PR 6037 A49L7 Cornell University Library PR 6037.A49L7 Life of life, and other verse. 3 1924 013 219 823 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book 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/cu31924013219823 %itt at fLitt ARTHUR L. SALMON H ij LIFE OF LIFE LIFE OF LIFE AND OTHER VERSE BY ARTHUR L. SALMON AUTHOR OF * SONGS OF A HEART S SURRENDER WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCXCVII All Rights reserved TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER. PREFACE. The first piece in the " Life of Life " sequence is reprinted from the ' Quiver,' with the kind consent of Messrs Cassell. " The Painter " was published in the 'Art Journal' of February 1897, where it appeared under the title of "Corot." Other pieces are reprinted from the 'Academy,' 'Windsor Magazine,' 'Good Words,' 'Chambers's Journal,' &c., and from the 'New England Magazine' of Boston, U.S.A. September 1897. CONTENTS. PAGE life of life . . ... i a funeral sermon . . . . 1 6 the painter 20 "eastward" 23 homelessness 28 change and the changeless . . . . 30 "when I AM OLD" . . ... 31 REQUIEM iETERNAM .... .32 THE PASSING OF BALDUR . • • ■ 35 REST -37 IN AUTUMN DAYS 38 TO BE A CHILD 39 Contents. 41 MEETING "footsteps" ... . . • 44 NIGHT-SONGS OF THE SEA S^ SONGS OF A HEART'S SURRENDER. — A CON- TINUATION 55 LIFE OF LIFE. LIFE OF LIFE. BETTER to enter maimed or halt or blind Into the hfe of life, than be An exile from its courts eternally. If I should gain the world and find Myself undone, With every good gift for mine own save one. What utmost world-wide gain could profit me ?- Better to enter maimed and halt and blind. If I should pray to be forgiven, yet bear The fires of unforgiveness smouldering low, How can I hope to know 2 Life of Life. A hearing for my pray'r ? — To ask and yet withhold forgiveness, can I dare ? Shall I implore that God remit my debt, And yet Refuse to pardon or forget ? III. There is on earth a hell of living pain, — How can we doubt it who have felt its fire ? The fevered thirst that drinks and thirsts again — The hunger of unsatisfied desire. O Spirit, pitying our grief and sin. Teach us to long where longings are not vain ; Teach us to thirst for waters we may win — To hunger for a food we may attain. IV. Hampered with griefs and disillusionment, Slow with the slowness of advancing years, Our thirst of life is stayed, our fire forspent ; Backward to port the baffled vessel bears. We lay aside with secret shameful tears Life of Life. 3 The fond desire whose flame had burned in vain, — For its dominion scarcely penitent, Yet craving refuge from its restless pain. Where is our boast ? The stealthy creeping tide Of age may check life's importunity; Temptation may be seldom at our side — The will and power may seldom wedded be. Yet if the hour returned — if we were free To let the baser pulses throb once more — Would their impetuous promptings be denied ? — Should we not love the thing we loved before ? The joys of sense must perish with the sense. Mocking our unappeasable desire They drag us hence Through ways of marsh and mire, Hither and thither, like a wandering fire. O Joy whose crown shall stay When sight and sound and taste and touch decay !- O blessfed excellence Of pure delight unfettered to the sense. |. Life of Life. VI. Being not utterly the slave of wrong, There is no peace for thee. Thy vexfed heart is torn By strivings of the stronger with the strong — Of what thou art with what thou shouldest be, — The loftier will by lower overborne. 'Mid the full sweetness of thy sin Perturbing doubt steals in, So that thou canst not live remorselessly. Stifle this good in thee, — thou shalt have rest — Such rest as brutes and soulless beings know. Till this thy conscience hath been dispossessed Thy heart is but a fighting-ground of woe. VII. Cleanse thou thy thought if thou wouldst fain be clean. What though thy life has been Righteous in all that thou hast wrought. It yet may be Corrupted utterly By one ill thought. Life of Life. That which thou fosterest with secret will- Not the mere fantasy that comes unsought— Is potent in thy life, to bless or kill. VIII. Gall we the wind inconstant or the wave ? — There is a steadfast law and rule for these ; It is our own weak heart that is the slave Of every passing hour's inconstancies. That which I love to-day to-morrow's morn May whelm in sheer indifference or scorn, As with unnumbered yesterdays forsworn, — My fondest dreams may be Wrecked in this flood of inconsistency. To one thing true, yet in a thousand more Inconstant, I implore The Changeless One to save My spirit from itself, inconstant as the wave. Be not the slave of thy discordant past. Nor let its dead hand rule thee. Strike away Life of Life. The clinging fetters that would hold thee fast : With blood that courses freely, live to-day. Shall all thy coming years be but a dream — Shade and reflection of a time long spent ? Wilt thou embark upon a backward stream, Or on a stagnant water float content? Take the free air of heaven, though it be chill ; Open the flood-gates — let the waters flow. Better be servant of a new-born will Than lord of empires buried long ago. Say not that 'tis the occasion makes thee fail : The occasion only shows thee what thou art, How weak and frail. Henceforth discretion is thy wiser part. Till firmer courage may avail. Better to fly than so Surrender meanly to the meanest foe. There is a valour in unvaunting flight, Shunning the lure thy soul can least resist. Flee from thy very self with all thy might, Rather than let it rule thee as it list. Life of Life. XI. Be not distracted with perpetual care For thine own soul : God of whose breath it is will keep it whole." Thy duty is to bear Such self-denial as in thy pathway lies, — To covet love as life's sole worthy prize — To succour all who need thy kindly tending ; Making no barter with regardful heaven, But driven By love to ceaseless labouring and spending. How nobler far Such self-forgettings are, Than making this salvation of thy soul Life's single narrow goal. If thou hast given thine all, seek no return : Haply thou mayst be paid a hundredfold. Let not thy nobler nature ever yearn To gather profit from a heart's true gold. Some have been born to give and some to take. The freer gift, the greater blessedness. 8 Life of Life. Give of thy dearest love for love's dear sake, And be content if thou art given less. Though not repaid, repayment shall there be — Though not returned, there shall be full returning ; Though giving all, thy spirit's treasury Shall be refilled beyond thy highest earning. Some being bom to take and some to give. Seek thou the giver's fond unselfish mind. Render thy very life-blood. Thou shalt live To reap, and, where thou soughtest not, to find. XIII. When thou hast learned the measure of thy mind- Knowing its many moods, its depth and height How vast, yet how confined, How changeful as the wind — Then thou mayst turn thy sight Safely upon thy neighbour, and essay To scrutinise his way, Judging the things that he doth act or say — Though to the last he may elude thee quite. Life of Life. V When thou canst mark each motive of thine own, Thy varied inconsistencies detect, Knowing thine each defect And failure, then alone Turn to the mote that blots thy brother's eye. And tell him of the fault he hath not known. Till when, go by And let him be — thy judgment is a lie. XIV. Follow thine earthly sense. The moment's gain, — For each good action seek a recompense. Nor give a boon where such demand is vain ; Let no conflicting interest cross thine own. No kindly lapsings into charity, — Study thy proper weal and thine alone : The world complacently speaks well of thee — Thy virtues are accredited and known. But if thy heart be bent Rather on giving than on gathering, — If blessing others be thy chief intent, Not counting the reward thy deed may bring — lo Life of Life. The world will look with doubtful wonderment, Failing to gauge thee with its reckoning. Seeing thou art not fashioned to her rule, Thy virtue is an unacknowledged thing — Thou art a covert knave or proven fool. XV. Though the world blame thee, thou art not to blame, — Though the world praise thee, hearken not at all. In thine own heart is the reward or shame, In thine own heart the victory or the fall. What others think of thee stay not to ask ; Rather than please the many, serve the few, — "Knowing that earth's most glorious regal task Is never quite too hard for thee to do. XVI. As he who sought to win his knighthood stayed Watching at night beside the altar stair. Kneeling in fast and prayer, So on each soul of man is laid Mandate of vigilance in night and gloom. Near God's high altar, near the voiceless tomb. Life of Life. ii Whoso would shun the vigil and the fast, The fear and loneliness shall never gain His recompense from pain, Nor win its guerdon at the last. Only by weary watch and sorrow's stress Are won life's glory and its loveliness. Whatever life can give Of good, for solace and for firm belief, Is taught by love or grief : Who knows them not has never learned to live. If never sorrow took thee by the hand And led thee to her solitudes — if thou Hast never felt her touch upon thy brow And at thy heart, how canst thou understand ? And if love never brought The joy to-day that shall be grief to-morrow. What knowest thou of sorrow ? — Thy traffic in the world of men is nought. O love divine, and grief divine no less — Not visiting apart. 12 Life of Life. But pledging sacred spousal in my heart, May the one comfort while the other bless, — May the strong birth be peace and patientness. XVIII. Learned thou mayst not be, nor rich in thought- Thy talent may be small, thy powers be few. All this is nought For self-reproach, so thou at least be true. Rather than learning love sincerity, Speaking no falseness nor enacting it : Thy gain shall be Greater than ought of mental wealth or wit. XIX. Be still : the crown of life is silentness. Give thou a quiet hour to each long day. Too much of time we lose in profitless And idle talk — too little do we say. If thou wouldst gather words that shall avail. Learning a wisdom worthy to express, Leave for a while thy chat and empty tale, — Study the golden speech of silentness. Life of Life. 13 XX. If from the stress of sorrow we may learn Some lessons that are worth the tearful winning, May we not likewise turn To good some bitter outcome of our sinning ? Shall not repentance tutor us to draw Profit from hours of barren wilful doing ? — Hours when desire was law — Madness of purpose, madness of pursuing ? Father of lights, direct our darkness thus ; Turn thou our shadow of death into the morning. Pitiful, render us Wise from our foolishness, and meek from scorning. XXI. Vision of God, serene beatitude — Life's sole unsullied good — May I attain by vigilance and pray'r Thy peace beyond compare ? — The very thirst of which, the discontent. Being more excellent 14 Life of Life. Than any earthly food ; — Canst thou be truly known and understood No otherwhere Than kneeling lowly at the altar stair ? I will go forth into the woods and lie Where waters murmur by, Seeking to purge my sight Where the low wave lies lit with waning light — Where stealthy nightfall hushes The whisper of the rushes. There shall I find what I have sued, Vision of God, — thy great beatitude ? Shall it there sink into my breast With gifts of utmost good, Content and rest ? Yes, I may find it. But I shall not find Unless I bring a heart Freed of its grosser part By life unselfish, unresentful, kind How shall the birds and flowers and mosses bless A soul not schooled to loving patientness ? Life of Life. 15 What can be learnt from grass and leaf Unless we first have learned from love and toil and grief ? Vision of God, oh, vast beatitude ! Thou canst be understood Where waters murmur by, And nightfall hushes The whisper of the rushes. Only by him whose heart Has kept for thee a solitude apart, — Only by him whose eye Might find thee in a desert or a crowd — In perfect loneliness or concourse loud Because the soul of man — not flower and tree Or dawn or sunset cloud — Can truly harbour thee. i6 A FUNERAL SERMON. THERE was no peace for thee till this was done. It is thy Self that thou hast buried here Beneath the kirkyard grasses ; and life's sun Has set on all that thou hast counted dear. The hand of death has laid Thy very self beneath the sexton's spade. He that hath lost his soul shall save his soul. Thou, having nought to live for, now shalt stand Erect and free — unfettered by control Of earthly passion, or the clinging hand Of that which held thee fast. Which has been laid in churchyard mould at last. Whatever came between thy self and thee Thou wouldst with hatred have pursued and slain. A Funeral Sermon. 17 Now that thy self is dead thou canst not be Tempted to this dread sin of hate again ; Patience shall come and bless Thy heart that ached with constant tenderness. Thou having none to love, shalt slowly rise, Till love is crown and essence of thy being ; AU beauty being snatched from life, thine eyes Shall be unsealed unto a nobler seeing. Struck down by pitiless death, Thou shalt drink threefold life with every breath. All the glad light and longing of thy dreams — The cherished aim, the witchery of toil — Lie here entombed. The sun's departing gleams Flush with a deeper red the upturned soil. Where grass shall grow above Thy buried life, thy hope, thy buried love. There was no peace for thee till this was o'er. Till the last bitterness of death was spent. Now shalt thou lack for nothing ever more ; Naked of all things, thou shalt be content. Jealousy, doubting, fear. With thy poor stricken self are buried here. B 1 8 Life of Life. Sometimes, perchance, on sober sunlit eves Thou wilt come hither when the lilies wave, , While fragrant winds bestir the clinging leaves Around the kirk, and kiss the lowly grave. Thou wilt not soon forget That 'neath this turf lie love and dead regret. Thou wilt not soon forget how life was bright — How sweet and fair was that which here doth rest; Thou wilt not lose, nor yet remember quite, The features that thy soul had loved the best, Nor soon forget how dear Was the dead self that thou hast buried here. Thou wilt not soon forget the love that burned So keenly, yet was stifled in its burning — The passionate affection that had yearned So truly, yet was famished in its yearning ; But for thy weal thou must Remember they are laid here, dust to dust. Come now away ; 'tis past the set of sun. Chill and despairing feels the life new-bom. A Funeral Sermon. 19 There was no peace 501* thee till this was done, But in the doing heart and soul are torn ; For thou hast buried low Thine own dead self — thy love, thy joy, thy woe. 20 THE PAINTER. HE had been born to an inheritance Of sympathy with nature — claiming kin With field and forest. In his soul's advance Such sympathy could win Its living rapture. He would clap his hands At sight of golden sunsets, or the cry Of cuckoo from the solitary lands. He loved to lie Among the grasses, gazing at the sky. With timid flocks demurely straying nigh. He loved to watch the sundown's parting fire Gild many a city roof and misty spire ; Or from these human haunts would steal away To woodlands old and gray, Where the broad light that broods O'er quiet fields and sylvan solitudes Was like a message from the good God's lips, — Where sunrise was a flush of angel-wings. The Painter. 21 A flash of angel-hands,' And night like some great bird that slowly dips Its pinions over dim mysterious lands. He saw but vestments of the infinite In earth's most common, things, — In cloud and beast and flower and changeful day. The simplest scenes of nature had a might That prompted him to fall and pray With awe and pure delight ; And he could find with every frequent look Some beauty never seen before. Some glory never known of yore. In marshy meadowland or willowed brook. Therefore because he learned that art is born To be the nursling of eternity. He learned with this to scorn The aims of sordid barter — steadfastly Shunning to see his lifelong purpose sold For perishable gold. Though fit reward might bring him joy untold. And being childlike, to his life was given Rich recompense of heaven ; And being pure, his eye from day to day Met God around his way; — 22 Life of Life. So that his spirit as a saint's was bold, And as a child's was gay. Thus did he pass towards that place Where God is seen unshadowed, face to face ; Bearing his love of field and sky and tree To ripen endlessly In pastures where the river of life flows free. 23 " EASTWARD." A SONG OF THE CITY. EASTWARD the shadow lies On sick and aching eyes ; Eastward the pain, the strife, the sacrifice ; Eastward the want of bread. The thousands to be fed. The cheek of sorrow soiled with sin's accursed red. Eastward the babe is bom To misery and scorn. To clinging vice that mocks the spirit's mom; Eastward the child is taught In word and deed and thought To cherish what is foul, to learn how wrong is wrought. 24 Life of Life. Come hither, who would see How human souls may be Debased below the brute by sin and infamy. Come hither, who would know What wretchedness and woe May veil the summer sun and stain the winter snow. O babe, whom God has sent With eyes of wonderment, Behold the paradise where thou must dwell content. Behold the filthy street Where want and anguish meet, Where blasphemies are loud above the clang of feet. O listen, little child. And learn to be defiled, To pilfer and to lie, to utter curses wild ; Come hither, pure and young, And train thy lisping tongue To speak the foulest words that may be said or sung. What baby feet, if led Through such a miry bed. Shall not receive a stain for every feeble tread ? What whitest baby hand "Eastward." 25 Shall not receive a brand From such a seething sin that reeks throughout the land? Let happier mothers sing Of guardian angel's wing, That follows baby feet with ceaseless ministering. Alas, we cannot see Where such good angels be, Nor how they could abide in such impurity. Come hither, sisters, wives, Where crime for ever strives To blacken with its curse what should be blessfed lives ; Come hither, laughing maids, For here are secret shades Where hideous ruin works, where fairest virtue fades. And come, unthinking West, Whose moments are possessed By self-indulging joys and avarice unblest, — Whose piles of yellow gold Are more than thou canst hold — Who prayest Sabbath prayers with hands that meekly fold. 26 Life of Life. O brother, come and say- Why such a wrong to-day Should front the eye of God and stain the morning's ray; Beneath a selfsame sky Naked and hungry lie, — What wonder if they turn and curse us as they die ? Come hitherwards and tell Why famine should compel A single soul to sin, a single heart to hell ; Why should there ever be, Amid your feastings free, A mouth constrained to eat the husks of misery ? O come, and cast away Your sumptuous array. The scorn of fellow-men, the revels day by day. Ye have been glad to hold The weighty trust of gold : Ten thousand homes are bare, ten thousand homes are cold. Take love and pity : fight Till o'er the hills the light Dawn in divine defiance of the night, — " Eastward!' 27 Till on the plains the snow Fade in the fervid glow, And storms are driven back into the long ago. Eastward the shadow lies On sick and aching eyes, But eastward too the glorious sun shall rise. Behold, the streak of day Begins to ilush the grey : Behold, the smoke of sin shall lift and float away. 28 HOMELESSNESS. AH, this old earth of which I grew so fond, Thinking it was my home, — Is it akin to all that lies beyond ? Must we for ever roam Homeless and orphaned as we wander here. Seeking a spot Where feet may weary not. Nor hearts grow tired of losing what is dear? Doth this prefigure all That can befall ? How sad to pass from earth to other earth, From birth to birth. Finding the selfsame want and discontent, The same bewilderment, — Like a lost bird that cannot win its nest. But still is sent' Farther and farther, hungering for rest. Ah, this old earth ! — Homelessness. 29 And yet of what we know it is the best. Its things of greatest worth Are such that we are fain to hold them fast, And weep when they are snatched from us at last ; For all its loss we scarcely love it less, This graveyard of the past — This home where our chief woe is homelessness. 3° CHANGE AND THE CHANGELESS. IF we complain that nature is not glad As when we came to her in careless youth, It is ourselves that have been growing sad ; All the exuberant spirit that we had Seemed hers in very truth : It is ourselves reflected that we see. Nature has lips to teach When we ourselves have gifted them with speech, And then she can discourse most wondrously ; But if we come In want and silence, she is simply dumb. Ours is the changefulness, arid not in her. The everlasting hills are as they were ; The grass and daisies are as bright to-day Upon the meadows wide, As when ourselves were scampering at play. The changefulness is ours : her joys abide. 31 "WHEN I AM OLD." WHEN I am old and lights are sinking low, How shall I keep my heart from growing cold? How shall I cherish fancy's fervid glow When I am old ? For then, like flowers at eventide that fold. Friendship and love and hope make haste to go, And even memory yields a trembling hold Of dreams that drift on time's unceasing flow. Ah, what if then the whole life's tale is told, And naught remains to prize and naught to know ? Ah, what if like a weed in barren mould Still rooted to the sterile earth I grow, When I am old ? 32 REQUIEM ^TERNAM. ROUND his bier the singers stand, And the tapers at his feet FUcker o'er the winding-sheet, Where the form of face and hand May be faintly guessed beneath, In their panoply of death. Rests he now in holy sleep ; All his storm and labour cease ; God Himself hath whispered peace. Peace eternal, full and deep. And the singers round his head Chant their music for the dead. Where the torches' fitful light Falls upon the arches dim, Stand the monks and chant their hymn Through the cloistral hush of night ; Requiem jEternam. 33 Singing low their requiem For the father lost to them. Happy those who sleep as he After life of fast and prayer ; Happy are the dead who wear Such a robe of sanctity, — Such a perfect spotless dress Of a lifelong righteousness. Suddenly, with hollow sound, Comes a voice from him who lies Stiff and cold, with sealed eyes ; And the singers standing round Start with deadly fright to hear Words so terrible and drear. " Judgfed and condemned am I By the God whose law is just," Comes the murmur from the dust To the mourners standing nigh ; And their startled voices fail In a broken dismal wail. " Judged and condemned am I ! " — To the judgment all must go ; And the tapers flicker low, c 34 Life of Life. And a wind along the sky Rushes with a moan of pain, As of souls that cry in vain. From his side they shrink away, Pale and shuddering in their fright, — Dreading now the very sight Of that ghastly sheeted clay. No one prayeth for the dead : For themselves their prayers are said. 35 THE PASSING OF BALDUR. LOW on the ship he lies Circled with fire ; Red glow the sunset skies, — ^ Flames darting higher, Glance in his sightless eyes Nigher and nigher. 'Neath him the billows lie Blood-red and bright ; Sea-birds above him fly Bathed in the light ; Sunset along the sky Lingers through night. Northward the breezes bring Murmurs of blame ; Sea-voices muttering Whisper his name ; Waves that would quench it spring Over the flame. 36 Life of Life. Far in the pallid west, Faded, forlorn, — While on the water's breast Daylight is bom, — Baldur, the loveliest. Passes from morn. 37 REST. REST for the weary hands and aching feet, The brain that throbs, the care - distracted breast ; And for the heart whose pulses surge-like beat, Rest! Alas, we seek not always what is best ! The sluggish dreamer never can be blest With crowning triumph and surprises sweet. Moments are swift as swallows, life is fleet ; And soon the sun declining in the west Will set on barren fields, or fields of wheat. Then let us work whilst we are able, lest When life's short day is o'er we do not meet Rest ! 38 IN AUTUMN DAYS. IN Autumn days, when leaves are shed In eddies amber-tinged and red, Along the coverts of the wold — When ferns are turning ruddy gold. And acorns patter overhead, — When in the shallows of its bed The river sighs dispirited, There is an ancient legend told, In Autumn days : A tale of one who has been led Among the lilies, forest-wed, To nourish memories of old, Who wakes to find the nights are cold, The birds have flown, the flowers are dead, In Autumn days. 39 TO BE A CHILD. A VILLANELLE. I SOMETIMES fondly used to pray (Although the wish was weak and vain) To be a child again at play. Thoughts of the early budding May Thrilled through the prayer which, in my pain, I sometimes fondly used to pray. Sweet fragrance from the woodland way. And song of cuckoo, made me fain To be a child again at play. It was a coward's prayer, you say, That with an aching heart and brain I sometimes fondly used to pray ; 40 Life of Life. But listen — 'tis the skylark's lay ! — How sweet upon the daisied plain To be a child again at play ! For freedom from the city grey, For meadow-path and country lane, I sometimes fondly used to pray To be a child again at play. 41 MEETING. SO take my hand, and let all lingering cloud Be chased away. I would have loved you, dear, had you allowed, Nor said me nay ; I would have cherished you through all the years, — Have stood beside To kiss your eyelids when they welled with tears ; But you denied, r would have given my life to save a pain, To ease a woe, — Have brought a love which time should test in vain; But you said no. Enough of idle words and useless blame ! All i/iat is -past. To our brief dream of summer-tide there came A biting blast ; 42 Life of Life. And one bowed to the eastward, one the west. So torn apart, We lost the chance to bless and to be blest, Heart driven from heart. You thought me faithless, and I thought you cold,- Alas, the pain ! All is forgotten, darling, now I hold Your hand again. We know that both were foolish, one was wrong. And both were true ; We know that both have suffered much and long. O love, we knew That all must yet be righted, soon or late. Ere we should die ; And so we were content to pray and wait, Both you and I, — ' Content if but one pressure of the hand. Before the night, Should tell us all that we could understand. And give us light ; Content if doubt and pain should pass away Into the glow Of sunset's perfect peace. O darling, say It has been so ! Meeting. 43 And we can rest untroubled now, and see The sun descend : No more of cloud to sever you and me Until the end ; No more of selfish doubt or mad distrust And troth undone ; But we shall pass beyond the " dust to dust," Two souls in one. 44 " FOOTSTEPS." FOOTSTEPS— and I turn to listen ;— footsteps following close beside me, Falling with a stealthy measure, like an echo of mine own, — Falling with a quiet rustle. Does my fancy so de- ride me ? — Yet a shudder steals upon me, and I feel not quite alone. While the gloom of night is spreading follows one where I am treading — Follows One who is unknown. Hast thou not in pallid autumn heard the withered leaves around thee Flutter softly, shudder faintly, and thy pulses throbbed with fear? — "Footsteps!' 45 Hast thou not turned round to listen, while a creep- ing horror bound thee In its links of icy chillness ? — yet there was none other near ! Was it not a footstep falling through the solitude appalling ? — Nay, thy fancy mocked thine ear. Hast thou not in dream so wandered, haunted by a step that follows Through the long and lonely chambers, through the corridors of sleep, — Treading labyrinths, of shadow, threading dusky dens and hollows, Flying terror-winged and breathless down abysses dark and deep ? While the awful desolation of thy slumber's own creation Cannot cry or sob or weep ! So upon this lonely highway I have weakly feared and fancied That a dim mysterious presence goes beside me on my way, 46 Life of Life. That a stealthy footfall follows; and my spirit is entranced With the glamour here begotten of the slowly dying day. Take my hand, mysterious stranger — oh thou secret forest-ranger, Stealing through the shadows grey ! Why dost thou so dog my footsteps ? — I have vainly tried to flee thee, — I have stayed and I have hastened, I have lingered, I have sped; But thou still art close beside me, and I strain mine eyes to see thee. And I reach my hand to touch thee, with thy muffled mocking tread. Speak, that I may hear and know thee! step into the light and show thee. That thou art not from the dead. I will rest upon the wayside while thine unseen presence passes, — ; I will dally with the rushes by the running of the stream ; " Footsteps" 47 While the breezes from the moorland come and whisper through the grasses, And the willows hang above me in a sweet for- getful dream, — Such a tender memory sweeping that mine eyes are lit with weeping In the dying sunset gleam. I will study to forget thee in the kindly mother- sweetness That is nature's : she is loving, she is bountiful and mild ] ' And her heart it over-runneth with such wonderful completeness,^ — She will reach her arms about me, like a mother with her child. Thou shalt trouble me no longer ; thou art strong, but she is stronger, — She is cleansing, thou defiled. I will quaff her running waters. — Get thee quickly hence and leave me ! r Shall I bear this ceaseless prying, this continual dogging tread, — 48 Life of Life. This unhallowed mocking malice? — Nay, thou canst not so deceive me ! Thou art lurking by the willows, laughing by the river's bed ; Yet I tremble not, nor fear thee, though thou choose to scoff and jeer me From the branches overhead. God ! — and can I not escape thee ? — ^Who art thou, to haunt me ever ? — I'will seek the busy city, with its clamour long and loud, — Seek the noisy streets and bridges, whose tumultu- ous throng shall sever This accursed link that holds me like a caitiff meanly cowed ! — But I know too well that thither, if I go, we go together — Here, or in the densest crowd. O how fearful there to find thee, 'mid the light and careless laughter Of companions whose exuberance overflows in glad excess ! — " Footsteps." 49 ♦ To be still aware that ever one is creeping slowly after, — To be daunted with a presence, more than soli- tude, and less : Shadowed in the thronging city, none to sympathise or pity, — None to see it or to guess ! Is there no reprieve or respite — no annulling or forgiving ? — I will try thee with a symbol that is human and divine, — Try thee with a sacred symbol, ever true and ever living. To deliver captive spirits from a thraldom such as mine. Turn thee, minister pursuing ! — what is done has no undoing, — Look on this eternal Sign ! In the name of God the Father, and of Jesu our Redeemer, In the name of God the Spirit, I adjure thee to depart. D 50 Life of Life. I am but a helpless mortal, a defiled deluded dreamer, And the spell of sin unshriven lingers long about my heart ; But the Name which I am using stands no answer or refusing : Stranger, thou hast done thy part. Thou hast owned a greater master. There is ngt a rustle nigh me — Only through the wood the breathings of the solitary night, — Only from the wind a whisper, and the river flowing by me. And above the hallelujahs of unnumber'd spirits white. On my path I hasten gladly; I have sinned and suffered sadly. But the end thereof is light. SI NIGHT-SONGS OF THE SEA. HAST thou a secret feeling for the fate Of thy twin-sister in her autumn woe, That thus thou seemest so compassionate ? Hers is a sorrow thou canst never know, Unresting sea, — the pinirig death of flowers, The withered leaves, the branches shattered low,- The long regret for fragrant April hours, For summer suns and harvest rich and wide, — For wooing wind and gentle twilight showers. And now, as though for sympathy she sighed, While in the west the coming tempest lowers, She casts her yellow leaves upon thy tide. 52 Life of Life. A rolling, restless, moaning sea, — A flush of sundown overhead, — And gulls that circle bodingly. With wings of dying red ; — O wave, what words of mystery Are these thy voice hath said ? Hast thou a legend of the sleep That comes to all at eventide ? — The sweet reposing, calm and deep, That cannot long abide ? Or of the secrets thou dost keep In caverns undescried ? In midnight hush the waters lie With heavy, long, and slumberous sound ; The sleeping coast and starless sky Are shadow-bound, — Save where with intermitting ray The lighthouse flashes from the shore, Night-Songs of the Sea. 53 And crying sea-gulls through the grey Wheel o'er and o'er. It sends its message from the coast, A steadfast angel of the dark, While passes like a flitting ghost The fisher's bark. IV. How like a guilty self-reproachful soul The water foams and breaks, While far beyond its everlasting roll The glimpse of morning wakes. Dash o'er the lighthouse, madly-vexed sea ! O gulls, awake and wail ! Yon shattered mast that quivers drearily Proclaims a dismal tale. And yet afar there lies another life Where waves nor tempests are, — Beyond the struggle of this surging strife. Beyond the morning star. S4 Life of Life. The sea is a mighty organ, And its player is the wind : All tones this great musician Beneath its keys can find, — From glorious alleluias And symphonies of praise, To plaintive wailful dirges. And sweet romantic lays ; From storms of viking-thunder That shake the caverns hoar, To low religious hymnings That steal from shore to shore. Roll out, thpu mighty organ. Thy grandest, fullest strain, — A trumpet-note of glory, A triumph over pain. For see, the sun is rising, — The forests bow to pray, And the vessels from the haven Sail out into the day. 55 SONGS OF A HEART'S SURRENDER. ( A Continuation.) I. MY having loved thee means that I have won : Thy love itself would be a lesser thing. I, when life's day is done, Shall be content with this one sheaf to bring Ripe from the harvesting. As I possess thee now, I shall possess. Thou art my soul's most costly garniture. No poverty's distress Can force the sale, — no fickleness destroy This one abiding joy. Thou hast perfected what was incomplete, Though thou shouldst never smile on me again. My life was doomed to meet The blessedness of loving and its pain : I have not lived in vain. 56 Life of Life. II. If thou wert false to me, what could I do ? If thou wert false to me, what could I say ? Could I look up and face the light of day, — Thou faithless and I true ? I could not dare to speak a word of blame, But in my heart the grief would lie and ache ; Calmness without, my lips could never take The music of thy name. The pain would choke me if I tried to weep, — The stifled sorrow would lay waste within ; Tears might reheve, but tears I might not win, — Rest, but I could not sleep. There could be neither tears, nor speech, nor rest. Till I forgave as I would be forgiven ; Then might the bonds of frozen grief be riven. And sobbings ease my breast. If thou wert false to me while I was true, I would remember rather than forget, — Loving thee still with that uncancelled debt Of love for ever due. Songs of a Hearts Surrender. 57 III. For all these things I ask your pardon, dear, — That I, being fond and true. Have sometimes in my fondness doubted you, With brief distrust, with sudden biting fear ; For all these things I ask your pardon, dear. Because I love you more than tongue can say I feared lest I might be Bankrupt of love that flowed so full and free ; I feared to lose you, dear, some dismal day — Because I love you more than tongue can say. But now I stake my life upon your troth. And trust you as my soul. Of all a heart's fond faith I give the whole To your most tender keeping — nothing loth, Since love and life are one, to give you both. IV. Love in its selfish passion will exclaim. With fierce though transient flame, " How canst thou dare be happy, save with me ? — How canst thou smile unless I stand beside ? 58 Life of Life. I, going lonesomely, Fret that thy dearest presence is denied ; While thou art gay With laughing glad companions, light as they, Does not my discontent Bespeak the deeper current of my heart, — My more abandonment To love's diviner part ? " But patience and unselfishnes reply, " Be still, thou spirit of love dissatisfied. Love's wings are wide As the free sunlight and the day-dawn sky : Clip not her feathers that she cease to fly. Keep thou thy soul in trust and quietness. Nor let the loved one's joy be thy distress. ■Be love upon thy road A pillar of cloud and fire, by day and night, And at thy heart an ever-burning light — As in the holiest Holy God abode." v. Why am I wroth with thee ? — Can perfect love and anger thus abide ? Songs of a Heart's Surrender. 59 I who would rather be Beggared of all than banished from thy side, — Can I unblinded see Blemish in one whom love has glorified ? By others' word and deed I am untouched, because indiiferent. To them I pay no heed. Nor do their vexings poison my content ; They cannot make me bleed, Nor whelm my life in sad bewilderment. Beloved, the slightest blot In thee whom I would worship looms so great, — Love magnifies each spot And loathes it with a momentary hate. The flame endureth not ; — See how I kneel remorseful, wroth so late ! VI. Love at my heart and anger at mine eyes. The maddened utterance breaks ; But see how soon the fickle anger dies — How the sore sorrow wakes. 6o Life of Life. Like a vexed autumn wind that wildly sweeps The woodland, smiting, tearing,— r How soon its desolate repentance weeps, Remorseful and despairing. VII. Easy it were to give my life to thee, Its days of toil and hope, its utmost wealth ; To travel the wide earth, the pathless sea, Tending thy want, thy sickness, and thy health. Such were a summer task, a soul's desire. Though I were bared of all things for thy sake. There is a sacrifice whose worth is higher Than any gift supremest love can make. To stand aside while others wait and tend thee, — To know thee ministered by other care, — To watch while other loving hands defend thee, — To see the service which I cannot share, — To joy when alien kindness is availing, — To quench the jealous agony, the pain ! — O true heart's love, so patient yet so failing, Such a high glory how canst thou attain ? Songs of a Heart's Surt'ender. 6i VIII. Entreat me not to leave thee. Tell me not That we have reached a parting of the ways. Beloved, hast thou forgot The unwritten covenant of earlier days ? Let me be with thee wheresoe'er thou art. Lo, I have tutored and informed my mind That it may bear the part Which is the highest human hope can find. Longing to be thy comrade utterly, — Comrade in deed and truth, in weal and woe, — Sharing mine all with thee, Let me go with thee wheresoe'er thou go. If time should come, dear heart ! when I must be Not first nor dearest, Grant me at least a second place with thee, Whoe'er is nearest ; For in my heart the steadfast loving flame, Though stinted of its food, shall burn the same. 63 Life of Life. Let me not lose the pressure of thy hand, Thine eye's soft light. Still in thy gracious presence let me stand, Loving thy sight. Thou art my first, as thou must ever be ; Grant me at least a second place with thee. X. Ere the light hands of slumber softly press My brow and seal mine eyes, for thee I pray; I ask that God may ever guard and bless Thy footsteps day by day, — That thou mayst keep thy soul unhurt, unstained, Lessoned to evil by no word of mine, — Living a life of blessedness, attained By glimpse of the divine. But if aught ill or tainting should abide From any deed of mine or least word spoken, I pray that God may take thee from my side. Though my poor heart be broken. Songs of a Hearts Surrender. 63 When I sum up the sunshine of my days, — Their bright relief upon a sombre setting, — Of all I find to praise, Of all the peace amid life's frequent fretting, — Will not the first and fairest reckoning be Communionship with thee ? When I sum up the shadow of my years, — Their days of lingering gloom and dull regretting. Their sighs and unwept tears, Their love that was not tutored to forgetting, — Then will the saddest of their memories be The grief of losing thee. XII. That thou hast loved shall be thy lifelong boast. Higher than this no human soul can go ; And thou shalt know. When troubles and distresses daunt thee most In many a coming day, A solace that no time can take away. 64 Life of Life. Thy love shall be the glory that appears A floating light through memory's floating tears : And thou shalt ne'er forget, Though blessed to be loved, to love is better yet. Therefore in desolation's transient days Sink not upon life's ways. But laud the God of love with songs of praise : Look upwards and not down. Thy forehead kissed with earnest of heaven's rays. For in that thou hast loved thou wearest life's best PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS. By the Same Author. Songs of a Heart's Surrender. Octavo, vellum-bound, uncut, 2S. PRESS NOTICES. Weekly Sun. " This little volume confirms our impression of the very rich and rare poetic gifts of Mr Salmon What we have read over his name is informed with the truest spirit of poetry. In the volume before us there is not only sweetness of expression, but flashes of insight that are the unerring mark of the true poet.. .....The whole impression left is one of suggestiveness, opulence, and haunting melody." Academy. " It rarely happens that so tiny a book as the one now be- fore us contains so much that is fresh, musical, and energetic ; and we hasten to express our hope that Mr Salmon will con- tinue to find in his heart the necessity of singing." Whitehall Beview. " Very beautiful is the poem ' Surrender,' with a haunting sweetness that characterises much of Mr Salmon's poetic out- put. ..!... There is not much in the book, but what there is of it is so excellent that one would have more of the author's verse. That is the feeling with which we lay down the volume, and the fact is no slight testimony to the attraction of ' Songs of a Heart's Surrender.'" Literary World. " One out of every ten young men under the influence of the tender passion write series of love-poems of this kind, but by no means of this quality. Imagery and form and a certain subdued fire combine to elevate Mr Salmon's 'songs' above the ordinary. " Star. " Those to whom a haunting dreaminess of sentiment appeals will find many exquisitely modulated lines in this little volume, and verses to remember and repeat to their heart's satisfaction." Speaker. " It is a quiet book, full of tender and sensitive feeling for nature, with a pensiveness that does not depress." WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON.