fruitage sweet ; A bloom of beauty crowneth The thistle at our feet. God's light 'mid autumn sadness Doth gild the bending sheaves ; And, when the spring buds kindle. His Spirit stirs the leaves. When, all her blossoms sleeping. Earth seems a barren place. He guides the Frost-King's fingers Till magic flowers they trace. 140 Though oft, our earth mist rising, The heaven's pure blueness mars. He hath not failed to scatter Among the clouds His stars. Signs of His love unfailing We may all round us find, Who, when His east wind bloweth. Still stayeth His rough wind, That our dull hearts forget not, What cloud soe'er may rise. That He Who planted Eden Prepareth Paradise. 141 X. C^^OUNSEL TO CROWDS. (from ruckert). How closelyv set stand bush and tree The forest mays among ! How in our wLrld the eager crowd Each otheri press and throng ! What noologoe'er or path thou fiU'st, To that »piace God thee sent ; Therefora ^s' snail in house of shell, Be in jEhy place content. Art thoii, ^ rose that crowns the bush, Thine, ^g jj. Qq^ ^q ^iggg . Art thqu |-,u^. nioss upon its stem, Thetj thank thy God no less ! T4Z XI. RESURGAM. And is this all — 'Neath shroud and pall Sealed lips and brow o i' snow, A mound of green; Where, all unseen, \ The shadows come arid ^o ? ' ■ ' i \ Was it for this ^ That woe and bliss The quiveririg heart-strings thrilled- To lie in dust. The brightness rust, The God-waked music stilled\ Ah, no 1 dead grain That lives again, Upspringing from the clay ; The sun that dies, Each morn to rise And bless another day ; 143 The worm so mean That still is seen Like withered leaf to die ; Then, a bright flower With wings for dower, Doth soar a butterfly : All bid us see The mystery Of sleep and wondrous change, Of Life that waits Beyond death's gates In glory sweet and strange. Though, with its gleams More swift than dreams, Its tears that sad eyes weep, Our " little life " Of pain and strife Is " rounded with a sleep"; Yet ever round, A mystic bound. As sky the world above. Doth circling lie Eternity And God's eternal love. 144 XII. AN EASTER GREETING. " The time of the singing of birds is come." Once more doth Heaven's kiss awake the Earth And woo her into smiles ; And with sweet whispers of glad Easter birth Her ancient grief beguiles. Once more from her dark breast the fair flowers spring. As life shall spring from death, And from their fragrant censers sunward fling The incense of their breath. Well niight we deem, that in the quiet night While Earth in slumber lay, The Easter Angels lingering in their flight Had dropped them on their way. Through wood and plain now Spring's clear music thrills ; Of joy and life it sings ; Of mossy glades where softly flow the rills ; Of swallows' gleaming wings. 145 Fair seems old Earth as when in days of yore Love's light shone in her eyes ; For through her weary heart there steals once more A thought of Paradise. Yet, Love, look upward from her flower-strewn plains. Her blossoms " fair and frail." To fairer realms whose sunshine never wanes, Where blows no wintry gale ! Dost thou not hear e'en now through each sweet tone A Voice more sweet than they, That softly calls, " Awake my love ; fair one. Arise and come away " ? Lo ! in the Garden Sharon's Rose doth grace The flowers all stay for thee : Nor will it, till thou fillest there thy place, In beauty perfect be. Easter Eve, i88g. 146 XIII. A DIRGE FOR PRINCE MAMILIUS. " A sad tale's best for winter." — A- Winter's Tale. Sleep, little Prince ! thy tale is told ; The rosy lips are still : No listening crickets e'er again Shall hush their piping shrill. Thine was indeed " A Winter's Tale,' , Too sad for such short years — AIL sweet Spring's sunshine and delight Quenched in a rain of tears. Ah ! that not e'en thy charms could bid The jealous clamour cease That with relentless fury dared To " batter at thy peace." When he who should have shielded, struck His consort's spotless fame, Thy little loyal tender heart Broke for a mother's shame. 147 Now pain is past ; and o'er thy grave, More soft than cradle bed, Her white plumes dipped in rainbow hues The wing of Hope is spread. The Gods are just, and their slow mills Will one day work the right : The " Winter's Tale " of gloom and grief Shall end in sunset light. Dream then, and see, in royal robe One kneel with outstretched hands Where, wrapped in beauty grave and sweet, A breathing statue stands ! 148 XIV. MACBETH. " I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people. ***** I have supped full with horrors.'' Macbeth. No more around thee tones that praise and bless A golden murmur keep, , But, muttered thunder of a nearing storm, " Curses, not loud but deep." Life's wine that sparkled in a golden bowl Is now a bitter draught, Circean potion in Hell's cauldron seethed, With fear and loathing quaffed. " Stay, ye imperfect speakers, tell me more." Such seed thy reaping knew : Such was a lifted drawbridge to invite The hateful juggling crew. 149 _ Behind thee now, a mountain of Despair, Looms the " Eternal Past," And all of hope thy future ever held Is in a great gulf cast ; A livid flood, wherein thy life's red crimes Lie in unquiet graves — No Heaven or Hell-built bark shall ever dare Those tossing crimson waves. Now sick at heart, thou reap'st the fatal seed That made thy life accurst. For thou in all its hideousness dost know " By the worst mean the worst." '50 XV. FROM THE "GLOBE," 1610, TO THE "LYCEUM," 1889. Ah ! for the golden days of English drama, When on my rush-strewn stage Fond Thisbe's lion, alias Snug the joiner, Roared in his noble rage ; When Moonshine, with his " small light of discretion," His dog and bush did stand. And carried, to the wonder of beholders. His dwelling in his hand ; When Snout, with some roughcast and lime about him. Would have his audience think That he was " Wall," and his obliging fingers Its crannied hole or chink. Alas ! sic transit. All those charms have vanished ; And in your cultured age One wall ye bring not, but a soHd city Upon your groaning stage. Within your boxes draped with gold and velvet Sublimely ye aspire, And summon now the thunder of Olympus, Now, the infernal fire. On my old boards with no elaborate mounting Its meed of praise was won ; On yours, without its scenic decoration, What play would have a run ? Far be it from the ghost of an old theatre Irreverent things to say. But yet, methinks, sometimes the nobler substance To shadow may give way. 152 XVI. A LOST LOVE. What cloud o'er earth's sweet face has fallen To blot the light away, And give for Spring and gladsome Summer An endless winter day ? The hues that once shone fair and gracious, As Iris 'mid the rain. With cruel glare of mocking brightness Now blind my eyes with pain. The music that in hours long vanished As Angel's song rang clear, Strikes now, like noise of angry clamour. Upon a sick man's ear. In distant ways the feet have wandered I dreamed would ne'er depart : Ah me ! that even yet their echo Seems treading on my heart. Dead Love, that once I deemed immortal, White ashes crown thy pyre : Faith stricken lies ; and Hope's chill finger May light not that spent fire. 153 XVII. THE TORCH-WEED. (from ruckert). OberoN the Elf-King dances With Titania his Queen ; Surely such a dainty couple Out of Elf- Land ne'er was seen ! All the grasshoppers and crickets How they flock from near and far, Striking up in clear-toned music Each his tiny sweet guitar ! See ! the Torch-weed tall and slender Fair upspringeth from the ground, While in gay and airy gambol All the Elfin choir dance round. Hopping on the glowing branches As they circle it in glee, Now their mischief-loving fingers Snatch its tapers from the tree. 154 Not an Elf but tries his hardest To put out each glittering spark, That, with none to check their antics. They may gambol in the dark. Lest Titania's stern Consort, Whom all Fairies own as King, Drawing near with awesome sceptre Should break up their merry ring. But the Torch-weed true and loyal, At high Oberon's behest. Growing still despite the Elfins To shine brightly does its best. As each naughty Fay upreaches To put out a lower light. He sees not above it kindled A new taper full as bright. When the morning breeze blows freshly, Of the Elves no trace is seen ; Naught but a pale " ringlet " marketh That gay ball-room on the green. Bui the Torch- weed, tall and lovely, Stayeth yet to tell its tale — How the Elves strove hard to hurt it, How most sorely they did fail ! iSS XVIII. THE ROBING OF THE FOREST (from g. pfarrius). At birthtime of a Forest, The first that earth did see, The Light and Air disputed What tint its robe should be. " It must be like the sunshine Gold-beaming," said the Light. The Air cried, " No : like heaven It must be azure Bright.'' Thus hard they strive ; and neither Will give his brother way Until, with subtle meaning. Wise Mother-Earth doth say, " Let both now work together, Let envy have no place ; And whoso labours hardest, His robe the wood shall grace." 156 As now each brown branch showeth Its buds so small and white, To deck the new-born Forest How strive the Air and Light ! In weaving of its garment Both hard at work are seen : One blue, one yellow giveth ; And see, the robe is green ! 157 XIX. THE FAITHFUL HORSE. (from J. kerner). ' Count Turnech (sore had been the fight) A Kirk door reached as fell the night. In forest shade that Kirk lay deep ; Within its vaults a King doth sleep. Here thought the Count to take his rest, Nor recked the dart that pierced his breast. The Count unloosed his good white steed ; ■" Here, till I come, on soft grass feed." Back swung the door with heavy thrill. Then all in that deep vault was still. The Count's hand reached the wall so cold. And groping felt a coffin old. ■" My tired limbs here in rest shall wait : Old wood, break not beneath, my weight." M 158 Count Turnech stretched, and knew no fear. His tall form on that ancient bier. The sun above the hills rose red : The Count came not : the Count lay dead. Hath passed full many hundred year, But still his good steed tarrieth near. Where by the Kirk yet stands a stone In moonlight pale he feeds alone. IS9 XX. A LOST HARVEST. O'er the fresh furrows that dark Shadow crept Who shuns the h'ght of day : A deed of darkness plotted while men slept — Love's seed was snatched away. Henceforth for fruitage here ye seek in vain ; A barren plot it lies : Ne'er shall the reapers with rich loaded wain Raise here their happy cries. But one day He who bears the scythe and glass, Who e'er disputes Love's throne, With unrelenting steps shall o'er it pass And claim it for his own. i6o XXI. LAETA SORS. " I have saved the bird in my bosom." "Sir Hugh Percy fighting unsuccessfully for Henry VI. at Hedgely Moor, April, 1464, used this expression on feeling himself mortally wounded, in reference to the faith he had pledged to his unfortunate sovereign while so many deserted him." — Chambers's Book of Days. Ah, happy warrior ! all the air With battle din is stirred, He, 'mid the tumult, only hears The clear note of a bird. At life's dear cost he held it fast The faith within his breast ; Now in his hour of sorest need It sings his soul to rest. The noise of strife hurts not his ears Who dies the " happy death," The war-blast sounds a homeward call As fails his panting breath. With wounds that tell a glorious tale, A scutcheon without stain, He passes to the plains of peace Victor, though lying slain. i6i XXII. "RAYON DE LA LUNE." (suggested by a. willette's picture). Poor, it may be '; of low and humble state : Yet while her lily blooms, What happier maiden can the city show In all its gilded rooms? Ah ! that one unblest night the vestal moon, No more a face divine, Smiles earthward ; but as from an alien sphere With mocking ray doth shine. A hand —no Angel's — hath the lily snatched : Prone in the dust it lies ; And well, if with her sullied bloom That hapless maid, too, dies. l62 XXIII. CHARON AND THE LOVER. (from the FRENCH OF OLIVIER DE MAGNY, 17TH CENT.) The Lover. Ho ! Charon, Charon, boatman of the hifernal strand. Charon. Who thus with eager haste my service doth demand ? .The Lover. Of a too faithful lover 'tis the tearful shade, Of one whose constant flame with naught but woe >vas paid. Charon. What seekest thou of me ? The Lover. To cross the fatal flood. Charon. By whose hand art thou slain ? The Lover. O question harsh and rude ! Love hath my death-blow given. Charon. Never within my bark May subject of that King o'erpass the River Dark. i63 The Lover. Nay, Charon ; now of grace receive me for thy freight. Charon. Another pilot seek ; for neither I nor Fate To touch his rights who rules the Gods may dare. The Lover. I go then spite of thee ; for in my soul I bear So many of Love's darts : such tears my fate deplore, That I myself will b$ both stream, and bark, and oar ! 164 XXIV. WIND'S LOVE. Soft Breeze, as to the leaves and flowers Thou bendest from above, Thou dost not surely whisper low Vows of unchanging love ? Ah, ill for you, O scented flowers, And ill for you, bright leaves. If any, hearkening to his sighs. Wind's word for truth receives ! Yes, fickle Wind, in spring and bloom Thy promises sound fair ; Nor leaf nor bud would dream they all Are written in the air. Dark Winter soon with icy hand Shall roughly bear away The fragrance from the smiling flowers. The sunlight from the da}-. i65 The blight of death borne on thy wings. Shall nip each tender flower ; And from each shivering tree be torn The last leaf of its dower. And thou, false Wind, shalt quite forget That flowers' breath made thee sweet When golden leaves and fair blooms lie In mire beneath thy feet. i66 XXV. HOME-SICKNESS. (from a. schnezler). When down our mountain side the snow-streams flow, To the blue lake that heaven's face doth show, The ox-bells tinkle forth their sweet refrain — Shall I no more see Fatherland again ? When the Alphorn across the glacier rings, From crag to crag the graceful chamois springs, The eagle circling sweeps the azure plain — Shall I no more see Fatherland again ? When smile green meads our Alpine vales among. The village inn is gay with dance and song, Each shepherd calls his love in well-known strain — Shall I no more see Fatherland again ? When through the gorge the torrent madly falls, From peak to peak the wrathful thunder calls, The avalanche from far doth roar amaih — Shall I no more see Fatherland again ? When as night falls all round the mountains glow, Day beckons, and the rose of dawn doth blow, O heart, how still thou beatest in sore pain ! — Shall I no more see Fatherland again ? 167 XXVI. BABY'S FOOTMARKS. I. Hushed a moment is the patter : At the open door she stands, Fain to catch the " angels' feathers " In two dimpled baby hands. Round the garden beds yet barren Now see little footprints lie, When the first white snowdrop glimmers Fair beneath a grey March sky. When the sunbeams kiss the daisies. Gaily dance the tiny feet. As they chase the fleeting shadows — Was she, too, a shadow fleet ? Through the quiet woodland pathways " So tired" baby footsteps steal ; Fallen leaves beneath that rustle Such light pressure scarce could feel. Ah ! a white cross gleameth newly Where their last faint trace appears : O'er a tiny grass-mound softly Bending roses drop red tears ! i68 II. What did you see, O Baby, That turned your face away ? 'Mid other opening blossoms Why could not you, too, stay ? Upon our earthly pathways Your treading was so brief, Scarce could you spell the meaning Of human care or grief Dreamt you of happier meadows Where ne'er the roses weep. Of skies across whose blueness Black storm-clouds never sweep? Beyond our vision gazing With those blue wistful eyes, For you, athwart our sunshine. Did sweeter light arise ? A pathway, Angel-guarded, Did you, perchance, behold. From earth's rough deserts leading Straight to the sheltered Fold ? Ah, yes ; and in that Portal, Whose peace no foe alarms, ' Methinks, a thorn-crowned Shepherd Who stood with out-stretched Arms ! 169 XXVII. THE DYING POET TO HIS WIFE. (from the ITALIAN OF G. REDAELLi). LIST the last faint speech of one For whom prepares the tomb ! As the last gift my hand may give, Take, Love, this withered bloom. Thou knowest how my heart doth prize This flower that once was thine ; 1 stole it from thy breast-knot. Dear, The day that made thee mine. A symbol then of love's sweet prime, But now of anguish sore, Again upon thy bosom place This flower that blooms no more ; That, Love, within thy gentle heart Its form may graven be, As once erewhile from thee 'twas borne, Once, given back to thee. 170 XXVIII. STRAY BLOSSOMS. (from ruckert). Frail bloom of Almond ! Ere Spring thou passest, flinging petals sweet, A fragrant pathway for the March wind's feet. Delicate Snowdrop ! The white veil lifts ; soft western breezes blow : Thou stayest behind like a lost flake of snow. Shy leaf-hid Violet ! "I go : the fair Rose cometh/' thou dost say. Full fair she comes ; yet, Sweet, do thou still stay. Resplendent Lily 1 In God's meet worship all the flowers hold part ; Of that bright choir the white-stoled priest thou art. Green Lily stem ! No nosegay's glories art thou made to share ; But for God's Angel in his hand to bear. 171 XXIX. SHUT DOORS. (from ruckert). I HAVE knocked at the rich man's mansion fair : A penny they flung from the window there. I have knocked where red roses wreathe Love's door ; A crowd who sought entrance stood there before. Where the Castle towers high I knocked full light : " We open not here save to mounted knight." I have sought where the house of peace might be : There wis none far and wide could show it me. Yet I know one house more, a still and small ; At its door shall my hand knock last of all. Within it in truth is no lack of guest ; Yet all in the low grave find room and rest. 172 XXX. TO PSYCHE SLEEPING. Ah, wake not, Sweet One ! nevermore Shall thine be rest so deep ; Fair visions Love perchance may bring. But never dreamless sleep. The crimson roses steeped in sweet Entwined around his bower Hide thorns that leave a deeper stain — Keep thou thy lotus flower ! O Psyche, love means woe, and tears Wrung out in bitter pain. Long vigils held in star-reft nights, Grey mist, and falling rain. No poppied sleep his eyes may seal Whom Love's lips once have pressed ; A pilgrim clad in hempen robe He wanders, seeking rest. Sharp stones and briars wound hands and feet Till, on the toilsome way, From weary hands both staff and scrip Death takes at close of day. 173 Yet Love hath wings that upward bear : The loss he brings is gain : Therefore, O Soul, arise and win Long bliss by shortlived pain. Each pang that seems a bitter death Shall fade, nor leave a smart ; The crown of bliss such anguish gives Will nevermore depart. Hold then the Winged Pilgrim's hand Till, raised beyond the stars, His rest and thine shall both be won Where shine the crystal bars ! 174 XXXI. THE BLOSSOM OF PATIENCE. (from ruckert). A BLOSSOM in the garden, I must in stillness wait When, and in what sweet fashion. Thou bearest me my fate. If thou a sunbeani comest. My petals shall unfold, That all the joy thou beamest My heart may closely hold. Be 'it as rain or dewdrop. Then, that it ^e'er dry up, I will shut fast the blessing In love's deep golden cup. Or, if a 3oft wind passing, Thy presence be made known. Then hear this low-bent blossom Murmur, " I am thine own." A blossom in the garden, I must i;n stillness wait When, and in what sweet fashion, Thou bearest me my fate. 175 XXXII. ONE GUISE OF LOVE. " There are many ways of loving." — A. A. Proctor. The love a silent harp might bear The wind that wakes its strings ; Or leafless tree the heaven-sweet air Through which its verdure springs : Such love as bears earth's panting breast To drops of cooling rain ; Or the chased roe the covert blest That turns to peace her pain : ■ The love that draws in heaven's height Down to a mossy nest The soaring lark, and turns his flight To that low place of rest : Such love as Psyche sleeping feels When the long-waited kiss The presence of a God reveals And wakens her to bliss : The love that sees in all fair things The loved one's image shine ; That gives the earth-born Angel wings — Such, if thou wilt, be thine. January ^tk, l88g. 176 XXXIII. A DREAM OF DANTE. I. Star-loving* Poet ! as I read Thy melody sublime, My tranced soul with thee beheld Things not of earth or time. Methought I entered by thy side The Land of endless Night, The hopeless Realm that ne'er hath heard God's word, " Let there be light." Black wings rushed by in stormy rack, The air was thick with sighs. Blent with such tears as never fell On earth from human eyes. Yet even in Hell we did not lose The sight of stars above, Nor even there the music ceased First tuned by Primal Love. * Each of the three divisions of Dante's Divina Commedia ends with the word "stelle." 177 II. From the eternal Prison-house To breathe a clearer air We came, where souls, though stained and sad. Are lifted from despair In, that still Isle, where by God's grace, Like fruit of holy pain, Each reed the lapping wave doth wash, When plucked, upsprings again. Where from one fount two mystic streams Flow down, a parted wave, I stood, and in each healing flood My soul, methought, did lave. The steep ascent where souls grow pure With labouring steps we trod, And still above in their calm blue Fair shone the stars of God. III. We came where heaven's " eternal pearl " A lucent cloud appears ; Then, borne by thirst that upward draws. We soared among the spheres. 178 I marked, with heart that strove in vain To comprehend such bliss, The Beatific Vision fill The eyes of Beatrice. Bright wings swept by, a cloud of praise, As in that rapturous dream From the clear Empyrean fell The snow-white rose's gleam. Ah, then, no more a prisoned bird That beats its caging bars, My heart grew still, for we had soared Beyond the realm of stars ! 179 XXXIV. SILVER AND GOLD. Still night hath come : the golden day- Its radiant light forgetting, Enwrapped in moonlight's tender veil Hath gained a silver setting. The seasons roll. Doth nature's hand Forget its lavish sweetness, That she, for autumn's wealth of gold. Now gives the snow's white fleetness ? Time turns his glass ; youth's clustering locks; A cloud of golden brightness. Are changed beneath his frosty touch To crown of silver whiteness. Hush ! Last of all, with gentle hand And presence unbeholden, God's Angel stills life's silvern speech To silence that is golden. i8o XXXV. THE ROSE. The Rose is dead. Her leaves all shed. Red drops that drain her heart Now stain the grass Where light feet pass All heedless of her smart. A long-drawn sigh The breeze goes by Whose voice was once a song : She sits alone, Who on her throne Was Queen the flowers among. Of all her dress Of loveliness Sharp thorns alone remain : Of all her bliss And sweet Love's kiss A memory of pain. 1 8-1 Oi^Sft XXXVI. MY DOVE. My Dove, on snoW-white fleecy wing Why mountest thou so high, Till like a " lonely cloud " thy form Shows pure against the sky? Above the veiling mists of earth Thou soarest out of sight To bathe thy snow-soft silver plumes In heaven's golden light. Say, is it from thy wistful gaze Through windows of the skies, That thou hast gained for love's delight The sweet look in thine eyes ? One day, when far beyond our ken Thou soaredst on swift wing, Did Angels in soft whispers breathe The message thou dost bring ? l82 Ah, Heaven-bound Bird, if heart's best love Hath power thy wing to hold. One moment stay thy upward flight, Thy soaring pinions fold. For, sweet Dove, may not those fleet wings That to the height have striven. When love for their dear shadow sighs To brooding peace be given ? Hudson and Son, Printers, Edmund Street, Birmingham. opinions of the Press. * Graphic. — "The book opens with a charming carol, 'A Christmas Legend,' translated from the German, where a little stranger child is depicted desolate in a stranger town. He prays as he rubs his little frost- chilled hand, and as answer we have the manifestation of the other Child, all of which is very prettily told. Among much that is nicely said, and will bear quoting, we may notice a sonnet, ' Paolo and Francesca, ' suggested by the picture by Mr. G. F. Watts : "In earth's sweet light erewhile they walked in pleasure. Seeing the fair sun rise, the pale stars shine Until the fatal hour that lit a flame unholy — Look in their faces and behold the sign ! " Queen. — " Miss Postgate writes well and feelingly, and she will enlist the suffrages of not a few by publishing her little volume for the benefit of the work of S. Alban's, Birmingham." Time. — "Among these poems are many that would find a fitting place in our hymnals. The poem in memory of the late Rev. A. H. Mackonochie is a particularly striking and graceful piece of writing. The translations from the French, German, and Italian, represent very happily the spirit of the originals. The author's version of Sully Prudhomme's exquisite but untranslatable lyric, ' O vous qui m'aiderez dans mon agonic/' is worthy of note." Literary World. — " The religious verses in Miss Postgate's 'Christ- mas Legend' show much devout and tender feeling." Gospeller. — "The writer -has plainly written because 'the numbers came.' Where old thoughts that belong to all are used, they are freshly put forth from a mind that has made them its own, and realised their meaning from itself. There is no expression of feeling in any Hne which does not bear on it plain marks of having been felt. Even the translations are not hke many, the work of a rhymer who has a dictionary. They shew a sympathy of spirit between the original author and the interpreter. The book is valuable for the beauty of its sentiment and the music of its words. It seems to be even more so, for its truth and earnestness, and high and pure aim." Central Literary Magazine. — "This charming little volume. . . . We would call special attention to the ' Good Physician ' in the former part and to 'The Dead Lark' in the latter. All the poems are chivacterised by a religious tone of thought and refinement of expression." Birmingham and Midland Institute Magazine. — The book includes several charming poems suggested by some of the masterpieces of literature, five being on Shaksperian subjects, . . . We very earnestly commend this little volume to all who take an interest in our local literature, and, indeed, to all who love true poetry. In harmony of metre, in grace of expression, and in refinement of feeling, these poems will take their place by the best of the kind our town has produced. " Birmingham Daily Post. — "The ' Carmina Sacra ' are musical and refined, ... In the second part there are several very graceful poems, and one group, dealing with Shakspere's heroines, is very successful, tender, sympathetic, and penetrative. The dainty little poem, ' Iris,' is a fair example of the quality of the verse." Birmingham Daily Gazette. — " The poems are simple in style, and convey with force and directness high and good truths. Many of those in the first part of the volume are genuine hymns. . . . They are impressed with deep religious sentiment. The second part of the volume consists of miscellaneous verses, which are of a pleasing nature. Miss Postgate devotes some of them to subjects and characters that the great English "poets have made immortal. Thus we get lines on ' Coi'delia, ' ' Desdemona, 'Ophelia,' and 'Evelyn Hope' — the last-named poem, under the title of ' The Waking,' being a message to him who had mourned ' beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead. ' " She lay at sunset sleeping. Your leaf in her sweet cold hands ; With dawn her soul hath wakened ; She remembers and understands. Some of these poems have a fervour and passion for which the previous part of the volume had not prepared us, and in the translations from the French, German, and Italian, Miss Postgate not only shows proficiency in transplanting flowers of poesy from their native to English soil, but also succeeds in making them retain their rich colouring. ' Circe ' is a poem hat exhibits the influence of the Rossetti school ; but the poems as a whole, are singularly free from imitations, and clearly testify that Miss Postgate has a natural vein of poetry, " Wakefield Free Press. — "A charming volume. . . . The poems are full of graceful thoughts happily expressed. The book is a pleasing and welcome contribution to the poetry of the period, and it will doubtless obtain a hearty welcome from lovers of true poetry."