. ■;»,;\;,v,.,,,:,, .,.,. Hi r 1 1' f ! Tim: ivll, , . I'll ^ if> ir».ft-i' PR 9 00 7 4 205 3:1 s 4,/^//9aC. Cornell University Library PR 4007.A53W2 Waifs of three years.Printed for private 3 1924 013 205 962 14' it Ou'^^ f/i^ JS<^ WAIFS THREE YEAES. The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013205962 WAIFS TH R E E Y E A E S. PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION. ^a^Nves 1^ecU»e. A^erst-n GLASGOW ■ f «lttM at Wte Huivetsiita ^nn, Br GEORGE RICHAEDSON, 55 GLASSFORD STREET. MDCCCLXXI, ^(Vo(^ iA'i^M'/^'h i:^"tM ^A At . -i. o s- i a. s' PREFACE. The longest of the following poems was written in competition for the Newdigate Prize of this year, gained by Mr. Mallook — I am glad indeed to be able to add, my friend. I took up the subject at the last moment, spending little more than a forenoon and an evening upon it. Longer care would probably have made the piece shorter, vfould certainly have made the execution more perfect ; still, the thoughts and feelings expressed were by no means Hie result of sudden conditions of mind, and I judge it best to print the whole without material alteration. The other rhymes are, as the general title denotes, fragments saved by accidental expression in verse from years mainly spent in pursuits very different from such expression. I trust it is almost superfluous to . add that none of them is intended to be taken as in the direct sense historical of my own life or of my own opinions. I would have them regarded as the results of poetic sympathy with certain states of feeling, sympathy I trust more or less enduring as those states are more or less worthy. Worthy of embodiment through art I of course hold them all or they would not have been the subjects of jny verse. J. R. A. Balliol, 1871. lu-'Hu^ Re-iiciU (JUx.idiJXk. CONTENTS. At Suez, - . 9 Sappho, 2T Meeting on the Waters, 23 Annis Aetatis, XVIII et XX, 25 Sancta Maria, 27 To the Unknown God, ■ 29 In the Hands of God, - - 34 To the Pythian Apollo, - - 35 Dead Achilles, 37 To a, Lady Playing, 39 40 Sonnet, ... . -41 Fragment, - . - 42 Night and Love, . - 43 At Nain, a Fragment, . 44 The Palmer, - 61 Song, . 54 "Over the mist-flecked mountain shadows," . 55 CONTENTS. PAGE This July, - ■ ■ - 56 The New Dawn, ■ ■ ^^ In a Ruined Temple, - ■ . 59 Fantasia, ..... - 60 The Picture, Phryne, . - ■ - - No Death, • ■ ^* In the Forest, - ■ ■ ■ - 66 In the City— The Women's Hymn for the "Warriors, - 67 Dead Roses and Set Suns, - - ^^ Notes to the Poems, - - - ■ - " '■'■ 61 62 AT SUEZ. Against mute wastes and melancholy sand Twain oceans surge and whiten ; all the land Glows darkly in the hot South's pitiless glare Day after parching day, sweet night-fall there Falls never sweetly; fierce stars rise to burn Above the desert, nor fond faces turn Wan ecstasy from any dew-dim grove To those old temple-lamps of crowned Love. Wide spaces sadden in the feverish dream Of a long vanished wonder, of the stream That poured in visionary triumph through These ways, when once the hand of heaven drew Exulting myriads towards the sacred fields, Smote the far ranks and dimly ranged shields Of a wise people's strongest, while along Low Eed Sea marges eddying waves of song Broke into exultation, telling Death Had taken the slayer, and the people's breath Came hard before the terror and the grace, The shadow and the glory of Grod's face. 10 AT SUEZ. Yea, terribly the chosen passed that hour, From all green places girding round the power Of old Nile's calm forth-flowings, from the might Of marble piled to heaven's starry height And dominant widely o'er a subject earth. Prom immemorial rites and mystic mirth Dashed with red blood-stains, black with untold fear, Where sworded lust in revel knew still near The last, just, joyless Silence * ; and when war, Power, pleasure, wisdom, all high things that are In earth's low paths to long for, not again Might give fierce solace to the despot's pain By one Pain calmed forever, slowly borne From streets far-thronging and fair gleams of morn. Westward where Hell's pale bird and marsh apes bred. Across the quiet Water of the Dead, Mid gold and myrrh, within the caverned hill He found a during slumber, dreamed round still By all the story of Egyptian days Burning in that sepulchral gloom to blaze. Ten races' lifetime after, on hard eyes That show the world still to herself seems wise And still though grey is cruel. — Oh ! not strange That wild joy welcoming the wondrous change. > The old story that introduces a corpse, ss well as dancing girls, to an Egyptian feast is not without its meaning. AT SUEZ-. li When through pale horror, drifted ocean spray, And all thick night, was cloven out a way To a great hope from forth the hopeless plain, To a good sway — while every gorgeous fane That groaned behind in desolation, drank The blood of thousands ere her sand hills blank Broke into pillared splendor — while alone With pure Osiris, under earth, was known The very name of Justice, still unspoke Where prince, priest, god, made heavier the yoke Of Misraim's mute life-labour. So they fled Where flight was triumph ; on an army dead, Wan faces and wet armour and white foam, Pale morning mounting from her eastern home Gleamed coldly, and against the glimmering shore Great waves broke strange and restless — all the roar Of yawning slaughter hushed — but mystery Lit every ripple of that wondrous sea. Curbed and cast loose divinely. Thrice dear then The desert, after lonely haunts of men Whom lust, not love, made brothers. Israel trod Her bleak way to the terrible Mount of God Breaking against the sultry, haze dimmed, blue With bare scaurs buttressing torn spires wherethrough The pallid lightning streamed ; above, the tone Of trump — for war or holy service blown — Now pealed from highest heaven, making plain One King had power on earth. Wended agdn 12 AT SUEZ. Homewards a weary few, not Pharaot'e host, Where never rain nor thunder wakes the lost Land's fatal and luxurious quietness With unhoped good, or burning plagues that bless. Oft, after, to these barren sands anew The lingering might of ancient" Egypt drew, To face the northern foemen ; each low down, In mellow eastern moonlight dimly brown. Has gleamed with arms aud flowed with darkening gore, When this broad highway of two worlds bore A wasteful crop of death, through what long years The Egyptian reigned and warred, until the fears Of smitten wealth took hold upon his heart. Till for high places, and the victor's part Played long in gorgeous vanity, he found A dim Fate cursing pleasure, mid the sound Of falling empire, with the final doom Of weakness dogging lust, till lust give room Unto completed death. Tet in his might Once Misraim in these wastes watched heaven smite For him, even him, the strength of Nineveh, When murkily the mists of midnight lay Swathing the Assyrian, and soft morning's birth Found broken by the little things of earth Bright lance and bow of the mighty.^ Slowly so ' For the disammg of the Assyrians hy a god-sent anny of fieldmice, see Herodotus. AT SUEZ. 13 Sennacherib's banded hordes, as billows flow Kent by the rooks they burst on, home with fear In panic weakness wandered, pressing near To their empurpled warfare's period, A feebler foe but how far stronger God ! The " Biver Dragon " yet a little while Held sceptre in the towers of mystic Nile, A little moment longer hung in air The blow whose pitiless mercy knew to spare For struggling subjugation, and long pain That saw power near but grasped it not again. Till, in what year the blood-stained madman ruled On Media's imperial plains and schooled Slaves with a madman's wisdom, Egypt felt The first of wounds innumerable, dealt. Through her frail breast-plate wrought with figured gold. Beside Pelusium. All her power grew old And smiled and shook with palsy, when this path Oamhyses trod, to smite with mortal wrath The giant, shapely, calm of old Gods set, Gazing with eyes soft tear drops never wet On gleaming temples and a groaning folk. Here, on these coasts, the earliest thunder broke, The people strove no further. One more strong Than Persia led his spears, with pasan song And banners burning in exultant light Of gold and crimson, since the orient bright U AT SUEZ.- Paled dimly from before him, here to make His own the land where daily words still wake The name and memory of Ammon's Son. Lo ! ever, as I gaze across the dun Mists darkening over distant centuries, All this bare tract between two sunny seas That toss white splendor to the windy air. Or lie in faint lit azure, calmly fair. The whole is filled with surging tribes of men, And thirsty blades and burning eyes again That light with coming battle, where the sword Is dulled in slaughter, and a stronger lord Than Ares bids the passionate cheek grow pale. The hot glance cold forever, and the wail Of those at home, who share the spoil of woe. Saddens the antique war-song's fervent flow, Makes dim the embattled pomp of warring hosts In wierd procession by Pelusian coasts. When terraced Babylon ere long gave peace To the last curse and brightest crown of Greece, And Chaldee fanes mid blazing altars kept The fiery Macedonian, as he slept. Calm after war's wild revel, came no rest Unto these sands, by heavy footsteps pressed Of world-victors and free men made slaves. Steadily rolled this way, the steel edged waves AT BUBZ. 15 Of tower'd Rome's legionary tide that reared Its billows ever, till no peak appeared Of all the old world's pinnacles of power — Eolled, and were shamed forever in that hour, Here where the Thunderer's treeless temple crowned Red cliffs and long slopes of unfruitful ground, When noble blood was most ignobly spilt' And one consummate sacrifice of guilt Gave final consecration to the waste. Where coward Death from primal ages placed His dearest, earliest, latest-haunted shrine. — Aye I not the dainty pilum soiled her fine Point in vile slaughter of the Great turned weak I The sceptred slave was wisely taught to wreak A Roman vengeance on a Roman lord. How should the curse have faded ? Oh ! what word Can add to this last treason new dismay ? How need we linger more to watch what way The' fanged snake crawled across the desert sand. Column on column, band on armed band. Keen Saracen, Crusader, scornful Frank, All came, but how should shallow new things rank With reverend, mystic, and most ancient deeds, Wherein old faith against our new vaunt pleads ? 3 Pompey's head was the peace-offering of Egypt to Csesar. As it happened, however, the deity was, if not "too good," at any rate too wise "to be propitiated." 16 AT SUEZ. Thus broods the dream of unforgotten things Here, where the force of severed oceans flings Its breakers on the desert. Pageants leap To glory after pageants, as, through deep And limitless air, with golden glamour soared The sacred bird, when bending priests had poured The wine of pure libation, dark upon White dust in yonder City of the Sun.* But sullenly against the sands alway The twain seas break their blue to surf of grey, Unsatisfied and yearning as wide earth Yearns for the deep calm and the holy mirth Of some apocalypse, revealing peace For travail. Yainly ? Never then shall these Move near to mingle ? From the red East burn Clear wastes of water in the glow of morn. And all the murmurs of the far gulfs bring Such inarticulate sounds and joys as cling To the gold-fretted hollow of a dome. Where the rich East's wild splendor has its home Below white flower-alcoves of marble, hung Against the sultry air, and sweet lamps swung, In that dim rondure of the vaulted vast To shed a rose-like glory ; cries forth- cast Where a barbaric people rises up To greet their monarch as he grasps the cup, * In Heliopolis was the temple where the Phoenix rose from its ashes. AT SUKZ. 17 Throned loftily on some great festival, Or at the silver trump's melodious call All sink again before him, bent as though The spirit of a mighty wind did go Unseen across the land. Such wonders seem To light on the large waves a gorgeous dream, But, Oh ! than any dream more fair, more sweet. The musical white ripples at my feet, Whispering of Eastern islets brightly strown On gleaming seas, where odorous winds have blown, Uncounted ages, and no haggard face Has brought into that faery, marvellous place. The insolent misery of man's new life. Emulous peace and long, half-hearted, strife ; But still the wild palm lifts her coronal Where, through green valley-glooms, clear waters fall To greet the summer ocean. Ever come Such marvels from the South. Are ye then dumb. Fair mid-land waves, that toss about the North Of this slight barrier ? Te I ye too, leap forth. To sing the faithful words of antique rhyme, To sigh the strong, sad tale of later time. Whose burthen comes by Calpe. Ye, wherethrough Drove long the swarth Odysseus' weary crew, Te, that have gleamed about each storied shore Where bright Powers moved and move again no more ! Myrtles still darken, up the seaward steep. But all Eleusis' lights are laid to sleep. 18 AT SUEZ. Not any sound in air of God-driven cars ! Not any shout on earth of hero-wars ! Yet farther have your fruitless furrows pressed ; — Wide ocean and the melancholy West Send white-plumed armies to the sunrise sea, From windy capes where shadows drift and flee, Barring with purple, green sunsmitten surge, Eound my own island home ; or from the verge Of that New World whereunto all men's eyes Turn, waiting till some wonder shall arise To illume a darkening globe — but mist alone And wordy tumult o'er the wave are blown. Tea, many voices of one d^dal earth Swell hitherward with wailing and with mirth. To mingle all in some great choral hymn Whereat the hearer's vision should wax dim. In the undreamed harmony of that strange song ; But ever hath the barren curb been strong. And, severing, marred the music. Ages past, A Pharaoh in the pride of empire cast Forth from the bright sun as a little thing Twelve myriad souls of men, that force might fling The world's waves together. Murder failed To work his master's will. When Misraim paled Before the Persian, bitter eastern brine Flooded the fruitful Nile. Not yet the sign AT SUEZ. 19 Of peace upon the earth and in the Bsa, Eippled along the desert silently. And now it ripples ! Now great waters meet To kiss each other ! Orient glories greet The stormy lands of sunset, now, when all The wizard tales of antique splendor pall, The light of starry gems and gold grows dim, Nor any mage can gather unto him The hidden riches of our monstrous earth ! Tea — all is gaudy tinsel, little worth. That once was wonderful — a lie to hide The squalid misery of hlind crowds that bide Death only, knowing evil and not good. Since hot between them and clear heaven brood The wings of lust that wears a diadem With "Vanity" enwrought upon his mantle's hem. So the East longed for, comes not, and the West, What knows she now of joy and strenuous rest ? Shameless she flaunts upon her feverish stage The pride of youth, the fainting powers of age, And blankly echoes every word that slips Across the closure of unrighteous lips. As finding there salvation ! Proudly came Her castled keels together, with acclaim Of far-reverberating self-applause And gratulation, that she gave new laws 20 AT SUEZ. Unto the world's great waters, trusting so To gather gold first, good might, after, flow (Held She its deep springs in her hollow hand?) Into dry water courses, till the land Grew sweet with blossom. Thus she vaunted then Of Wealth and Peace and Pleasure unto men. And how, far- off, clanged Fear's withdrawing wings. The shout is hardly silent. All heaven rings Now with swift-fallen vengeance, with the cry Of wrath, and pain, and poisonous agony That breeds new sorrow. Hope's face waxes wan, Tor still she sees in all the life of man Mere foolish moments of fulfilled desire. Lost in one long repentance ; yea, the fire We dreamed divine, sinks where a dumb sod lies Across the faces of the just and wise, Set in a wasting sleep. Oh ! what remains Now to us here, where Kuin dark -robed reigns And fickle Change ? Alone is answer given To pale hands stretching towards the hope of heaven ? And vain the faith with which we sought to raise A truer hymn in unmelodious days. With nations ranged in the mystic choir. While kindred voices of all men aspire 'Mid solemn aisles of silent centuries Made musical in wise and perfect peace ? Does the masked world still mock us, and again Toil men towards some dark end through manifest pain? SAPPHO.' Thou bringest everything, eve 1 Thou bringest the mellow wine, Thou bringest the goat from the rock. To the mother thou bringest her boy, But not to me my love ! Thou bringest the wandering bark With curvM wings of white Into the little port, The mariner leaps to land, But thou bringest not my love ! Heelios sinks far west 'Mid streams of pulsing light. Which smite the pillared fane Where the evening altar steams, In depth of myrtle grove Bright Aphrodite haunts ; But up the rocky path. Festooned with trailing vine. No purple ohlaroys gleams To my love -wearied eyes ! 22 SAPPHO. Sslene follows fast In the track of the greater glow, But my panting bosom beats in vain On the crimson-covered couch ! Alone, alone, alone ! ! how can joy grow cold ? Might I hold his heart to mine 1 could plunge where bending skies Bear oceanward the stars. In the great World- olasper's clasp By a mightier bond embraced. 1868. MEETING ON THE WATERS. Lone in my shallop over the wave Gurgling underneath each plank ; Far some of our squadron brightly brave, Foam still floats white where others sank ; A fair boat sheweth on the sea For an hour, but what is it to me ? II. It came, it passed, and now again Sweepeth hitherward amain. Till my whole soul upward leaps Eaglewise, to greet his eyes Who watch there at the tiller keeps. The two boats touch, and without a word We join them with a scarlet cord, A scarlet cord, of mystic dye, As that on the Jericho harlot's house Where Israel's plaguing hosts passed by. 24: MEETING ON THE WATERS. Then two in one our voices rise — One heart, one voice, and burning eyes — Across the wave tumultuously ; " Ne'er shall the bitter foam," we sing, " Which blackening billows upward fling, Gnaw through this link that knits in one, Nor any more shall each alone Before the wandering breezes run. From North or rainy Southland blown ! Long have we each desired an end, Whatever landing God might send, As man desires a distant friend ; But now we steer with pulsing veins Over laughing water plains." III. So we sang, yet nevertheless Again I float along The unrestful wave in loneliness. And the sacred fire whose flame was strong, Tieldeth but a fitful ray Of hope for the far-off landing day. 1868. ANNIS AETATIS XVIII et XX. Lazily landward a slow swell gleaming G-ently the floating sea- weed lifts ; Now wells the wave, now, hackward streaming, Pours through the dark rook's polished rifts. Lie earth and ocean in golden slumhers, Fulfilled with joy of deep mid-noon, Divinely sphered in voiceless numhers, The great world-harp's eternal tune. ! forever to catch the beating. Throbbing voice of the myriad strings ! My soul and dark -veiled Isis meeting Flood with wide glory earthly things ! Else I in strength to adore the brightening Front that gleams through soft, grey cloud, But to despair at its pallid whitening ? While in great weakness I cry aloud, 26 ANNIS AETATIS. " Gods, fair Grods of the vanished ages ! Grod, whom the world worships still ! Names that man shouts in the war he wages, Aiders unseen of the weakened will ! Ye of the dawn, why grow ye paler, As the morning star through a shadowy shower ? Thou whom they now name how help'st thou the waller, ! dark through the dulness of a present hour ? "Christ!" have they shouted, "great Christ our salvation I Wakened earth with the rapturous cry, Now in hot darkness toils each nation — Heap the thick clay, devour, and die I Sv/ih the wailing and words of sadness Leaped Jrom my lips two years ago ; I grub now as man thank the Giver of madness, — Swine take the precipice in row ! 1868 and 1870, SANCTA MARIA. And canst thou say I did not love thee Who gave a human soul for thine, And idly perish to approve thee, As eager eyes dream, all divine ? In Youth's hushed, happy ways I waited A second hirth, a nobler might, A word of fire to send the fated Feet stepping up the illumined height -, And, lo ! a lucid brow's completeness. Eyes starry, wondrous wreathed hair, Soft lips of all-perplexing sweetness To close with kiss or move by prayer ; Luxurious chain of words low-spoken, And murmuring laughter's pauses warm, Strange fetters that might not be broken. Left by light touch of hand and arm ! 28 SANCTA MAEIA. Self-alien in the eddying passion I seemed, and all old things were new, . Transfigured from familiar fashion In one bright mist of burning dew. Still pure through pines the pale moon slanted, I moved by ocean's ancient moan, Watched noon's calm upland plains, nor panted In the rapt worship I had known. And bitter words for reverent wonder, Darkened the depths of eyes once dear. Heaven paled above, earth melted under, Alone thou, Love, thou only, near I Thou near, thou near ! 1 dark forever. Planet of second birth to me ! Sweet influences — would I sever The bands that fetter fatally ? 186.9. TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. ' A land of sun-light ever falling clear Across the lake of life, Where fairly ranked the shadowed shapes appear, Not stricken into strife. I. FAUNUS. Slowly amid the spacious world's splendor A child in wonder strays, Whose large eyes flashing, back in beauty render The brightness of the days. O'er plains that dimly in the distance fade. Through gloom of glimmering wood He moves, and as the lyre young Hermes played Expressed its master's mood, So his exulting voice and every gesture With cords of life's love bound. Clad, as with riches of a varied vesture, The dim earth lying round ; And in that first warm flush of human feeling That knew — but not to sever — The woe of Nature's vastness won its healing Fulfilled its dumb endeavour ; 30 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Till, mastered by the breaking wave that bore it, The marvellous life of man - Sank down before the world to adore it, Eapt into wonder wan. And strength, not strange but straight from nature drawn, Fashioned fair limbs and features To the soft wildness of the musing Paun And blameless woodland creatures. Dawn's glory fades ; men toil beneath the heel Of darkened power endued With lordship of the plain, through thickets reel A hot-eyed satyr brood. II.. APOLLO. Fallen the Son of morning from his place, And after him in turn, Snatches the flaring pine-torch of the race A youth whose pulses burn To drive their tide with all its mortal beatings Through the world's every vein. Not covering of the face, but -human greetings To sky and earth and main. He plants his steps as among things not strange. His orbed eye flashes through them. And, poised upon the wild chord's throbbing range. He sings himself into them. Yet a far-hidden sadness chills the state Of splendid glance and tone. TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. 31 Wrapped in the folded mantle of grey Fate, CJpon a supreme throne ; Darkness above, and darkness writhes beneath, Howe'er with scornful gaze A Pythian 's pride may watch the gleaming death Sink in that knotted maze Of the worm's foulness, yet the evil thing Dead, dieth not forever, And, stained with loathed gore, the Archer-king Serves by a northern river ; Till desperate youth, to scatter shadows thronging About the land of light. Waves that wild flame with which the Orient strove To illumine lingering night. Beneath calm stars he seeks with maddened longing The source from which he sprang. While, under shadow of the mystic grove, Eapt Meenads' cymbals clang. The turbid flow of feeling passes quickly. And leaves a cold life cast Upon the dark earth's dankness, watching weakly The river eddy past. III. JESnS ASSUMPTCS. " Quid statis aspicientes in coslwn?" How shall we sing the heart that scorns all song And treads the weary earth 32 TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. In loneliness of labour, making strong Its individual worth ;' That thrusts the Dumb God's outstretched hands away, Quenches the morning star. While things in blind glare of discerning day Seem only as they are ? Oh I let him, in his generation wise, Heap up the coined gold, And let him to the fierce crowd's tearless eyes An alien world unfold. And, labouring vainly in the fire a space, With thick clay load his limbs — But mock not thou the misery in his face By any sound of hymns. IV. SPIEITUS VERITATIS. " AUum Paracletum dahit vobis." Twin Toil and Science spread their wings at even, While, on the sacred hill, Bound whose huge bases, bastioned, water-riven. Pale waves are tossing still. Full in the setting sun's mysterious glory, White robed and garlanded With dew-drooped laurel, wreathed around the hoary Awe of his sovran head, At last a victor over glooming fears Peals the triumphant psalm. TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. 33 Toucliing again the lyre of other years In more impassioned calm. Another's toil has traced the linked chain Of wisdom through the earth, Traced it and failed, his is the final gain, The hidden heart of worth. He holds all nature in his central soul. Sphered into rapturous rest. Back from his hrightening glance wreathed vapours roll, The shapeless shades that pressed About the dawn's brief gladness, bringing tears ; Yea, his exultant heart Half-dreams it stands amid the strong young years That ages hold apart — Dreams it is even now at the beginning Of days that die so soon, And vainly loves what fragments it is winning Of that forgotten tune The Faun sang in the forest, or Apollo Beside the Phrygian stream — But, Oh ! the morning's flushing does not follow, Nor hopeful Phosphor's gleam. Hot, dusty hours of labour. Daylight fades About the evening star ; On Time's broad river brood the falling shades Where life floats, strewn afar. 1869. m THE HAl^DS OF GOD. In the hands of God are we, Idle words that plead in Tain, Idle tears that pour like rain, Idle hands that stretch and strain, In the hands of God are we ! Half we dream our workings free, Laboured lines of thought succeed Failure smites the crowning deed, Then woe cries from utmost need " In the hands of God are we !" Tender hands as men may see ! Lo ! the steps whereon we stand, Lo I the long illumined land, Pleasures we had never planned. In the hands of God are we ! Better surely so to be. Purpose from the brain is dead, Wreaths we culled not crown the head, Limbs are clad and white teeth fed, In the hands of God are we I 1869. TO THE PYTHIAN APOLLO. 1 God Apollo, the Python-slayer, Kise for me I Yet again make large thy might, and lay her Where the blackness burns nor eyes can see Swift hours flee. Lo ! Lord, how her foulness fills all places With all plaint, And white and flushed are men's poisoned faces Where the bright earth crumbles beneath her taint, Strong Gods faint. Cursed the gleam of her lurid glances, Curst the breath That sickens all life, and curst the advances Of cold curved coils where the slime of death Still olingeth. Emptiest, idlest our curse I and the rather Bound despair, For all her strong strained strivings gather The damned grip and the darkness where Sounds no prayer. 36 TO THE PYTHIAN APOLLO. Stand as men tell thou used, Apollo 1 Clad with, light, Here where lips lie, and fair shows are hollow. And last and alone the adder's bite Sets wrong right. Hast thou slain indeed the Python, ages Far agone ? Tet she lives, ! our Saviour, nor ought assuages The pain perduring for suns that shone, Deeds once done ! ' Not anything save the one thing, great Grod, Deadly, dear ! The one woe from which hearts redeemed would hate God, — Still Saviour ! leaving, though sorrow near. Sleep too here ! For who shall sever sorrow from slumber. Her one Mate ? Shall the cares that cark and the crimes that cumber Waste ever ? Lord of the painless fate. All we wait I 3 869. DEAD ACHILLES. " 'Or/ /io( ir'KiiiSToi yuXv.iigia douga. Tgftiss em^^f\^a,v vsgl TJrjXiloivi 6av6fTi." — HoM. Od. v. 309. Lo I how darts hurtle through the flashing air Ahout the red, strife-trodden places, where The battle burns beside Peleion dead ; The battle howleth o'er that fair hushed head, Gleameth above the darkened golden hair. And must the wise Odysseus' wearied hand Gruard him whose glory seemeth yet to stand Upon the rampart, rolled in terrible light, Scatt'ring the victor foe to scathed flight. With voice uplifted through an echoing land ? Ah, bitter woe, through his short wonning here. Made keen the cold edge of that mighty spear, Unsated all by darkly streaming blood, Unslaked through wild Soamander's burthen 'd flood, Glaring about the slain friend's silent bier ! 38 DEAD ACHILLES. Grood Hector fell, and Trojan women weep ; Yea ? How eliould youth's great love, turned sorrow, sleep, Nor burn against the faces of the foe. Slay many mighty for the one laid low — The meaner mighty — and no reckoning keep ? They weep the slain, cursing our slain who slew ; Yet his face's sad beauty shineth through The sad, fair ages, as the morning-star White in the dawn where thin cloud-glories are — But fading not with freshness of the dew, Wept by all gods and all men, in all time, Clothed upon with all grace of antique rhyme. All awe of ancient worship, all the love That human hearts know, as they stretch above Waste life to visions of a passed prime. 1870. TO A LADY PLAYING. Where pleasure laugjis and lamps are burning, While chill without, o'er pallid snow A waste wind passes unreturning. Sighing a restless song and low. Ah ! sweet to hear The closes clear Of Music's keen luxurious flow ! To watch white fingeis swiftly wander Across the silent-ranged strings. Till each chord quivers into splendor Of bright haze mantling mystic things. And all the lyre, An altar fire. Bears up the voice of her that sings. The faint eye fills, the cold cheek flushes. As, poured in that melodious strain, A flood of measured magic rushes In on the soul like April rain — Ah ! still to hear The cadence clear ! Let idle empires war and wane. 1870. SONG. Comes the sweet-voiced spring anew, Fetoliing freshness, bathed in dew, Spring again ! Gold the green leaf glimmers through Sunny mist and radiant rain. Spring again ! As bright days and wildwood tune Burn and flow to fiery June, Ah ! too Love Moveth with the mounting moon, Not — as she pines pale above, Not so Love I Ever fervent, musical, While suns flame and soft notes fall, Though in storm These be set and silent all, Lips and love with us are warm. Dear, are warm ! 1870. SONNET. About the sick soul's fence rings night and day A wordy babble of most vain opinion, And human life, turned empress Kumour's minion, In sullen slavery breathes half beast alway. Men bandy wind-swoln thoughts, sing, preach, and pray, Wax large and lusty, laugh, love, woo, and marry, Make or break laws, and in due season carry A brother's body to its mother clay — Nor any of the grazing fools can say Why he kicks at death and wantons long with living, To the unimagined after season giving Grace thrice sublimed from sun or clear star ray; — Friends, if in heaven tongues still are hung to clatter. Give me the grave, not crowns, palins, harps and chatter. 1870. FRAGMENT. Aye ! restful, swathed under the cold,. calm earth In strange night-dew of death that giveth ease, And other hearts gasp groaning for the heart That groans not now forever, other eyes Burn bitterly above the closed eyes chill. Nor anything can move him any more. Springs painted beauty buds to pass away Where joys, tear-blighted, biid not froih his dust, And odour-burthened breezes, sighing sweep Whither none knoweth^-With the dead 'tis well, 111 lingers with the living that are dead. What although light's rich fancy fill all earth And those sweet spaces of the evening heaven With unimagined Splendor ? What though night Pour music from each laurel wilderness And moon-lit thicket, though by night and day. Though the whole sunshine and all deep-dreaming night. Soft rapture float on win^s of a warm wind? There breathes no bliss nor any glory gleams On that lone soul whose sickness is to life, Un pitied ever. 1870, NIGHT AND LOVE. Ah, Love, yon passionate star, Deep in dewy night, Whitely flashes, flames afar To the pained sight, Last her light Swoons where undreamed splendors are, Tangled gleams in viewless places Spread against men's wistful faces, Shadowy smiles and fresh tear-traces. Deep in dewy night ! Ah, Love, jny own, most fair, Tet more nigh to me ! Heap warm shad,QW of thine hair, Sweet, until I see Only thee, Only eyes love-kindled there ! Feel alone thy clinging arm, Starry queen of mystic charm, Fold me from all bard earth's harm — Close, more close to pie I 1870. AT NAIN, A FEAGMENT.' A house m Nain, Eaohel and a Child. Baohel (sings). Noon burned on Shinar's parching plain, Through, dust-clouds clouds of men as dust (Lord, m Thee we place our trust) Adored with dance and antique strain The golden idol of their lust, In Thee ov/r trust ! All wan by white fire-chambers he Whose greater godhead gave the god, (Yet our stay Thy staff and rod) Watched while they bare the holy Three In o'er the scorched and scarred sod, Thy shepherd rod I But through the loud heat's blazing strife The voice of peace and glory came, (Saviour alway he Thy name) Unstayed, for still the Lord of Life Walked with them through the furnace-flame, Our Help, Thy name I AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. 45 ('Baohel sends away the Child, who leaves saying. J Child. Ah, but I may come again, Soon again I To hear how the good God saves from pain Those that rest them in his love. For you tell me of him ever, Sitting while you spin. And the warm sunlight streams in, Through lucent leaves that sever All the wide day's dust and heat From the quiet at your feet. Yes, you hymn in music low. Not as fierce-eyed Miriam sang, While the timbrels' triumph rang And she watched the waters' foamy flow Where those swirling surges ran Above the great Egyptian — But your voice is Sarah's, sitting In the cool tent door. Beside the son she bore Late, and so loved, Though scarcely witting Half the care God showed in him ; Yes, she gazed and gently chanted, Under that shadow dim, Of blessings heaven-granted ; But Abraham held wondrous talk meanwhile, And looked upon the faces 46 AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. Of angel men sent down from unseen places To cheer the faithful Father with God's smile. And God gave me you to tell All the things he doeth well, Surely, so, I come again. Soon again ! [Exit.^ Enter a "Widow, mother of Rachel's husband. Bachel. My mother, his and mine, now rest thee here, And shed the clear light, the most perfect peace Of hallowed age upon us. He cometh soon. The mighty sun makes dim with too much splendor The topmost crags of Carmel, as it passes Behind those shattered barriers, warding earth. To windless ocean's boundary of calm. He cometh soon, even now his strong feet ring Upon far winding ways that scarp the rock Where terraced vines drink in long summer heat. He comes, and quiet night descends on all, Drawing her mystic temple walls of shade More close about our fair shrined household life, Whose glory sets not for its name is love, And Love abateth never her dear toil. Widow. Yea! Miriam, never? and I tarry here. Watch Love brood largely on your days and his. His, who in times that turn to shadows now Came as the crown and consummating gleam AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. 47 Of inexpressible gladness to twain hearts, Twain hearts, now twinned, while I abide to pace The busy paths of unabiding toil, The lonely walks of hunger seeking prey. ! Love holds empire, sitting crowned by you, Love grasps the tool and labours still with you, Love touches throbbing strings and chants to you, But Love to me is uncrowned, palsied, dumb. Through pale eyes looking on a land of dreams, — A land of mists that shape themselves to men — Or crazed by cavern echoes. Every smile Lightening across the calm of youthful faces Half seems a mask the later time holds up To mock some former reveller, till the gibe Stings back against himself, both times being one, And sad Hope seats her by the old Despairs. Ah ! Rachel, Eachel, " clear light, perfect peace " ! — The light that blazes still before the man Who from far merchandise has wandered home, And finds not any home, but leaping flames. And those who made it home finds nevermore — The light, that beats against his changed eyes Making the whole world black, the muffled peace That bideth ever by the heart of him ! ^ 5(! fll ^ ^ (Rachel's husband has been carried in, killed in a quarrel viith a Roman soldier. J Rachel. Dead ? dead ? Ye flout me with mock-solemn faces, 48 AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. You all laughed with us ia fair marriage mirth, When last those hills grew white against the winter But now seen darkly under soft fall'n showers. Dead ! Let me through, it is not he lies there, 01--, hushand, ! my love, one look ! Lift once your hand, but once, to waken me From this dream's strangeness — Ah ! the hand that ne'er Spared one dear touch, though all the burning day Strong toil had worn it, toil for me had tired — Voice ever murmured in each tone that makes The music and the magic of love's speech ! (The bystanders have vainly tried to soothe her.) Shall idle wrath burn only one the one. This cruel spawn of a triply cruel breed, Whose birthright is the bitterness of death, To blast all beautiful and dear around, Till full-fed Murder on his own foul heart Draws that strange horror of the final blow Whose doom immortalises guilt grown old? Just Might, that makest times and men thy tools, Plague, plague the wolf-cubs wheresoever prowling ; , ! slay them in the deserts of the South, In the heaped ice and drift hail of the North, Slay them in each green valley, and wooded pass, And sky-hemmed plain of all the ancient East, Let darkening Western waves gape death for them, AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. 49 San haze and rain haze thick alike with slaughter ! Lo ! they have trodden peoples underfoot, Defiled thy temple, only Lord of Hosts ! Let "West and East and South and North swarm in To trample, pitiless, their pleasant homes ; Strike the swoln greatness of their gods aghast, And show the faith, their fathers loved, a lie, Then through all time let truth be false with them. Until new nations mock the strong made weak, The prudent witless and the wise men fools ! iff ^ J(E ^ ♦ A Street in the same tovm; Lucius, a Roman Noble, with Attendants, Roman and Greek. Lucius. But again, why is the way so blissfully clear of wonted human dirt ? Greek Attendant. My lord, the people through this restless land Are strangely moved by words of many men That style themselves the prophets of Jehovah, And dole out him — the unimagined ruler, So far as dull eyes of a stranger see it — In bread miraculous to the poorer folk. To the diseased, miraculous medicine. Tea, show a third good more to gape against. Though lying in the airy home of hope, A coming king that long time shall not linger, Perchance the promisor himself is he, 50 AT NAIN, A FRAGMENT. To give all value of the world's vastness For this sweet herd to graze on. Galilee Even now of such a prodigy is proud, Gets her food gratis in all desert wilds— At least goes there to seei it, while such devils. As plague peculiarly the chosen people With large disease of sadness, from the triumph 0' the new Dionysus hurry hence to Hades. That merchant whom we met some few hours back Had heard of him, the Prophet, as not far. And doubtless all the wisdom of the city Crowds now to gain its crust and give its devil. * * * * 1870. THE PALMER. " Lord, have not we left all and followed Thee ? ' AhI children of a shadowy Hope And brethren of a deathsick love, Your lives are large and your paths plain, And music wheresoe'er ye move ! The joy of pleasant voices fills Smooth lawns and slopes of garden ground, Where warding wastes brood ever green About sunshine and tuneful sound. At eve along the antique wall Soft notes entrance! the dewy air. For thorough gloom of guarded agates The glow of living enters there, To breathe a beauty through the courts, And shed a shifting rainbow grace Across the chamber's charmed gleam, A splendor on the feast's high place. 52 THE PALMER. Slow down the sweetly darkening stream, While yet warm day fills half the sky, The barge that moves seems moving not, And tender tones delight and die. Even when a world wakes to war About the well-pitched tents of mirth, He flings the jewelled armour on And leaps athwart the battle's birth. His war-cry rings, exulting wide. He drives the foe before his spear, Tea, though he fall he has lived well And very death seems void of fear. Ah ! heaven the wisdom of the fool, The worship of the godless one. The praise that wells from forth the lips Whose words owe homage unto none ! And I, my steps move strangely through The desert and the homeless land, I measure still the surgy sea, Muse mid the untracked, unfruitful sand. I press in many an alien town Through babble of far-thronging streets, Nor mother earth nor brother man The burthen of my name repeats ; THE PALMER. 53 Not any smile to greet the glance That burns below these drooping lids, Nor grasp of any hand is given, Nor any voice wished welcome bids ; And, Lord, in heaven thy palace shines. My feet have sought Thee everywhere On earth, but still the pale lips say, The sad heart sobs, " He is not there." 1870. SONG. Let the laurel leaves Through their own gloom glance, Where white moonshine weaves Mystic radiance, Let them glance, love ! Let the shaded stream Murmur nightly moan, Leave the clouds that dream. Pure, and pale, and lone, To their trance, love I Darling one, for we Wist of holier light. Know one shade to be Of more deep delight, Wild delight, love ! Hear a richer strain, Swoon in trance more still ; Ah 1 soft-panted pain, Sobbed sweetnesses fill All warm night, love ! 1870. Over the mist-flecked mountain shadows, Thorough the dim forest. In the fair, grey-glimmering, dewy meadows Tour feet and mine have prest Together, on autumn mornings gone, When shivering star beam and gloom withdrawn Wandered dark to the West, Now streaming light, dear glories of dawn. Dappled and sWift as the glancing fawn. Fill all with pained unrest. Life of sunshine and sleep of peace Over the desolate world cease, My steps walk wildered, my soul is sad, For the old tones sweet and clear and glad. Not again, all years, shall warble through Places of early dew. 1870. THIS JULY. Sweet fall familiar murmurs of the sea Across the dewy close of day to me, This July, Borne from ocean marges pale with foam, Thorough the boscage and garden glooms of home. Even as in hours long time gone by, This July. Yea shall I turn me toward rest again, Eeach tired arms, lift a face that once was fain. One July? Once fain, weak now and wasted as with fire. Sick with days that sadden, pale with nights that tire, Damp with the drops not showered from on high, This July ! Long have I now wandered where the ways are dim, Where a man meets not men at all to strengthen him. Though he die, Though he live, no God anywhere on earth. Living or dying nought at last he may deem Worth One pained heart beat, where hot pulses fly. This July. THIS JULY. 57 Heaven mocks the tender child smile, turning bright To the old spoiled splendor, to the lying light. Of a sky Shrouding blackness, until even the infant face Shudders for a moment, as one found in some wild place Unaware — the deep curse knowing not as I, This July. Old lips, that long have learned phrases of faith. Bitterly seem drawn and writhe towards the dim face of death, Still most nigh, Thus fair hope has faded from my heart at length. Through the shadow weakness leads her crouching captive strength, Through clear places time in scorn passes power by, This July. And my soul now yearneth only unto peace, Looketh but for lightening where all labours cease. All hopes die, Day has been enough hard since the early dew, When every opening flower was bright and winged breezes blew, Now the air is heavy, petals shed and trampled lie, This July. 1870. THE NEW DAWN. Yes thou art mine my own ! Let tlie earth's strong places be Tossed as the shifting sea, With the blustering breezes blown, Not wandering wave nor wind shall move this heart from me! Tender the dear deep eyes That gaze and melt to mine, Dark hair, outwoven fine. Against my shoulder lies, A soft hand seets more closely with my hand to entwine. Lips longing strove to say What both hearts wist of well ; Though the whisper frustrate fell We have chosen the better way, A mouth that holds its peace things passing words can tell ! So are we ever thus. The old life may loom again, In her two hands toil and pain, Not evil comes nigh us : Bare branches are all in blossom, the rugged places plain I 1870. IN A RUINED TEMPLE. Swift, bitter, foamflakes of a fruitless sea In sunless, whirling, eddy-gusts are blown, About blank marbles standing drearily, Or on the strong rock strown. The rook unchanged alone Over all the ocean marges gods and god-men have known. Wild joy and reverence and entranced wonder. That floated up the altar blazes, beat Through rich choir systems or found veiling under Blind rites that slaying were sweet, Not ever again we greet, Still is the world's helm i' the hands of ruining thunder. 1 cruel, cruel, cruel, the days that sweep. Pale as torn mists, across the crags of time — The gleaming, glimmering crags that all men climb — Mists moving softly as sleep. Or holy antique rhyme. To slay with the utter death whose throne is on the deep. They gather coldly against the eager eye That flashes towards some one thing still deemed fair. Some green place where the dews of morning lie. The lights of morning air, They cover it swiftly ere Hot hearts teach ashen lips all the hopelesness of prayer. 1870. A FANTASIA. TnotraH hushed through the myrtle her nightingale's note Dewy branches sway calm as in sleep, Over faint lit shores mysteries moon-kindled float Where surges sink back to the deep, Colours glow, burn more brightly, where cloud wings hover Above the blue gloom of a western steep. While dim shadows wandering quietly cover Wide places that pulsed and rejoiced with the sun, — But of all dear things as I muse alone, Life's Glory, and Wonder, and Eest they reap, (Now turned is love's flow, mute her musical tone. Like a dream the might of her day season over) With the heart that remembers abides not one. 1870. THE PICTURE. It smiles not with the old charm I love Nor breathes the tones I thrill to hear, I miss the tender touch that drove The world far off when one was near — Yet is the still memorial dear. I gaze and linger on the lines That shadow forth all joy to me, Till, dreaming o'er the unconscious signs, I pass through them, seen nigh to thee. The sweet place where I still would be ! Of all the Gods the oldest God, Love, men adored when days were new, Lives now times later ways are trod But more unalterably true — Passed unto heaven, yet all earth through. In that most pure and holy place Where broods deep glory of his wings, I stand before thy pictured face Turned from all waste unordered things — Gold altars flame, a clear voice rings, Floods with new all-unworded song Courts of a consecrated heart ; Not wide the world, time not long, Not long, oh. Love I from thee apart ! With dawn I kiss thee where thou art ! 1870, PHEYNE. TO A BtTST BY PRAXITELES. I. Ah I Phryne, Phryne, tenderly thine eyes Gaze through long ages in mute marble whiteness, And over all thy carven beauty lies Some strange veil woven out of ancient brightness; This heart, that pulses in a new age, sighs, Seeks toward thy love-filled, love-enchanted glory. Teams where swift, pallid, splendor gusts arise To sweep through gloom of half-forgotten story ; Wild tale I whose passionate meaning never dies, But still the cold, antique, immortal flushes With all the glow of pained love's fervent cries. Through tears and smiles and wistful waxing blushes, Unto some power abiding in the deep, With life for name, and for last ending, Sleep. PHRTNE. 63 II. Men called thee G-oddess, sinner now we call thee, Press bitter lips, droop sad eyes at thy name ; What, if in years to come this should befall thee, That some Kedeemer put far away the shame ? That in the world made new some new light came. And for all sinwoven, mystic, shiiFting, splendor. Clothed thee upon with gladness free from blame. As light of dewy morn triumphant, tender. Filled with the swift sun's mastery of flame, Filled with the dim night's music ever unspoken, The gloom and glory that warring are the same ? — Tea? And desire ye of these things a token ? Lo ! now the strength and wisdom of the sun Flood earth, ere man's day season of work be done. 1870. NO DEATH. There is no death, there is no death, No death though life should be no more Though vanity, the wise king saith. Is all the world's treasure store, Though weak all strength, and waste all breath. Skies dull behind be dark before, And sunlight o'er. The gusty west, the sinking day, Swift showers that stain a tossing sea. Faint gleams of evening light that stray Across the dim obscurity And shadow of the eastern way — What, where bare lands lie whirlwind-free. Are theseto me ? Chill raindrift quenched the early glow. Where peaked isles clove an azure deep. Sweet streamed Ilissus ceased to flow, Bleusis lights are laid to sleep*. No faint hymns now to rapture grow. Or from the Foam-bom's white fane sweep The sunny steep. NO DEATH. 65 Yea, have they faded, all these things ? No music now in midnight stars ? No worship where the laurel flings To earth her splintered moon-shine bars, Nor where the woodland water springs ? No sound in air of Grod-driven oars. No hero wars ?* So be it, so it is, and yet There mounteth up no bitter cry To power in central darkness set. To unseen wisdom throned on high ; For long dead years no eye is wet, Men wail the hours that wander nigh. Not those gone by. The hours that wander nigh they wail. Then turn to stem the advancing time, Greet with light love an antique tale, Weave painfully with joy and crime A newer web, Life may not fail — Still marriage bells in music chime, To mock sad rhyme. 1871. IN THE FOREST. Where bright summer sunlight glows Through deep leaves, Where wild forest odour blows Through pine stems in dusky rows, Scarcely grieves The streams low voice, howe'er it flows ; Dwindled in dim mossy coolness From fresh Spring's exultant fulness ; Where the faint-lit woodland weaves Such a wreath for holy hair As the young Ages twined when life was fair,_ When among Vines and roses everywhere Men with maidens kissed and sung. Dancing round each woodland altar. Marble-bright, Hymning strains that swelled to falter, As daylight Faded into fervent gloom — Fresh blown night. And the kind God smiling knew Praise untold was still most true ; —Yet should I wail the years that fleet Were you but here in the shadow, Sweet ! I at your feet ? 1870. IN THE CITY. THE WOMEN'S HYMN FOB THE WARRIORS. Along the ways of home war trumpets scream. Then sink and sadden to a brave man's mourning, As, winding ever farther, serried gleam Keen arms in summer sunlight shifting, burning ; Our brothers' march to war. The end is very far, Ah ! would we saw dear faces home returning. Not now, not soon, not thus, I never thus Neverj though hearts are true, hands do not falter. Although through bittter battle-dust to us The gods, besought, lead back a few, nor palter With sacrifice and prayer ; The fate they follow there Palls with a doom nor tears nor words can alter. Tea, but they shall not fail, not this we fear ! Into their hands the hope they seek is given, They work their people peace ; though death stand near, They snatch their time when ranks are crushed and riven. 68 IN THE CITY. To gain a wide land rest, Nor shift a footstep lest Not all return, not all the noble that have striven. And thus they hold the joy, we bear the pain, Not any breath makes quick our calm of sorrow, Clouds loom above us as we wait the rain And thunder of the inevitable morrow, Erom bright Olympic thrones Bend, ! ye crowned ones ! Sad hearts, from righteous heaven a little solace borrow ! 1871. DEAD ROSES AND SET SUNS. Faint odour of sweet roses dead — All ! those far days ! It kindles sunset splendors burning red O'er alien ways, As one bright sunset burned Whose ashes are inurned Over that home made holy by Love's sacred tread. Paint odour of sweet roses dead Wakens again The echo of words softly, fondly said. Heard now with pain Across the bitter years, Where the strange woodland rears Dim masses to the fading of a bleak sun fled. Faint odour of sweet roses dead — Ah ! Love, what more ? What secret memories blown whence old glooms spread On Lethe's shore, In surging overflow Heap the wild gulfs of woe About a heart left lonely and a prostrate head ? 1871. NOTES. 1. p. 19. Sappho. The first four lines are translated from the well known fragment attri- buted to Sappho. Modem criticism holds them not to be by her, and further pitilessly mangle* the words it has made orphan. 2. p. 29. To THE Unknown God. This perhaps requires a word of explanation. It differs from the other poems in being not so much a work of free dramatic art, as a philosophy of History, done iuto rhyme. I begin not with marine jellies, nor even with our arboreal ancestor, but, where human history proper must always begin, with early eastern civilisation, and end with that whose completion can only be hoped for yet. 3. p. 44. At Nain. My only excuse for printing this piece in its present fragmentary con- dition — or, rather this mere fragment of a piece, is that I do not just now appeal to the judgment of the pubUo but seek the advice of friends. The drama, when completed, will deal with human life at the time when the diverse social systems of the ancient world were first crushed and melted together by Christian Persuasion and Roman Power. 4. p. 64. No Death, v. 3, 1. 4, v. 4, lines 6 and 7. It will be observed that these Mnes have been introduced into "At Suez " with but slight alterations. The circumstances of the composition of that poem, aa mentioned in the preface, will explain this. 72 I have spoken of Art and of Dramatic poetry, in tie preface and in these notes. It has been suggested that I should define the sense in which I employ these much used and much ahused phrases. I regard the Artist as one who, because the whole truth is too wide for man's power to recog- nise as divinely fair, and because he woxild have something at least proved to be so that faith may be aided in answering for the rest, through sound, or marble, or colour, or words, sets before us beauty which is only a part of truth, and, therefore wholly a lie. A Poet is lyrical in so far as he does not know he is a liar ; he is dramatic in so far as he is aware of this. The conscious liar is master of himself and of- his works ; by mingling many falsehoods he may very nearly reach the truth, The unconscious liar is slave to a few accidental sympathies. WW l' H 1' III iji;,:;;^ :l.^^ f;,i (,-': ^1 \h 'ul\ > )h Iff *J'^}{*'ftj/>