^ , n^33(^ yia^V'?'^^ Cornell University Library PR 4149.B55A1 1900 Poetical works 3 1924 013 437 854 The original of tliis 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/cu31924013437854 THE POETICAL WORKS OF MATHILDE BLIND THE POETICAL WORKS OF MATHILDE ^LIND EDITED BY ARTHUR SYMONS WITH A MEMOIR BY LONDON T. FISHER UNWIN PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1900 [^All rights reserved.^ PREFACE In preparing this edition of Mathilde Blind's Poetical Works, I have rearranged the contents of her five published volumes in a way that I think she would have approved. Having been appointed, in conjunction with Mr. Ludwig Mond, her literary executor, I made a selec- tion from her poems in 1897, which was published in a small volume, and I now complete a task which has been a pleasure, in the issue of a complete collected edition of her poems. No poems of any importance have been found among her papers since her death, and I have only met with one poem in a magazine, so that this edition is practically a reprint of the following volumes : The Prophecy of St. Oran, and other Poems, 1882 ; The Heather on Fire, 1886 ; The Ascent of Mem, 1889 ; Dramas in Miniature, 1891 ; Birds of Passage : Songs of the Orient and Occident, 1895 ; together with the few additional poems contained in the selection called Songs wnd Sonnets, 1893. I have followed the text of these volumes scrupulously, occasionally altering the punctu- ation where it was cleaily wrong. In one instance only have I made any variation from the printed text. A viii PREFACE copy of the St. Orcm volurae has been found, containing a number of corrections in MathUde Blind's handwriting. These corrections I have adopted. In arranging the contents of this collected edition I have put the three long poems first ; then, under the title of " Dramas in Miniature," the narrative poems in the volume of that name, among which I have inserted poems out of other volumes which seem to belong to this group. The lyrical poems follow, arranged into groups, somewhat on the lines of my Selection of 1897. My only real difficulty was in connection with " Love in BxUe," as Mathilde Blind herself published two versions of it, one in The Ascent of Man in 1889, and another in Songs cund Sonnets in 1893. For the text I have followed the second version, and I have left in their places the additional, formerly unpublished, poems which were then added. But I have omitted three poems which were inserted out of Dramas in Mirdatv/re, where they form part of a set of lyrics, evidently though not formally connected together. This set of lyrics I have put as a second part of " Love in Exile," and I have added a few other poems which seem to me to belong to the same sequence of moods. Then come " Poems of the Open Air," among which I have included not only the greater part of the poems originally published under that name in The Ascent of Man, but all those in other volumes which come under the same title. The " Songs of the Orient " are reprinted, exactly as they stand, from Birds of Passage. After these come a certain number of lyrical poems which do not fit into any of the main divisions of Mathilde Blind's work, and after these the Sonnets, PREFACE ix among which I have included aJl those sonnets which do not form an integral part of some longer poem, or of some definite series of poems. The only omission I have made is that of the notes to The Heather on Fire, which consist entirely in extracts from books, magazines, and newspapers, in reference to the Highland clearances. These, I imagine, which are already ancient history, can no longer have any interest for the reader of poetry, to whom this volume is offered on its own merits. ABTHUR SYMONS. London, November 4, 1899 CONTENTS Pbbpace .... Mbmoib bt Db. G-abnett The Pbophecy oi' St. Oban The Hbatheb on Pibb . The Ascent op Man : Prelude : Wings Part I. : Chaunts of Life A Symbol . Time's Shadow Part II. : The Pilgrim Soul Saving Love . Nirvana . Motherhood PAGE vii 1 47 89 157 158 189 190 190 200 200 201 CONTENTS Part III. : The Leading of Sorrow PA»E 202 Dramas in Miniatcbe : The Mystic's Vision . . 221 The Bussian Student's Tale . 224 Renunciation . . 22a The Teamster . . 233 Noonday Rest . . 242 The Message . . 243 A Mother's Dream . . 258 A Carnival Episode . . 264 A Bridal in the Bois de Boulogne 270 The Battle of Flowers . . 272 The Song of the Willi . 279 The Abandoned .... . 286 Scherzo ...'... . 289 LovB IN Exile : Love in Exile— I. . . , . . . 29£ Love in Exile— II. . . .316 Sundered Paths . . ... 324 On and On . 32£ Cross-Roads . . 32'i Lines . 821 The Forest Pool 32f Once We Played . 32i CONTENTS Affinities Seeking FAGS 330 331 Poems of the Open Aib : The Sower .... . 335 Eeapers . 336 A Spring Song .... . 337 April Rain .... . 338 The Sleeping Beauty . 389 Apple-Blossom . 339 The Music-Lesson . . 340 Pauper Poet's Song . 341 Snow or Snowdrops ? . 342 Song . 343 In Spring .... . 343 A Highland ViUage . 344 On a Forsaken Lark's Nest 346 The Street-Children's Dance . . 347 Apple-Gathering . 351 The Songs of Summer . . 353 Autumn Tints . 353 Green Leaves and Sere . . 354 The Hunter's Moon . 355 Roman Anemones . . 356 Ave Maria in Rome . 356 xiv CONTENTS PAGE The New Proserpine 357 Oagnes ... . . • 358 A Winter Landscape . . . 358 In the St. Gotthardt Pass ... 359 The Passing Year .... 359 The Robin Eedbreast ... . . 360 The Bed Sunsets, 1883 361 On the Lighthouse at Antibes .... 362 Spring in the Alps • 362 A White Night 364 The Moat .364 On a Torso of Oupid 365 The Mirror of Diana .... 367 SONGB OF THE ObIKNT : Prelude 371 Welcome to Egypt . .... 374 The Sphinx 375 Sphinx-Money ... . . 375 The Tombs of the Kings ... . . 376 Hymn to Horus 383 NMt ... . . 385 Egyptian Theosophy . , 386 The Moon of Ramadan . . 387 The Beautiful Beshareen Boy .... 391 The Dying Dragoman . 395 CONTENTS x^ A Fantasy ... . . PAGE, .,.400 The Desert 4oa Scarabsaus Sisyphus .... . 40ff The Colossi of the Plain . 406 Mourning Women . 406 The Sakiyeh . .... 407 Internal Piresittes . . 408 On Keacling the " Rubdiyat " of Omar KhayyAm in a Kentish Rose Garden . . 408 LxBicAL Poems : Song . 413 Pastiche . 413 On a Viola d'Amore . 415 A Child's Fancy . 416 Between Sleep and Waking . . 417 A Parable . 418 Love and the Muse . . 419 A Dream . 419 Love's Phantom 420 My Lady . .... . 421 As Many Stars ... . 422 To a Friend . 423 Perfect Union .... . 424 Soul-Drift 426 xvi CONTENTS FAQB Lassitude ^^'^ Rest *27i Sonnets : Sleep 431 Dead Love 433 Despair 432 Cleave thou the Waves 43£ The Dead 43c Hope . . i3i Sufiering -48^ AvayKri ...... ■ ■ 43i To Memory. . .... . 48( The After-glow . . • ■ 43( Love's Vision . . .... 43' On Guide's Aurora . ... 43' Sea-Musio -431 Shakespeare Sonnets : I. Anne Hathaway's Cottage ... 43! II. Anne Hathaway 48' III. Cleve Woods 44 IV. Lost Treasure . . .44 V. The Avon .... .44 VI. Evensong (Holy Trinity Church) . . 44 VII. Shakespeare 44 VIII. Cedars of Lebanon at Warwick Castle 44 CONTENTS xvii PAGE To the Obelisk during the Great Frost, 1881 . 444 Manchester by Night 445 Mystery of Mysteries 445 The Agnostic . . 446 Heart's-Ease ... ... 447 Untimely Love .... , . 447 Haunted Streets .... . . 448 Christmas Eve .... . 449 The Evening of the Year . ... 449 New Year's Eve . . . 450 NOTHB 453 MEMOIE MEMOIR Mathilde Blind, whose patronymic was Cohen, was born at Mannheun on March 21, 1841. Her father, a retired banker of independent means, elderly and widowed, was positive and practical : her mother, young and lively, combined sweetness and depth with great cheerfulness and liveliness of character, and possessed the beauty which, equally with many of her mental character- istics, became her daughter's heritage. The dissimi- larity between her parents both in age and temperament undoubtedly left deep traces on her mental constitution. After the death of her father, her mother married Dr. Karl Blind, and, some years later, Mathilde, as well as a younger brother, Ferdinand, assumed the name of their step-father. Mathilda's birth had taken place at a period of pro- found external peace, but amid a society pervaded by deep and just political discontent, the more dangerous from the arbitrary suppression of every external mani- festation. She wanted just a month of seven years when the long-smothered mass of slowly accumulating anger and disgust caught iire from the explosion of the French Revolution of February, 1848. All Germany was speedily in a blaze, and nowhere did a fiercer agitation prevaU than in the Grand Duchy of Baden, to which Mathilde Blind belonged by birth. Here the movement assumed a republican complexion, unlike the more general feeling 2 1 2 MEMOIR of Germans that new life might yet be infused into the old forms. Mr. Karl Blind, who, although a young man, was already well known as an ardent republican, and the subject of prosecutions for offences of the press, ending in acquittals, threw himself with ardour into the revolu- tionary movement. After a year of revolutionary events, during which Karl Blind was arrested on the failure of a popular rising of which he was a leader, and confined as a prisoner of war for eight months, but rescued by the people, a republican government was estabUshed in 1849, and Mr. Blind was despatched to represent it in Paris. By this time, however, the reaction had triumphed in Vienna and Berlin, and the Prince of Prussia, afterwards the Emperor William the First, entering the Grand Duchy at the head of a Prussian army, put down the revolution after a gallant resistance. Karl Blind took refuge in Bel- gium, which, after three years, he was compelled to quit in consequence of pressure applied to the Belgian Govern- ment by the Government of France. He sought an asylum in England, accompanied by his wife, his step-children, and two infant children by her second marriage. The exiles established themselves in St. John's Wood. It would probably have been impossible to have devised a situation better adapted to evoke the characteristics which Nature had implanted in Mathilde. Those who knew her only in later life can, nevertheless, easily realise the charm and at the same time the singularity which must have attached to her childhood. Lovely with a rare loveliness she must have been, but there is a difficulty in conceiving her with the tastes and pursuits of ordinary girlhood. The independence which distinguished her for good and ill must have been exceedingly conspicuous. All circumstances conspired to nurture it — the estrange- ment from her native land, the devotion with which her MEMOIR 3 mother, attentive to her intellectual development, kept ordinary cares and incidents aloof from her, the general atmosphere of revolt which must inevitably pervade a society of political refugees. In such a society admiration must necessarily be reserved for audacity in enterprise, fortitude in adversity, the enthusiasm of self-sacrificing patriotism, or what was so esteemed, anything breathing unconquerable defiance of the powers that were. The conversation of the exiles of many nationalities who frequented the house, some men of high capacity and distinguished achievement, and none without their frag- ment of romance and tale of sufferings deserved or undeserved, must have powerfully stimulated her imagi- nation, and endowed her with a premature knowledge of the world, and ideas and ideals unknown to most maidens of such tender years. Late in life, MathUde Blind began an autobiography, of which, unfortunately, little remains. It would seem to have been intended to commence with her earliest recollections ; but, if these were ever committed to paper, the manuscript is lost or has perished. It is not easy to determine its contemplated extent or its precise purpose. To judge by what remains, it was not intended as a complete history of her life. Family circumstances are never alluded to, and the object would rather seem to have been to touch upon such incidents only as she felt to be significant for her moral and intellectual develop- ment. It is not, like some famous autobiographies, a blending of Dichttmg und Wahrheit ; every circumstance related appears to be strictly matter-of-fact. The persons introduced are undoubtedly real, but their names are, with few exceptions, fictitious. Mathilde "herself figures as "Alma." The portions preserved, relating solely to her early life as a schoolgirl in England and as a, tra,veller 4 MEMOIR in Switzerland, contribute little to the knowledge of her history, while they are characteristic examples of her style of thought and composition. MathOde Blind's first schooling was in Belgium. She mentions in a letter having subsequently attended two or three very unsatisfactory schools in England, but her most reliable training was due to her mother, even though she states in her autobiography that from twelve to four- teen she "acted as her own teacher." At the latter age she was sent to another school, the best then to be had in St. John's Wood, but unfortunate in so far as concerned the Head Mistress, who is described as a clergyman's widow bringing up a family in narrow circumstances, with curled sandy hair, a washed-out complexion, and pale grey eyes which gazed on the world through very dim spectacles. Much of the lady's time was spent in medi- tating upon the Millennium, and composing an interpreta- tion of the prophecies of Daniel. Left to themselves, the girls, at least the cleverest among them, " passed much of their time in writing novels and verses, in editing a journal, and in acting Dickens." As is so common with sensitive and imaginative young people, MathUde fell violently in love with one of her schoolfellows. " The whole school was agreed that Amy was a beautiful girl, but to me she appeared a divinity." The charm would seem to have chiefly consisted in Amy's total unJikeness to her adorer, whose homage she accepted without com- prehending it. Nor could her unsentimental and abrupt mother understand how so clever a girl as Mathilde should take a fancy to " a big lackadaisical useless kind of a creature, not good for much in the house or out of it." But there must have been true, if illusive, poetry in the attachment, for long after it had passed away MathUde could write ; — MEMOIR S. " Whenever I thini of that house I am agam conscious of the atmosphere that pervaded it. A scent of sandal- wood and lavender is faintly perceptible. The partially drawn blinds diffuse a mellow half light. The air steaUng- through an open window puffs out the white muslin curtains ; hlac bushes and clematis cling to the wall out- side. A girl sits at the piano with smooth, light-brown hair slightly fluffed on either side of her face like a dove's wing. She is playing Mendelssohn's ' Songs without Words.' The whole place breathes purity and peace. Girls in fresh, spotless gowns move about the rooms. In the evening quick steps and fresh young voices break on the stillness when the men return from the City ; brothers and cousins — mostly tall and handsome, bringing with them a sense of hfe and movement." Amy's younger sister Veronica made up in a measure for what was wanting in Amy, and a year passed in delightful intimacy among the three, which was destined to be interrupted in an imforeseen manner. Veronica's confirmation brought on talk of theology, to which Mathilde had hitherto been a stranger. Another school friend, Lizzie Letchford (it will be understood that all these names are pseudonyms), lent her a Bible, and encouraged her to study it with more attention than heretofore. Mathilde found herself in a new world, on which she thus reflects in after years : — ■ " I had hitherto lived in a castle of dreams. I had watched the shadows of the outer world in that magic mirror we call poetry, and the reflection was more enchanting than the thing reflected. And in this vision of life the riddle of it had never yet touched or humbled me. I lived in a region where pleasure lost its fever and pain its sting. Sensation came through a softening medium in which discords were resolved into harmony. 6 MEMOIR In other words, if I did not exactly pass my youth in the Garden of Eden it was passed in that Earthly Paradise which the poets have planted with immortelles. This way of entering the world has perils of its own. When yon have once tasted life so finely, when fact has come to you sifted from all its baser constituents, when the flowers of passion have been presented to you tied in a nosegay by the supersensitive hands of a Shelley or a Heine, reality is apt to strike you as crude and common- place, if not actually to inspire you with a sense of repul- sion. In the daily round of life you will sicken with a nostalgia for that ideal country to which it is difficult to return when childhood is over. You will always com- pare ordinary folk with those ideal types which are the final results of the finest selection by the finest minds which is the secret of art. " Yet art, with the exception of the noble Greek drama, is not a good preparation for life. Its ethical meaning is too subtly interwoven with the very texture of the character in conflict with life. You need experience to unravel it. Eeligion deals with the home-truths of morality in a much simpler way, besides giving them a sanction which puts them beyond the reach of appeal. In making the love of God the basis of man's relation to man it brings home to the humblest the immutability of law. " In a certain sense I had turned Christian for a time. I did not trouble my head about the evidences of Christianity. I put aside all troublesome inquiries about the possibility of reconciling its tenets with the known order of the universe. I wanted a belief : so I ignored everything that it was impossible to reconcile with the natural order, and went straight to the heart of this profoundly personal religion." There is no saying what might for a time have befallen MEMOIR 7 the impulsive girl, thus introduced to an order of ideas possessing so much attraction for tender and sensitive minds, but for a counter influence developed at the same time. Mathilde had another school friend : — ■ " Blanche often broached the subject of the plenary inspiration of the Bible, and as we had some books on geology in concert she again and again came back to the strange discrepancies between the account of Creation in Genesis and the history of our globe as revealed to us by the rocks and stones. She prompted me to look up evidences on the subject in works to which I had access and she had none. I went to work with a headlong eagerness which kept me up night after night for many months till the small hours, reading, comparing, anno- tating ; nothing came amiss to me, from Butler's ' Analogy ' and Paley's ' Evidences ' to Max Mtiller's ' Comparative Mythology.' The veil of Christian senti- ments in which I had tried to envelop myself dispersed like a vapour. The results of these nocturnal researches were communicated to Blanche every day during our hour of recreation and thirstily received by her. When we read Cain together one evening the magnificent speech of Lucifer put us in such a transport that we fell into each other's arms with a sob of delight. It was the last time we were destined to see each other." Apart from its personal interest, this chapter of our heroine's experience illustrates questions which will soon become acute in the management of public education. No wise or right-thinking person would wish rehgious instruction omitted from the school course, but how is religious instruction to be defined ? The great majority of ministers of religion would understand by it such a course of instruction as that which in Mathilde Blind's case, and that of thousands besides, was dissipated by the 8 MEMOIR first contact with free unbiassed inquiry. It is easy to say that this would not have happened if the Bible had been taught her rationally; and such may indeed be the case. But the problem of reconciling the mature and the earnest teacher's desire to impart the truth with the tenderness due to the innate trust and reverence of a young mind, is a most difiBioult one, and it is to be wished that some of the thought bestowed on less important matters were given to its solution. Mathilde quickly found inquiry synonymous with martyrdom, and, hard as the saying seems, it is difficult to see how it could have been otherwise. The inquiries, which, though no doubt they might with advantage have been deferred to a later period of her career, were merely representatives of a phase through which every thinking young person had passed, was passing, or would pass, produced results comparable in a small way with Shelley's expulsion from the University of Oxford. Her researches and her conclusions having come to hght, the question was plainly put to her, would she give up her heretical opinions ? Upon conviction, yes ; upon com- pulsion, no. Her school training and her school friend- ships consequently came to an end, and she had, in a sense, to begin the world again. An expressive gap in her autobiography eloquently speaks the intensity of her anguish. When the curtain is raised again, we find her at Zurich, in the house of her maternal uncle, Mr. Eies, at the end of 1859. She undertook a walking tour through the lonely parts of Switzerland by herself, a very unusual feat at that time ; but her great and keen enjoy- ment of the wildest aspects of nature fully compensated her for the unavoidable difficulties so young and inex- perienced a traveller was almost certain to encounter. On one occasion she found it necessary to instil respect MEMOIR 9 for her sex into an impertinent Frenchman by boxing his ears. The inconvenience incidental to tourists of the empty purse she parried in a measure by subsisting upon choco- late, but happily, just at the moment when this regime was beginning to be deleterious, she was dehvered by a lucky encounter with English friends, the family of one of her old schoolfellows, who not only put financial matters to rights, but " saw me to the station and took my ticket to Zurich, for they declared I could not be trusted out of their sight until settled in the train, otherwise I might perhaps turn up at the Caucasus. For I had great hankerings after that region, having heard from a traveller I met at Grindelwald that its mountain scenery far surpassed anything in the Alps." The Alpine scenery nevertheless' delighted her intensely, and its beauties are eloquently celebrated: — - "For once I felt truly free. My body, pliant to my soul, moved rhythmically to the sound of the rushing stream. The sky, of a deep sapphire, was alive with clouds, high white clouds changing chameleon-Uke as the sun and wind touched their ethereal substance. Some- times they stood on tiptoe on the top of a mountain peak like columbines balancing themselves on the shoulders of a giant. Innumerable waterfalls came rushing from in- visible glaciers — sometimes in a broad torrent that dashed foaming down to the stream ; sometimes in a soft froth like the milk with which the Alps, those Mothers of Europe, were feeding the land. "A very few things in this life have exceeded my expectations. The Alps, aglow like mountains of roses round a heavenly Jerusalem, receding range beyond range into airier infinitudes of light, a vision like the last part of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony turned into visible form and beckoning something deep down usually 10 MEMOIR ignored or apparently non-existent in some depth of being below an habitual consciousness — something latent within leaping up, irresistibly yearning to that glorified region as if they two belonged to each other from ever- lasting to everlasting. What a sensation, momentary and yet to be kept through life as one of its treasures ! " " It was a great leap," she says, "from the schooh-oom to the group of brilliant revolutionists with whom, a week or two after my arrival, I was on the most intimate terms. So many witty, original fascinating, dare-devil spirits as formed Madame Helder's [i.e., Herwegh's] circle it is rare to meet together." Unfortunately the account she must have intended to give of this circle was either never committed to writing, or has been lost. The only per- sons mentioned by their real names in her Swiss recol- lections are the eminent critic Kuno Fischer and his wife. The latter had enjoyed what many ladies would consider the singular advantage of being brought up as a boy. In consequence she knew Latin and Greek, and bathed in the Lake of Zurich in the depth of winter: if it was frozen, well, then the ice was broken. We presume not to determine whether these circumstances stood in any sort of connection with her lack of personal attractions, " one of the plainest of women, thin-Kpped and coarse-skinned, with the profile of a crow and its sharp, vigilant eye." She taught MathUde Latin; in- struction in Old and Middle German was imparted by Professor Fischer himself, " one of the mildest of naen, with the abstract gaze of the scholar for whom the external world hardly exists." He took an interest in his pupil, and not merely construed the Minnesingers with her, but expounded the principles of philology, " taking the words as if they were living beings. It was a life full of rich and diversified impressions." MEMOIR 11 After her return from Switzerland Mathilde spent several years with her family in England — an existence varied by frequent visits to the Continent, upon one occasion extending as far as Italy, and by a happy summer, of which she long afterwards spoke with rapture, spent in Wales with her friend, the present Mrs. Wolfsohn. Otherwise, her time seems to have been chiefly given to self -culture ; at one time she studied Kant with enthusiasm ; and she became well versed in the Bible, Shakespeare, and Goethe. Of her early poetical productions the most remarkable were a spirited Grerman ode composed for the celebration of the SchiUer Centenary at Bradford, and a tragedy on Bobespierre, commended by Louis Blanc. One powerful stimulus to her development was afforded by acquaintance with the numerous distinguished foreign exiles, who, about this time, were frequently to be found at her stepfather's house. Mazzini, always potent with the young, exerted a pro- digious influence upon her; she was also intimately acquainted with the Polish patriot Langiewicz, Louis Blanc, and many eminent Germans. One of these — Mrs. Freiligraith-Kroeker, daughter of Ferdinand Freiligrath — has favoured us with some charming though general reminiscences : — " Mathilde Blind takes a prominent place in my girl- life, although she was several years older than I was. But our tastes and inclinations drew us together, and we had great talks on literature — ^that is to say, she talked and I listened — and I well remember how I looked up with admiration as she quoted Goethe and SchiUer, or commented on the wit and beauty of Heine. She was — at the time I am speaking of, about the end of the ■ fifties — well grounded in German literature, from which afterwards she rather drifted away. She had 12 MEMOIR already commenced writing poetry, and I remember one evening when we were dining at Dr. and Mrs. Julius Althaus's, that she was requested to read a poem of her own. I also recollect the interest with which my father listened to the fair young poetess, as she read or recited a poem redolent of moorland and heather. We often met at the house of mutual friends, and I was always impressed by the range of talk which Mathilde Blind easUy covered. But there was one side to her nature, as I knew her then, which perhaps subsequent friends will not so easily recognise in the Mathilde Blind of later years. I mean her passion for dancing I Youth is the time for dancing, and I was fond of it myself, but I think I never saw any one so absorbed by it for the time and hour as was Mathilde Bhnd. I had plenty of opportunities for noting this, for we sometimes had small carpet dances to which Mathilde was asked as a bright and particular star ; or she would give a similar entertain- ment, or we would meet at some German public ball which the German Liederkranz was wont to give annually. It is to me a pleasure to remember Mathilde Blind as she was then, nor do I recollect ever having seen more dazzling and vivid beauty than was hers. When she came into a room, were it ever so large, she would draw all eyes to her, and when, years later, I read ' Esmond ' and came to the passage where Beatrix is described as entering the theatre and compelling all glances by her triumphant beauty, I was always reminded of Mathilde Blind. From the time of her coming into a ball-room to the time of her leaving it, she would be besieged by numberless applicants, but I firmly believe that the homage and admiration of those days were almost a matter of indifference to the beautiful young girl, who simply danced for the enjoyment of dancing. This MEMOIR 13 passionate throwing of herself into one thing with all her soul was emmently characteristic of her. She used to dress well, too, and gave thought to her raiment, which at that time always set off and enhanced her burnished hair, that had a thread of gold hidden somewhere in its dusky masses, and her glorious eyes that were so eloquent of speech. Soon afterwards, however, Mathilde went to Germany and Switzerland, and I lost sight of her for some years ; and then came her long stay in Man- chester with Madox Brown's family. In her later life I often met her again, but she was then known and admired by so large a circle of friends that our subsequent meetings as women can tell nothing new. It is in her early girlhood and young womanhood that she stands out, a vivid memory to me for all time." Some years had yet to pass ere Mathilde Blind could attempt anything of note in literature, and the fullest expression of her inner being through the pen is to be found in her correspondence with her friend already mentioned, Lily Wolfsohn, extracts from which we have been permitted to consult. Many of their revelations of thought and feehng are of the profoundest interest, but anything like an adequate selection would exceed the limits of this brief memoir. Some notice, however, may be taken of the acquaintance with remarkable men already referred to as one of the chief agents in moulding her character. The arrival of Garibaldi in England, in 1864, naturally stimulated her enthusiasm in the highest degree, and the account of his triumphal reception is most spirited and interesting. Introduced to the hero, she found him dignified, calm, unassuming, but somewhat deficient in the personal magnetism with which her imagination had endowed him. On rare occasions, however, the fire flashed out. Once when Garibaldi was 14 MEMOIR visiting Mr. Blind " he praised the Bhine wine we offered, and said, ' Ah, I'Allemagne a du bon vin, I'ltalie aussi pouvait I'avoir et en grande quantite ; o'est la faute de son gouvernement qu'eUe ne I'a pas; mais ce serait une trop longue histoire k vous center maintenant ; 9a prendrait des heures, mais I'ltalie est trfes mal gouvem^e, ^norm^ment mal gouvern^e.' He said, too, ' Les Italiens sont trop mous, o'est la faute de leurs prStres.' He said aU this with great emphasis. When he says something of that kind, his harmonious voice acquires a reaUy grand and penetrating tone. He also said that he wished to speak of Poland — ^that one ought not to let Poland die — for she gave an example that aU peoples ought to imitate ; everything ought to be done to succour Poland; she alone threw herself against tyrants, she did not cry for help like other peoples, not for money nor for arms ; if she had no sword she took an axe; she would die, but not submit. Ennobling, touching, and unforgettable was the fire with which he said all this." Mathilde Blind also had the advantage of listening to a conversation between Garibaldi and Ledru-Kollin, from which it evidently appeared that these champions of liberty did not object to a despotism so long as they were the despots, Ledru-Eollin asserting, and Garibaldi agree- ing, that the French Republic of 1848 perished for want of a temporary dictator. Ledru-RoUin no doubt thought that the dictator could be no other man than himself, but it is by no means certain that a corresponding idea occurred to the modest Garibaldi. Congratulated on the extraordinary enthusiasm of his reception by the London crowds, he rephed, " O'est ma bonne fortune, ce n'est pas mon m^rite. J'esp^re bien que ce n'est pas du feu de paiUe I " MEMOIR 15 MazzLni, nevertheless, was Mathilde's especial hero, and no one who talked with her respecting him could doubt the genuineness of the "boundless veneration" with which in these letters she represents this modern Dante as having inspired her. She frequently, however, ventured to contradict his views, and on some points her more youthful and flexible intellect seems to have had the advantage over the austere, indescribably pure and elevated, but for that very reason somewhat narrow mind that already in some measure represented a past genera- tion. Their differences about Byron are almost amusing, evident as it is that chronology was at the bottom of them. Mathilde in 1830 would have felt exactly as Mazzini still felt in 1860. Though not placing Byron on the pedestal accorded to him by his EngUsh con- temporaries and Continental imitators, Mathilde did not lack enthusiasm for the poet whose letters she was after- wards to edit ; she had read " Childe Harold " eight times, and almost knew it by heart. On matters more imme- diately affecting her own personality Mazzini was the same helpful and inspiring teacher to Mathilde as he was to all within the range of his influence. Once at the moment of leave-taking, he reproached her vidth being an aristo- crat, " because I had more feeling for the sufferings of celebrated people than for those of unknown persons.' ' "I ran like lightning to put on my bonnet, rushed downstairs again, and soon overtook him outside the house. As we turned the corner I was so pleased at the success of my trick that I jumped and clapped my hands. Mazzini looked at me as one often looks at a child. He quite understood my action, and did not object to my walking with him. I accompanied him as far as the middle of Hyde Park ; our conversation turned on the most serious questions of life. It is so deeply engraved on my mind 16 MEMOIR that I can never forget it. He said I was too impatient, and demanded that the aims of my life should grow up in one night like mushrooms. I ought to make myself clear about life and the world, learn to understand their plan and results in general and particular. To this end he recommended, on the one hand, that I should carry on a serious study which should commence with astronomy, proceed to geology, and then to history from its first beginnings, in connection with philosophy, down to the present time. Naturally I have already begun, and was fairly dazzled with the infinite distances that opened out before me as if by magic. On the other hand, he said that I ought to examine my own character, which task is too often neglected in the crowd of daily events, and should strive in every way to advance spiritually. I spoke with extreme frankness ; it is wonderful how one feels exactly how far a person, even if he speak no word, is really sympathetic to one. I parted from him at last with infinite peace in my soul, repeating to myself every word that I had heard. How this man, with his fire, his glowing eloquence, his holy zeal, carries one away 1 I hang with my whole soul upon his every word, I drink them all in with the same greediness with which a flower drinks in the rain, and I should like to remember every single word for ever." Mazzini's tastes in scent and song deserve record, as characteristic of the ascetic nature of the man. " I do not," he said, " Kke the smeU of a rose; it is eastern, it is sensuous ; there is nothing rousing or stirring in the odour. I love the smell of the lily of the valley, it is so pure and fresh ; and of the jasmine, because in it the two qualities of odour are represented ; there is the eastern languishing, but also the rousing, pricking essence which is needed to neutralise the first ; all things that are per- MEMOIR 17 feet must embrace the two. I hold it quite a prejudice, this admiration of the rose and the nightingale. I love the lark far more, it is the most spiritual of birds, singing far up in the sky, and full of unutterable joy and song." Mazzini said on one occasion : " All that I have achieved in my life has only succeeded through perseverance." His influence on MathUde Blind was shown by his inducing her to undertake a task of all others most repugnant to her nature, that of sturdy begging for patriotic objects. No one who knew her wUl doubt that it would have been easier for her to have herself contributed a pound than to have asked another person for a penny ; nevertheless, she heroically approached the postman, who actually did give a penny, and by and by another postman came voluntarily with another penny, saying he understood that there was a collection for Garibaldi. It is a proof of the superior efficacy of persons in comparison with principles that few would give any- thing unless Garibaldi's name was somehow introduced. Altogether a sovereign was raised, and MathUde accepted an honourable discharge from the duties of collector from that time forth. On one occasion, however, she endeavoured to convert an Irish girl who declared herself on the side of the Pope by telling her that if Garibaldi got the upper hand he would send all the little girls in Borne to school. It does not appear whether the little girl from Ireland thought this a captivating prospect, and in fact Mathilde Blind was always rather magnetic than persuasive. The Polish general Langiewicz was deservedly con- sidered a hero in his brief day, but, having found no opportunity for a repetition of his exploits, has almost passed out of remembrance, which Mathilde's description of him may help to revive : — 18 MEMOIR " He is merry and very amiable, but seems to me to have at bottom a very granite character. If I do not mistake, he is of a positive, practical, iron nature, inwhioh reason preponderates, and possesses a kind of frozen enthusiasm, which is the most dangerous of all. There is something masterful in his fuU dark eyes, and in many small particulars they are liie those of a man accustomed to quell wild animals with his glance — ^totally different from the mild dignity which lies in Garibaldi's eyes." From the age of about five-and-twenty onwards the question of raising the status of woraen occupied a large share in Mathilde's thoughts. She could do little else than meditate upon it, and discuss it by speech and writing with sympathetic friends like Mr. Moncure Con- way ; not possessing enough business habits and organi- sing talent to be of any service upon a committee, while her public addresses transcended the ordinary range of thought. Though she could not avoid being professedly an advocate of female franchise, she in reahty only oared for it inasmuch as the concession would have removed what she regarded as a stigma, the apparent conse- cration by law of the principle of woman's inferiority to man. She was in favour of women following all callings, except the miUtary and naval, and when in- vited by the present writer to consider the consequence of throwing a mass of cheap labour into occupations much overstocked, she rejoined, with decision, that the men might emigrate, as they probably may whenever the women shall have preceded them. She seized, nevertheless, with real discernment, upon the root of women's inferiority, the inferiority of women's educa- tion. Among the numerous companions of her girl- hood, she was the only one who could be considered well educated, and she had educated herself. It MBMOin 1ft was not from want of talent, or of desire to excel ; within the range of her own acquaintances she had seen numbers of lives intellectually wrecked by parents' obstinate ad- herence to conventional schemes of education and of life. She felt and wrote admirably upon the subject; and it is probable that the design by which Newnham CoUege was eventually to benefit was formed at this time, when there seemed sHght prospect of her ever being in a, position to realise it. It was natural that with these f eehngs she should be especially attracted by those female writers who have shown that in certain fields woman can rival man. George Eliot she admired enthusiastically, George Sand more temperately, but few books of the age impressed her so powerfully as Mrs. Browning's " Aurora Leigh." She there found the confirmation of her own thoughts on " soulless, unspiritual education, where everything is nipped in the bud and crushed to nothingness," and " the first revelation of the world through poetry." This remarkable poem, overestimated in its own day, has been so unduly disparaged since, that it is a pleasure to find how capable it has been — and why should it not con- tinue to be ? — of inspiring young and ardent minds with thoughts remote from the convent and the catacomb : — " At the same time," adds MathUde, " it is not merely a series of beautiful passages, but it is really a whole, springing from the depths of thought, and the reflections, descriptions of nature, the wonderful atmo- sphere are, to me, like the delicate blossoms of a tree, not there for themselves alone." -Not even George Eliot or Elizabeth Barrett Browning, however, produced so much effect upon MathUde BHnd as Carlyle ; the greater, perhaps, because Carlyle was in a manner antagonistic to her. " My spirit rebels," she says, but she had to go on reading. " The French 20 MEMOIR Bevolution " was an especial favourite with her, and came to excellent account when she afterwards wrote the hfe of Madame Eoland. She protested with reason against Carlyle's contempt for the innocent enjoy- ments of hfe. " I keep to the motto of Mirza Schafify, 'As the fruits of the field flourish under sunshine and rain, so the deeds of men under joy and sorrow.' " The influence of another ilLustrious writer of the period was personal as well as merely literary. She frequently met Mr. Swinburne, and heard him read his poems, which she herself was much in the habit of reading aloud in private circles : — " Swinburne read to us in the evening the first part of ' Tristram and Iseult.' I was very much struck with it ; it is certainly one of the finest things he has ever written, and whenever I happen to meet Swinburne I am struck afresh by the wonderful vitality and verve of the man's mind. His conversation has the same bracing effect upon me in one way as sea-winds have in another, and I am conscious of a vibration after it for days and weeks together." Mr. Swinburne imbued her to a certain extent with, his own enthusiasm for Victor Hugo, whose works she perused very conscientiously, but — " Est modus in rebus, sunt oerti denique fines." And she had to admit that " It was no laughing matter To read through L'Homme qui rit " ! The magnificence of " La Legende des Siecles " greatly impressed her, as did Mr. Swinburne's own " Songs before Sunrise" and "BothweU" at a later date. Browning she greatly admired. Tennyson was compara- tively unappreciated until her latter days, when she was wont to speak of him with enthusiasm. MEMOIR 21 Perhaps, however, no author of the day impressed Mathilde so powerfully for a time, or rendered her such permanent service, as one then famous, but now, though unforgotten, comparatively little read — Henry Thomas Buckle. The effect he produced, as she herself implies, arose less from the power of his message than from its seasonableness. A year before it might have been too soon for efficacy ; a year afterwards it might have been too late. It is indeed a momentous discovery when one learns that Law, not Chance or Caprice, regulates the universe, and great is the part performed by him who brings the message, be he himself a great man or a small. Buckle, an intermediate man, came at the right moment, and impressed upon her a lesson essential for her peace. " What helped me ? What took this soul of mine on the verge of a blank atheism, of utter denial and despair ; what took it and led it out of itself to the calm and awful centre of things ? It was Buckle. I verily think I owe to him what I owe to no other human being — an eternal debt of gratitude for the work he has left. I somehow feel as if the great thanks with which I thanked him must have reached him wherever and whatsoever he is in this great mysterious universe. It was the right book at the right time, the serene proclamation of law as he unrolled the history of humanity before me from its earliest germs — not the perplexed history of facts which vexes the soul with the confused din and uproar of purposeless flux and reflux — but the eternal underlying history which holds on its calm and even course, a history whose serenity and solemnity are like the light of stars ! For wherever we do not understand there is darkness, sorrow, wrong ; but wherever we do understand there is light, triumph, and unity. I did not read easily, it was a hard battle. I would begin with the same chapter day 22 MEMOIR after day, with a dogged patience, till I found my mind capable of grasping an idea. The large, strong truths gradually saturated my mind, and I literally drank in that chapter on the ' comparison between moral and intel- lectual laws.' Gradually my mind seemed to recover as from a long sickness, and to rebound with a vigour and energy difficult to describe. Had I ever loved poetry before ? or the earth and the sea ? or the sun and the sky ? for now all these came back to me like lovers long parted. Song continually vibrated in me, and floated roimd me on shimmering wing. And yet, all the while, there was a great sorrow at my heart, patient and stUl, which never moved away. I think I know now what Goethe meant by ' the divine depths of pain.' " Except for the German ode already mentioned as composed for Schiller's centenary in 1859, Mathilde made her first appearance as an authoress in 1867, in a little volume of poems pubUshed under the pseudonym of Claude Lake. Exceedingly slight as these were, they yet contained sufficient proof that the author was a poet. A certain element of school-girlishness may be aooomited for, either by the pieces being partly of considerably earlier date, or by the youthful freshness of feeling which, in spite of thought and study and dis- appointment, and struggles with herself and her sur- roundings, she yet retained in a surprising degree. The frequent exuberance of her spirits had in the previous year been sobered by a grievous catastrophe, the death by his own hand of her brother Ferdinand, a noble-spirited but too impetuous youth, who, in a transport of patriotic indignation against Prince Bismarck, attempted the minister's life. Bismarck was at the time accused — although, as future events showed, erroneously — of being on the verge of ruining Germany by a causeless MEMOIR 23 war. The great minister did justice to the misguided patriotism of the youth by saying in later years in the Eeichstag: "His (Ferdinand's) dead body became the object of a cult ; that ladies of considerable name, whose husbands enjoyed a certain reputation in the scientific world, crowned it with laurels and flowers, and that this was tolerated by the police — the mass of the ordinary officials, perhaps even some of the higher ones, being rather on his side." The present writer saw Mathilde for the first time draped in the deepest mourning for this event, and the impression of combined beauty, dignity, and sorrow will never be effaced from his recollection. After the publication of her first verses Mathilde continued to write poetry, and also produced " Blue Ogwen," a successful tale for children. Her atten- tion, however, was partly diverted from literary com- position by the idea she then entertained that she might succeed as a leotiirer. No species of success could have been more thoroughly enjoyed by her, had it been within her reach, but with many qualifi- cations for an orator, she had serious disadvantages. Her beauty and her earnestness were entirely in her favour, her diction was pure, but her accent was not. She had quitted Baden too late to escape the harsh South German intonation, which told heavily against her. And, in truth, her eloquence, though striking, was not the kind of eloquence that lends itself to a set speech. She shone principally in conversation, her brilliant things were sparks struck out from the collision of mind with mind. Always fluent and animated, never disposed to engross conversation unduly, she was admirable whether in a tete-a-tete or as the centre of a group of congenial spirits. Could she but have discoursed as she conversed, all would have been 24 MEMOIR well, but the life and spirit which friendly argument would have evoked was absent from a speech laboriously committed to paper, and she could not trust herself to speak extempore. Pubho discussion would have suited her well ; as the hostess of a brilhant salon, could she but have escaped the danger of being monopoUsed by the most distinguished among her guests, she might have been a second Eoland or Eahel. As it was, the auditors of her lectures certainly took away an impression of remarkable ability, but it was ability to make the best of an uncongenial element. The auditors of her colloquies departed with other feelings : " I do not remember," says Mr. Watts-Dunton, "that she ever talked with me upon any subject that was not connected with poetry or art or science or those great issues of the human story about which she thought so deeply and felt so keenly.'' She continued to dehver pubhc addresses, though at considerable intervals, for several years. The most mportant were one on the Volsunga Saga, as translated by WiUiam Morris, delivered in May, 1870, to a highly intellectual audience in St. John's Wood ; and one on Shelley delivered in St. George's Hall in December, 1869, the only one which attained the honour of print. This gained her the acquaintance of Dr. John Chap- man, editor of the Westminster Bevieio, who in the following July inserted an article on Shelley from her pen. This essay, mainly an ethical and sesthetioal criticism, embodied a number of important corrections of Shelley's text, communicated to her by the present writer, who had derived them from an examination of the original manuscripts of Shelley's poems then pre- served at Boscombe, and now in the Bodleian. They have been turned to account in all subsequent editions. MEMOIR 25 The most remarkable passage in the essay proper was an eloquent appreciation of Shelley's Cythna, as the ideal of emancipated and regenerated womanhood, which should rebuke the comparative neglect of " The Eevolt of Islam," a poem inferior in the essentials of poetry to none of its author's writings. A few years later Mathilde wrote an abridged biography of Shelley for the Tauchnitz edition. About the same time she visited Sir Percy and Lady Shelley at Boscombe, and saw the Shelley rehcs deposited there at that time. " You can imagine," she writes to Mrs. Wolfsohn, "how interesting aU this was to me, as was also my talk with Lady Shelley, who is an ardent spirituaUst. I shall not easily forget a walk through the grounds on one of those tender misty February days when there is a stir and qtiiver of song in every tree, and she described to me the strangest experience, which yet scarcely seemed so strange when heard amid that mystical murmur of pine trees and faint lapping of the tide below.'' In 1871, Mathilde, while maintaining affectionate re- lations with her family, took a horae for herself, and from this time it is less easy to trace the continuous story of her life. She rarely remained long in one place, for even if she conceived no distaste to her quarters ilnpulse was continually calling her away to rural beauty in England, or romantic scenery in Scotland, or Switzerland, or Italy. The state of her health, moreover, after a while came to require frequent change, to ward off the bronchitis which became almost habitual in cold or otherwise unfavourable weather. When able to remain in London, however, she oontipued to be as much prized as ever by a wide circle of friends, among whom after her brother, her sister, and Mr. Charles Hancock, her brother-in-law, may especially be named Mr. Eirikr Magnusson, now assistant librarian 26 MEMOIR of the Cambridge University Library; Mrs. W. K. Clif- ford, whose husband, so early lost to science, had been an intimate friend ; Mr. Moncure Conway ; Mr. and Mrs. Wilham Eossetti; above all, Mr. and Mrs. Ford Madox Brown, and, at a later date, Mr. and Mrs. William Sharp. When in health her enjoyment of her friends' society was perfect, and her hospitality most genial. And if her life suffered from the frequent mutation of domicile, it gained greatly in consistency and unity of purpose. From this time forth she had but one objectj to express herself adequately in literature, more especially in poetry. In spite of fluctuating health, uncertain circumstances, and the long spells of de- pression, during which she was incapable of literary work, it is astonishing how much she accomplished. The history of her life is henceforth mainly in her writings. Mathilde's first important literary labour, however, was not original work but a translation, being a render- ing of Strauss's book, " The Old Faith and the New " (1873). Nothing was more characteristic of her than the instinct which led her to the highest things. She would always, if she could, address her conversation to the most distinguished person present in a company, read the greatest author, and consult the highest authority; in the main a most commendable course, but which may occasionally in society have overborne superior and mortified inferior people, and which in literature left her ignorant of many things which greater condescension to humble utUity would have revealed. In the present instance her spiritual experiences and the worldwide sensation produced by Strauss's work awakened within her the desire to translate the book, and when the business arrangements to this effect were concluded, MEMOIR 27 she found herself confronted with diffloiilties which she had not foreseen. German and Enghsh were equally familiar to her; but a mere lateral rendering could not satisfy her artistic conscience ; and at first she found it most difficult to obtain " a right view of the subject matter." She persevered gallantly, and at length produced a translation satisfactory to Strauss himself, and which passed through three editions. It was not her fault if her aspiration to present England with an epoch-making book was disappointed. Strauss remains the author of the Leben Jesu. The autumn of 1873 took MathUde on a tour of the highest importance to her, as it resulted in the produc- tion of her finest poetical work. Scotland does not appear to have previously possessed any special attrac- tion for her, but she now found herself much at home there, and the ultimate result was her " Prophecy of St. Oran," and "Heather on Fire." "St. Oran," indeed, was conceived and begun in the Highlands, but not finished till some years afterwards under the vivifying influence of her residence at Manchester. Of all her longer poems it is the most powerful, the most original, and the most artistically wrought, without a line too much or too little. The striking theme is derived from an ecclesiastical legend holding a place in hagiological literature akin to that which, in the opinion of some, the Book of Job occupies in the Hebrew Canon — the resurrection of a saint to intimate that the faith in which he died is not true. Mathilde's conception of early Christianity on its strongest side displays deep insight as well as a truly catholic spirit, and gained her an approving letter from a Bishop. The "Heather on Fire," although very different, and not as highly finished as "St. Oran," yet an equally powerful and eloquent poem, ■^^s conceived about this period, but not executed until 28 MEMOIR after a second visit to Scotland in 1883. It gives voice to the general indignation against the reckless clearance . of Highland estates, and a highly finished execution would have been out of place. It is not too much to affirm that no other English poetess since Mrs. Brown- ing could have given utterance with equal energy to the compassion and indignation called forth by such circum- stances. The poem achieved considerable popularity, especially in the Highlands. Extracts from letters to the writer may show how Highland scenery impressed the poetess : — " CUIDEACH, POETEEB, SkYB. " A bare-looking stone farmhouse, endless reaches of short, spare grass, and the waters of Loch Snizort wind- ing in and out between two sterile rocks — this is the whole scene. You may add to it to-day a grey sky, a faint mist, the plaintive cry of the curlew heard now and then, or the low of a cow breaking a silence so deep that it seems almost to become audible. " About two mUes from here you get a very fine view, and that too of a unique character. Looking down black precipitous rooks you come in sight of the pretty little bay of TJig with a few houses (great rarities here), and a little kirk, sprinkled along the shore. Beyond that is a glassy sea, in which the island of Harris, with its olear-out aerial hiUs, rests lilie an exhalation a breath of wind might dissolve. The sea-girt Hebrides have an oceanic softness of colour, a delicate purity of outline, an evanescent bloom which partakes more of the appear- ance of some still Avilion than of our common and substantial earth." " Oban, September 15th. " I was storm-stayed for nearly three days at a lonely MEMOIR 29 hotel at Talladale, Loch Maree. And such a storm 1 Walking along the banks of the loch I saw what looked like some dark nebulous host rushing from the further end of the lake and advancing with a weird, booming sound which made the trees shiver through their branches, and their pale leaves faU to the earth. And then the tempest of rain, sleet, and hail burst right over my head. So heavily did it beat on the loch that the water splashed up as if stones were faUing into it, and the surface where it hailed looked like one white seething mass several feet in height, not stationary, however, but travelling onwards with incredible rapidity. Now and then the lightning flashed through the gloom of cloud and forest, and the thunder was reverberated from a hunted peaks. Bainbows followed in the wake of the hurricane, and it was astonishing to see the hurrying stoma now descending in the wake of the hurricane, while the barren mountain-side which had been invisible an instant before, was now clothed in most delicate hues, which, like gossamer wafted by an imperceptible breeze, hovered on from hUl to hiU. These strange appaUing gusts were renewed many times during that and the following day, although with each fresh fit the storm seemed to lose somewhat of its first strength. At last, on the morning of the third day the sun shone forth, the vapours lolled languidly about Ben Sliooh, whose peaks rose untrammelled above them, and I found it possible to be rowed to some of the small islands with which the centre of the loch is studded. One of them, called EUean Baree, is thickly wooded, and covered with ferns and bushes of every description. Half hidden amid all this greenery are strange half-effaced crosses still dimly discernible here and there. Not far from this spot full of an indescribable pathos is a deep dark well where folk 30 MEMOIR of yore used to go in order to be healed of every kind of disease. An old fir-tree stands above it, and its bark is pierced with various coins which the people used to offer up to the spirit of the place (or rather to St. Maree, who dwelt there as an anchorite)." Staffa and lona were the crowning-points of the authoress's pilgrimage, illustrations of the grandeur of nature and the pathos of humanity. She wrote a fine description of the sublimity of Staffa, but the spell of lona was more potent. "What a contrast are its low, grass- green shores and little coves of silver sand to the desolate grandeur of Staffa ! After passing so many swart rooks and sullen shores, it is quite a relief to see the few homely fields smiling amid the ocean, these humble huts nestling by the seashore. And the cathedral that rears its»grey towers on the island touches the heart with a deeper pathos than the grandest structures. Here every stone, every mouldering cross speaks of St. Columba and his devoted little band, and whatever of truth and beauty was contained in Christianity forces itself on the imagi- nation in this lonely spot, with whose soil is mingled the dust of these ardent and heroic men. I should be in- clined to call lona an Island of the Dead, for every inch of ground you tread upon almost is marked by a grave. Tombs of Scottish kings and chieftains lie in rows, with the green grass growing between them. Now and then you come upon a tall cross beautifully carved. The thick grey lichen with which they are covered enhances the solemnity of their appearance." The impressions received in this visit originated " St. Oran," a poem whose chief fascination, after all, is its suffusion with the " Celtic magic " that clings in Ireland and Scotland to lone glens and solitary isles dark vnth weeping skies, green with tender grass, and grey with ancient sepulchres. MEMOIR 31 "St. Oran" was published in 1881. Some of the intervenmg period had been occupied in the composition of MathUde Blind's one romance, " Tarantella," which was not published until some years afterwards. The fate of this remarkable book is one of the injustices of literature. It met with but little success, and although republished, has never obtained any popu- larity. Yet it has an exciting story, interesting characters, ease and naturalness of dialogue, charming descriptions, and is the receptacle of much of the writer's most serious thought and intense personal feeling. The unfamiliar foreign mediurd possibly told against it ; it also must be confessed that here and there the authoress's vigour and animation degenerate into verbosity, as will happen to people speaking under excitement. The principal reason, however, may well have been the preference which then obtained for minute analysis of character in fiction and the growing taste for realism. Both these requisites of success were dis- regarded by " Tarantella," which is very romantic, very idealistic, very eloquent, and not in the least concerned with minutiae, whether of description or of mental anatomy. Now that the taste for romance has revived, " Tarantella " ought to have another chance of taking its rightful place : for there does not appear, as there undoubtedly does in the case of some other works of genius, any conclusive reason why it should remain the property of the few. " The Heather on Fire " followed m 1886. The interval, so far as devoted to literature, was mainly occupied by two prose works, undertaken con amore, but which cost the authoress an amount of labour disproportionate to their extent. It was a passion with her to celebrate illustrious women, which the publication of the " Emi- 32 MEMOIR nent Women Series," edited by her friend, Mr. J. H. Ingram, enabled her to gratify. For this she wrote the hves of George Ehot and Madame Roland, with abun- dant enthusiasm, but not without effort. The quest of biographical particulars was uncongenial to her, and she had no particular talent for their luminous arrangement when obtained. Aware, however, of the requisites of her self-sought task, she contended heroically against these disadvantages — a striking figure as she sat like a Sibyl amid the disarray of her scattered scroUs, snowed down at random upon carpet and furniture, all astray from their right places, and all interlined with correc- tion and scored with obliteration. The victory was eventually hers : the biographies, compiled so sorely against her natural bent, came out the clearest and most workmanlike productions of any in the series. But the strain had been exhausting. She writes to Mrs. Wolf sohn on the completion of the George Eliot volume (1883) : — " I never knew before what it was to do work under pressure in an enfeebled physical condition with such daily, almost hourly, efforts of wUl, but neither did I before understand Wordsworth's subHme lines in his ' Ode to Duty':— " ' Nor know we anything so sweet As is the smile upon thy face,' and I shall never forget the feeling when I had finished the last line of the work, and laid down my pen and felt that I might go out and actually stay out as long as ever I liked. It was a lovely afternoon. I was too tired to walk, and sat down on a bench in a little garden in front of the house, drinking in the air, the hum of the insects, the colour of flowers and leaves, the glory gf the sky, and it all seemed ' very good.' " MEMOIR 33 Mathilde Blind's enthusiasm for her heroines had much to do with her success in depicting them : she could not have achieved the biography of a person indifferent to her, though she might have compassed that of an object of particular aversion. Madame Boland was more congenial to her than even George Eliot, and mainly for this reason her biography (1886) is the more important and the better executed of the two, although this is partly to be ascribed to the greater abundance of material and the more inspiring character of the story. MathUde's zeal for Madame Roland and her times did indeed so superabound that the book when completed was adjudged a third too long, and was only reduced to the needful proportion under pressure of a threat from the editor that he would otherwise perform the task of abridgment himself. So Madame Eoland was decapi- tated for the second time. At this period Mathilde was residing at Manchester with Mr. and Mrs. Madox Brown, whose house was for several years almost a home to her. The friendship between her and the painter was in many respects singularly beautiful. Madox Brown had many remark- able characteristics, but chief among these, perhaps, was an unusual singleness of nature. His belief in every- thing that he admired, and animosity to everything that he disliked, were wholly without reserve; what- ever his proficiency in artistic chiaroscuro, as a man he was little skUled in the distribution of hght and shade. Having once recognised Mathilde as a woman of genius, his faith in her was undoubting ; though ready and able to amend minutiae, he would have been incapable of assuming a negative attitude, and Mathilde was sure of finding in him the encouragement needed to combat her frequent accesses of self-distrust. His was, moreover, a 4 34 MEMOIR nature of great depth as well as simplicity. No man was more given to enunciate, in a quiet, tomely way, maxims of wisdom so profound and true that they some- times seemed to have been fetched up from the depths below "the brief fathom-line of thought or sense." His wisdom was a stimulus to MathUde, his simphoity a refreshment. She repaid him and his wife with a true affection, evinced in later years, after his death, by her purchase of a picture by him that she might present it to the Luxembourg. Her acquaintance with them was of long date, but she first resided under their roof when Madox Brown lived at Manchester, painting the frescoes which adorn the Town Hall : — " I used," she tells Mrs. Wolfsohn, " to go daily to the Town Hall, where Madox Brown has a tent erected in the chief room, so as to protect him from the prying of all the passing people. At the other end of the room is a huge organ, on which Mr. Pyne, the organist, practises daily. It is a wonderful instrument, seeming to combine all other instruments in one. I am sure this splendid music helps to mould the picture. It seemed quite an existence apart, belonging to some higher region, to sit there and listen at twilight to the melodies of Bach and Spohr and Berlioz sweUing and rolling through the great lofty hall, whUe two gas-jets in the corner threw the colours of the fresco on which Mr. Brown is at work into stronger relief. Every now and then the latter seemed to be so enchanted by some particularly fine passage that he would jump up and listen, then pop his head over the partition and shout across the room, ' This is quite mad- dening, Pyne I ' to the vast delight of the organist, who is heart and soul in his music, and seems scarcely able to pass a day without popping in upon Madox Brown." MathUde's residence at Manchester gained her many MEMOIR 33 other attached friends, among whom are particularly to be mentioned Mr. J. E. Wilkinson and Mr. Charles Rowley, the moving spirit of the Ancoats Brotherhood. Notwithstanding sinking health and spirits, the last decade of MathUde Blind's life was more prolific of actual pubhoation than the preceding. In 1886 she ably prefaced selections from Bjrron's letters and poems for the Camelot Series. A translation of choice aphorisms from Goethe had appeared a few years before in Fraser's Magazine. She occasionally wrote for the Athencsiim,, and minor poems appeared in print now and then. The reUef from the arduous task of Madame Roland's biography, and the generally desultory character of her occupations for some time, left her open to new ina- pressions, and she suddenly felt herself nerved to grapple with a theme which had at various periods dimly floated before her, the celebration in verse of the theory of Evolution. A grand subject indeed 1 and truly worthy of an inspired pen, rebuking the little faith of Coleridge when he deemed all subjects for epic eadiausted saving the Fall of Jerusalem. The fittest pen could write but tentatively upon the subject at present, and such pens must be rare in an age whose most notable defect in the domain of poetry is an almost universal incapacity for the sublime. Mathilde Blind, who frequently approached the subhme and sometimes reached it, was more fit than many a contemporary whom posterity will on the whole rank above her. Passionately interested in her theme, as deeply versed in its scientific lore as was necessary for a poet, struggling heroically against its gigantic difficulties, she produced in her "Ascent of Man" (1888), not indeed the de- siderated epic, but a dithyramb, noble in many parts, here and there marred by grandiloquence and want of 36 MEMOIR artistic form. If it must be said, magnis excidit ausis, the descent was less abrupt than would have befallen a. less animated poet, and was broken by excursions into the domains of history and allegory, more manageable than the domain of science. " The Ascent of Man " was hardly completed when the authoress embarked upon another enterprise of quite a different nature, but equally indicative of her determina- tion to aim high. No European book, perhaps, was just then so much talked of as the Memoirs of Marie Bashkirtseff, the ambitious young Bussian whose path to fame proved to lie through autobiography. It seems unUkely that she would have attained to distinguished excellence in art or literature, unless possibly as a critic. Fine as is her description of Gambetta's funeral, the faculty of picturesque word-painting is not rare. But her passionate eagerness for fame, and other remarkable mental traits, made her a psychological, and, it must be added, a pathological, study of extreme interest. MathOde resolved that the most distinguished Conti- nental voice of the hour should be heard in Eng- land. Though well aware of the morbid aspects of Marie Bashkirtseff's character, she yet honoured her as an instance of inteUeotual energy in woman, and resolved to make her most interesting autobiography available to English readers, giving thereby much pleasure and gratification to the mother of Marie Bashkirtseff, who lived only for her daughter's fame. Growing iU-heafth made the translation laborious, the necessity for com- pleting it by the stipulated period weighed heavily upon her, and eventually a portion had to be entrusted to an accompUshed lady-translator. Nevertheless, by far the larger part of the translation, which proved excellent, find which was warmly commended by Mr. Gladstone, MEMOIR 37 was Mathilde's work. She further adorned it by a, thoughtful and sympathetic introduction, and the book was published in 1890. Madame Bashkirtseff's acquaintance had been made at Nice, whither, and to other parts of the Kiviera, Mathilde's health now necessitated frequent visits. She there contracted a friendship with Sir Charles Gavan Duffy ; it was about this period, too, that she found the most faithful friends she possessed in these latter years in a man of genius in a sphere totally dissimilar to her own, Dr. Ludwig Mond and his rarely gifted wife, and her highly intellectual friend, Miss Heine Herz. Capti- vated at first, as a man of science well might be, by the apotheosis of science in " The Ascent of Man," Dr. Mond, with his family, became a stay for her failing strength and spirits, and seemed raised to fill the place of a friend no less true. Ford Madox Brown, who died in 1893. Much of her time, when in England, had latterly been spent at Mr. and Mrs. Madox Brown's last residence in St. Edmund's Terrace, Regent's Park. The continued decline of her health, however, drove her more and more abroad. Travel was now facilitated, and the harassing struggle with narrow means, which had counted for much in her adversities, was terminated by her becoming, in 1892, sole heir to the fortune of her step-brother, Max Cohen. She now spent a consider- able time at Rome, visited Egypt twice, penetrating as far as Assouan, and taking great interest in the move- ment for the preservation of the temples at PhUae. Some of the most beautiful of her more recent descrip- tive lyrics date from that time. The impressions of these later years were recorded in " Dramas in Miniature " (1891), " Songs and Sonnets " (1893), including the ma- jestic sonnet to the Dead, and the almost equally im- 38 MEMOIR pressive " Cleave thou the Waves." Of these and other sonnets it has been said on another occasion: " She has, been more fortunate than most in finding thoughts great enough to fill fourteen lines." " Birds of Passage " (1895), bore special reference to Egypt, and contained noble poetry on the tombs of the ancient Egyptian kings. The reception of these poems was in general more favourable than that of their predecessors : owing in a measure to the appreciative criticism of Mr. William Sharp, who ever approved himself the most loyal,, dis- interested, and self-sacrificing of friends ; and of Mr. Arthur Symons, who rendered her a valuable service after death by the admirable selection he made from her poetical writings. MathUde Blind's later poetry evinces more tendency than of old to a topographical inspiration, such an in- fluence as that under which Platen wrote his sonnets to Venice, or Wordsworth's when inditing his to the river Duddon. Natural scenery had always been an inspiration to her, but had rather pervaded than shaped such poems as " St. Oran.'' In these latter volumes particular scenes became the express subjects of the poems, especially if Italian, Egyptian, or appertaining to the pastoral scenery of England, and the exquisite deUght she received from natural beauty was not stored up for literary purposes, but overflowed into her correspondence. Writing from Egypt in 1894 to Mrs. Wolfsohn, she says : — "It is a comfort to feel that, in spite of much loneh- ness, I still have you and others left whose love is with me. Perhaps the sunshine and brightness of Egypt were the best antidote to the grief caused me by Madox Brown's death. But, perhaps owing to mental as well as phy- sical causes, Egypt has not quite reahsed my expecta- tions. The long rides in the desert did me more good MEMOIR 39 than anjrthing else. The silence and solitude of the arid wilderness, which looks like a phantom of Chaos which God forgot at the beginning of things, suited my miad to perfection. I have been sick for it ever since I came to Luxor. I think with longing of its infinite vastness, of the air that blows over its leagues and leagues of lion-coloured sand, of the luminous blue sky that turns the horror of it into something divine. Never shall I forget returning one evening in the after- glow, when I understood Isaiah's ' The wilderness shall blossom like the rose,' for the waste turned a tender shell- pink, the wild ridge of syenite blushed crimson, and the arc of light spreading outwards from the horizon turned into the hues of an immense prism above the desolation it deified. Then, as the glow faded into lemon-colour, the little stars, faint and far between, looked down on the pitch-black sand. A few lights, shining here and there in the Bishereen camp, showed I was nearing Assouan. A t.all woman with a pitcher on her head could be seen coming from the Nile. It was the hour when jackals and hyaenas come out of their holes to drink of the river." Neither Italy nor Egypt, however, afforded Mathilde more pleasure than the tranquU, rural beauty of the EngHsh midland counties. Her work on George Eliot had taken her to Warwickshire some years before; and Shakespeare associations now drew her to Stratford-on- Avon, which proved a perfect source of inspiration to her, many of the most beautiful poems of her later years dating from her visit. Another attraction appears to have been the neighbourhood of Dr. and Mrs. PhUpot, who had a temporary residence at Stratford, and were among the best and kindest friends of her closing years. She says in a letter to the writer, dated September 14, 1894 :— 40 MEMOIR "We had some delightful boating on the Avon, but the river seems so very much left to its own sweet will that the locks have fallen to pieces from disuse. In consequence of this there are rapids and shallows which produce quite an excitement, as we had to clamber up the banks and over stiles while the men of the party, divested of some of their garments, had to puU the boats over the weirs and shallow places. But it was well worth the trouble to get to the beautiful Olive woods, mirrored in the still, green water, and the sedgy pools and fairy eyots sky-blue with forget-me-nots. Now and then a kingfisher shot across the stream in a flash of blue lightning, or a coot skimmed its surface from bank to bank. The willows bending over the banks, with their silver lining turned to the breeze, whispered dreamUy at evening as if they were remembering old, sad things of long ago." " September 21si. " The charm of Stratford grows upon me the longer I remain. I drove to Wilmoote this afternoon, and saw Mary Arden's house, a sweet old cottage said to be four or five hundred years old. The timbered walls and mighty oaken beams of roof and ceUing show that it must have been a place of some importance in Shake- speare's day. It strikes one everywhere hereabouts how plentiful wood mtist have been at that time, when all these villages and hamlets were stm embosomed in the green recesses of the Forest of Arden. One seems to come upon Shakespeare's tracks here, and to get into closer touch with him and such plays as ' As You Like It ' and ' A Midsummer Night's Dream.' " Memories and echoes of merry old England seem to have survived in Warwickshire longer than anywhere else. They tell us that on the 12th of October there will MEMOIR 41 be held in Bother Market a Stratford Mop or Bull roast, where six oxen will be roasted whole on the occasion of servants being hired by the farmers of the neighbourhood. The inhabitants seem to be more cheerful than is generally the case in little provincial towns. They love the theatre, and every Thursday evening have dances on the green by the river-side, when the gardens are festively lit up with Chinese lanterns. Fancy ! the curfew is still rung here from September to March 1 It is chiming at this moment from the grey old chapel of the Guild of the Holy Cross, and makes me feel like a mediaeval nun." Mathilda Blind saw, indeed, more of rural England in her latter years than ever before. She stayed near Tring with Mrs. Mona Caird, an attached friend, whose society she found especially exhilarating ; joined, in 1895, a large house-party at Mrs. HiUs of Corby Castle ; and in 1896 spent a considerable time at Cambridge, where she especially enjoyed the acquaintance of the Eegius Professor of Medicine, Dr. Clifford Allbutt. The object of her visit was a serious one ; she was conscious of the decay of her strength, and wished to provide as prudently and effec- tively as might be for the disposition of her property in aid of female education. After visiting several institu- tions she fixed upon Nevpnham College, Cambridge, as the one most in conformity with her ideal, and the greater part of her estate was bequeathed to it. Soon after the execution of her testamentary dispositions increasing weakness obliged her to take refuge in an invalids' home in the south of London. Conscious of the inevitable termination of her iUness, she did not deem it so near at hand as was in fact the case, and bore up against disease most courageously, going out in a 42 MEMOIR bath-chair and receiving afternoon visitors until within five days of her death. She even expressed a hope that she might yet once again see the Riviera. She passed the day of her departure, November 26, 1896, quietly and peacefully, gradually and gently sinking into the sleep of death. On December 2nd a funeral discourse, afterwards pubhshed, was pronounced over her remains in Stamford Street Unitarian Chapel by her old and true friend, Mr. Moncure Conway, to a large audience of men and women, many of much distinction, who had esteemed and loved and admired her in Ufe. The remains were then conveyed to Woking for cremation, and were subsequently interred in Finohley Cemetery, near the grave of Madox Brown and his wife. Her resting-place is indicated by a beautiful monument, the work of M. Lanteri, and a memorial of the attach- ment of Dr. and Mrs. Ludwig Mond, who have raised yet another monument by the publication of her poetical writings. Perhaps the re-publioation of MathUde BUnd's poems is less fitly described as a monument to the authoress than as a reviviscence of the authoress herself. They are, indeed, far from expressing the entire force and depth of her nature ; but they are its faithful reflection. Nothing was more characteristic of her than her abso- lute truthfulness ; she might take refuge in reserve, but she could not speak without manifesting her real mind. In her poetical works she has bequeathed an image of the strong and weak points of her temperament and intellect. The former — energy, enthusiasm, constant aspiration towards the highest things — require no further comment; the latter may be briefly summed up as an inattention to external polish and finish, which in life sometimes wore the aspect of iadiffer- MEMOIR 43 ence to the interests and feelings of others, a defect, however, which, under the mellowing influences of time and experience, almost disappeared in latter life ; and which in poetry sometimes induced negligence of the laws of Art, not less imperative than the laws of Nature. The cause was the same in both cases, so complete a realisation of truth as the one thing needful, that it was difficult to convince her that social conventions or artistic refinements could count for anything in com- parison. This failing was aggravated by an intellectual defect, the absence of a hvely sense of humour. How much vexation and friction Mathilde Bhnd would have spared herself had she sometimes been able to look at things on the amusing side 1 But no ; she must always be enraptured or disgusted, always defiantly in earnest. Excess of truthfulness and excess of earnestness, how- ever, are not failings to which humanity is so prone as to necessitate the discouragement of them with any great severity. Mathilde Blind would have been more popular if she had been less ardent and more conciliating ; she would have been a more accomphshed writer if the passion for essential truth had not made her unduly in- different to artistic finish; but after every allowance has been made her poetry remains noble in execution as in aspiration, and her character was even more noble than her poetry. Both, it may be hoped, will be pre- served from oblivion by the monument of " living stones " raised to her memory in the following pages, to which these imperfect lines are but the vestibule. E. GAENBTT. THE PEOPHECY OF ST. OKAN ^be propbCQ of St. ©ran Part I. " Earth, earth on the mouth of Oran, that he may blab no more." — Gaelic Proverb, The storm had ceased to rave : subsiding slow Lashed ocean heaved; and then lay cahn and still ; From the clear North a little breeze did blow Severing the clouds : high o'er a wooded hiQ The slant sun hung intolerably bright, And spanned the sea with a broad bridge of Ught. Now St. Oolumba rose from where he sat Among his monkish crew ; and hfting high His pale worn hands, his eagle glances met The awful glory which suffused the sky. As soars the lark, sweet singing from the sod So prayer was wafted from his soul to God. 47 48 THE PROPHECY OF ST. GRAN For they in their rude coracle that day Shuddering had chmbed the crests of mountainous wave To plunge down glassy walls of shifting spray, From which death roared as from an open grave ; TUl, the grim fury of the tempest o'er, Burst on their ravished sight an azure shore. rv. Ah 1 is this sohd earth which meets their view, Or some fair cloud-land islanded on high ? Those crags are too aerially blue. Too soft those mountains mingling with the sky. And too ineffable their dewy gleam, For aught but fabric of a fleeting dream. V. Entranced they gaze, and o'er the gUmmering track Of seething gold and foaming silver row : Now to their left tower headlands, bare and black And blasted, with grey centuries of snow. Deep in whose echoing caves, with hollow sighs. Monotonous seas for ever ebb and rise. VI. Rounding these rocks, they glide into a deep And tranquil bay, in whose translucent flood The shadows of the azure mountains sleep : High on a hUl, amid a scanty wood, A square and rough-hewn tower, above the pines Like some red beacon, in the sunset shines. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 49 VII. A few more vigorous strokes, and the sharp keel Grates on the beach, on which, inclining low Their tonsured heads, the monks adoring kneel ; While St. Oolumba, his pale face aglow With outward light and inward, lifts on high The Cross, swart outlined on the biurning sky. Impassive, though in silent wonder, stood The islesmen while these worshipped, on their shore, A thorn-crowned figure nailed upon the wood. From whose pierced side the dark blood seemed to pour ; While on the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost They loudly called as brow and breast they crest. IX. Spoke now their Master, in a voice whose ring Was like the west wind's in a twUight grove : " Glad tidings to this sea-girt isle we bring. Good tidings of our heavenly Father's love, Who sent His only Son, — oh, marvellous Deep love 1 — to die that He might ransom us." X. " Come I listen to the story of our Lord 1 Sweet Jesus Christ, a ohUd of lowly birth. Whom in the manger the wise kings adored, For well they knew Him Lord of Heaven and Earth With myrrh and spice they journeyed from the far Prophetic East, led by the Pilgrim Star : 5 so THE PROPHECY OF ST. OBAN XI. " And when the star stood still, and mUdly shone Above a shed where lay the new-born child, They hailed Him God's only-begotten Son, Saviour of sinners and Bedeemer mUd ; Eve's promised seed, when she with streaming eyes Saw the bright sword wave her from Paradise. XII. " For we are children of a fallen race. Our sins are grievous in the Father's sight. Death was our doom, but that by heavenly grace God sent His Son to be a steadfast light. Which, calmly shining o'er life's troubled wave. The storm-tossed souls of erring men might save. XIII. " Go unto Him, aU ye that toU and weep, Ye that are weary with the long day's load ; He is the Shepherd watching o'er His sheep, He leads His flock along the narrow road ; And when He hears the bleating lamb's alarm He folds the weak one in His sheltering arm. XIV. " Ah, tender Shepherd, who didst love us so, Choosing to die that we Thy flock might live ; What bitter anguish, ah 1 what heavy woe To think, Lord I that mortal hands should give This wound that cleaves Thy side, that mortal scorn In mockery crowned Thee with the barren thorn ! " THE PROPHECY OF ST. OUAN 31 XV. Sad is Columba's face, his words are slow As though reluctant to the piteous tale — ■ But now his eyes with sacred rapture glow, And his wan features kindle, like a pale Dissolving cloud through which the moon is shed : He speaks of Christ re-risen from the dead. XVI. He ceased, then cried : " Glory unto the Lord Whose mercy is as boundless as the sea ; Fruitful to-day makes He my feeble word, For with faith's eye an ancient chief I see, Whose bark o'er the blue deep is drawing nigh, He comes to be baptized before he die." XVII. Scarce had he ended when towards the land A wicker boat sped swiftly o'er the bay ; There by the Pictish chieftain, hand in hand, Her golden locks entangled with his grey. His grandchild sat, with sunset-litten face : The loveliest and the last of all her race. XVIII. They hailed the Chief as to a sea-worn stone Two fishers bore him ; and his muffled sense Struggled with feeble eld to seize the tone Of the Saint's voice, as he in words intense Proclaimed the saving truth of gospel lore, Then with his hands baptized the Chieftain hoar. 52 THE PROPHECY OF ST. OBAN XIX. And when the holy dew had wet his brow, And his wan Hps tasted the sacrament, His head against Columba's breast sank low And o'er his face a smile of rapt content Played softly, smoothing out the lines of care Which joy and grief and toil had planted there And on the spot where he had breathed his last They laid him, letting dust to dust return"; Then one by one, as solemnly they cast A little earth upon his grave, they turn To the benighted heathen, look above, And chaunt : " His soul is God's, and God is love.' XXI. A piteous cry and terrible then rung Even like a very echo to the word Upon the startled hearers, whom it wrung With answering grief, as when along the chord Of palpitating harp the breezes sigh Bach string responsive wails in sympathy. A maiden with wild eyes and streaming hair And features white with horror rose aghast, Unconscious of the pitying people's stare, As on the new-made grave herself she oast In utter desolation, till her frame Convulsed by sobs shook like a wind-blown flame. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 53 xxm. " Oh father, father," she at last made moan, " My father's father, last of all our race. Hast thou gone too, and left me here alone So helpless as I am, so weak to face The dreadful shifts of war with all its woes. Cold, hunger, shame, fear of insulting foes ? " XXIV. " Nay, child, blaspheme not in thine agony 1 Art thou not in our heavenly Father's care ? He who upholds the everlasting sky Throughout the ages, suffers not a hair Of thine to fall but that it is His will ; Bless Him for joy, for sorrow bless Him stiU. XXV. " Yea 1 clasp thine unused hands in prayer, and lift Thy still down-drooping eyes to Him above. Is not the giver greater than His gift ? Must not His love contain all lesser love Of father, mother, brother, husband, wife — The Alpha He and Omega of life ? " Thus spake Golumba, burning to allay The pains of earthly love with saving truth ; But she, who deemed confusedly that they With their sad rites had slain her sire, forsooth Was deaf to him, and ever made her moan, '• Hast thou gone too, and left me here alone ? " 34 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAM XXVII. At last — when all his words and prayers had failed To comfort or assuage the orphan's woe, Who prostrate on the grave still wept and wailed, — Columba muttered as he turned to go : " Nay, sooner parley with the roaring main Than with a woman maddening in her pain." And thus they left her, as she would not come. Left her to night and a few firstling stars That here and there from the celestial dome Peered brightly through the narrow cloudy bars. As though some great white seraph's lidless eyes Were looking down on her from Paradise. XXIX. But one there was who could not rest in peace. For pity of that maiden's lonely pain 1 Was there no balm in GUead to appease Her wounded spirit ? — yea, might not he gam That soul benighted to eternal bhss. By teaching her God's love through grief like this ? XXX. Thus Oran mused, the youngest and most fair Of that devoted zealous little band That now for many a laborious year Followed Columba's lead from land to land, Daring the danger of the narrow seas To plant the Cross among the Hebrides. TBE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 55 Young, but most fervid of their brotherhood, Fair Oran was, whose faith leaped Uke a sword From out the sheath, and could not be subdued When brandished in the service of the Lord, To whom — as sparks leap upward from a fire — His soaring thoughts incessantly aspire. XXXII. Yea, he must save her soul, that like a bark Drifting without a rudder, rudely tossed On life's rough sea, might founder in the dark, In the abysm of hell engulfed and lost. Thus musing, he retraced his steps once more Towards the grave beside the sounding shore. " Arise, and let the dead bury their dead I " He said to her still shedding stanchless tears. Affrighted by his voice, she raised her head With eyes dilated like a startled deer's ; With lovely, longing, melancholy eyes, She looked up at him in a dumb surprise. " Come unto Jesus, He will give thee rest," Oran began, but stammered as he spoke : Why throbbed his heart so loudly in his breast, As if impatient of the heavy yoke Of faith, that curbed desire as soon as born, That nipped the rose, but left its piercing thorn ? 86 THE PROPHECY OF ST. OBAN XXXV. A moment has undone the work of years I A single glance o'erthrown an austere saint 1 And the clear faith, achieved with stripes and tears And midnight fasts and vigils, now grows faint. And like a star lost in the new-born light Flickers awhUe, then fades into the night. XXXVI. Still Oran wrestles with the fiend within, Striving to teach the gospel to the maid ; He tells her of man's fall through deadly sin. And of the Saviour who our ransom paid : She, with her eyes now bent upon the ground, Listens like one by strong enchantment bound. It was a clear and cloudless summer night. Stars without number clustered in the blue. Some like mere sparks of evanescent light Eeoeding infinite from mortal view. Some with a steadier lustre softly glow. Like golden flames or silver flakes of snow. But lo 1 like some lost soul from heaven's height Hurled headlong, shivering to its awful doom, A wingfed star shoots dazzling through the night. And vanishes in some stupendous gloom : Thus once the brightest of the angels fell Through yawning space into profoundest hell. THE PROPHECY OF ST. OBAN 57 XXXIX. And trembling for his own soul, Oran prayed : " Oh blessed Virgin, whom the angelic qtiire Eapturous adore ! immaculate Mother-maid 1 Pure Queen ! make pure my heart of every fire Which is not kindled on thy sacred shrine, Of every thought not wholly, solely thine 1 " Even whUe the suppliant's eyes are raised above, A heavenly face, though not the Virgin's, filled His eyes with beauty, and his heart vpith love. Till with dread rapture all his pulses thrilled : A face whose heavenly influence might well Eradicate the very thought of hell. Perplexed, bewildered, breathless Oran stood, Torn by the passions he had stiU suppressed With macerations of the flesh and blood ; But now this idol which enthralled his breast With subtle witchcraft, snake-like seemed to hiss, " Thine immortality for one long kiss ! " XLII. " Get thee behind me, Satan 1 " wildly cries The monk, and flees in horror from the place. Did not the devil tempt him through those eyes Burning like two fair lights in that fair face. Till moth-like drawn in ever-narrowing rings Towards the flame, his soul must scorch her wings ? 58 THE PROPHECY OF ST. 0E4N XLIII. Par o'er the moorland through the starUt night He rushes, on and on in mortal fear Of some dread enemy that dogs his flight, And who, whate'er his speed, still draweth near : Yea, though he shall outspeed the winged wind. How fly the haunting thought of his own mind ? XLIY. At last he knelt all breathless on the sod. And gathered up his whole soul in one prayer, Yea, — even as Jacob wrestled before God, "WhUe angels hovered on the heavenly stair, He wrestled, — loudly calling on the Lord To keep him from the sin his soul abhorred. When his long prayer was done, and the pale priest Rose cold with clinging vapour, one by one The flickering stars went out, and in the East The dim air kindled with the coming sun, . WhUe in ilhmitable sheer delight The larks rose worshipping the holy Ught. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 59 Part II. There was a windless mere, on whose smooth breast A little island, flushed with purple bloom. Lay gently cradled like a moorhen's nest : It glowed like some rich jewel 'mid the gloom Of sluggish leagues of peat and black morass. Without or shrub or tree or blade of grass. But on the isle itself the birch was seen With its ethereal fohage, Mke some haze Floating among the rowan's vivid green ; The ground with fern all feathered, and ablaze With heath's and harebell's hyacinthine hue, Was mirrored in the wave's intenser blue. This was the immemorial isle of graves. Here, under nameless mound and dateless stone, The generations, like successive waves. Had rolled one o'er the other, and had gone As these go, indistinguishably fused Their separate lives in common death confused. 60 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN And here amid the dead Columba chose To found God's holy house and sow His word ; Already here and there the walls arose, BuUt from the stones imbedded in the sward ; These did the natives without raortar pile, As was the ancient custom of their isle. V. For many of them to the work were won By reverence for the saint, and thus apace The chapel grew which they had first begun As dedicate to God's perpetual praise ; And many of the monks again were free To give thought wholly to their ministry. VI. And ever first in hastening to his task St. Oran was, though last to seek repose ; Columba' s best beloved, he stiU would ask For heaviest share of duty, while he chose Rude penances, till shadow-like he grew With fasts and vigils that the flesh subdue. VII. Yet there was that which would not be subdued- A shape, a presence haunting every dream ; Fair as the moon that shines above a flood, And ever trembles on the trembling stream ; Sweet as some gust of fragrance, unaware Stealing upon us on the summer air, THE PMOFHECY OF ST. OBAN 61 VIII. Even so it stole upon his ravished heart, Suffusing every fibre with delight, Till from his troubled slumber he would start, And, as with ague shivering and affright, Catch broken speech low murmuring in his ears, And feel his eyelids ache with unshed tears. IX. But it befell one windy afternoon. While monks and men were busied with the roof, Laying the beams through which the sun and moon Might shed their light as yet without reproof, That there came one across the lonely waste Toward these men of God, crying in haste, — X. " Ye say ye came to save us, save us then 1 Save us if ye spake truth, and not a lie I Famine and fever stalk among us, — men. Women, and children are struck down and die 1 For lo, the murrain smites our cowering sheep, The fishers haul no fish from out the deep. XI. " Ye tell us that your God did multiply A few small fishes, wherewithal He fed A multitude I in sooth, if 'tis no lie. Then come, ye holy men, and give us bread 1 For they are starving by the waterside, — Come then, and give us bread ! " he loudly cried. 62 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN He was a man inspiring dread surprise, Half-naked, with long glibs. of bristling hair In fiery meshes tumbling o'er his eyes, Which, like a famished wolf's from out its lair. Glanced restlessly ; his dog behind him came. Whose loUing tongue hung down like scarlet flame. XIII. " Let me arise, and go to them withal 1 " Cried Oran, flinging down his implement : " This heavy tribulation is a call From the Most High ; a blessed instrument To compass their salvation : let me go Teach them what mercy worketh in their woe." xrv. " Go thee, my son, and God go with thee still. While I abide to speed His temple here," Said St. Columba ; " and thy basket fill With herbs and cordials, also wine to cheer And bread to feed the poor, so that their days May still endure to God's eternal praise." XV. Then Oran and that wild man forth did fare. And o'er the little lake they rowed in haste, And mounting each a small and shaggy mare, They ambled o'er that solitary waste. Then through a sterile glen their road did lie Whose shrouded peaks loomed awfully on high. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 63 XVI. "When for a score of miles they thus had gone, The mountains opened wide on either hand, And, locked amid those labyrinths of stone. The sea had got entangled in the land, And turned and twisted, struggling to get free. And be once more the immeasurable sea. XVII. It was a sorcerous, elemental place. O'er which there now came rushing from the plain — Lilie some wild host whom yelling victors chase — A moving pillar of resistless rain Shivering the gleaming lances in its flight Against the bastions of each monstrous height. Fast, fast it raced before the roaring gale. With shrieks and frenzied bowlings that did shake The very stones vnth long-resounding wail. And in outlying gorges would it wake The startled echo's sympathetic scream. Then whirling on would vanish like a dream, — XIX. Would vanish dream-like, whither no man knows, Fading afar in vaporous gulfs of light. While the wet mountain-tops flushed like a rose. And following the spent tempest in its- flight. Its hues ethereal mantUng o'er the gloom. There glowed the rainbow's evanescent bloom. 64 THE PROPHECY OF ST. OEAN And while that waterspout still drenched his skin, St. Oran, unappalled, intoned a psalm, And lifting up his voice amidst the din, He sang, " We laud Thee, Lord, through storm and calm In the revolving stars we see Thine hand. The sun and moon rise as Thou dost command. " We laud Thee for the evening and the mom, And the prolific seasons' changing boon. For singing-birds, and flowers, and ripening corn, For tides that rise and fall beneath the moon ; As in a mirror darkling do we see The shadow that Thou castest on the sea." XXII. Up many a wild ascent, down many a steep Clothed with scant herbage, rode that battered pair, Where lay the bleaching bones of mangled sheep. And carrion crows wheeled hoarsely in the air ; At last through mist and darkness they espied Small lights that twinkled by the waterside. XXIII. There in dark turf-buUt hovels close to earth Lay the poor sufferers on their beds of heath. Gnawed to the very bone by cruel dearth. Cold to the marrow with approaching death ; Thither came Oran like some vision bright. And ministered to each one through the night. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAX 65 XXIV. And so dispensing alms he went and came, Stooping to enter the last house of all ; There, by the peat-fire's orange-coloured flame, Whose flashes fitfully did rise and fall On the smoke-blackened rafters — sat a crone Ancient it might be as the lichened stone. XXV. Fast through her bony fingers flies the thread, And as her foot stOl turns the whirring wheel. She seems to spin the yarn of quick and dead ! But oh, what makes St. Oran's senses reel ? Whose is the shape clad in its golden hair That turns and tosses on the pallet there ? Lilte some wan water-lily veiled in mist When puffs of wind its tender petals shake. Whose chalice by the shining naoonbeams kissed Sways to and fro upon the swelling lake. So white — so wan — so wonderfully fair. Showed Mona tossing mid her golden hair. What should he do ? Ah, whither should he turn ? Why had God let this trial come again ? Her beauty, half-revealed, did straightly burn Through his hot eyeballs to his kindling brain. Was it his duty to go hence or stay ? He wavered — gazed on her — then tui'ned away. 6 CG THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAK XXVIII. But that old woman tottered to the door And clutched his cassock with a shaking hand, And mumbled, " Priest, ah ! dost thou shun the poor ? They say that ye go bragging through the land Of some new God called Christian Charity ; But in our need ye turn from us and fly." So spake the crone, but Oran bowed his head And murmured, " If thou bid'st me, I abide." With downcast eyes he turned towards the bed In fervent prayer low kneeling by its side : At last he rose, pale, cold, and deadly stUl, With heart subdued to his stern Maker's will Thus through her fever did he tend the maid. Who babbled wildly in delirious trance Of her lost home, and her loved kindred laid In alien earth — and of a countenance Pair as a spirit's comforting her pain. But soon withdrawn to its own heaven again. XXXI. All this unflinching would the monlc endm-e. And having cured her body's sickness, strove With double zeal her sicker soul to cure : But when he told her of the Saviour's love, Of sin, and its atonement, and free grace, She looked in puzzled wonder on his face. THE PROPHECY OF ST. OliAy (57 XXXII. She could not understand his mournful creed, Nor knew, poor child, of what she should repent, Nor why her heart was wicked, and had need That some poor pitying God should once have spent His blood for her five hundred years ago — Ancestral voices never told her so ! XXXIII. She could not understand, but she could feel ! And while she sat before him by the flame The pathos of his pleading voice would steal Sweeter than sweetest music through her frame. And as the ocean murmur in a shell Through her dim soul his solemn accents swell. xxxrv. He was the air she breathed — all living things Were pale reflections of him — as the hart In desert places thirsts for water-springs. Even thus for him she thirsted in her heart ; To her it seemed as if God's one command Were just to lay her hand within his hand. Her eyes were full of love as stars of light, And pierced the cold obstructive atmosphere Of his joy-kUluig creed, and did ignite His inmost spirit of sense with fire as clear And radiant as their own — their beaming looks Mingled as flames of fire or meeting brooks, 68 THE PROPHECY OF ,ST. OPAK XXXVI. Was he not young and beautiful ? — in face Like to that radiant god whose flame divine The Druid worshipped in those younger days Ere sin had stamped the green earth with its sign, Had made the lovehness of flowers a snare, And bid frail man of woman's love beware. XXXVII. Oh, not for him, through all the lonely years Never for him a woman's love might bloom ; Her smiles would never cheer him, nor her tears Fall softlj' on his unlamented tomb ; Never till quenched in death's supreme eclipse His lips would know the sweetness of her lips. XXXVIII. Oh God ! would nothing quench that secret fire, Nor yet assuage that hunger of the heart ? To feel tliis flagellation of desire. To be so near, yet evermore apart. Never to clasp this woman as a wife — This was the crowning penance of his Hfe. But lo 1 one day at dusk they were alone. The rain was beating down on roof and wall. The round of earth with sohd rock and stone Had turned phantasmal in its misty pall : They were alone, but neither spake a word — Only their hearts in throbbing might be heard. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 69 XL. Whose is that low involuntary cry That lOce a flash of lightning shook each frame With thrill electric ? Simultaneously Their yearning lips had sobbed each other's name ! With swift instinctive dread they move apart While magnet-like each draws the other's heart. What boots it thus to struggle with his sin, So much more sweet than all his virtues were '? Like a great flood let all her love roll in And his soul stifle mid her golden hair ! And so he barters his eternal bliss For the divine delirium of her kiss ! XLII. What cares he for his soul's salvation now ? Let it go to perdition evermore For breaking that accursed monastic vow Which cankers a man's nature to the core ; For he had striven as never mortal strove, But than his Lord a mightier lord was Love. 70 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN Part III I. " A coESE is on this work ! " Columba cried ; And with their dark robes flapping in the gale, The frightened monks came hurrying to his side, And looked at one another turning pale ; For every night tlie work done in a day Strewn on the ground in wild confusion lay. II. " A curse is on this work 1 " he cried again, And his keen glances swept each face in turn : " Behold, God smites us in the hurricane, And in the lightning doth His anger burn. Brethren, some secret deadly sin there is Known to the Lord for which we suffer this. III. " AVhy is it that the elements combine Against us, raging in relentless ire Against our humble wave-encircled shrine ? That air, that water, that consuming fire Inveterately war against this fane Which we would build, but ever build in vain ? THE PBOPHECY OF ST. OEAX 71 " Why is it that the billows of the deep Kise in revolt against the rock-bound shore, Lashing themselves to fury on each steep, Till inland lakes, aM^akening at the roar. Now roar in mad response, and swell amain, TiU broadening waters hide the drowning plain ? " One night, ye know, from out the imminent gloom, Shrouding the firmament as in a pall, The levin, lOje a spirit from the tomb. Leaped with a ghastly glare, and in its fall . Struck the new roof-tree with reverberate crash. And left a little heap of shrivelled ash. " Another night — why need I tell the tale ? — The wind in legions thundered through the air, Battering the walls with sudden gusts of hail. They rushed with piercing shrieks and strident blare Athwart the cloisters and the roofless hall, Till stone by stone fell from the rocking wall. " And then the very water turned om- foe, For in the dead of night it slowly crept. Soft wave on wave, till in its overflow It deluged all the basement while we slept ; And where the convent yesterday did stand, There spreads a lake as level as my hand. 72 THE PROPHECY OF ST. GRAN VIII. " And then, when slowly after many days The waters had subsided to the main, And through the toilsome hours we sought to raise Our ever- shattered structure once again, Behold ! the earth herself with stone and block Shudders convulsive and begins to rock. " For lo, the fiends let loose at God's command Burrow and delve in subterranean gloom, Till like the troubled ocean all the land Heaves to and fro as tottering to its doom : The quiet graves themselves now bursting yawn, God's holy house once more hes overthrown I X. " And now hath come the hour of darkest need — The people hath abandoned us ! They wail That their dead fathers rage agaiast our creed, That in dark rushing cloud and roaring gale The houseless spirits ride and fill the an- "With lamentations for the gods that were 1 " The Lord rebultes us in His wrath ! I ask Again I ask, what man among you all Living in deadly sin, yet wears the mask Of sanctity ? Yea, let him cleanse his soul, Confessing all the crying guUt of it, Or go for ever to the burning pit ! " THE PROPHECY OF ST. OBAN 73 XII. Again his eagle glances swept each face, While the assembled monks, with anxious sigh, Asked with a thrill of horror and amaze, " Was it indeed a judgment from on high ? " And with one voice then cried the saintly throng, " Not I — not I — know of that hidden wrong.'" XIII. And with uplifted arms they loudly prayed, " Oh Lord, if in our midst the traitor hides Who breaks the sacramental vow he made. And takes Thy name in vain, and basely hides His wicked ways from every eye.save Thine — Let his dark sin stand forth, and make a sign." XIV. AU day expectant, waiting on His wUl, The monks in reverential silence stand Beneath the rustling pine-trees of the hiU, Whence their eyes sweep across the level land : Lo, from afar the vision of a maid Comes o'er the shining pools the flood has made. Swiftly she came across the devious track, With glimmering waterways on either hand ; Against the luminous vapour at her back Her dusky form looms mystically grand ; While in the liquid crystal by her side The phantom of herself seems still to ghde. 74 THE PROPHECY OF ST. OEAN XVI. Was she a spirit risen from the grave When its foul depths lay open to the sky, Or ghost of Druid priestess wont to rave Her blasphemous oracles in times gone by, Who ventured thus upon the sacred isle For ever barred against a woman's wile ? XVII. But no ! as nearer and more near she draws, They see a maiden with a wild deer's grace Boundiag from stone to stone, whose beauty awes These Christian fathers, riveting their gaze ; For like the full moon framed in amber an- Her face shone mid the glory of her hair. Then in their midst all breathless did she stand, But paused bewildered and as one affrayed, — Even as a swift wave making for the strand With all its waters gathering to a head Delays, suspended with back-fluttering locks, Then breaks in showers of brine upon the rocks. So for a moment motionless she stood. From monk to monk her wildered glances stray ; Immovable, like figures carved in wood, These waited what their master's lips would say, But even and anon, in mute appeal. Her piteous goes to Oran's face would steal. THE PROPHECY OF ST. OEAN 75 XX. Only for one brief moment she delayed, Struck speechless at his cold averted mien, Then with a long low moan she bhndly swayed With her fair arms towards him, and in keen Unutterable anguish cried aghast — " Is this a dreana, or am I mad at last ? XXI. "Dost thou not know me, Oran — Oran mine ? Look on me ; I am Mona, I am she For whom thy soul so thirstily did pine ! Nay, turn not from me 1 Say, art thou not he Whose mouth to my mouth yearningly was pressed Whose dearest head lay pillowed on my breast ? XXII. " Dear, be not wroth with me in that I came ; For our love's sake look not so stern and gi'a\e ; Ah, surely thou wilt think me free from blame For having dared to break the word I gave. When I have told thee what has brought me here, How sore distraught I was with grief and fear. " Oh love, when night came swoopmg o'er the sea. And on the poor folk's tired eyelids sleep Fell like a seabird's feather, stealthily I climbed the jagged overhanging steep Whose giddy summit looks towards thy home, Wondering if haply I might see thee come. 76 THE PROPHECY OF ST. OMAN XXIV. " When, lo ! the solid cliff began to shake As in an ague fit, and while I stood Trembling, methought the maddening sea would break Its everlasting limits, for the flood Came crashing in loud thunder o'er the land. And swept our huts like seaweed from the sand. XXV. " Then a great horror seized me, and I reeled And fell upon my face, and knew no more. When from that trance I woke, the smi had wheeled Far up the sky and shone upon the shore, And there beneath the bright and cloudless sky I saw a heap of mangled corpses lie. XXVI. " Shrieking I fled, and paused not in my fright, Fleeing I knew not whither, but my feet Flew swift as ever arrow in its flight To thee, my love ! Hast thou no smile to greet Thy Mona with, — no kiss ? For pity's sake, Speak to me, Oran, or my heart wiU break." AH held their breath when she had made her moan : All eyes were fixed on that pale monk, who stood Unnaturally quiet — like a stone Whose flinty sides are fretted by the flood — When St. Columba turned on him, and said, " I bid thee speak, — man, knowest thou this maid ? " THE PnOPHIiCY OF ST. OBAN 11 XXVIII. Then answered him the other, but his words Bang hollow like the toll of funeral beU, ■ And on his humid brows like knotted cords The livid veins and arteries seemed to swell, Facing the accusation of his eyes, " Master, I know her not — the woman lies ! " XXIX. A hum of indignation, doubt, alarm. Ban through their circle, but noiae durst to speak Before the Master, who with lifted arm And eyes whence fiery flashes seemed to break, Cried very loudly, " Is it even so, — Then help me God but I will rout this foe 1 " Look, brethren, on this lovely maiden, fair As virginal white lilies newly blown, Fresh as the first breath of the vernal air. Pure as an incarnation of the dawn ; Look on that golden glory of her hair, — It is a man-trap, Satan's deadliest snare. XXXI. " Brethren, let the two eldest of you seize This fiend in angel's garb, this beast of prey Which lies in wait behind that snowy fleece Lusting to take our brother's name away. And blast his fame for purest sanctity With lies forged by our common enemy ! 78 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN " Seize her, and bear her to that frightful steep Where, bristling with huge pier and jagged spire. The spectre rock which overhangs the deep Pierces the ghastly clouds like frozen fire ; There standing, fling her from its giddiest cone — Into the ocean fling her, like a stone.'' XXXIII. The sentence had gone forth ; the monks obeyed Two venerable brothers, deep in years. First crossed themselves, then seized the struggling maid In their stout arms ; despite her prayers and tears, And wild appeals on him she called her love, They with their burden now began to move. But he, whose human flesh seemed petrified To marble, started from that rigid mood. And blindly running after them, he cried, " Hold I hold 1 stain not your hands with innocent blood ; I broke my vow, I am the sinner, I Seduced the maid, — spare her, and let me die." XXXV. They halted midway, marvelling, aghast. When St. Columba thundered to them " Stay ! ' His voice was like a dreadful battle-blast. And startled coveys rose and whirred away : " He broke his vow, he is the sinner ; aye. Do as he says — spare her, and let him die ! THE PJROPHECY OF ST. OBAN 7i) XXXVI. " Yea, well I saw the gnawing worm within, But wished to tear the mask from off his soul. That in the naked hideousness of sin He might stand pilloried before you all : This is a judgment on me from above For loving him with more than woman's love.'' XXXVII. His voice here failed him and he hid his face ; And as before some imminent storm all sound In earth, air, ocean ceases for a space. There fell a breathless silence on that mound ; But when Columba raised his voice once more, It seemed the mufHed thunder's boding roar. "Oh perjured one ! oh breaker of thy vow ! Oh base, apostate monk, whose guilt abhorred Weighed down our walls and laid our chapel low Thy life shall be an offering to the Lord, And with thy blood we will cement the fane Which for thy sin's sake stiU was built in vain. " Seize him, and bear him to that dolorous site Where mid our ruined cells the chapel stands Whose holy walls and columns every night Have fallen beneath the blow of dssmon hands ; There, hving, bury him beneath its sod, And so propitiate the Lord our God." 80 THE PBOPHECY OF ST. OBAN Part IV It is the night : across the starless waste Of silent heaven the solitary moon Flits like a frightened maid who flies in haste, And wild with terror seems to reel and swoon, As in her rear the multitudinous clouds Follow like spectral huntsmen in their shrouds. And sometimes the wild rout o'ertakes its prey, And holds her captive in the lowering sky. But ever and anon she bursts away. And her white orb floats lustrously on high, And with its lambent flame transmutes the haze Into a living halo for her face. And far o'er black morass and barren moor The fitful splendour of the moonlight falls. Its broken eddies sweep across the floor. And dance in chequered silver on the walls, And flood the chapel's grave-encircled site With sudden flashes of unearthly light. TFIE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAM 81 IV. And as the unquiet moonlight conies and flies Athwart the little roofless house of prayer, Like some lost spirit strayed from Paradise Or daemon-angel of the realms of air, A pallid shape flits through the open door And flings itself, low waUing, on the floor ; And wailing, wailing, lay there in its pain. When suddenly it snatched from out the sod Some late -forgotten spade, while tears like rain Poured from its eyes, enough to melt the clod. And digging hard the small breach grew apace. Till the soil lay like molehills round the place. But through the silence suddenly there swells Along the gusty breaths of midnight air The mellow tinklmg sound of magic bells, Such as the pious brethren love to wear. To keep the fiends and goblins off that prowl For ever near to catch a tripping soul. And as the monks, chanting a solemn hymn, Draw nigh the chapel to perform their rite', That wailing shape flies far into the dim Eecess behind the altar full of night ; While they with burning torches move in file To consecrate afresh their sacred pile. 7 S'2 THE PBOPHEGY OF ST. OBAN VIII. Three days, three nights have fled since in that spot Where fiends and dsemons revelled unforbid, They buried that false monk who was a blot Upon their rule : but since the earth has hid His bones accursed, God's sun has shone again, Nor has fresh ill assailed their prospering fane Which now they enter, singing hymns of praise, Columba at their head — when lo, behold The grave yawns open and a bloodless face, The face of him they knew, rose from the mould : Slowly he rose from the incumbent clay Lifting the white shroud in the moonlight grey. X. Slowly his arm beneath the winding-sheet He waved three times, as though to bid them hear ; Then in the moonlight rose he to his feet Showing his shrunken body, and his sere Discoloin-ed hair, and smouldering eyes that lie Sunk in their sockets, glaring hot and dry. Slowly he raised his voice — once rich in tone Like sweetest music, now a mournfiil knell With dull sepulchral sounds, as of a stone Cast down into a black unfathomed well — And murmured, ■' Lo, I come back from the grave,- Behold, there is no God to smite or save. THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 83 XII. " Poor fools ! wild dreamers ! No, there is no God ; Yon heaven is deaf and dumb to prayer and praise ; Lo, no almighty tyrant wields the rod' For evermore above our hapless race ; Nor fashioned us, frail creatures that we be, To bear the burden of eternity. " Hear it, self -torturing monks, and cease to wage Your mad, delirious, suicidal war ; There is no devil who from age to age Waylays and tempts all souls of men that are ; For ever seeking whom he may devour, And damn with wine and woman, gold and power. XIV. " Deluded priests, ye think the world a snare, Denouncing every tender human tie ! Behold, your heaven is unsubstantial air. Your future bliss a sick brain's phantasy ; There is no room amid the stars which gem The firmament for your Jerusalem. XV. " Eejoice, poor sinners, for I come to tell To you who hardly dare to live for fright. There is no burning everlasting hell Where souls shall be tormented day and night ; The fever ye call life ends with your breath ; AU weary souls set in the night of death. 84 THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN XVI. " Then let your life on earth be life indeed ! < Nor drop the siibstanoe, snatching at a shade ! Ye can have Eden here 1 ye bear the seed Of aU the hells and heavens and gods ye made Within that mighty world-transforming thought Which permeates the universe it wrought — XVII. " Wrought out of stones and plants and birds and beasts To flower in man, and know itself at last : Around, about you, see what endless feasts The spring and summer bountifully cast ! ' A vale of tears,' ye cry — if ye were wise, The earth itself would change to Paradise. XVIII. " The earth itself — the old despised earth, Would render back your love a thousandfold. Nor yet afflict the sons of men with dearth, Disease, and misery, and drought and cold ; If you would seek a blessing in her sod. Instead of crying vainly on your God XIX. " Cast down the crucifix, take up the plough ! Nor waste your breath which is the life in prayer ! Dare to be men, and breali your impious vow, Nor fly from woman as the devil's snare ! For if within, around, beneath, above There is a living God, that God is Love." THE PROPHECY OF ST. ORAN 8i XX. " The fool says in his heart, There is no God," Cried St. Columba, white with Christian ire ; " Seize Oran, re-inter him in the sod And may his soul awake in endless fire : Earth on his moxath — the earth he would adore, That his blaspheming tongue may blab no more." XXI. Then like swart ravens swooping on their prey These monks rushed upon Oran ; when there came One gliding towards them in wild disarray With hair that streamed behind her like a flame And face dazed with the moon, who shrilly cried, " Let not death part the bridegroom from his bride." XXII. But deeming her some fiend in female guise, They drive her forth with threats, till, crazed with feai Across the stones and mounded graves she flies Towards the lapping, moon-illumined mere ; And like a child seeking its mother's breast She casts her life thereon, and is at rest. XXIII. And while the waves close gurgling o'er her head, A grave is dug whence he may never stray. Or come back prophesying from the dead, — All shouting as they stifle him with clay : " Earth on his mouth — the earth he would adore, That his blaspheming tongue may blab no more," THE HEATHEE ON FIRE ^be Ibeatbev on fire: A TALE OF THE HIGHLAND CLEARANCES DEDICATED CAPTAIN CAMERON, Whose glory it is to have thrown up his place rather than proceed in command of the steamer Lochiel, which was to convey the Police Exjjedition against the Skye Crofters in the winter of 1884. " The foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man hath not where to lay His head." PKEFACB. I seem to hear many a reader ask whether such atrocities as are described in "The Heather on Fire" have indeed been comiaaitted within the memory of this generation. Let him be assured that this is no fancy 90 THE HEATHEB ON FIRE picture ; that, on the contrary, the author's aun has been to soften some of the worst features of the heart- rending scenes which were of such frequent occurrence during the Highland Clearances. Many of them are too revolting for the purposes of art ; for the ferocity shown by some of the factors and ground-officers employed by the landlords in evicting their inoffensive tenantry can only be matched by the brutal excesses of victorious troops on a foreign soil. But even in those cases where no actual violence was resorted to, the uprooting and transplantation of whole communities of Crofters from the straths and glens which they had tilled for so many generations must be regarded in the light of a national crime. No traveller can have failed to be struck by the solitude and desolation which now constitute the pre- valent character of the Scottish Highlands. " Mile after mile," says Macaulay, speakmg of Glencoe, " the traveller looks in vain for the smoke of one hut, or for one human form wrapped in a plaid, and listens in vam for the bark of a shepherd's dog, or the bleat of a lamb. Mile after mile, the only sound that indicates life is the faint cry of a bird of prey from some storm-beaten pmnacle of a rook." His words might appropriately stand for a description of a greater part of the north of Scotland. But it was not always so. The moors and valleys, whose blank silence is only broken by the rush of tumbling streams or the cry of some solitary bird, were once enlivened by the manifold sounds of human industry and made musical with children's voices. The crumbling walls and decaying roof-trees of ruined THE HFATHEB ON FIRE 91 villages still bear witness to the former populousness of many a deserted glen. Perhaps these hmnble remains touch our feelings more deeply than the imposing frag- ments of Greek temples and Eoman amphitheatres. For it was but yesterday that they were inhabited by a brave, moral, and industrious peasantry, full of poetic instincts and ardent patriotism, ruthlessly expelled their native land to make way for sporting grounds rented by merchant princes and American millionaires. During a visit I paid to the Isle of Arran in the summer of 1884, I stood on the site of such a ruined village. All that remained of the once flourishing com- munity was a sohtary old Scotchwoman, who well remem- bered her banished countrymen. Her simple story had a thriUing pathos, told as it was on the melancholy slopes of North Grlen Sannox, looking across to the wild broken mountain ridges called " The Old Wife's Steps." Here, she said, and as far as one could see, had dwelt the Glen Sannox people, the largest population then collected in any one spot of the island, and evicted by the Duke of Hamilton in the year 1832. The Uves of these crofters became an idyll in her mout]i. She dwelt proudly on their patient labour, their simple joys, and the kind, helpful ways of them ; and her brown eyes filled with tears as she recalled the day of their expulsion, when the people gathered from all parts of the island to see the last of the Glen Sannox folk ere they went on board the brig that was bound for New Brunswick, in Canada. " Ah, it was a sore day that," she sighed, " when the old people oast themselves down on the sea-shore and wept." 92 THE HEATHER ON FIRE They were gone, these Crofters, and their dwelKngs laid low with the hillside, and their fertile plots of corn overrun with ling and heather ; but the stream went rushing on as of old, and as of old the cloven mountain peaks cast their shadow on the valley below whence the once happy people were all gone — gone, too, their dwelling-places, and, to use the touching words of a Highland minister, " There was not a smoke there now." For the progress of civilisation, which has redeemed many a vrilderness, and gladdened the solitary places of the world, has come with a curse to these Highland glens, and turned green pastures and golden harvest- fields once moi-e into a desert. DuAN First I. High on a granite boulder, huge in girth, Primaeval waif that owned a different birth From all the rocks on that wild coast, alone. Like some grey heron on as grey a stone. And full as motionless, there stood a maid, Whose sun-browned hand her seaward eyes did shade Flinching, as now the sun's auroral motion Twinkled in milky ways on the grey heaving ocean. II. Ah I she had watched and waited overlong ; — But now as the new sunshine poured along Heaven's hollow dome, till all its convex blue Brimmed over as a harebell fuU of dew — Yea, now she snatched the kerchief from her hair. And waved its chequered tartan in the air ; For all at once she heard o'er ocean's calm The home-bound fishermen chanting Kmg David's psalm. 93 04 THE HEATHER ON FIRE III. In stormful straits, where battering craggy heights Thundered the surf through equinoctial nights, Off dolorous northern strands where loomed Cape Wrath Bed-lurid o'er the sea's unnatural math Of goodly ships and men, or yet where lone The Orkneys echoed to the tidal moan, These men had plied their perilous task and rude, Wrestling with wind and wave for scantiest livelihood. IV. Now laden they returned with finny spoil The deep had tendered to their arduous toil ; Their fishing-smacks, with every black sail fanned By favouring breezes, bore towards the land ; And in their wake, or wheeling far away. Or headlong dropping on the hissing spray. Shrieked flocks of shore-birds, as now hove in sight Fantastic cliffs and peaks a-bloom with morning light. V. Ah ! dear as is her first-born's earliest lisp To a young mother, toying with the crisp Close rings that shine in many a clustering curl Above the fair brow of her baby girl ; Or welcome, as when parted lovers meet Their blissful looks and kisses, — even so sweet Unto the eyes of those sea-weary men Gleamed old familiar sights of their own native glen : THE HEATHER ON FIRE 95 VI. The shallow stream wide-straggling on the beach, That from cleft mountain ridges out of reach Of aught save eagles, clattered from on high To water the green strath and then to die Merged in the deep ; the monstrous rocks that lay Sharp-fanged like crocodiles agape for prey ; The mushroom hovels pitoh-forked on the strand. Where browsed the small lean cattle mid the wet sea- sand. And from her perch the Highland lass had leaped, Bounding from stone to stone, while still she kept Her footing on the slippery tangled mass. Through which her bare, brown, shapely feet did pass. Nor was she now alone on that bleak shore, For from each hut and corrie 'gan to pour AVomen, old men, and children, come to greet The fishers steering home their little herring-fleet. VIII. For now each boat was almost within reach, Their keels were grating harshly on the beach ; A rough lad here flung out his rope in coils. There nets were cast ashore in whose brown toils Live herrings quivered with a glint like steel Which, deftly shovelled into many a creel. Were carried to the troughs. And full of joy The sailor haUed his wife, the mother kissed her boy. 96 THE HEATHER ON FIRE But oh, rejoicing most of any there, Rejoicing met one fond and faithftd pair, Whose true and tender hearts, tried in love's fire. Life could not change, howe'er it might conspire With the revolving, disenchanting years To turn love's rainbow promises to tears, And ruthlessly to tear asunder stiU What seemed for ever joined by fate and mutual will. X. Had not nine Aprils with fleet sun and showers. On wan hillsides kindled a flame of flowers ? Had not nine harvest moons in sheltered nooks. Seen the shorn fields piled with the barley stooks. Since these two lovers in their buoyant youth Exchanged the vows they kept with stainless truth ? Both toiling late and soon, year in, year out. One longed-for day to bring their marriage morn about But toil is long, and oh, man's youth so fleet 1 Fleeter love's hours when hands and lips may meet ! Weary the moons when they are wrenched apart. For hope delayed still maketh sick the heart. And often when the lashing rain would smite The lowly hut throughout the moaning night. Beside her bed the girl fell on her knees. Praying her God for those in peril of the seas. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 97 But now their nets had drawn great hauls aloft, And Michael, who had left his inland croft For female hands to tiU while he should reap The fickle harvest of the iinsown deep, Beturned not empty-handed to the side Of her he looked to wed ere Ohristmastide ; As thirstily he met those sea-deep eyes. Where her long love lay hid, a pearl beyond all price. A grave, grand Crofter pitted in his pride Against the niggard soil or veering tide ; Whose natural ruddy fairness wind and sun Conspired to dye together of a dun Unohangiag umber — much as though he were Tarred like his sails for equal wear and tear — Wherein his eyes' unsullied blue seemed isled. Clear as two crystal springs by foul things ne'er defiled. Grave, too, the girl that was to be his bride, Whose dark head, as she stepped out by his side. Brushed his red-bearded chm : supple and frail. She looked a birch-tree swaymg with the gale ; And her pale cheeks and shadowy eyes and hair Seemed veiled by some pathetic brooding care. But that her ripe lips, with their cranberry red, A glow of youthful bloom on all her features shed. 98 THE HEATHER ON FIRE With many a " God-speed " from the fishermen, The lovers left the sea-board for the glen, Following the devious windings of the burn, Whose eddying waters flung themselves in turn O'er heaps of tumbled blocks, or, stilled and deep. In glassy shallows seemed to fall asleep. Where, grimly twisted by Atlantic storms. Grey birks leant over it their pale, distorted forms. A lone, green place, with no live thing around. No barks, or bleats, or lowings, save the sound Of running waters, that, with many a fall And fluid splash, meandered musical ; Burming through months, years, ages, on and on. Monotonously beneath moon or sun, With fugitive, ever-recurring chime Echoing the swift pulsation of the heart of time. A green, lone place for lovers such as these, AVhere sitting underneath the birchen trees — On knolls of tufted moss, whose amber sheen Seemed rings of sunshine breaking tlirough the green Hand locked in hand, enlaced and tranced with bliss. Love's smouldering fire flamed out in one long kiss Full of the smothered yearning at each heart. While duty and stern fate kept their two lives apart. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 99 There having lingered for a golden space, Lulled by the bum, face leaning close to face. How loth soe'er at last they turned away To follow the steep upland track that lay Beside the tumbling stream. For o'er the glade The hUls began to cast a lengthening shade, And from lone hollows filmy veils of mist Fell round their furrowed brows in vaporous amethyst And from the height of that green slope awhile Michael and Mary, leaning 'gain?t the stOe, Looked down the long withdrawing upper glen. The hoiTie of patient and laborious men ; Where it lay spread beneath their loving gaze Transfigured, glowing to an amber blaze Poured forth from out the incandescent west, Where the sun hovered above the purple mountain's crest. And so the twain cross to the fields of corn With half their yellow barley yet unshorn. Where still with rhythmic stroke the reaper walks. His sickle crackling through the bearded stalks, While the grain falls in heavy swathes, and then Bound by brown maids is flung unto the men. Who shouldering sheaf on sheaf all neatly bound Stook them in even shocks along the bristling gromid. 100 THE HEATHER ON FIRE And then they pass through meadows soft as sleep And white with sprinklings of the black-nosed sheep, Where the tall stacks their lengthening shadows fling, Along the golden green of sim-setting ; While through the air, m pendulous ebb and rise, A smoke-blie pillar moves athrob with flies. Myriads of murmuring specks that pulse and quiver Athwart the moted beam that spans the rushing river. There, clustering near the stream in crooked line, The crofters' steadings, warmly thatched, incline Brown sloping roofs o'er which rope nets are thrown And kept in place by many a ponderous stone Against the winter winds ; and all around With kale, potatoes, garden-stuff, the ground Looked like a patch-work counterpane with edges Of currant bushes and frayed blackberry hedges. And other farms appeared of their own will To have got rooted half-way up the hiU, Where mid the wine-red ling they seemed to be Green islands ringed round by a purple sea ; And far and wide along the pleasant strath The air smelt fragrant of the aftermath. While nimbly darting o'er the new-mown meadows, Shrill twittering swallows flashed above their flashing shadows. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 101 " My glen, my bonnie glen ! " the Crofter said, And reverently bared his tawny head, As he beheld aglow in sunset's ray The roof where first he saw the Ught of day — The strip of garden, to his infant eyes Delightful as a nook of Paradise, Where bees and pigeons murmuring, onoe to him Seemed echoes from afar of quiring cherubim. Even, as of yore, there wound the crooked street ; There sprawled small children with bare legs and feet ; There on a step stroking her whiskers sat. Sublimely tolerant, a green-eyed oat ; And there too — in the middle of the road, Where the tall waggon swayed its creaking load Of high-piled oats — the cackling hens, a-flutter. Scratching pecked up the gram with fussy haste and clutter. And even as the stately couple stepped Up the fair olaohan, two large collies leaped Into the street with short sharp barks of joy, And in their haste knocked a small touzled boy Into the gutter, where he lay and kicked, While the dogs dashed at Michael, madly licked His labour-hardened hands, and tried in vam To reach his kindly face, then barked and jumped again. 102 THE HEATHER ON FIRE XXVII. And at the loud glad noise an ancient dame Stepped to the door, and stood with stooping frame, And left hand warding off the dazzling rays. Like yellow parchment showed her crumpled face Scrawled o'er illegibly in runic wise With time's own handwriting ; and yet her eyes Scarce matched its age — ^still young with love and teen, As rain in winter keeps the grass more freshly green. xxvm. " Oh, mother, mother ! " cried the bearded man, As hurrying up ho took her visage wan Between his hands, kissing her face and hau-, As it might be a babe's, with tender care ; Then stooping he passed swiftly through the door To where right in the middle of the floor A fire of turf blazed on a flat romid stone. Whose leaping flames all round with equal lustre shone. XXIX. There Michael's father sat by, the red glare Touchmg his silver canopy of hair Into a fitful brightness, with his proud Grand head erect, though his strong frame was bowed. Felled at one blow — as when upon some height A fir, once fronting the confederate might Of winds from all the compass, on the holt Falls blasted, cloven in twain by heaven's sheer thunder bolt. THE HEATHER ON FIEE 103 So Michael, since he was a lad no more, Three feeble lives on his strong shoulders bore Along Ufe's road : for yet in manhood's prime, His father had come home one winter time Prom some fierce battle waged on fields of Spain, Where he and fellows like him helped to gain The day for England's king — alas 1 for him That gain was loss indeed : — crippled in life and limb. With right arm gone, on crutches, he returned Who had gone forth a stalwart man, that burned With lust for action ; and while still at heart Life's pulse beat strongly, he was set apart. Helpless as any log, unfit for toil. Condemned to see the woman drudge and moil. Doing the man's work and her own beside — Slaving from night to morn, from morn to eventide. For she would cut the peat-moss, dig, and plough ; Would reap the barley-field and mUli the cow ; Would spin and weave the wool her hands did shear Into stout plaids and comfortable gear ; Would dye the home-spun cloth and rainproof tweed In hues wrung from the ling and sea-brown weed. But even the strength her strong love fed at last Broke with the heavy load on her brave shoulders cast. 104 THE HEATHER ON FIRE For though the heart is willing, even unto death, The flesh is weak, and fails with failing breath. Beneath the daily burden's daily strain. Her work-worn body failed, however fain She was, despite her aching bones, to keep The mate and bairns that could not sow or reap, Yet sorely needed to be housed and fed Howe'er the sun might sear or wUd winds howl o'erhead. So she broke down at last, however loth, And her young son now laboured for them both ; And for the httle sister, barely nine. Who yet would twirl the spindle, coil up twine. Or take their milch cow to the field to graze : So, driven by ceaseless tasks, the urgent days Had waxed and waned, years followed one another. The lass had left her home, herself now wife and mother. XXXV. But honest Michael had not dared to wed The orphan girl whose dark and stately head In harvest fields rose first above the rye — While yet amid the opalescent sky A tremulous and dilatory light, Beluctant on the rear of refluent night, And shuddering through immensities afar Ethereally flamed the bright and morning star. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 105 Yea, though her lot was lowly, though the round Of want's imperious pressure hemmed and bound The orphan's life with those encircling walls Wherewith predestined poverty enthralls And stuns such toiling folk, until they ask But food and sleep after the long day's task — Moments she knew when mystical, intense. The universal soul thrilled through her inner sense. Then had she felt what she could ne'er express — A love, a worship, a sublime excess Of pure impersonal rapture such as thrills The lark's breast when his staunchless music fills Earth, air, and listening heaven ; — but all too soon, Like flashes of a storm-bewildered moon. Vanished the gleam — once more a rustic lass. She sheared the rustling grain, or through the rushy grass Wading bare-legged in the chill evening dews. Drove home the cattle, who, with deep-toned moos. Snatched yet one last sweet mouthful and yet one Ere ruminatingly at set of sun They straggled towards their stalls. And still so well The maid had served her masters, it befell That as the years rolled on deep-hearted Mary From cow-girl was become head of the Castle dairy. 106 THE HEATHEB ON FIHB And patient as her lover, and as brave, From out her wages yearly she would save A little hoard of coins, to line the nest What time their life's love should be crowned and blest In holy wedlock. Of that day now spoke Those four at meeting, while braw Michael broke His fast with porridge, cakes, and barley bree. By Highland air and hunger seasoned ambrosially. But day declined, the lass must say goodbye, Once more to hasten to her millcy kye. Bending a moment o'er the old man's chair. Her fresh lips reverently touched his hair. To whom — ^her young form vanishing from sight — The room hath darkened, even as though a light Were put out suddenly ; for stUl the old Warm their chUl hves where youth's warm glowing loves unfold. XLI. And lustily once more that tall pair strode Along the hiUy, devious-winding road. White in the harvest moon, who from on high Watched lUte the night's love-lighted mother eye Benignly o'er that hill-embosomed glen, Dotted with little homes of Highland men ; As though in mercy she would ward and keep All harm from those that there beneath low rafters sleep. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 107 Shine, quiet moonlight, shine 1 Belax, unloose The sweating peasants' over-lahoured thews ! Ease their tired muscles with thy healing balm, Breathe o'er their brows a pure, infantme calm. Dissolving all their senses in the deep Oblivion of immeasurable sleep 1 Shine, quiet moonlight, shine I O'er roofs like these Shed downier peace than falls o'er great kings' palaces. Far o'er the moon-white way the lovers sped, And in the moonlight showed transfigured, Till looking on each other, their deep eyes Shone full of love, even as with stars and skies. Silent amid the silence, hand m hand, They hardly walked but floated through a land Whose hiUs and trees, sheeted in mystic white. Seemed disembodied shapes floating away in Ught. And now the forest with its lichened pmes, Through which the broken moonlight swerving shines, Boofs in the pair, outstepping through the deep Wet bracken, whence, with sudden upward leap, Tall antlered creatures start, and stare with eyes Widely dilated in a wOd sm-prise — Then at one bound the herd hath fled, as still As clouds that dreamlike fly athwart an evenmg hiU. 108 THE HEATHER ON FIRE And this the bourne where Michael must be gone- Through here the crested portal leads alone Down the tail avenue, whose furrowed trees Have weathered the same tale of centuries As the square tower and lofty parapet Of the grim castle, which, as black as jet. Against the moon with massive walls doth stand- The lordly mansion of the lord of all that land. To him belonged the glens with all their grain ; To him the pastures spreading in the plain ; To him the hiUs whence falling waters gleam ; To him the salmon swimming in the stream ; To him the forests desolately drear. With aU their antlered herds of fleet-foot deer ; To him the league-long roUing moorland bare. With aU the feathered fowl that wing the autumn an For him the hind's interminable toQ : For him he ploughed and sowed and broke the soD, For him the golden harvests would he reap. For him would tend the flocks of woolly sheep. For him would thin the iron-hearted woods. For him track deer in snow-blocked solitudes ; For him the back was bent, and hard the hand. For was he not his lord, and lord of all that land ? THE HEATHER ON FIRE 109 DuAN Second. I. Rose now the longed-for, long-delaying hour To which, as towards the sun the sunward flower, Their hearts had turned through many a year of life, When Michael should take Mary unto wife. Long, long before the laggard sun arose Flushing the hillsides' freshly fallen snows. The bride and bridegroom, in their best array, Footed it to the kirk on this their wedding-day. II. At home the neighbours, full of kindly 2;est, Prepared the feast for many a wedding guest ; Swept out the barns and scoured the dusky byres ; Piled high the peats and kindled roaring fires, Whose merry flames in golden eddies broke Eound ancient cauldrons crusted o'er with smoke. Whence an inviting savour steaming rose, As, slowly bubbling, boiled the meaty barley brose. III. Spread was the board ; the various kinds of meat, Or roast or stew, sent up a savour sweet, Grateful to Highlanders, whose frugal cheer Is broth and oatmeal porridge all the year. But on this happy day no stint there was For all who liked to come and take their glass Of the good whisky, and with hearty zest Drink to the new-wed pair with many a boisterous jest. 110 THE HEATHER ON FIJIE From township, bothie, shieling, miles away. The guests had flocked to grace this festive day ; The shepherd left his fold, the lass her byre, Old folks their ingle-nook beside the fire. Mothers their bairns — yea, half the country-side Turned out to hail the strapping groom and bride ; And joUy pipers scaled the break-neck passes. With frolic tunes to rouse the lightsome lads aiid lasses. Now smoked the feast, now peat-fires cheerier burned. As from the kirk the bridal pair returned ; And Michael's mother rose from her sniig seat, xVnd came towards the bride with tottering feet, And tremulous hands outstretched, and sweetly spoke Her welcome : ruddier than her scarlet cloak The bride's cheek glowed beneath her black silk hood, As on the threshold of her home she blushing stood. Ah ! dear to her that narrow, grey-thatched home, Where she would bide through all the years to come ; Bound which her hopes and memories would entwine With fondness, as the tendrilled eglantine Clings round a cottage porch ; where work and love. Like the twin orbs that share the heavens above. Would round then- lives, and make the days and nights Glad with the steady flame of those best household lights. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 111 Was there no omen, then, no warning thrill, With curdling dread her warm young blood to chill, To oast the shadow of a coming doom Across the sunshine and the tender bloom Of her new-flowering bliss ? — nor anywhere A hint of all the sorrow and despair. The anguish, and the terror, and the strife Which, earthquake-like, would crush and overwhelm her life? Thank God that no foreboding shadow fell Across the threshold where love throve so well ; Nor was there one endowed with second-sight, To tell of things their present mirth to bhght. No, all were joyous ! Good cheer made them glad, The whisky gladder still 1 Tongues wagged like mad ! Pull oft drank they the bride and bridegroom's weal. And merrUy played the pipers many a stirring reel. And Michael's father, nodding to the bride, Bapped sharply on the table as he cried, Seiizing the cup in his one trembling hand. Like some hoar Patriarch of a storied land : " Lads, here's to Donald's memory ! Mary, lass. Here's to thy father I What a man he was ! My brave, God-fearing Donald 1 These old eyes Shall never see his like — so loving, leal, and wise. 112 THE HEATHER ON FIRE " Lads, here's to him ; Aye, well I mind the day When on the heights of Aldea crouched we lay For hours amid the furze, and thundering hot The sun blazed, and we durst not fire a shot. We of the Forty- Second : up the steep Like cats we saw the stealthy Frenchmen creep — Our Greneral, too, asleep 1 To wai'd off flies, He'd put a sheet of news across his steely eyes. " By'r Lord ! if there he didn't take his rest As sweetly as an infant at the breast. But when our captain up to him — he woke, Just raised his head a bit, and answering spoke : ' The Frenchmen coming up the hill ? What then ? Drive me these Frenchmen down again, my men 1 ' Aye, and we did so, without more Parlez ; To hear Sir Arthur, bless your hearts, was to obey. " Fluttered our plaids behind us down the hO, And how our bayonets shone ! I see them still Flash back the Spanish sunlight I Oh, the sight, To see these black French devils taking flight. And helter-skelter in their hurry run Backwards with clashing swords ! Then, lads, the fun Of chasing Johnny Crapaud, as we here With loud halloos and shouts follow the flying deer. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 113 "But needs they must come back ! And, as before, The General says, ' AVhy, drive them back once more ! ' " The old man paused, looked round, took a long drain Of usquebaugh, and said, " Look you, again Those Frenchmen swarmed more numerous than before Up the hillside ! Su- Arthur, on being told, Moved not a muscle, but just calm and cold As was his wont, he muttered, still quite civil : ' Drive me, I say, these Frenchmen to the devil ! ' " And that we did ! By'r Lord, we did that time ! " Some thumped the floor, some made their glasses chime. Some quaffed more whisky as the board they smote With shouts of bravo ! Bory cleared his throat, And added calmly, in his deep-toned bass : " Aye, 'tis lilie yesterday, my little lass. Since I saw Donald last ; — but few, my dear. Will mind him that's awa' of all the good folk here. " Well, lads, we fired one volley ere we charged, And by my side the faithful comrade marched. When in a twinkling — mark you ! — Donald Blair Lap suddenly right up into the air ; As I have seen a noble red deer leap. Shot by a gillie, then all of a heap Fall down face foremost — so he struck the sod : I'd fell the hand that fired the shot, so help me God I 9 114 THE HEATHEU ON FIRE " The firing slackened then ; I'd marked him well, And by and by my turn came, when we fell To fighting hand to hand — I knew him by The white patch on his nose, and sure 'twas I That passed my bayonet through him ; so the trick Was done, you see ; he followed pretty quick At my poor Donald's heels, the loon 1 ah well. He ne'er went back to France, but like enough to hell. " So Donald was avenged — we won the day. 'Tis lang syne now, the brown heads have turned grey, The grey are in their graves ; but seems I hear At whiles brave Donald's laugh so ringmg clear, And see his teeth gleam through his curly beard. Those were braw fetching days 1 Yell all have heard Tell on the Forty- Second ? Show us the glen In Highland or in Island sent not its bonny men 1 " The old man's eyes gleamed with young fire again. " Here's to the lads we left behind in Spain ! " He cried, and quaffed his bumper with a will. And now the pipers struck up loud and shrill ; And while the old sat spinning many a yarn. The young folk blithely gathered in the barn ; And with their fun and loud-resounding laughter, Shook the worm-eaten beams and cobweb-crusted raftei THE HEATHER ON FIRE 115 Cheeks flushed, eyes sparkled, hearts beat high and fast, As o'er the floor their feet revolving passed, TiU, to the sound of hornpipes and of reels. It seemed their hearts went dancing in their heels. With rhythmic motions now, and face to face, They tap the shaking boards with natural grace ; Then, with the wild deer's swiftness, boy and girl Cirohng in dizzy maze around each other twirl. And as they fling, and cling, and wheel, and pass. Many a lover lightly hugs his lass ; And many a village belle and queen of hearts Makes desperate havoc with her simple arts 'Mid her adoring swains, who, while they shower Their melting glances on her, glare and glower Upon their rivals, whom, while meekly sighing. With many a fervid kick they fain would send a-flying. But still among the bonnie dancers there Michael and Mary were the bonniest pair ; So tall and stately, moving 'mid the rout Of flushed and panting couples, wrapped about With the pure glory of love, which seemed to fill And penetrate then- features with a still And tender glow — impassioned yet serene. The scripture of true hearts revealed in rustic mien. 116 THE HEATHER ON FIRE On, on they whirled to many a loud strathspey, Long after groom and bride had gone away ; Long after the late half -moon's dwindling light Had risen grisly on the snowy night, Through which the wind, in sudden fits and spasms, Went roaring through the roaring mountain chasms, And then fell silent — with a piercing cry, Like a sore-hunted beast in its last agony 1 But oh, what oared these merry wedding-guests. With flying pulses and with throbbing breasts, For all the piping winds and palely snows ! — Their pipes out-played the wind-notes, and their toes Out-whirled the whirling snowflakes, and bright eyes Did very well instead of starry skies ; And as the winter night grew drear and drearier. Music and mountain dew but made them all the cheerier. And so the wedding lasted full three days, With dance and song kept at a roaring pace. And druiking no whit slacker ; then the feast Came to an end at last, and many a beast — Eough Highland sheltie, or sure-footed ass — Carried them safe o'er stream and mountain-pass. Through treacherous mosses and by darkling wood. Till safe and sound once more by their own hearths they stood. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 117 DuAN Third. I. Years had passed on : the ever-rolling years On which man's joys and sorrows, hopes and fears, His loves and longings, are swept on and on, Like airy bubbles sparkling in the sun, Which, forming in a labouring vessel's wake. Flash for a moment, in a moment break ; Frail flowers of foam, dissolving as they quiver. To sink and rise, and sink upon life's rushing river. II. Onoe more nine Aprils, with fleet sun and showers, On wan hillsides had lit a flame of flowers ; Once more nine harvest moons in sheltered nooks Saw the shorn fields piled with the barley stooks. Since Michael had brought home his dear loved wife, The faithful partner of his arduous life : Both toiling late and soon, year out year in, For the old folk and wee bairns the needful bread to win. III. But toil is long — and hard the stubborn strife Which with the inclement elements for bare life The Crofter wages ; yet for all his ills Deep-rooted love unto the soil he tills The stout heart bears ; — as mothers oft are fain To love those best who cost them sorest pain ; So do these men, matched with wild wiad and weather, Ghng to their tumbling burns, bleak moors, and mountain heather. 118 THE HEATHER ON FIRE And lo ! once more it was the time of year When berries crimson and green leaves grow sere ; When bluebells shelter numb, belated bees, And on the outstretched arms of wayside trees Dangle long wisps of oats, whose casual grain The thievish sparrows plunder, as the wain Creaks slowly, lurching sideways, to the croft, Whose sheaves, by stout arms tossed, are stored in barn and loft ; — That time of year when, smoke-like, from the deep Atlantic ocean, fast ascending, sweep Innumerably the rain-burthened clouds Taking the sun by storm, and with dim crowds Confusing heaven, as, flying from the gale. They blur the lineaments of hill and dale. Till, dashed on giddy peak and blasted scaur. Their waters breaking loose, crash in one long downpour. A drear autumnal night ! The gusty rain Drums on the thatch ; the tousled birches strain, Bending before the blast ; and far and wide The writhcn pines roar like a roaring tide. With which the tumult of the troubled stream Mingles its rumbling flood : a night to dream Of dire shipwrecks and sudden deaths at sea — Yet here, 'neath lowly cot, all sleep most peacefully. THE HEATHEB ON FIRE 119 All sleep but Mary, hushing in her arm The child whose moans now mingle with the storm And now fall silent, as his curly head Nestles against her breast, that burns to shed The warmth of life into her ailing bairn, O'er whom her eyes compassionately yearn With love, such as some master genius fine Limned in. her namesake's eyes, bent o'er the child divine. Yea, Mary watched alone, while round her lay The nut-brown heads of children, and the grey Deep-furrowed brows of age ; now and again, In the brief pauses of the hurricane. She caught their rhythmic breathing through the thick Laborious cough and panting of the sick And feverish child, who now and then made moan — " Oh, mother, mother dear 1 take oS that heavy stone." " Aye, aye," she crooned, stifling a heavy sigh ; " Aye, aye, my precious darlin', mother'U try." And all the night by the red peat-fire's glare, As many a night before of carking care. With healing warmth she eased the poor child's ache, And with sweet cooling drinks his thirst did slake. At last the racking, troublous cough did cease. And dozing off towards dawn, he slmnbered more at ease. 120 THE HEATHER ON FIRE The tempest too lulled suddenly : a swound As of spent forces hushed the wuthering sound And tumult of the elements ; wan and grey In the eastern heavens broke the irresolute day Still pale and tearfvd, as the close-veiled sun Like one who fears to see the havoc done Peered furtively ; his iirst and faltering ray > Hailed by a lark's clear voice hymning the new-born daj A poor caged lark ! But as the exultant note Burst from the little palpitating throat Of the imprisoned songster, the dull yoke Of care that seemed to stifle Mary broke In a hot flood of tears ; yea, hope once more, hike a tall pillar of fire, shone before Her groping steps — the bird's voice seemed to tell Her listening, anxious heart all would be well, be well. " Yea, all would yet be well," she murmured ; " soon With this first quarter of the hunter's moon Father would come back from the seas, and bring His gains wherewith to buy so many a thing Sore needed by the bairn 1 " Therewith she rose More comforted at heart, and tucked the clothes Warmly around the child, and softly kissed The little sleeper's thin, brown, closely curled-up fist. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 121 XIII. And lifting his moist curls, she faintly smiled, Kemembering how last June her ailing child. As blithe and bonnie as the other twin, His sister Mary, had come toddhng in,' Ruffled and rosy, pressing to his breast With chubby iingers a forsaken nest. From which the startled lark had fled in fear. When 'mid the falling swathes the mowers' scythes rang near. But he had rescued it from being crushed By trampling feet, and eager-eyed and flushed Had toddled to the cottage with its shy. Poor half-fledged nestling, that did feebly cry For food and warmth and mother's folding wing ; But lovingly he tended the wee thing — And lo ! it lived, ceasing to pine and fret : In narrow cage it sang, sweet Michael's cherished pet. XV. The song aroused the household. One by one They rose to do their taskwork with the sun ; All but the aged woman, now too sore To leave her bed, or labour any more, Save with her hands, which still found strength to knit Warm stockings for her son. Old Rory lit His pipe, and bending o'er the smouldering fire. Piled on the well-dried peats and made the flames leap higher. 122 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Fair Eanza hurried to her dear-loved cow, Shobhrag, the primrose-hued, that with a low Of deep content greeted the little maid, Who bade her a good day, and fondly laid A soft pale cheek against her shaggy side ; Then pressing the full udders, sat astride On her small three-legged stool, and watched the white Warm stream of milk filling her pail with keen delight : Yet took great care not to take more than half. Nor rob the little, cuddling, week- old calf That stood near by — a glossy golden brown, Most like a chestnut roughly tumbled down, When its smooth burnished kernel seems to swell And burst athwart the trebly-cloven shell — Whose lunpid eyes, pathetically meek, From then- mute depths imto the gentle child did speak And bare-legged ruddy Ion, whistling shrill, Scampered across the grass all wet and chill. And littered with brown leaves and berries red, While as he brushed the hedge its brambles shed Brief showers upon him, as with prying look He keenly searched each. ditch and hidden nook For a scarce egg or two, which now and then Was laid safe out of sight by some secretive hen. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 123 XIX. And Mary, bending o'er the peat-fire's glare, Its bright light dancing on her crispy hair And white face worn with watching, yet so grand Lit with those eyes of hers, turned with one hand The well-browned oat-cakes, while her other one Had hold of little Maisie, whose bright fun Was kept in check by whispers from her mother. Not to disturb or wake the little sleeping brother. At last they gathered round the humble fare, The youngest chUd repeating the Lord's Prayer With broken baby tones and bended head : " Give us," she lisped, " this day our daily bread," When a loud hurried knocking at the door Startled the little circle ; even before They well knew how, into the room there broke A hurried, flurried group of scared, distracted folk, WUd, panic-stricken neighbours, blanched Avith dread. How helpless looked the strong ! Discomfited, Like vaQn from field-work driven by sudden foe Who yet instinctive clutched their spade or hoe ! And unkempt wives anomalously dressed With querulous infants huddled to the breast ; Showing, in quivering lip and quailing eye. The inevitable stroke of swift calamity. 124 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Yet ere one spoke, or could have said a word, Mary had waved them back : " Nay, by the Lord, Not here, not here,'' she whispered hoarse and low ; " My ohUd is sick — the sleep he's sleeping now Is worth a life ;" then with a pleading sign She to the old man's care seemed to resign Her httle ones, and softly closed the door, Bracing each quivering nerve for some dire grief in store. And walked slow-footed to the outer gate, 'Gainst which she leant her body like a weight ; And with dry lips, low querying, barely sighed — " Michael ? The tempest ? " But a neighbour cried, One of her kin, who grasped her round the waist — " No, no, look yon ! " And with bare arm upraised She pointed up the glen, whence drifting came Dark clouds of rolling smoke lit by red tongues of flame. xxrv. And through the rolling smoke a troop of men Tramped swiftly nearer from the upper glen ; Fierce, sullen, black with soot, some carrying picks. Axes, and crowbars, others armed with sticks. Or shouldering piles of faggots— to the fore A little limping man, who cursed and swore Between each word, came on post-haste ; his hand, Stretched like a vulture's claw, seemed grabbing at the land. THJi HEATHER OS FIHE 125 XXV. " The deil a one of all the lot shall stay ; They've a' been warned — I'll grant no more delay ; So let them e'en be smoked from out their holes, To which the stubborn beggars stick like moles, Cumbering the ill-used soil they hack and scratch, And call it tillage I Silly hens that'd hatch Their addled eggs, whether they will or no, Are beaten off, and sure these feckless fules maun go.'' So on from glen to glen, from hut to hut. The hated factor came with arrogant strut And harsh imperious voice, and at one stroke Of house and home bereft these hapless folk, Bidding all inmates to come forth in haste : For now shall their poor dwellings be laid waste, Their thatch be fired, walls levelled with the leas And they themselves be shipped far o'er the wide, wild seas. Thus through his grasping steward bids the chief. In whom hereditary, fond belief Honours the proud head of their race — the man Whose turbulent forbears their devoted clan Had served in bloody wars, nor grudged to yield Then- lives for them in many a battle-field : But in these latter days men's lives are cheap. And hard-worked Highlanders pay worse than lowland sheep. 126 THE HEATHER ON FIRE And so that he unstinted may abide Ixa all the pomp and power of lordly pride, Kiot in lawless loves, or, if he please, Have a refreshing change of palaces ; Or softly warmed in scented orange bowers, Shun his moist land of mist and mountain showers. The far-off master hath declared his will, To have the Crofters swept from every dale and hill. Ah ! sore's the day to those unhappy folk, Whose huts must fall beneath the hammer's stroke, As now the thud of heavy trampling feet Draws close and closer to then* village street ; Where, hurrying aimlessly, some wildly stray, While others stand and stare in blank dismay. And with the sudden shout — " They come 1 They come I " The neighbours rush in fear, each to his threatened home. But one still grasping Mary by the waist. Abode with her, and said : " Haste, woman, haste ! Let's get the old man and the bairns away, And whatsoe'er of goods and gear we may, Before the factor's men break in, and fling Your bedding in the road and everything Ye'se bought right dear, and pots and pans and a' Lie ruined past the mending, broken by their fa'." THE HEATHER ON FIRE 127 But Mary, answering with 'bated breath, ■' Ah 1 d'ye forget our child nigh sick to death. And the old bedridden mother? " — even before Her tremulous lips could add a syllable more, A voice smote on her ear, more like the screecli Of some fell bird of prey than human speech That bade her, at the law's resistless call. To clear out quickly, bag and baggage, once for all. And Mary clasped her hands and raised her eyes. And with a sudden throb of sharp surprise She knew the little man who, years gone by. When she was but a lass who kept the kye — A bare-legged lassie, but most fair and slim. Like a young poplar swayed at the wind's whim — Had come a-courting, and with fierce suit dunned The maiden for her love, while she him loathed and shunned. She knew the man, and a quick searing red Bm'ned cheeks as wan as hueless petals shed By wind-nipped flowers in autumn. " Lord," she cried, " Ha' mercy ! 'tis Dick Galloway," and eyed The factor for a while ; then sighiag said — " There's Michael's mother, she's now been a-bed A weary while ; ah, sir, she is that old That if she's moved, for sure she'll die of cramp and cold." 128 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Then with a break and pleading change of tone, She pointed o'er her shoulder with a moan As of a cushat dove in forest deeps — " My child's been sick, sir; now, thank God, he sleeps To drag him ovit into the gousty glen AVould be sheer murder ! Oh, come ben, come ben. And see him smile so sweetly where he lies, 'Most like one of God's angels up in Paradise. " Ye see, if ye '11 but bide a little span, Michael 'U be back, and he's a canny man For rare devices, and will surely find A way to shelter them from rain and wind ; And we'll go quiet and make no lament, Though me and Michael's always paid the rent Howe'er we pinched oursel's when times were bad ; But now ye ken my plight, come see the curly lad." " Plague take the woman, what a mighty fuss 'Bout a bedridden hag and sickly cuss ! D'ye thuili, dem, I'll stand jawing at this rate About sick brats at every beggar's gate ? Time's money's worth," the lowland factor sneerotl ; And with a vicious gnawing of his beard, And something of a leer and bantering, whine, " Ye're not so saucy, lass, as was your wont lang syne, THE HEATHER ON FIRE 129 " Ye mind," he hissed, lowering his voice, " I'Se bet, What a big fool ye made of me ; and yet, Mary, you were a bigger ! Down I went In the wet grass right on my knees, and spent My breath in sighs, and, damn me ! all ye'd say Was, with a loud guffaw, ' Dick Galloway, For shame, get up, get up, man ! ' Then I swore You'd rue it, as you have, and shall do more and more. " Come, come, time's up I Clear out of this, I say 1 Here, lads, come hither ; help to clear away This stinking rubbish heap — some of ye chaps Here lend a hand, clear out this woman's traps. Of aU these dirty huts the glen we'll sweep, And clear it for the fatted lowland sheep." Then with a mocking bow and limping gait, Left Mary standing there — dumb by the rustic gate. XXXIX. " Cowards ! " she cried, with a fierce flash of light In her big eyes, and reared to her full height. And waved them back as might some warrior queen, FuU-armed and fearless, of her people seen Foremost upon the ramparts as the foe Scales her fair walls before their overthrow — Yea, even with such an air the woman stood ; " Cowards 1 " she cried once more, " thirst ye for children's blood ? " 10 130 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Her regal presence and her flashing eyes, Raised as in supplication to the skies, Awed even these surly men, who still delayed To shove her back, and make a sudden raid Upon her cottage ; — brutal as they were, The motherhood that yearned through her despair Awed them a moment — but a moment more They'd hustled her aside and tramped towards the door. Swifter than they — yea, at a single bound She swooped above her child's bed, wrapped him round In a thick plaid, and clasped him to her breast, And panting — " Father, see ye to the rest, Ho help me God I can't," she, clutching hold Of Maisie's hand, strode out into the cold ; And on a fir uprooted by the gale Sat down, and hushed the child that 'gan to hoarsely wail. Meanwhile the men fell to their work and broke The rough-cast walls with many a hammer stroke ; Pulled down strong beams, set the mossed thatch on fire, AVhile Eanza, quivering, flew towards the byre To save their cow and calf ; and the young son Of seven seized what he could lay hands upon, And dragged it in the roadway, for the lad Knew well 'twas all the wealth his hard-worked father had. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 131 And ancient Eory, tottering on his crutch, Tried all in vain with his one hand to clutch And lift his palsied wife, who could not hear His hiu^ried words, all tremulous with fear, With which he tried to rouse her — all her moan, A peevish whimper to be left alone, Till 'mazed, he hobbled off in wild suspense. Shouting for neighbours' help to bear the old wife hence. Where all was tumult and confusion, where Shrill cries and wild entreaties filled the air, And breathless folk pushed wildly to and fro, They hardly heeded one another's woe. Long, long it seemed ere Bory's perilous plight Brought him a helping hand — oh, curdling sight ! Too late, too late I — blankets and bedding blazed Around the poor old soul, whose skinny arms upraised Hacked feebly 'gainst the flames that rose and feU Hissmg and crackling round her. " I'm in hell ! " She mumbled crazily, and stared with dim. Lack-lustre eyes, struggling with palsied limb To fly but could not : with his desperate roar. It seemed the strength of by-gone days once more Surged through the old man's shrunken veins ; he caught The woman up and bore her hence with horror half dis- traught. 132 THE HEATHER ON FIRE And laid her by the wayside, where her gear Hissed on the heather ; like a village Lear His eyes rolled maddening, while some neighbours came. And flinging water on the greedy flame. They quioldy quenched it — but as quickly, oh ! That other flame went out, which here below, No skiU of man hath learned to light again : Eyes closed, heart stopped, shut fast and locked on human pain. Yet where so many suffered one more wail Of anguish scarce was heeded ! Eang the dale With lamentation and low muttering wrath. As homestead after homestead in the strath. As hut on hut perched tip-toe on the hiUs, Or crouched by burn-sides big with storm-bred rUls, Blazed up in unison, till all the glen Stood in red flames with homes of ousted Highland men. And through the dire confusion and the smoke From burning byres, the cattle roaring broke. And luad with terror, rushed down from the fells ; Whole flocks tore bleating onwards, with the yells Of furious dogs behind them ; whins and trees Caught fire, and boughs fell crackling on the leas. And smouldering rafters crashed, and roofs feU in, And showers of wind-blown sparks high up in air did spin. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 133 Distracted, stunned, amazed, the hurrying folk Sway to and fro ; some harness to the yoke The loudly whinnying horses, and on van Or cart, in desperate haste, toss what they can Of their scant household goods : clothes, bedding, chairs, Spades, hoes, and herring-nets, and such like wares ; And high atop of all, well nigh despairmg. Wives, mothers, children — howling, weeping, swearing. Here a bold shepherd leaps from rock to rock. And vainly calls his wildly scattering flock ; Caught some in burning bushes, or on high Shown motionless, as marble 'gainst the sky, Where on some juttmg shelf a step amiss Wni hurl them headlong down the precipice. There, at their peril, clambering cottars seek To save their precious crops, half stifled with the reek, But women-folk and children chiefly throng Helpless about the pathways, since the strong And able-bodied tarry yet at sea. Netting the herrings which innumerably Swim in the merry moonlight ; and, perchance, While round their keels the silvery waters dance. Their hearts fly homewards to the huts even then A-blazing up by hundreds through their native glen. 134 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Yea, all that night about the winding strath — On brown hillside and giddy mountain path, Or where, on dolorous moor and blanching mere, The dark mist lolled and floated, far and near, Reddening the river chafed by granite blocks. The drear ravines, the vapour-shrouded rocks, And reabns wind-haunted — hung that awful light Of huts and flaming farms ensanguining the night. And ever, as procession-like on high Swiftly across the wind-tormented sky The wingfed clouds, crossing from sea to sea, Rolled o'er the mountain-valley, suddenly Their Kvid masses stricken With the glare Kindled a wrathful crimson, tUl the air Seemed to take fire, infected from below. And earth from heaven itself to catch the unnatural glow And all that lurid night, beside the stream. With many a wind-snapped pine and blackened beam Hurrying to seaward in the fitful glare Of blazing roofs and rafters, Mary's care Was centered on the child upon her knee, Who gasped, convulsed, in his last agony. Close to the burden of the hfe beneath Her heart — that battle-field of wrestling life and death. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 133 And round her lay her Uttle ones, the shawl Snatched from her neck a covering for them all — Where half hid in her gown the nestling thmgs Showed, as through feathers of maternal wings The yellow heads of new-hatched chickens peep ; Yet 'mid confusion calm, they slept the sleep Of innocents, while watchful mother eyes Shone o'er them fair as stars flickering through stormy skies. The air blew chillier as faint streaks of grej- Bi'oadened towards that mystic time of day Which oftenest ushers m the feeble cry Of new-born babes, and hears the last goodbye Faltered from dying hps ! even at that hour When close-shut petals feel the hving power And thrill of light, the child, with gasping breath. Shuddered convulsed, and shranlt as from the frost of death. Then suddenly his writhing limbs relaxed. The fair, transparent features slowly waxed Crescent in beauty, and, with nameless awe Dilating, glowed the eyes, as if they saw Dawning upon the unfathomable night And dumb abysms of death, light within light Shining prophetic on those infant eyes, Limpid as mountain meres, that glass the starry skies. 136 THE HEATHER ON FIRE Like to a drop of morning dew that shone In momentary lustre and is gone ; Like to a new-lit taper whose fair light A sudden gust hath quenched ere fall of night ; Like to a fresh-blown lily which the storm Hath broken ere its time, the fiower-hke form Of the fair child lay on its mother's knee, Unconscious of her sharp,. shrill cry of agony, " Oh, Michael, oh, my son ! " The piercing wail Of himian grief went echoing on the gale That sobbed about the pine tqps. Howling bayed The dogs, as if they also mourned the dead ; Then keenly sniifed the air, and barked and leaped About the woman's skirts. The children wept. Steps crackled on the leaves. And like a dart Straight aimed, flew Michael, straming Mary to his Tieart Lo, all her pent-up anguish, all her fears. Then broke their flood-gates in a storm of tears Upon her husband's shoulder ; with her arms Looked closely round him, the fell night's alarms, The home in ashes laid, the sick and old Relentlessly thrust forth into the cold Autumnal night — ^yea, aU the pain and trouble Seemed bearable to her, now that her heart was double. THE HEATHER ON FIHE 137 Few were his words. What comfort was in speech ? The news had smitten Michael on the beach, Where late at night he landed. For a cloud Of densely rolling smoke hung like a shroud On the familiar cliffs and well-known bay, Till the bewildered mariners lost their' way Even in broad noon, but won the shore at night, Piloted by the flames that flashed from vale and height. Oh, ghastly home-coming 1 Oh, cruel blow ! To find their levelled walls and huts laid low ; Their crofts destroyed, their stacks of fragrant hay Devoured of greedy flames or borne away By all the winds of heaven. Oh, harrowing sight ! Sore labour's fruits all wasted in a night ; The banished clansmen hurrying to the shore To sound of pipes that wail. Farewell for evermore. They fly and turn not on the hireling band, That unresisting drives them from their land. Dowered with the lion's strength, like lambs they go. For saith the preacher : " God wUl have it so. Therefore, lest worse befall them, lest they yell Hereafter from the burning pit of Hell, Let them in judgment for their sins go hence, Nor vainly strive, poor folk, against God's providence." 138 THE HEATHER ON FIRE DuAN Fourth. High among sea-bleaclied rocks, and bleached as they, Naked to summer storm, to wintry day, Unroofed and windowless, a ruined keep Tottered, suspended o'er the turbulent deep, That evermore with hungry lap and moan Gnawed worrying at the bald precipitous stone, Whose shrubless gaunt anatomy deiied The siege and ruthless onset of the battering tide. II. Here it was rumoured, once from furthest Thulo Tall Vildngs landed and had fixed their rule, Harrying the Gaelic people. Here, they said. One, yet red-handed, forcibly had wed A slaughtered chieftain's child. White as sea-foam. He bore the bride up to his eagle home. Whose hollow vaults echoed the huge carousals In celebration of those terrible espousals. III. But in the dead of night the bride arose, And noiselessly as the pale drifting snows. The two-edged sword of him, who, drenched with wine Slept there, she brandished in the dim moonshine, And sheathed it in his heart ; then where he lay Cursed him with a strange om*se and fled away : That curse which for long centuries had preyed Upon those grisly walls, the credulous sea-folk said. THE HEATHEB ON FIBE 139 To these ill-omened ruins, where all rank And blistering weeds grew thicldy 'mid the dank Coarse grass and thistles, where the flat-mouthed toad Squatted, where foxes found secure abode, Where whooping owls with lidless eyes did stare, And fluttered bats athwart the dusky air Shot shuttlewise — even thither Michael bore Mary, and her sore pangs at his own vitals tore. For in these ruins, where the hunted beast Burrowed secvire, the outcasts hoped at least The factor's gang would never track their prey. With breathless haste the Crofter cleared away The mouldering rubbish, and with infinite care, On the hard piUow of the ruinous stair He propped the dear dark head of her whose spent Attenuated frame with coming hfe was rent. And to the barren moorland waste forlorn. Treeless— but for a solitary thorn That, lightning-strioken and bereft of leaf, Stood Ulte a gallows waiting for its thief — The little children went, and blue with cold And hunger, searched upon the gusty wold For the spare rust-brown ferns and shrivelled heather To ease their mother's bones in place of flock and feather. 140 THE HEATHER OX FIRE VII. Their father meanwhile knocked a stancheon Into some rotten chinks, and thereupon Stretched a tarred sail across the corner where His wife lay shivering in the inclement air Whistling through hole and cranny ; from the ground Sought waifs and strays, and by a godsend found A piece of solid drift-wood, unawares, Mayhap, of smugglers left, there hiding perilous wares. And with much coaxing of the spitting fuel, That seemed to wage a sort of spiteful duel With the reooUing flames, the fitful spark Flared up at last and wavered through the dark, As blowing with strong lungs to fan the blaze, Michael, with new-ploughed furrows in his face, Stooped over it, to grill the caller herring. While flameward to their death the flurried moths came whirring. Then with a mother's tenderness he fed The shivering, fretful children, and like lead Their hds fell to, even while the small white teeth Munched the sore-needed food, as with a sheath Slumber encompassed them. The weary souls, Like little foxes snuggling in their holes. Lay close around the fare with curled-up toes. Warmed by the bickering flames and deaf to all their woes. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 141 Deaf to the rising blast that rushed and beat Against the walls — to volleying hail and sleet Rattling like grapeshot — to the breakers' boom That right beneath them in the hollow gloom Seemed plucking at the everlasting rooks With such terrific and reiterate shocks Of crashing seas — deaf as the very stones To lashing winds and waves mixed with their mother's groans. And as the tempest rose, and as the night Grew wild and wilder, in the topmost height Of heaven the sundering cloud-gates showed above Where the white moon was fleeing like a dove Before the wrack, or like a living soul Escaped the body's ponderous control, And launched into eternity — even so Her weltering light appeared to Michael in his woe, Where, gripped with pain and ineffectual rage, And helpless as a lion in his cage, He paced the roofless chamber, or would start Into the storm to ease his bursting heart. And rushing forth he in the transient blaze Of moonlight met his father face to face Chopping a way athwart the baffling gale. His hair and matted beard hoar with the rattling hail. 142 THE HEATHER ON FIRE His father ? — nay, not this man — but some vain Hallucination his distempered brain Had conjured up from darkness 1 Aye, some fell And shocking mask that mimicked but too well The venerable head ! Oh, dread surmise I He knew this form, though from the wandering eyes A stranger stared, and verily knew not him. Michael grasped at the wall ; all seemed to turn and As, stumbling o'er the threshold, wild and worn, His face bedaubed with soot, his garments torn, The old man shook himself, then looked aroimd. And seeing the children curled up on the ground. Went painfully down on one knee, and spread His horny palm towards the fire, that shed An opal glow ; then, dropping to the earth, Laughed hoarsely to himself — " Aye, here's a bonnie berth. XV. " A pretty night, sir, this ! The moon's at full, That makes the winds go daft, a man from Mull Told me in private 1 'Tis a rare strathspey The merry piper's playing ; but, I say, A drop of whisky, lad ! I've come from far, And yon--come closer, lad — yon's bloody war." But his mad ramblings here were cut in twaia By madder hurly-burly of wind-smitten rain. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 141 "Happen you haven't heard puir Scotland, lad, Is done for quite ? Oh, Lord I the times are bad. The French we used to drub now drub us, rob. Kill, burn the very women I " And a sob Throttled the old man's utterance. " Oh, the shame !— Our braw lads ran away — ran, sir, like tame, Pale-livered sheep or rabbits in hot flight ! Had I not left some limbs in Spain, Fd make them fighti " Aye, there's the trouble ! I've lived overmuch. Earth's sick of me," and waving his old crutch Above his head he muttered — " Pn-e and flood Fight 'gainst our lads now they are made of wood. And jointed cunningly to look like men But bloodless. So they're burning in the glen. But I, ye ken, I'm of the Forty-Secon' I I've served my country well as it has me, I'se reckon.' And therewith burst into a husky song Of doughty Highland deeds, and, crazed with wrong, Dozed off, nor knew how busy death was there, Nor that as his new grandchild felt the air And edge of the inhospitable night, It shuddered back from life's brink in affright. Dragging its mother after — where she lay Like to a gallant ship that dwindling drifts away. 144 THE HBATHEB ON FIRE Merged in the dim obliterating line Where heaven and ocean seem to intertwine Their separate elements. Oh, crushing grief, With Mary's life Michael's was fain to leave. Who grasped his head with both his hands as though To ward oflf the inevitable blow, And keep his reeling sense and staggered brain From breaking down beneath the accumulatmg pain, As had his wretched father's ! " Oh, my own Puii' love," he cried, " oh, leave me not alone ! Would I could die with thee, or give my life For thine, my little lass, my murdered wife 1 The Lord have mercy on us ! " and the strong Man shuddered with his sobs, and fiercely clung To her who sighed, " I'm going with my dears. Watch thou the bairns that's biduig in this vale of tears." Crushing her freezing hand in his, the flight Of hours passed by unheeded, and the night, With all her winds loud wailing, lapped him round. And with her own his misery did confound. Unhappy wretch, not even to mourn his dead Might he watch unmolested by the bed Of his life's only treasure ; yea, even then On his great grief they burst, the great Lord's hireling THE HEATHER ON FIRE 145 Had they not scoured the country far and wide, The forest maze and crevissed mountain- side, The wave-bored cavern by the sounding shore, And haunts of sea-fowl, searching for a score Or two of fugitive distracted men. Whose hoary memories hugged their native glen, As ivy climbing round some king of oaks Cleaves to and breaks ^vith it beneath the woodman's strokes ? And by the faint light breaking through a chink Of the grey ruin tottering on the bruili; Of the bleached headland, lo ! the men of law. By tortuous tracks, had crept to where they saw The treacherous gleam ; and one ainong their band. Even in the name of him who owned that land. Bade them come on, nor waste their time, for, dem ! The tide was rising, nor would surely wait for them. Therewith they burnt the heather and the ferns Gathered and slept on by those weary bairns ; Put out the fire, and tore the sail away, Where, smooth as in her blooming maiden day — Like some fair image on a sculptured tomb. Within a hushed cathedral's mystic gloom — Eecumbent with her infant at the breast, The large-limbed mother lay in monumental rest. 11 146 THE HEATHER ON FIRE With painful steps slow winding round and round, Down curving tracks, they gained the burial-ground, Where some few furlongs from the sea it lay Upon a slope, acquainted with the spray; And where behind it, far receding, rose Cloud- shouldering pinnacles with maiden snows Begirt, and luminous with evanescent Gleams of the casual sun, storm-quenched and stil renascent. Within the shadow of the hiUs o'erhead,- Within the sound of sea-waves lay the dead. Here, thickly planted, leant the moss-grown stones, And kept old names green over mouldering bones ; Or billowy ridges simply marked the spot Where paupers rested whom even death forgot ; And crippled thorns and weeping birchen trees Bustled in conclave of the flight of centuries. Yea, here, even here, where their forefathers slept, The children lifted up their voice and wept, Lamenting as the Israelites of old In Babylon. Here, among graves, behold The desolate folk that congregating swell To bid their native land a long farewell — To bid their people's dust a last good-bye. Wetting with tears that earth where they niay never lie. THE HEATHER OX FIRE 147 XXVIII. But lo, all swerved aside, as through the throng The little funeral party moved along, All save three mourners, motionless and grej-. With covered faces crouching by the way ; For all knew Michael, honoured in the strath. And in compassion mutely cleared a path. As on his back he and another bore Sail-shrouded on a plank the wife who was no more. The staggering children, motherless and worn, Followed, the least one of the eldest borne ; All meekly, by his little grandson led, The old man shuffled after — his wild head Nodding perpetually filled even with awe The sorrowing folk he passed — but when he saw- So many of his people gathered there, Beturning reason broke on madness of despair. And more and more he came to understand. As by the new- dug grave he saw them stand, In which — a shamrock- leaf of lives — were laid jMother and new-born babe and winsome maid. Even Ranza — Mary's first-born — she whose brave Heart forced her staggering footsteps to the grave, "Where she had dropped convulsed, her innocent life As sorely done to death as by a butcher's knife 148 THE HEATHER ON FIBE Compassion moved their bowels. Not an eye But ran with tears. Michael's alone were dry. His heart had rained sorrow unspeakable On his wife's body ; now an empty well Seemed drained to the last drop. But even before The solemn prayers were ended, from the shore The factor's gang came pouncing on their prey, And hounded them with threats of handcuffs to the bay. For many there with sobs and bitter moans Were clinging round the thorn trees and the stones : More desperate tlian any, Eory clave. Frenzied in turn and fawning, to the grave Of the Maokinnons. "I shall stay," he cried, " With mine own people 1 Where my forebears died, The good. God-fearing folk, years upon years. There Bory too wiU die and mix his dust with theirs." And then wiih humbly supplicating mien Begged and entreated like a frightened wean — " No, no, ye won't begrudge a little span Of ground wherein to bury an old man Four score and over, who wUl not, for sure, Long cumber earth that is not for the poor ? " And low he grovelled 'mid the tombstones there, Brushing the long rank grass with his white floating hair THE HEATHER ON EIRE 149 XXXIV. He might as well have pleaded with the sea When, even as then, the surf rolls angrily, Raging against its bourne. Deaf to his prayer, They swore to hale him forward by the hair If he denaurred, who, fiercely struggling, shook His old notched crutch ; when Michael, with the look Of a sick lion, groaned " Come, father, come, Our country casts us forth, banished from hearth and home. " God may have given the land to dress and keep Unto our hands, but then his lordship's sheep Fetch more i' the market. So with all our roots. Like iU weeds choking up the corn's young shoots. He plucks us from the soil. His sovereign word Hath driven us hence. As with a flaming sword Doth he not bar the entrance to our glen ? But, father, if we must, shall we not go like men ? ' Then with his children Michael strode along. His father followed through the elbowing throng Of men and women, darting here and there To snatch up children, or their household ware, Splashing through sea pools, stumbluig over blocks To where the boats banged sharply on the rocks, Bobbing like corks, and bearing from the shore Their freight of human souls towards the Koh-i-noor. 150 THE HEATHER ON FIRE But as the shout of sailors, as the stroke And dip of oars upon his senses broke, The old man started back, and 'mid the loud Din and confusion of the pushing crowd He disappeared unnoticed, as the ship. With many a lunge and shake and roll and dip. Now weighed her anchors, and with bulging sail Close-reefed, and creaking shrouds, drove on before the gale. And crowding on the decks, with hungry eyes 'Straining towards the coast that flies and flies. The crofters stand ; and whether with tears or foam The faces fastened on their dwindling home Are wet, they know not, as they lean and yearn Over the trickling bulwark by the stern Toward each creek and headland of that shore. The long-loved lineaments they may see never more. Therewith it seemed as if their Scottish land Bled for its children, yea, as though some hand — Stretching from where on the horizon's verge The rayless sun hung on the reddening surge — Incarnadined the sweep of perilous coast And the embattled storm-clouds' swarthy host, With such wild hues of mingling blood and fire As though the heavens themselves flashed in celestial ire. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 151 And in the kindling of that wrathful light Their huts, yet flaming up from vale and height, Grew pale as watch-fires in the glare of day ; White constellated isles leagues far away, Headlands and reefs and paps, whose fretted stone, Breasted the sucking whirlpool's clamorous moan, Grew incandescent o'er the wind-flogged sea. Scaled over with whitening scum as struck with leprosy. For as the winds blew up to hurricane. Like a mere spark quenched on the curdled main The ship was swept beyond the old man's sight, A dizzy watcher on that lonesome height. Where, grappled to a fragment of the keep. He hung and swung high o'er the raging deep While sea-gulls buffeted about his locks, Slipped shrieking into chinks and crannies of the rocks. And now the waves that thundered on the shore Him seemed the iron-throated cannon's roar ; And now his heart, up-starting as from sleep. Shuddered for those that sailed upon the deep, As in brief flashes of his clouded mind He knew himself sole crofter left behind Of all his olan — crying now and again, " She's cleared the Sound of Sleat — safe on the open 152 THE HEATHER ON FIRE " She's safe now with the treacherous reefs behind 1 " He shouted, as in answer to the wmd That had swung round like some infuriate host, With all its blasts set full upon the coast ; And hounded back, the ship, as if at bay. Came reeling through the twUight, thick and grey With rags of solid foam and shock of breaking Waters, beneath whose blows the very rocks were shaking. XLrv Yea, near and nearer to the deadly shore She pitches helpless 'mid the bellowing roar Of confluent breakers, as with sidelong keel. Dragging her anchors, she doth plunge and reel. Dashed forwards, then recoiling from the rocks. Whose flinty ribs ring to the Atlantic shocks — On, on, and ever on, till hurled and battered Sheer on the rook she springs, and falls back wrecked and shattered. And through the smoke of waters and the clouds Of driving foam, boats, rigging, masts, and shrouds Wiirled round and round ; and then athwart the storm The old man saw, or raving saw, the form Of his own son, as with his children pressed Close to his heart, borne on the giddy crest Of a sheer wall of wave, he rose and rose, Then with the refluent surge rolled whelmed beneath its snows. THE HEATHER ON FIRE 15e And through the lurid dusk and mist of spray That quenched the last spark of the smouldering day, Paces of drowning men were seen to swim Amid the vortex, or a hand or limb To push through whelming waters, or the scream Wrung from a swimmer's choking lips would seem To be borne in upon the reeling brain Of that old man, who swooned beneath the mortal strain Yea, thus once more upon the natal coast, Which, living, those brave hearts had left and lost, The pitying winds and waves drove back to land, If but to drown them by the tempest's hand. The banished Highlanders. Safe in the deep. With their own seas to rook their hearts to sleep. The crofters lay : but faithful Eory gave His body to the land that had begrudged a grave. THE ASCENT OF MAN ^be ascent of m>an PEELUDB. WINGS. Ascend, oh my Soul, with the wings of the lark ascend 1 Soaring away and away far into the blue. Or with the shrUl seagull to the breakers bend, Or with the bee, where the grasses and field-flowers blend. Drink out of golden cups of the honey-dew. Ascend, oh my Soul, on the wings of the wind as it blows. Striking wild organ-blasts from the forest trees. Or on the zephyr bear love of the rose to the rose, Or with the hurricane sower cast seed as he goes Limitless ploughing the leagues of the sibilant seas. Ascend, oh my Soul, on the wings of the choral strain, Invisible tier above tier upbuUding sublime ; Note as it scales after note in a rhythmical chain Beaching from chaos and welter of struggle and pain. Far into vistas empj'real receding from time. 157 158 THE ASCENT OF MAN Ascend ! take wing on the thoughts of the Dead, my Sonl, Breathing in colour and stone, flashing through epic and song : Thoughts that hke avalanche snows gather force as thej- roll. Mighty to fashion and knead the phenomenal throng Of generations of men as they thunder along. Part I. CHAUNTS OF LIFE. I. Struck out of dim fluctuant forces and shock of electrical vapour, Piopelled and attracted the atoms flashed mingling in union primeval. And over the face of the waters far heaving in limitless twilight Auroral pulsations thrilled faintly, and, strildng the blank heaving surface, The measureless speed of their motion now leaped into light on the waters. And lo, from the womb of the waters, upheaved in volcanic convulsion, Ribbed and ravaged and rent there rose bald peaks and the rocky Heights of confederate mountains compelling the fugitive vapours To take a form as they passed them and float as clouds through the azure ; CHAVNTS OF LIFE 159 Mountains, the broad-bosomed mothers of torrents and rivers perennial, Feeding the rivers and plains with patient persistence, till slowly, In the swift passage of seons recorded in stone by Time's graver. There germ grey films of the lichen and mosses and palm-ferns gigantic, And jungle of tropical forest fantastical branches en- twining. And limitless deserts of sand and wildernesses primeval. Lo, moving o'er chaotic waters, Love dawned upon the seething waste. Transformed in ever new avatars It moved without or pause or haste : Like sap that moulds the leaves of May It wrought within the ductile clay. And vaguely in the pregnant deep. Clasped by the glowmg arms of light From an eternity of sleep Within unfathomed gulfs of night A pulse stirred in the plastic slime Responsive to the rhythm of Time. Enkindled in the mystic dark Life buUt herself a myriad forms. And, flashing its electric spark Through films and cells and pulps and worms. 160 THE ASCENT OF MAN Flew shuttlewise above, beneath, Weaving the web of life and death. And mtiltiplying in the ocean. Amorphous, rude, colossal things Lolled on the ooze in lazy motion. Armed with grim jaws or uncouth wings ; Helpless to lift their cumbering hvXk They lurch like some dismasted hulk. And virgin forest, verdant plain, The briny sea, the balmy air, Each blade of grass and globe of rain, And glimmering cave and gloomy lair, Began to swarm with beasts and birds, With floating fish and fleet-foot herds. The lust of life's delirious fires Burned like a fever in their blood. Now pricked them on with fierce desires. Now drove them famishing for food, To seize coy females in the fray, Or hotly hunted hunt for prey. Ajid amorously urged them on In wood or wild to court their mate. Proudly displaying in the sun With antics strange and looks elate. The vigour of their mighty thews Or charm of million-coloured hues. CHAUNTS OF LIFE 161 There crouching 'mid the scarlet bloom, Voluptuously the leopard lies, And through the tropic forest gloom The flaming of his feline eyes Stirs with intoxicating stress The pulses of the leopardess. Or two swart buUs of self-same age Meet furiously with thunderous roar, And lash together, blind with rage, And clanging horns that fain would gore Their rival, and so win the prize Of those impassive female eyes. Or m the nuptial days of spring. When April kindles bush and brier, LOce rainbows that have taken wing. Or palpitating gems of fire, Bright butterflies in one brief day Live but to love and pass away. And herds of horses scour the plains, The thickets scream with bird and beast ; The love of life burns in their veins, And from the mightiest to the least Each preys upon the other's life In inextinguishable strife. War rages on the teeming earth ; The hot and sanguinary fight Begins with each new creature's birth : A dreadful war where might is right ; 12 162 THE ASCENT OF MAN Where still the strongest slay and win, Where weakness is the only sin. There is no truce to this drawn battle, Which ends but to begin again ; The drip of blood, the hoarse death-rattle. The roar of rage, the shriek of pain, Are rife in fairest grove and dell, Turning earth's flowery haunts to hell. A hell of hunger, hatred, lust. Which goads all creatures here below. Or blindworm wriggling in the dust, Or penguin in the Polar snow : A hell where there is none to save, Where life is life's insatiate grave. And in the long portentous strife, Where types are tried even as by fire. Where life is whetted upon hfe And step by panting step mounts higher, Apes lifting hairy arms now stand And free the wonder-working hand. They raise a light, aerial house On shafts of viddely branching trees, Where, harboured warily, each spouse May feed her little ape in peace. Green cradled in his heaven-roofed bed, Leaves rustling lullabies o'erhead. CH AUNTS OF LIFE 163 And lo, 'mid reeking swarms of earth Grim struggling in the primal wood, A new strange creature hath its birth : Wild — stammering — nameless — shameless — nude ; Spurred on by want, held in by fear. He hides his head in caverns drear. Most unprotected of earth's kin, His fight for life that seems so ^-ain Sharpens his senses, till within The twUight mazes of his brain. Like embryos within the womb. Thought pushes feelers through the gloom. And slowly in the fateful race It grows unconscious, till at length The helpless savage dares to face The cave-bear in his grisly strength For stronger than its bulky thews He feels a force that grows with use. From age to dumb unnumbered age. By dim gradations long and slow. He reaches on from stage to stage, Through fear and famine, weal and woe And, compassed round with danger, still Prolongs his life by craft and skill. With cunning hand he shapes the flint He carves the horn with strange device. 164 THE ASCENT OF MAN He splits the rebel block by dint Of effort — ^till one day there ilies A spark of fire from out the stone : Fire which shall make the world his own. III. And from the clash of warring Nature's strife Man day by day wuas his imperilled hfe ; For, goaded on by want, he hunts the roe. Chases the deer, and lays the wild boar low. In his rude boat made of the hollow trees He drifts adventurous on the unoared seas. And, as he tUts upon the rocking tide. Catches the glistening fish that flash and glide Innumerably through the waters wide. He'll fire the bush whose flames shall help him fell The trunks to prop his roof, where he may dwell Beside the bubbling of a crystal well. Sheltered from drenching rains or noxious glare When the sun holds the zenith. Delving there, His cumbered wife, whose multifarious toil Seems never done, breaks the rich virgin soil. And in the ashes casts the casual seeds Of feathered grass and efflorescent weeds ; When, as with thanks, the bounteous earth one morn Eetums lush blades of life-sustaining corn. And while the woman digs and plants, and twines To precious use long reeds and pUant bines. He — having hit the brown bird on the wing And slain the roe — returns at evening. CHAVNTS of life 163 And gives his spoil unto her, to prepare The sucotilent, wUdwood scented, simmering fare. While with impatient sniffs and eager-eyed His bronze-limbed children gather to his side. And, when the feast is done, all take their ease, Lulled by the sing-song 'of the evening breeze And murmuring undertones of many-foliaged trees ; While here and there through rifts of green the sky Casts itsblue glance like an aU-seeing eye. But though by stress of want and poignant need Man tames the wolf-sprung hound and rearing steed, Pens up the ram, and yokes the deep-horned ox, And through wide pastures shepherds woolly flocks ; Though age by age, through discipline of toil, Man wrings a richer harvest from the soil. And in the grim and still renewing fight Slays loathly worms and beasts of gruesome might By the close-knitted bondage of the clan. Which adding up the puny strength of man Makes thousands move with one electric thrill Of simultaneous, energetic wUl ; Yet still behind the narrow borderland Where in security he seems to stand. His apprehensive life is compassed round By bafiSing mysteries he cannot sound. Where, big with terrors and calamities. The future like a foe m ambush lies : A muffled foe, that seems to watch and wait With the Medusa eyes of stony fate. — Great floods o'erwhelm and ruin his ripening grain. His boat is shattered by the hurricane. 166 THE ASGEhfT 0^ MAU From the rent cloud the tanieless lightning springs — Heaven's flame-mouthed dragon with a roar of wings- And fires his hut and simple household things ; Until before his horror-stricken eyes The stored-up produce of long labour lies, A heap of ashes smoking 'neath the skies. — Or now the pastures where his flocks did graze, Parched, withered, shrivelled by the imminent blaze Of the great ball of fire that glares above, Glow dry like iron heated in a stove ; Turning upon themselves, the tortured sheep. With blackermig tongues, drop heap on gasping heap. Their rotting flesh sickens the wind that moans And whistles poisoned through their chattering bones While the thin shepherd, staring sick and gaunt, Will search the thorns for berries, or yet haunt The stony channels of some river-bed Where filtering fresh perchance a liquid thread Of water may run clear. — Now dark o'erhead. Thickening with storm, the wintry clouds will loom, And wrap the land in weeds of mournful gloom ; Shrouding the sun and every lesser light TOl earth vwth all her aging woods grows white. And hurrying streams stop fettered in their flight. Then famished beasts freeze by the frozen lakes. And thick as leaves dead birds bestrew the brakes ; And, cowering blankly by the flickering flame, Man feels a presence without form or name. When by the bodies of his speechless dead In barbarous woe he bows his stricken head. Then in the hunger of his piteous love CH AUNTS OF LIFE 167 He sends his thought, winged Hke a carrier dove — Through the unanswering silence void and vast, Whence from dim hollows blows an icy blast — To bring some sign, some little sign at last, From his lost chiefs — the beautiful, the brave — Vanished like bubbles on a breaking wave. Lost in the unfathomed darkness of the grave. When, lo, behold beside him in the night, — Softly beside him, like the noiseless light Of moonbeams moving o'er the glimmering floor That come unbidden through the bolted door, — • The lonely sleeper sees the lost one stand Like one returned from some dim, distant land, Bending towards him with his outstretched hand. But when he fain would clasp it in his own. He melts into thin moonshine and is gone — ■ A spirit now, who on the other shore. Of death hunts happily for evermore. — A Son of Life, but dogged, while he draws breath, By her inseparable shadow — death, Man, feeble Man, whom unknown Fates appal. With prayer and praise seeks to propitiate all The spirits, who, for good or evil plight, Bless him in victory or in sickness smite. Those are his Dead who, wrapped in grisly shrouds, Now ride phantasmal on the rushing clouds. Souls of departed chiefs whose livid forms He sees careering on the reinless storms. Wild, spectral huntsmen who tumultuously. With loud halloo and shrilly echomg cry, Follow the furious chase, with the whole pack 68 THE ASCENT OF MAN Of shadowy hounds fierce yelping in the track Of wolves and bears as shadowy as the hosts Who lead once more as unsubstantial ghosts Their lives of old as restlessly they fly Across the wildernesses of the sky. "When the wild hunt is done, shall they not rest Their heads upon some swan-white maiden's breast, And c[uaff their honeyed mead with godlike zest In golden-gated Halls whence they may see The earth and marvellous secrets of the Sea Whereon the clouds will he with grey wings furled. And in whose depths, voluminously curled, The serpent looms whose girth engirds the world ? Far, far above now ia supernal power Those spirits rule the sunshine and the shower ! How shall he win their favour ; yea, how move To pity the unpitying gods above. To Daemon rulers of Ufe's fitful dream, AVlio sway men's destinies, and still would seem To treat them lightly as a game of chance. The sport of whim and blindfold circumstance — The irresponsible, capricious gods. So quick to please or anger ; whose sharp rods Are storms and hghtnings launched from cloven skies Who feast upon the shuddering victim's cries. The smell of blood, and human sacrifice ? But ever as Man grows they grow with him Terrific, cruel, gentle, bright, or dim, With eyes of dove-like mercy, hands of wrath, Prooession-like, they hover o'er his path And, changing with the gazer, borrow light CH AUNTS OP LIFE 169 From their rapt devotee's adoring sight. And Ormuzd, Ashtaroth, Osiris, Baal — Love spending gods and gods of blood and wail — Look down upon their suppliant from the skies With his own magnified, responsive eyes. For Man, from want and pressing hunger freed, Begins to feel another kind of need. And in his shaping brain and through his eyes Nature, awakening, sees her blue-arohed skies ; The Sun, his hfe-begetter, isled in space ; The Moon, the Measure of his span of days ; The immemorial stars who pierce his night AVith inklings of things vast and infinite. All shows of heaven and earth that move and pass Take form within his brain as in a glass. The tidal thunder of the sea now roars And breaks symphonious on a hundred shores ; The fitful fiutings of the vagrant breeze Strike gusts of sound from virgin forest trees ; White leaping waters of wild cataracts fall From crag and jag in lapses musical. And streams meandering amid daisied leas Throb with the pulses of tumultuous seas. From hills and valleys smoking mists arise. Steeped in pale gold and amethystine dyes. The land takes colour from him, and the flowers Laugh in his path like sun-dyed April showers. The moving clouds in calm or thunderstorm, AU shows of things in colour, sound, or form. Moulded mysteriously, are freshly wrought Within the fiery furnace of his thought. 170 THE ASCENT OF MAN No longer Nature's thrall, Man builds the city wall That shall withstand her league of levelling storms ; He builds tremendous tombs Where, hid in hoarded glooms, His dead defy corruption with her worms : High towers he rears and bxilks of glowing stone, Where the king rules upon a golden throne. Creature of hopes and fears. Of mirth and many tears, He makes himself a thousand costly altars, Whence smoke of sacrifice. Fragrant with myrrh and spice. Ascends to heaven as the flame leaps and falters ; Where, like a king above the Cloud control, God sits enthroned and rules Man's subject soul. Yet grievous here below And manifold Man's woe ; Though he can stay the flood and bind the waters. His hand he shall not stay That bids him sack and slay And turn the waving fields to fields of slaughters ; And, as he reaps War's harvest grim and gory, Commits a thousand crimes and calls it glory. Vast empires fall and rise. As when in sunset skies GRAVNTS of life 171 The monumental clouds lift flashing towers With turrets, spires, and bars Lit by confederate stars Till the bright rack dissolves in flying showers : Kingdoms on kingdoms have their fleeting day, Dazzle the conquered world, and pass away. In golden Morning lands The blazing crowns change hands. Prom mystic Ind to fleshly Babylon, Assyria, Palestine ■Armed with her book divine, Dread Persia whose fleet chariots charged and won Pale Continents where prostrate monarohs kneel Before the flash of her resistless steel. As one by one they start With proudly beatmg heart Fast in the furious, fierce-contested race, Where neck to neck they strain Deliriously to gain The winning-post of power, the meed of praise ; Some drop behind, fall, or are trampled down While the proud victor grasps the laurel crown. Not only great campaigns Shall glorify their reigns. But high-towered cities wondrous to behold. With gardens poised in air Like bowers of Eden fair, With brazen gates and shrines of beaten gold. 172 THE ASCENT OF MAtf And Palace courts whose constellated lights Shine on black slaves and cringing satellites. Eclipsing with her fate Each power and rival state With her unnumbered stretch of generations, A sand-surrounded isle ■ Fed by the bounteous Nile, Egypt confronts Sahara — sphinx of nations ; Taught by the floods that make or mar her shore, She scans the stars and hoards mysterious lore. Hers are imperial haUs With strangely scriptured walls And long perspectives of memorial places. Where the hushed daylight glows On mute colossal rows Of clawed wild beasts featured with female faces. And realmless kings inane whose stony eyes Have watched the hour-glass of the centuries. There in the rainless sands The toil of captive hands, That aye must do as their taskmaster bids, Through years of dusty days Brick by slow brick shall raise The incarnate pride of kings — the Pyramids — Linked with some name synonymous with slaughter Time has effaced like a name writ in water. For ever with fateful shocks, Eoar as of hurtling rooks, CHAUNTS OF LIFE 173 Start fresh embattled hosts with flags unfurled, To meet on battle-fields With clash of spears and shields, Widowing the world of men to win the world : The hissing air grows dark with iron rain, And groans the earth beneath her sheaves of slain. Triumphant o'er them all. See crowns and sceptres fall Before the arms of iron-soldered legions ; As Capitolian Bome Across the salt sea foam Orders her Caesars to remotest regions : Prom silver Spain and Albion's clouded seas To the fair shrines and marble mines of Greece. Pallas unmatched m war, To her triumphal car Rome chains fallen despots and disorownfed queens With many a rampant beast, Birds from the gorgeous East, And wool-haired Nubians torn from tropic scenes ; There huge barbarians from Druidio woods Tower ominous o'er the humming multitudes ; For stUl untamed and free In loathed captivity, Their spirits bend not to the conqueror's yoke. Though for a Roman sight They must in mimic fight Give wounds in play and deal Death's mortal stroke, U THE ASCENT OF MAN While round the arena rings the fierce applause Voluptuous, as their bubbhng life-blood flows In streams of purple rain From hecatombs of slain Saluting Caesar still with failing breath, But in their djdng souls Undying hate, which rolls From land to land the avalanche of Death, That, gathering volume as it sweeps alone, Pours down the Alps throng on unnumbered throng, From noi'thern hills and plains Storm-lashed by driving rains. From moorland wastes and depths of desolate wood Prom many an icebound shore, The human torrents pour. Horde following upon horde as flood on flood. Avengers of the slain they come, they come. And break in thunder on the walls of Bome. A trembling people waits As, surging through its gates, Break the fierce Goths with trumpet-blasts of doom And many a glorious shrine Begins to flare and shine, And many a palace flames up through the gloom. Kindled like torches by relentless wrath To light the SpoUer on destruction's path. Yea, with Rome's ravished walls. The old world tottermg falls CHAUNTS OF LIFE 175 And crumbles into ruin wide and vast ; The Empire seems to I'ock As with an earthquake's shock, And vassal provinces look on aghast ; As realms are split and nation rent from nation, The globe seems drifting to annihilation. "Peace on earth and good will unto Men ! " Came the tidings borne o'er wide dominions The glad tidings thrilled the world as when Spring comes fluttering on the west wind's pinions. When her voice is heard Warbling through each bird. And a new-born hope Throbs through all things infinite in scope " Peace on earth and good wUl 1 " came the word Of the Son of Man, the Man of Sorrow — But the peace turned to a flaming sword, Turned to woe and wailing on the morrow When with gibes and scorns. Crowned with barren thorns, Gashed and crucified. On the Cross the tortured Jesus died. And the world, once full of flower-hung shrines, Now forsakes old altars for the new, Zeus grows faint and Venus' star declines As Jehovah glorifies the Jew, 76 THE ASCENT OF MAN He whom — lit with awe — God-led Moses saw, Graving with firm hand In his people's heart his Lord's command. Holding Hells and Heavens in either hand Comes the priest and comes the wild-eyed prophet, Tells the people of some happier land. Terrifies them with a burning Tophet ; Gives them creeds for bread And warm roof o'erhead, Gives for life's delight Passports to the kingdom, spirit-bright. And the people groaning everywhere Hearken gladly to the wondrous story, How beyond this life of toil and care They shall lead a life of endless glory ; Where beyond the dim Earth-mists Seraphim, Love-illumined, wait — Hierarchies of angels at heaven's gate. Let them suffer while they live below, Bear in silence weariness and pain ; For the heavier is their earthly woe, Verily the heavenlier is their gain In the mansions where Sorrow and despair, Yea, all moan shall cease With the moan of immemorial seas. CHAVNTS OF LIFE 177 And to save their threatened souls from sin, Save them from the world, the flesh, the devU, Men and Women break from bonds of kin And in cloistered cell dravif bar on evil, Worship on their knees Sacred Images, And all Saints above, The Madonna, mystic Rose of love. Mystic Eose of Maiden Motherhood, Moon of Hearts immaculately mild. Beaming o'er the turbulent times and rude With the promise of her blessed Child : Whom pale Monks adore. Pining evermore For the heaven of love Which their homesick lives are dying of. But the flame of mystical desires Turns to fury fiercer than a leopard's, Holy fagots blaze vidth kindling fires As the priests, the people's careful shepherds, In Heaven's awful name. Set the pUe on flame Where, for Conscience' sake. Heretics burn chaunting at the stake. Subterranean secrets of the prison, Throbs of anguish in the crushing cell, Torture-chambers of the Inquisition Are the Church's antidotes to Hell. 13 178. THE ASCENT OF MAN Better rack them here, Mutilate and sear, Than their souls should go To the place of everlasting woe. And a lurid universal night. Lit by quenchless fires for unquenohed sages, Thick with spectral broods that shun the light, Looms impervious o'er the stifled ages Where the blameless wise Fall a sacrifice, Fall as fell of old The unspotted firstlings of the fold. And the violent feud of clashing creeds Shatters empires and breaks realms asunder ; Cities tremble, sceptres shake like reeds At the swift bolts of the Papal thunder ; Yea, the bravest quail. Cast from out the pale Of all Christendom By the dread anathemas of Kome. And like one misled by marish gleams When he hears the shrill cock's note of warning, Europe, starting from its trance of dreams. Sees the first streak of the clear-eyed morning As it broadening stands Over ravaged lands Where mad nations are Locked in grip of fratricidal war. CilAUUTS OF LIFE 179 Castles burn upon the vine-olad knolls, Huts glow smouldering in the trampled meadows ; And a hecatomb of martyred souls Fills a queenly town with waU of widows In those branded hours When red-guttering showers Splash by courts and stews To the bells of Saint Bartholomew's. Seed that's sown upon the wanton wind Shall be harvested ha whirlwind rages, For revenge and hate bring forth their kind, And black crime must ever be the wages Of a nation's crime Time transmits to time, TDl the score of years Is vriped out in floods of staunchless tears. Yea, the anguish in a people's life May have eaten out its heart of pity, Bred in scenes of scarlet sin and strife, Heartless splendours of a haughty city ; Dark with lowering fate, At the massive gate Of its kings it may Stand and knock with tragic hand one day. For the living toinb gives up its dead. Bastilles yawn, and chains are rent asunder. Little children now and hoary head, Man and maiden, meet in joy and wonder so THE ASCENT OF MAl^ Throng on radiant throng, Brave and blithe and strong, Gay with pine and palm, Fill fair France with freedom's thunder-psalm Free and equal — rid of king and priest — The rapt nation bids each neighbour nation To partake the sacramental feast And communion of the Federation : And electrified Masses, far and wide, ThrUl to hope and start Vibrating as with one common heart. Prom the perfumed South of amorous France With her wreath of orange bloom and myrtle, From old wizard woods of lost Bomance Soft with wail of wind and voice of turtle, From the roaring sea Of grey Normandy, And the rich champaigns Where the vine gads o'er Burgundian plains ; From the banks of the blue arrowy Rhone, And from many a Western promontory. From volcanic crags of cloven stone Crowned with castles ivy-green in story ; From gay Gascon coasts March fraternal hosts, Equal hosts and free, Pilgrims to the shrine of liberty. CH AUNTS OF LIFE 181 But king calls on king in wild alarms, Troops march threatening through the vales and passes. Barefoot Faubourgs at the cry to arms On the frontier hurl their desperate masses : The deep tocsin's boom Fills the streets with gloom, And with iron hand The Bed Terror guillotines the land. For the Furies of the sanguine past Chase fair Freedom, struggling torn and baffled, TUl infuriate — turned to bay at last — Boiled promiscuous on the common scaffold. Vengeful she shall smite A Queen's head bleached white, And a courtesan's ■\¥hose light hands once held the reins of France, She shall smite and spare not — -yea, her own. Her fair sons so pure from all pollution, With their guUtless life-blood must atone To this goddess of the Bevolution ; Dying with a song On their lips, her young Ardent children end, Meeting death even as one meets a friend. And her daughter, in heroic shame, Turned to Fi-eedom's Moloch statue, crying : " Liberty, what crimes done in thy name ! " Spake, and with her Freedom's self seemed dyin^ 182 THE ASCENT OF MAN As she bleeding lay 'Neath Napoleon's sway : Europe heard her knell When on Waterloo the Empire fell. Woe, woe to Man and all his hapless brood ! No rest for "him, no peace is to be found ; He may have tamed wild beasts and made the ground Yield corn and wine and every kind of food ; He may have turned the ocean to his steed, Tutored the lightning's elemental speed To flash his thought from ^tna to Atlantic ; He may have weighed the stars and spanned the stream, And trained the fiery force of panting steam To whirl him o'er vast steppes and heights gigantic : But the storm-lashed world of feeling — ■ Love, the fount of tears unsealing. Choruses of passion pealing — Lust, ambition, hatred, awe. Clashing loudly with the law, But the phantasms of the mind Who shall master, yea, who bind I What help is there without, what hope within Of rescue from the immemorial strife ? What will redeem him from the spasm of life, "^Vith all its devious ways of shame anij sin ? CH AUNTS OF LIFE 183 What will redeem him from ancestral greeds, Grey legacies of hate and hoar misdeeds, Which from the guilty past Man doth inherit — The past that is bound up with him, and part Of the pulsations of his inmost heart, And of the vital motions of his spirit ? Ages mazed in tortuous errors, Ghostly fears, and haunting terrors, Minds bewitched that served as mirrors For the foulest fancies bred In a fasting hermit's head. Such as cast a sickly blight On all shapes of life and light. Yea, panting and pursued and stmig and driven. The soul of Man flies on in deep distress. As once across the world's harsh wilderness Latona fled, chased by the Queen of heaven ; Plying across the homeless Universe From the inveterate stroke of Juno's curse ; On whom even mother earth closed all her portals, Eefusing shelter in her cooing bowers, Or rest upon her velvet couch of flowers, To the most weary of all weary mortals. Within whose earth-encumbered form. Like two fair stars entwined in storm. Or wings astir within the worm. Feeling out for light and air. Struggled that celestial pair, Phcebus of unerring bow. And Qhagte Plan f^ir as siiow, 184 THE ASCENT OF MAN Ah, who will harbour her ? Ah, who will save The fugitive from pangs that rack and tear ; Who, finding rest nor refuge anywhere, Seems doomed to be her unborn offspring's grave ; The seed of Jove, murdered before their birth — Did not the sea, more merciful than earth. Bid Delos stand — that wandering isle of Ocean -!. Stand motionless upon the moving foam. To be the exile's wave-encircled home. And lull her pains with leaves in drowsy motion. Where the soft-boughed olive sighing Bends above the woman lying And in spasms of anguish crying. Shuddering through her mortal frame. As from dust is struck the flame Which shall henceforth beam sublime Through the firmament of Time ? Oh, balmy Island bedded on the brine. Harbour of refuge on the tumbling seas. The fabulous bowers of the Hesperides Ne'er bore such blooming gold as glows in thine : Thou green Oasis on the tides of Time Where no rude blast disturbs the azure clime ; Thou Paradise whence man can ne'er be driven, Where, severed from the world-clang and the roai Still in the flesh he yet may reach that shore Where want is not, and, like the dew from heaven, There drops upon the fevered soul The balm of Thought's divine control And rapt absorption in the whole ; CH AUNTS OF LIFE 185 Delivery in the realm of art Of the world-racked human heart — Forms and hues and sounds that make Life glow lovelier for their sake. By sheer persistence, strenuous and slow, The marble yields and, line by flowing line And curve by curve, begins to swell and shine Beneath the ring of each far-sighted blow : Until the formless block obeys the hand, And at the mastering mind's supreme command Takes form and radiates from each limb and feature Such beauty as ne'er bloomed in mortal mould, "Whose face, out-smihng centuries, shall hold Perfection's mirror up to 'prentice nature. Not from out voluptuous ocean Venus rose in balanced motion, Goddess of all bland emotion ; But she leaped a shape of light, Eadiating love's delight, From the sculptor's brain to be Sphered in innnortality. New spirit-yearnings for a heavenlier mood Call for a love more pitiful and tender, And 'neath the painter's touch blooms forth in splendour The image of transfigured motherhood. All hopes of all glad women who have smiled In Eidoyatiion on their first-born chiW 186 THE ASCENT OF MAN Here smile through one glad woman made immortal ; All tears of all sad women through whose heart Has pierced the edge of sorrow's sevenfold dart Lie weeping with her at death's dolorous portal. For in married hues whose splendour Bodies forth the gloom and grandeur Of life's pageant, tragic, tender, Common things transfigured flush By the magic of the brush, As when sun-touohed raindrops glow. Blent in one harmonious bow. But see, he comes, Lord of life's changeful shows, To whom the ways of Nature are laid bare, Who looks on heaven and makes the heavens more fair. And adds new sweetness to the perfumed rose ; Who can unseal the heart with all its tears. Marshal loves, hates, hopes, sorrows, joys, and fears In quick procession o'er the passive pages ; Who has given tongue to silent generations And wings to thought, so that long-mouldered nations May call to nations o'er the abyss of ages : The poet, in whose shaping brain Life is created o'er again With loftier raptures, loftier pain ; Whose mighty potencies of verse Move through the plastic Universe, And fashion to their strenuous will The \vprld that is creating still. GBAUNTS OF LIFE 187 Do you hear it, do you hear it Soaring up to heaven, or somewhere near it ? From the depths of Ufe upheaving, Clouds of earth and sorrow cleaving, From despair and death retrieving. All triumphant blasts of sound Lift you at one rhythmic bound Prom the thraldom of the ground All the sweetness which the glowing Violets waft to west winds blowing, All the burning love-notes aching, EiUs and thrills of rapture shaking Through the hearts that throb to breaking Of the little nightingales ; Mellow murmuring waters streaming Lakeward in long silver trails. Crooning low while earth lies dreaming To the moonlight-tangled vales ; Swish of rain on half-blown roses Hoarding close their rich perfume, Which the summer dawn uncloses Sparkling in their morning bloom ; Convent peals o'er pastoral meadows. Swinging through hay-scented air When the velvet-footed shadows Call the hind to evening prayer. Yea, all notes of woods and highlands ; Sea-fowls' screech round sphinx-like islands Couched among the Hebrides ; 188 THE ASCENT OF MAN Cuckoo calls through April showers, When the green fields froth with flowers And with bloom the orchard trees ; Boom of surges with their hollow Befluent shock from cave to cave, As the maddening spring tides foUow Moonstruck reeling wave o'er wave ; Tea, all rhythms of air and ocean Married to the heart's emotion, To the intervolved emotion Of the heart for ever turning In a whirl of bliss and pain. Blending in symphonious strain All the vague, unearthly yearning Of the visionary brain. All Ufe's discords sweetly blending. Heights on heights of being ascending. Harmonies of confluent sound Lift you at one rhythmic bound Prom the thraldom of the ground Loosen all your bonds of birth, Clogs of sense and weights of earth, Bear you in angelic legions High above terrestrial regions Into ampler ether, where Spirits breathe a finer air. Where upon world altitudes God-intoxicated moods Fill you with beatitudes A SYMBOL 189 Till no longer cramped and bound By the narrow human round, All the body's barriers sUde, Which with cold obstruction hide The supreme, undying, sole Spirit struggling through the whole. And no more a thing apart From the universal heart Liberated by the grace Of man's genius for a space, Human lives dissolve, enlace In a flaming world embrace. A SYMBOL. HuRKYiNG for ever in their restless flight The generations of earth's teeming womb Bise into being and lapse into the tomb Like transient bubbles sparkling in the light ; They sink in quick succession out of sight Into the thick insuperable gloom Our futile lives in flashing by Ulume — Lightning which mocks the darkness of the night. Nay— but consider, though we change and die. If men must pass shall Man not stUl remain ? As the unnumbered drops of summer rain Whose changing particles unchanged on high. Fixed, in perpetual motion, yet maintain The mystic bow emblazoned on the sky. 190 THE ASCENT OF MAN TIME'S SHADOW. Thy life, O Man, in this brief moment lies : Time's narrow bridge whereon we darkling stand, With an infinitude on either hand Beoeding luminously from our eyes. Lo, there thy Past's forsaken Paradise Subsideth like some visionary strand. While glimmering faint, the Future's promised land Illusive from the abyss, seems fain to rise. This hour alone Hope's broken pledges mar. And Joy now gleams before, now in our rear, Like mirage mocking in some waste afar, Dissolving into air as we draw near. Beyond our steps the path is suimy-olear, The shadow lying only where we are. Pa'rt II. THE PILGEIM SOUL. " Love is for ever poor, and so far from being delicate and beautiful, as mankind imagined, he is squalid and withered . homeless and unsandalled ; he sleeps without covering before the doors, and in the unsheltered streets." — Plato. Through the winding mazes of windy streets Blindly I hurried I knew not whither, Through the dim-lit ways of the brain thus fleets A fluttering dream driven hither and thither. — The fitful flare of the moon fled fast, Lilje a sickly smile now seeming to wither, THE PILGBUI SOUL 19] Now dark like a scowl in the hurrying blast As omuaous shadows swept over the roofs Where white as a ghost the scared moonlight had passed Curses came mingled with wails and reproofs, With doors banging to and the crashing of glass, With the baying of dogs and the clatter of hoofs. With the rush of the river as, huddling its mass Of weltering water towards the deep ocean, 'Neath many-arched bridges its eddies did pass. A hubbub of voices in savage commotion Was mixed with the storm in a chaos of sound. And thrilled as with ague in shuddering emotion I fled as the hunted hare flees from the hound. Past churches whose bells were tumultuously ringing The year Ln, and clashing in concord around ; Past the deaf walls of dungeons whose curses seemed clinging To the tempest that shivered and shrieked in amaze- ment ; Past brightly lit mansions whence music and singing Came borne like a soent through the close-curtained casement, To vaults in whose shadow wUd outcasts were hiding Their misery deep in the gloom of the basement. 192 THE ASCENT OF MAN By vociferous taverns where women were biding AVith features all withered, distorted, aghast ; Some sullenly silent, some brutally chiding, Some reeUng away irito gloom as I passed On, on, through lamp-lighted and fountain-filled places. Where thorned in rich temples, resplendent and vast. The Lord of the City is deafened with praises As worshipping multitudes kneel as of old ; Nor care for the crowds of cadaverous faces. The men that are marred and the maids that are sold — Inarticulate masses promiscuously jumbled And crushed 'neath their Juggernaut idol of gold. Lost lives of great cities bespattered and tumbled. Black rags the rain soaks, the wind whips like a knout. Were crouched in the streets there, and o'er them nigh stumbled A" swarm of light maids as they tripped to some rout. The silk of their raiment voluptuously hisses And flaps o'er the flags as loud-laughing they flout The wine-maddened men they ne'er satiate with kisses For the pearls and the diamonds that make them more fair. For the flash of larg'e jewels that fire them with blisses. THE FILOEIM SOVL 193 For the glitter of gold in the gold of their hair. They smiled and they cozened, their bold eyes shone brightly And lightened with laughter, as, lit by the flare Of the wind-fretted gas-lamps, they footed it lightly. Or, closely enlacing and bowered in gloom, With mouth pressed to hot mouth, their parched lips drain nightly The wine-cup of pleasure red-sealing their doom ; Brief lives like bright rockets which, aridly glowing, Fall burnt out to ashes and reel to the tomb. On, on, loud and louder the rough night was blowing, Shrill singmg was mixed with strange cries of despair ; And high overhead the black sky, redly glowing. Loomed over the city one ominous glare, As dark yawning funnels from foul throats for ever Belched smoke grimly flaming, which outraged the air. On, on, by long quays where the lamps in the river Were writhing like serpents that hiss ere they drown, And poplars with palsy seemed coldly to shiver. On, on, to the bare desert end of the town. When lo 1 the wind stopped like a heart that's ceased beating, And nought but the waters, white foaming and brown, 14 194 THE ASCENT OF MAN Were heard as to seaward their currents went fleeting. But hark ! o'er the lull breaks a desolate moan, Like a little lost lamb's that is timidly bleating When, strayed from the shepherd, it staggers alone By tracks which the mountain streams shake with theii thunder, Where death seems to gape from each boulder and stone, I turned to the murmtir : the clouds swept asunder And wheeled lOie white sea-gulls around the white moon ; And the moon like a white maid, looked down in mute wonder On a boy whose wan eyelids were closed as in swoon. Half nude on the ground he lay, wasted and chilly, And torn as with thorns and sharp brambles of June ; His hair, like a flame which at twUiglit burns stilly, In a halo of light round his temples was blown. And his tears fell like rain on a storm- stricken lily Where he lay on the cold gromid, abandoned, alone. With heart moved towards him in wondering pity, I tenderly seized his thin hand with my own ; Crying, " CliUd, say how cam'st thou so far from the city? How cam'st thou alone in such pitiful plight, All blood-stained thy feet, with rags squalid and gritty. THE PILGRIM SOUL 195 A waif by the wayside, unhoused in the night ? " Then rose he and lifted the bright looks, storm driven, Which flamed round his forehead a,nd clouded his sight. And mournful as meres on a moorland at even His blue eyes flashed wildly through tears as they fell. Strange eyes full of horror, yet fuller of heaven. Like eyes that from heaven have looked upon hell, The eyes of an angel whose depths show where, burning And lost in the pit, toss the angels that feU. " Ah," wailed he in tones full of agonised yearning, Like the plaintive lament of a sickening dove On a surf -beaten shore, whence it sees past returning The wings of the wUd flock fast fading above. As they melt on the sky-line like foam-flakes in motion : So sadly he wailed, " I am Love ! I am Love ! " Behold me cast out as weed spurned of the ocean. Half nude on the bare ground, and covered with soars, I perish of cold here ; " and, choked with emotion. Gave a sob : at the low sob a shower of stars Broke shuddering from heaven, pale flaming, and fell "Wliere the mid-city roared as with runaours of wars. ''Be these God's tears?" I cried, as my tears 'gan to well. " Ah, Love, I have sought thee in temples and towers. In shrines where men pray, and in marts where they sell ; 196 THE ASCENT OF MAN " In tapestried chambers made tropic with flowers, Where amber-haired women, soft breathing of spice, Lay languidly lapped in the gold-dropping showers " Which gladdened and maddened their amorous eyes. I have looked for thee vainly in churches where beaming The Saints glowed embalmed in a prism of dyes, " Where wave over wave the rapt music went streaming With breaJkers of sound in fuU anthems elate. I have asked, but none knew thee, or knew but thy seeming ; " A mask in thy likeness on high seats of state ; And they bound it with gold, and they crowned it with glory. This thing they called love, which was bond slave to hate. "And they bowed down before it with brown heads and hoary, They worshipped it nightly, loud hymning its praise. While out in the cold blast, none heeding its story, " Love staggers, an outcast, with lust in its place." Love shivered and sighed like a reed that is shaken. And lifting his hunger-nipped face to my face : " Nay, if of the world I must needs die forsaken. Say thou wilt not leave me to dearth and despair. To thy heart, to thy home, let the exile be taken, THE PILGRIM SOUL 197 " And feed me and shelter " " Where, outcast, ah, where ? Like thee I am homeless and spurned of all mortals ; The House of my fathers yawns wide to the air. " Stallis desolation across the void portals, Hope lies aghast on the ruinous floor, The halls that were thronged once with star- browed immortals, " With gods statue-still o'er the world- whirr and roar, With fauns of the forest and nymphs of the river, Are cleft as if lightning had struck to their core. " The luminous ceilings, where soaring for ever Dim hosts of plumed angels smoked up to the sky, With God-litten faces that yearned to the giver " As vapours of morning the sun draws on higli, Now ravaged with rain hear the hoUow winds whistle Through rifts in the rafters which echo their cry. " Blest walls that were vowed to the Virgin now bristle With weeds of sick scarlet and plague-spotted moss. And stained on the ground, choked with thorn and rank thistle, " Rots a worm-eaten Christ on a mouldering Cross. From the House of my fathers, distraught, broken- hearted, With a pang of immense, irredeemable loss, 198 THE ASCENT OF MAN " On my wearying pilgrimage blindly I started To seek thee, oh Love, in high places and low, And mstead of the glories for ever departed, " To warm my starved life in thy mightier glow. For I deemed thee a Presence ringed round with all splendour, AVitli a sceptre in hand and a crown on thy brow ; " And behold, thou art helpless — most helpless to tendei Thy service to others, who needest their care. Yea, now that I find thee a weak child and slender, " Exposed to the blast of the merciless air. Like a lamb that is shorn, like a leaf that is shaken. What, Love, now is left but to die in despair ? " For Death is the mother of all the forsaken. The grave a strait bed where she rocks them to rest. And sleep, from whose silence they never shall waken, " The balm of oblivion she sheds on their breast." Then I seized him and led to the brink of the river, Where two storm-beaten seagulls were fluttering west. And the lamplight in drownmg seemed coldly to shiver. And clasping Love close for the leap from on high. Said — " Let us go hence, Love ; go home. Love, for ever " For life casts us forth, and Man dooms us to die." As if stung by a snake the Child shuddered and started. And clung to me close with a passionate cry : THE PILGRIM SOVL 199 " Stay with me, stay with me, poor, broken-hearted ; Pain, if not pleasure, we two will divide ; Though with the sins of the world I have smarted, " Though with the shame of the world thou art dyed. Weak as I am, on thy breast I'll recover. Worn as thou art, thou shalt bloom as my bride : " Bloom as the flower of the World for the lover Whom thou hast found in a lost little Child." And as he kissed my lips over and over — Child now, or Man, was it who thus beguiled ? — Even as I looked on him, Love, waxing slowly, Grew as a little cloud, floating enisled. Which spreads out aloft in the blue sky till solelj' It fills the deep ether tremendous in height. With far-flashing snow-peaks and pinnacles wholly Invisible, vanishing light within light. So changmg waxed Love — till he towered before me Outgrowing my lost gods in stature and might. As he grew, as he drew me, a great awe came o'er me, And stammering, I shook as I questioned his name ; But gently bowed o'er me, he soothed and bore me. Yea, bore once again to the haunts whence I came. By dark ways and dreary, by rough roads and gritty. To the penfolds of sin, to the purlieus of shame. 200 THE ASCENT OP MAN And lo, as we went through the woe-olouded city, Where women bring forth and men labovir in vain, "Weak Love grew so great in his passion of pity That all who beheld him were born once again. SAVING LOVE. Would we but love what will not pass away ! The sun that on each morning shines as clear As when it rose first on the world's first year The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray. The sun wiU shine, the leaves will be as gay When graves are full of all our hearts held dear, When not a soul of those who loved us here, Not one, is left us— creatures of decay. Yea, love the Abiding in the Universe Which was before, and will be after us. Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cry For human love — the beings that change or die Die — change — forget : to care so is a curse. Yet cursed we'U be rather than not care thus. NIEVANA. DiVBST thyself, Soul, of vain desire Bid hope farewell, dismiss all coward fears ; Take leave of empty laughter, emptier tears. And quench, for ever quench, the wasting fire MOTHERHOOD 201 Wherein this heart, as in a funeral pyre, Aye bums, yet is consumed not. Years on years Moaning with memories in thy maddened ears — Let at thy word, hke refluent waves, retire. Enter thy soul's vast realm as Sovereign Lord, And, like that angel with the flaming sword. Wave off life's clinging hands. Then chains will fall Prom the poor slave of self's hard tyranny — And Thou, a ripple rounded by the sea, In rapture lost bs lapped within the All. MOTHEEHOOD. From out the font of being, undefiled, A life hath been upheaved with struggle and pain ; Safe in her arms a mother holds again That dearest miracle — a new-born child. To moans of anguish terrible and wild — As shrieks the night-wmd through an ill-shut pane- Pure heaven succeeds ; and after fiery strain Victorious woman smiles serenely mUd. Yea, shall she not rejoice, shall not her frame Thrill with a mystic rapture ! At this birth, The soul now kindled by her vital flame May it not prove a gift of priceless worth ? Some saviour of his kind whose starry fame Shall bring a brightness to the darkened earth. 202 the ascent of bian Part 111. THE LEADING OF SOEEOW. " Our spirits have climbed high By reason of the passion of our grief, — And from the top of sense, looked over sense To the significance and heart of things Rather than things themselves." B. B. Brpwning. Through a twilight land, a moaning region, Thick with sighs that shook the trembling air, Land of shadows whose dim crew was legion, Lost I hurried, hunted by despair. Quailed my heart lilie an expiring splendour, Fitful flicker of a faltering iire, Smitten cords which tempest-stricken render Ehythms of anguish from a breaking lyre. Love had left me in a land of shadows. Lonely on the ruins of delight. And I grieved with tearless grief of widows. Moaned as orphans homeless in the night. Love had left me knocking at Death's portal — Shone his star and vanished from my sky — And I cried : " Since Love, even Love, is mortal. Take, unmake, and break me ; let me die." Then, the twilight's grisly veils dividing. Phantom-like there stole one o'er the plain. Wavering mists for ever round it gUding Hid the face I sti'ove to scan in vain. I'HE LEADING OF SOJiROW 20;i Spake the veiled one : " Solitary weeper, 'Mid the myriad mourners thou'rt but one : Come, and thou shalt see the awful reaper, Evil, reaping all beneath the sun." On my hand the clay-cold hand did fasten As it murmured — " Up and follow me ; O'er the thickly peopled earth we'll hasten, Yet more thickly packed with misery." And I followed : ever m the shadow Of that looming form I fared along ; Now o'er mountams, now through wood and meadow, Or through cities with their surging throng. With none other for a friend or fellow Those relentless footsteps were my guide To the sea-caves echoing with the hoUow Immemorial moaning of the tide. Laughed the sunlight on the living ocean, Danced and rocked itself upon the spray, And its shivered beams in twinkling motion Gleamed like star-motes in tlie Milky Way. Lo, beneath those waters surging, flowing, I beheld the Deep's fantastic bowers ; Shapes which seemed alive and yet were growing On their stalks like animated flowers ; Sentient flowers which seemed to glow and glimmer Soft as ocean blush of Indian shells, White as foam-drift in the moony shimmer Of those sea-lit, wave-pavilioned dells. •204 THE ASCENT OF ^fAN Yet even here, as in the fire-eyed panther, In disguise the eternal hunger lay. For each feathery, velvet-tufted anther Lay in ambush waiting for its prey. Tiniest jewelled fish that flashed like lightning. Blindly drawn, came darting through the wa^-e, When, a stifling sack above them tightening. Closed the ocean-blossom's living grave. Now we fared through forest glooms primeval, Through whose leaves the light but rarely shone, Where the buttressed tree-trunks looked coeval With the tune-worn, ocean-fretted stone ; Where, from stem to stem their tendrils looping, Coiled the lithe lianas fold on fold. Or, in cataracts of verdure drooping, From on high their bDlowy leafage rolled ; Where beneath the dusky woodland cover. While the noon-hush holds all living things, Butterflies of tropic splendour hover In a maze of rainbow-coloured wings : Some like stars light up their own green heaven. Some are spangled like a golden toy, Or like flowers from their foliage driven In the fiery ecstasy of joy. But, the forest slumber rudely breaking. Through the silence rings a piercing yell ; At the cry unnumbered beasts, awaking. With then- howls the loud confusion swell. THE LEADING OF SORROW 205 'Tis the cry of some frail creature panting In the tiger's lacerating grip, In its flesh carnivorous teeth implanting, While the blood smokes round his wrinkled lip. 'Tis the scream some bird in terror utters. With its wings weighed down by leaden fears, As from bough to downward bough it flutters Where the snake its glistening crest uprears : Eyes of sluggish greed through rank weeds stealing. Breath whose venomous fumes mount through the air, Till benumbed the helpless victim, reeling, Drops convulsed into the reptile snare. Now we fared o'er sweltering wastes whose steaming Clouds of tawny sand the wanderer bhnd. Herds of horses with their long manes streaming Snorted thirstily against the wind ; O'er the waste they scoured in shadowy numbers. Gasped for springs their raging thirst to cool. And, like sick men mocked in fevered slumbers, Stoop to drink — and find a phantom pool. What of antelopes crushed by the leopard '? What if hounds run down the timid hare ? What though sheep, strayed from the faithful shepherd, Perish helpless in the lion's lair ? The all- seeing sun shines on unheeding. In the night shines the unrufifled moon, Though on earth brute myriads, preying, bleeding Put creation harshly out of tune. 206 THE ASCENT OF MAN Cried I, turning to the shrouded figure — " Oh, in mercy veil this cruel strife I Sanguinary orgies which disfigure The green ways of labyrinthine life. From the needs and greeds of primal passion, From the serpent's track and lion's den, To the world our human hands did fashion, Lead me to the kindly haunts of men." And through fields of corn we passed together, Orange golden in the brooding heat, Where brown reapers in the harvest weather Cut ripe swathes of downward rustling wheat. In the orchards, dangling red and yellow. Clustered fruit weighed down the bending sprays ; On a hundred hills the vines grew mellow In the warmth of fostering autumn days. Through the air the shrilly twittering swallows Flashed their nimble shadows on the leas ; Red-flecked cows were glassed in golden shallows, Purple clover hummed with restless bees. Herdsmen drove the cattle from the mountain. To the fold the shepherd drove his flocks, Village girls drew water from the fountain, Village yokels piled the full-eared shocks. From the white town dozing in the vallej , Round its vast Cathedral's solemn shade. Citizens strolled down the walnut alley Where youth courted and glad childhood played THE LEADING OF SORROW 207 " Peace on earth," I murmured ; "let us linger — Here the wage of life seems good at least : " As I spake the veiled One raised a finger Where the moon broke flowering in the east. Faintly muttering from deep mountain ranges, Muffled sounds rose hoarsely on the night. As the crash of foundering avalanches Wakes hoarse echoes in each Alpme height. Near and nearer sounds the roaring — thunder. Mortal thunder, crashes through the vale ; Lightning flash of muskets breaks from under Groves once ha\mted by the nightingale. Men clutch madly at each weapon — women, Children crouch in cellars, under roofs, For the town is circled by their foemen — Shakes the ground with clang of trampling hoofs. Shot on shot the volleys hiss and rattle, Shrilly whistling fly the murderous balls, Fiercely roars the tumult of the battle Round the hard-contested, dear-bought walls. Horror, horror 1 The fair town is burning. Flames burst forth, wild sparks and ashes fly ; With her children's blood the green earth's turning Blood-red — blood-red, too, the cloud-winged sky. Crackling flare the streets : from the lone steeple The great clock booms forth its ancient chime. And its dolorous quarters warn the people Of the conquering troops that march with time. 208 THE ASCENT OF MAN Fallen lies the fair old town, its houses Charred and ruined gape in smoking heaps ; Here with shouts a ruffian band carouses, There an outraged woman vainly weeps. In the fields where the ripe corn lies mangled, Where the woxmded groan beneath the dead, Friend and foe, now helplessly entangled. Stain red poppies with a guiltier red. There the dog howls o'er his perished master, There the crow comes circling from afar ; All vile things that batten on disaster FoUow feasting in the wake of war. Famine foUows — what they ploughed and planted The unhappy peasants shall not reap ; Sickening of strange meats and fever haunted. To their graves they prematurely creep. " Hence ' — I cried in unavailing pity — " Let us flee these scenes of monstrous strife. Seek the pale of some imperial city Where the law rules starlike o'er man's life." Straightway floating o'er blue sea and river. We were plunged into a roaring cloud. Wherethrough lamps in ague fits did shiver O'er the surging multitudinous crowd. Piles of stone their cliff-like walls uprearing. Flashed in luminous lines along the night ; Jets of flame spasmodically flaring, Splashed black pavements with a sickly light ; THE LEADING OF SORHOIV 209 Fabulous gems shone here, and glowing coral, Shimmering stuffs from many an Eastern loom, And vast piles of tropic fruits and floral Marvels seemed to mock November's gloom. But what prowls near princely mart and dwelling, AVhence through many a thundering thoroughfare Eich folk roll on cushions softly swelling To the week-day feast and Sunday prayer ? Yea, who prowl there, hunger-nipped and pallid. Breathing nightmares limned upon the gloom ? 'Tis but human rubbish, gaunt and squalid. Whom their country spurns for lack of room. In their devious track we mutely follow, Mutely climb dim flights of oozy stairs. Where through gap-toothed, mizzhng roof the j-ellow Pestilent fog blends with the fetid air. Through the unhinged door's discordant slamming Ring the gruesome sounds of savage strife — Howls of babes, the drunken father's damning, CoiTuter- cursing of the shrill -tongued wife. Children feebly crying on their mother In a wailful chorus — " Give us food ! " Man and woman glaring at each other Like two gaunt wolves with a famished brood. Till he snatched a stick, and, madly staring, Struck her blow on blow upon the head ; And she, reeling back, gasped, hardly caring — " Ah, you've done it now, Jim " — and was dead. 15 210 THE ASCENT OE MAN Dead — dead — dead — the miserable creature — Never to feel hunger's cruel fang Wring the bowels of rebellious nature That her infants might be spared the pang. " Dead! Good luck to her! " The man's teeth chattered Stone-still stared he with blank eyes and hard, Then, his frame with one big sob nigh shattered, Fled — and cut his throat down in the yard. Dark the night — the children wail forsaken, Crane their wrinkled necks and cry for food. Drop off into fitful sleep, or waken Trembling like a sparrow's ravished brood. Dark the night — the rain falls on the ashes. Feebly hissing on the feeble heat. Filter's through the ceUing, drops in splashes On the little children's naked feet. Dark the night — the children wail forsaken — Is there none, ah, none, to heed their moan ? Yea, at dawn one little one is taken. Four poor souls are left but one is gone. Gone — escaped — flown from the shame and sorrow Waiting for them at life's sombre gate. But the hand of merciless to-morrow Drags the others shuddering to their fate. But one came — a gu-lish thing — a creature Flung by wanton hands 'mid lust and crime — A poor outcast, yet by right of nature Sweet as odour of the upland thyme. THE LEADING OF SOMROW 211 Scapegoat of a people's sins, and hunted, Howled at, hooted to the wilderness. To that wilderness of deaf hearts, blunted To the depths of woman's dumb distress. Jetsam, flotsam of the monster city. Spurned, defiled, reviled, that outcast came To those babes that whined for love and pity. Gave them bread bought with the wage of shame Gave them bread, and gave them warm, maternal Kisses not on sale for any price : Yea, a spark, a flash of some eternal Sympathy shone through those haunted eyes. Ah, perchance through her dark life's confusion. Through the haste and taste of fevered hours. Gusts of memory on her youth's pollution Blew forgotten scents of faded flowers. And she saw the cottage near the wild wood. With its lichened roof and latticed panes. Strayed once more through golden fields of childhood Hyacinth dells and hawthorn-scented lanes ; Heard once more the song of nesting thrushes And the blackbird's long mellifluous note, Felt once more the glow of maiden blushes Burn through rosy cheek and milkwhite throat In that oi'cliard where the apple blossom Lightly shaken fluttered on her hair. As the heart was fluttering in her bosom When her sweetheart came and kissed her there. 212 THE ASCENT OF MAN Often came he in the lilac-laden Moonlit twilight, often pledged his word ; But she was a simple country-maiden, He the offspring of a noble lord. Fading hlaos May's farewell betoken. Fledglings fly and soon forget the nest ; Lightly may a young man's vows be broken, And the heart break in a woman's breast. Gathered like a sprig of summer roses In the dewy morn and flung away, To the girl the father's door now closes, Let her shelter henceforth how she may. Who will house the miserable mother With her child, a helpless castaway ! " I, am I the keeper of my brother ? " Asks smug virtue as it turns to pray ! Lovely are the earliest Lenten lilies, Primrose pleiads, hyacinthine sheets ; Stripped and rifled from their pastoral valleys, See them sold now in the public streets ! Other flowers are sold there beside posies — Eyes may have the hyacinth's glowing blue. Rounded cheeks the velvet bloom of roses. Taper necks the rain-washed lily's hue. But a rustic blossom I Love and duty Bound up in a child whom hunger slays 1 Ah I but one thing still is left her — beauty Fresh, untarnished yet — and beauty pays. THE LEADING OF SORROW 213 Beauty keeps her child ahve a little, Then it dies — her woman's love with it — Beauty's brittle sceptre, ah, how brittle, Drags her daily deeper down the pit. Euin closes o'er her — hideous, nameless ; Each fresh morning marks a deeper fall ; Till at twenty — callous, cankered, shameless, She lies dying at the hospital. Drink, more drink, she calls for — her harsh laughter Grates upon the meekly praying nurse. Eloquent about her soul's hereafter : " Souls be blowed ! " she sings out with a curse. And so dies, an unrepentmg sinner — Pitched into her pauper's grave what time That most noble lord rides by to dinner Who had wooed her in her innocent prime. And in after-dinner talk he preaches Eesignation — o'er his burgundy — Till a grateful public dubs his speeches Oracles of true philanthropy. Peace ye call this ? Call this justice, meted Equally to rich and poor alike ? Better than this peace the battle's heated Cannon-balls that ask not whom they strike ! Better than this masquerade of culture Hiding strange hysena appetites, The frank ravening of the raw-necked vulture As its beak the senseless carrion smites. 214 THE ASCENT OF MAN What of men in bondage, toiling blunted In the roaring factory's lurid gloom ? What of cradled infants starved and stunted ? What of woman's nameless martyrdom ? The all-seeing sun shines on unheeding, Shines by night the calm, unruffled moon. Though the human myriads, preying, bleeding. Put creation harshly out of tune. " Hence, ah, hence " — I sobbed in quivering passion — " From these fearful haunts of fiendish men ! Better far the plain, carnivorous fashion Which is practised in the lion's den." And I fled — yet staggering still did follow In the footprints of my shrouded guide — To the sea-caves echoing with the hollow Immemorial moaning of the tide. Sinking, swelling roared the wintry .ocean. Pitch-black chasms struck with flying blaze. As the cloud-winged storm-sky's sheer commotion Showed the blanli Moon's mute Medusa face White o'er wastes of water — surges crashing Over surges in the formless gloom. And ci mastless hulk, with great seas washing Her scourged flanks, pitched toppling to her doom. Through the crash of wave on w&ve gigantic, Tlirough the thunder of the hurricane. My wild heart in brealdng shrilled with frantic Exultation — " Chaos come again 1 THE LEADING OF SORROW 215 Yea, let earth be split and cloven asunder With man's still accumulating curse — Life is but a momentary blunder In the cycle of the Universe. " Yea, let earth with forest-belted mountains, Hills and valleys, cataracts and plains. With her clouds and storms and fires and fountains, Pass with all her rolling sphere contains. Melt, dissolve again into the ocean. Ocean fade into a nebulous haze ! " And I sank back without sense or motion 'Neath the blank Moon's mute Medusa face. Moments, years, or ages passed, when, Ufting Freezing lids, I felt the heavens on high, And, innumerable as the sea-sands drifting. Stars unnumbered drifted through the sky. Bhythmioal in luminous rotation. In dsedalian maze they reel and fly. And their rushing light is Time's pulsation In his passage through Eternity. Constellated suns, fresh lit, declining. Were ignited now, now quenched in space, Rolhng round each other, or inclining Orb to orb in multicoloured rays. Ever showering from then- flaming fountains Light, more light, on each far-circling earth. Till life stirred crepuscular seas, and mountains Heaved convulsive with the throes of birth. 216 THE ASCENT OF MAN And the noble brotherhood of planets, Knitted each to each by links of hght, Circled round their suns, nor knew a minute's Lapse or languor in their ceaseless flight. And pale moons and rings and burning splinters Of wrecked worlds swept round their parent spheres. Clothed with spring or sunlf in polar winters As their sun draws nigh or disappears. Still new vistas of new stars — far dwindling — Through the firmament like dewdrops roll. Torches of the Cosmos which enkindling Flash their revelation on the soul. Yea, One spake there — though nor form nor feature Shown — a Voice came from the peaks of time : — " Wilt thou judge me, wilt thou curse me, Creature Whom I raised up from the Ocean slime ? " Long I waited — ages rolled o'er ages — As I crystallised in granite rocks, Struggling dumb through immemorial stages, Glacial tpons, fiery earthquake shocks. In fierce tombs of flame or slow upheaval, Speck by tiny speck, I topped the seas. Leaped from earth's dark womb, and in primeval Forests shot up shafts of mammoth trees. " Through a myriad forms I yearned and panted. Putting forth quick shoots in endless swarms — Giant-hoofed, sharp-tusked, or iinned or planted Writhing on the reef with pinioned arms. THE LEADING OF SORROW 217 I have climbed from reek of sanguine revels In Cimmerian wood and thorny wild, Slowly upwards to the dawnlit levels Where I bore thee, oh my youngest Child ! " Oh, my heir and hope of my to-morrow, I — I draw thee on through fume and fret. Croon to thee in pain and call through sorrow, Flowers and stars take for thy alphabet. Through the eyes of animals appealing. Feel my fettered spirit yearn to thine, Who, in storm of wUl and clash of feeling, Shape the life that shall be — the divine. " Oh, redeem me from my tiger rages, Eeptile greed, and foul hyaena lust ; With the hero's deeds, the thoughts of sages. Sow and fructify this passive dust ; Drop in dew and healing love of woman On the bloodstained hands of hungry strife. Till there break from passion of the Human Morning-glory of transfigured life. " I have cast my burden on thy shoulder ; Unimagined potencies have given That from formless Chaos thou shalt mould her And translate gross earth to luminous heaven Bear, oh, bear the terrible compulsion, Flinch not from the path thy fathers trod From Man's martyrdom in slow convulsion Will be born the infinite goodness — God." 218 THE ASCENT OF MAN Ceased the Voice : and as it ceased it drifted Like the seashell's inarticulate moan ; From the Deep, on wings of fiame uplifted, Eose the sun rejoicing and alone ; Laughed in light upon the living ocean. Danced and rocked itself upon the spray. And its shivered beams in twinkling motion Gleamed like star-motes of the Milky Way. And beside me in the golden morning I beheld my shrouded phantom -guide ; But no longer sorrow-veiled and mourning — It became transfigured by my side. And I knew — as one escaped from prison Sees old things again with fresh surprise — It was Love himself. Love re-arisen With the Eternal shining through his eyes. DEAMAS IN MINIATURE 2)rama0 in (Biniature THE MYSTIC'S VISION I. Ah ! I shall kill myself with dreams 1 These dreams that softly lap me round Through trance-like hours, in which, meseems, That I am swallowed up and drowned ; Drowned in your love which flows o'er me As o'er the seaweed flows the sea. II. In watches of the middle night, 'Twixt vesper and 'twixt matin bell, With rigid arms and straining sight, I wait within my narrow cell ; With muttered prayers, suspended will, I wait your advent — statue-still. III. Across the Convent garden walls The wind blows from the silver seas ; Black shadow of the cypress falls Between the moon-meshed olive trees ; Sleep-walking from their golden bowers. Flit disembodied orange flowers. 221 222 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE And in God's consecrated house, All motionless from head to feet, My heart awaits her heavenly Spouse, As white I lie on my white sheet ; With body lulled and soul awake, I watch in anguish for your sake. V. And suddenly, across the gloom, The naked moonlight sharply swings A Presence stirs withm the room, A breath of flowers and hovering wings Your Presence without form and void. Beyond all earthly joys enjoyed. My heart is hushed, my tongue is mute. My heart is centred in your will ; You play upon me like a lute Which answers to its master's skill, Till passionately vibrating. Each nerve becomes a throbbing string. Oh, incommunicably sweet ! No longer aching and apart. As rain upon the tender wheat, You pour upon my thirsty heart ; As scent is bound up in the rose, Your love within my bosom glows. THE MYSTIC'S VISION 223 VIII. Unseen, untouched, unheard, unknown. You take possession of your bride ; I lose myself to live alone In you, who once were crucified For me, that now would die in you, As in the sun a drop of dew. Pish may not perish in the deep, Nor sparrows fall through yielding air, Pure gold in hottest flame will keep ; How should I fail and falter where You are, O Lord, in whose control For ever lies my living soul ? X. Ay, break through every wall of sense. And pierce my flesh as nails did pierce Your bleeding limbs in anguish tense. And torture me with bliss so fierce. That self dies out, as die it must. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. XI. Thus let me die, so loved and lost. Annihilated in my dreams ! Nor force me, an unwilling ghost, To face the loud day's brutal beams ; The noisy world's inanities, All vanity of vanities. 224 DRAMAS 7.V MISIATURF, THE EUSSIAN STUDENT'S TALE. The midnight sun with phantom glare Shone ou the soundless thoroughfare "Whose shuttered houses, closed and still, Seemed bodies without heart or wUl ; Yea, all the stony city lay Impassive in that phantom day, As amid livid wastes of sand The sphinxes of the desert stand. And we, we two, turned night to day. As, whistHng many a student's lay, We sped along each ghostly street, With girls whose lightly tripping feet Well matched our longer, stronger stride. In hurrying to the water-side. We took a boat ; each seized an oar. And put his wiU into each stroke. Until on either hand the shore Shpped backwards, as our voices woke Far echoes, mingling like a dream With swirl and tumult of the stream. On — on — away, beneath the ray Of midnight in the mask of day ; By great wharves where the masts at peace Look like the ocean's barren trees ; Past palaces and glimmering towers. And gardens fairy-like with flowers, THK BVSSIAX STVDKXT'fi TALE 225 And parks of twilight green and closes, The very Paradise of roses. The waters flow ; on, on we row, Now laughing loud, now whispering low ; And through the splendour of the white Electrically glowing night. Wind- wafted from some perfumed dell, Tumultuously there loudly rose Above the Neva's surge and swell. With amorous ecstasies and throes, And lyric spasms of wildest wail, The love-song of a nightingale. I see her still beside me. Yea, As if it were but yesterday, I see her — sec her as she smiled ; Her face that of a little child For innocent sweetness undeflled ; And that pathetic flower-lilce blue Of eyes which, as they looked at you, Seemed yet to stab your bosom through. I rowed, she steered ; oars dipped and flashed. The broadening river roared and splashed. So that we hardly seemed to hear Our comrades' voices, though so near ; Their faces seeming far away. As stai beneath that phantom day I looked at her, she smiled at me ! And then we landed — I and she. 16 226 DRAMAS IN MINIATVBE There's an old Cafe in the wood ; . A student's haunt on summer eves, Round which responsive poplar leaves Quiver to each seolian mood Like some wild harp a poet smites On visionary summer nights. I ordered supper, took a room Green-curtained by the tremulous gloom Of those fraternal poplar trees Shaking together in the breeze ; My pulse, too, lilfe a poplar tree. Shook wildly as she smiled at me. Eye in eye, and hand in hand, Awake amid the slumberous land, I told her all my love that night — How I had loved her at iirst sight ; How I was hers, and seemed to be Her own to all eternity. And through the splendour of the white Electrically glowing night. Wind-wafted from some perfumed dell, TumiiLtuously there loudly rose Above the Neva's surge and swell. With amorous ecstasies and throes. And lyric spasm's of wildest wail. The love-song of a nightingale. I see her stiU beside me. Yea, As if it were but yesterday, I hear her tell with cheek aflame Her ineradicable shame — THE nVSSIAN STUDENT'S TALE 227 So sweet a flower in such vile hands ! Oil, loved and lost beyond recall ! Like one who hardly understands, I heard the story of her fall. The odious barter of her youth, Of beauty, innocence, and truth, Of aU that honest women hold Most sacred — for the sake of gold. A weary seamstress, half a child. Left unprotected in the street. Where, when so hungry, you would meet All sorts of tempters that beguiled. Oh, infamous and senseless clods. Basely to taint so pure a heart. And make a maid fit for the gods A creature of the common mart ! She spoke quite simply of things vile — Of devils with an angel's face ; It seemed the sunshine of her smile Must purify the foulest place. She told me all — she would be true — Told me of thmgs too sad, too bad ; And, looking in her eyes' clear blue My passion nearly drove me mad ! I tried to speak, but tried in vain ; A sob rose to my throat as dry As ashes — for between us twain A murdered virgin seemed to lie. And through the splendour of the white Electrically glowing night. Wind-wafted from some perfumed dell. 228 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Tuniultuously there loudly rose, Above the Neva's surge and swell, With amorous ecstasies and throes, And lyric spasms of wildest wail, The love-song of a nightingale. Poor craven creature ! What was I, To sit in judgment on her life, Who dared not naake this child my wife, And lift her up to Jove's own sky ? This poor lost child we all — yes, all — Had helped to hurry to her fall. Making a social leper of God's creature consecrate to love. I looked at her — she smiled no more ; She understood it all before A syllable had passed my lips ; And like a horrible eclipse, Which blots the sunlight from the skies, A blankness overspread her eyes — The blankness as of one who dies. I knew how much she loved me — ^Icnew How pure and passionately true Her love for me, which made her tell What scorched her like the flames of hell. And I, I loved her too, so much, So dearly, that I dared not touch Her lips that had been kissed in sin ; But with a reverential thrill I took her work-worn hand and thin, EUXUNGIATIOX 229 And kissed her fingers, showing still Where needle-prioks had marred the skin. And, ere I knew, a hot tear fell, Scalding the place which I had kissed, As between clenching teeth I hissed Our irretrievable farewell. And through the smouldering glow of night, Mixed with the shining morning light Wmd- wafted from some perfumed dell, Above the Neva's surge and swell. With lyric spasms, as from a throat Which dying breathes a faltering note, There faded o'er the silent vale The last sob of a nightingale. EENUNCIATION. "Wenn ioh Dich liebe was geht es Dich an ? I. The air is full of the peal of bells. The rhythmical pealing of marriage bells ; But athwart and above their ringing — Throbbing clear like the light of a star Lost in the sunrise — I hear afar The skylark's jubilant singing. II. The clouds all woollen and white on high. Like flocks of heavenly sheep go by, 230 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Go through heaven's sapphire meadows ; While here on earth's green meadows, deep In sapphire flowers, our earthly sheep Loll in their loitering shadows. Come, we wiU sit by the wayside here, They must cross this field to the chapel, dear. The loved by the side of her lover. Grey, through the glimmer of vernal green. Its time-worn tower may just be seen Through the yews which cm-tain it over. Nay, httle brother, why sliould I pine ? Dare a violet ask that the sun should shine. The shining smi shine for it solely ? Lowly it lifteth its meek blue eye, And yields up its soul to the sun on high. Nor lacks for love, loving so whollj'. He passed the garden where, snow-white and red, I tended the flowers which gave us our bread, And watered my KUes and roses ; He passed and repassed both early and late. And lingering, often would lean on the gate While I tied for him one of my posies. RENUNCIATION 231 VI. Day after day would he pass this way, And his smiling was sweet as the flowers of May, Or the scent of the bee-haunted clover ; And a softer flame seemed to hght up his eye Than the lily-white moon's in the rose-hued sky, Er-e the blush of the May-day is over. VII. Aye, day after day he would stop on his way, While the trees were in leaf and the meadows were gay. And the curled little lambs were grazing ; As he went, or returned in the waning light From the smoke-capped city whose lamps by night Tm-n the black clouds red with their blazing. It's a year to-day when the young sun sets Since I gave him that first bunch of violets Prom the root on the grave of our mother. Though thou seest them not with the bodily eye. The language of flowers much better than I I know that thou knowest, my brother. Violets — then golden daffodils Which the light of the sun like a wine-cup fills- Tall tuUps like flames upspringing — Golden-crown wall-flowers bright as his looks — Marigolds — ^balsams — and perfumed stocks Whose scent's like a blackbird's singing. 232 DRAMAS IN MIXIATURE X. You see, my darling, I never forget ! .Aye, those were your own very wbrds — ere yet Our father lost all in yon city. Where people, they say, in their struggle for gold, Become like wild beasts, and the feeble and old Are trampled upon without pity. Poor father was better to-day : for the smile Of the sun seemed to gladden him too for awhile As he sat by the bright little casement. With buttercups heaped on his knees without stint. Which, deeming them childishly fresh from the mint, He counted in chuckling amazement. XII. The air is full of the peal of bells — The rhythmical pealing of marriage bells ! And there floats o'er the fields, o'er the fallows. Borne on the wind with the wind-blown chimes. From the old house hidden in older limes, A chatter of maidens and swallows. XIII. Ah, give me the flowers ! — the last year was all In tune with the flowers from the spring to the fall. And with singing of birds in the bowers ; And once — ah, look not so angry, dear ! — He whispered so softly I scarce could hear, " You yourself are my flower of all flowers ! " nENUNCIATION 233 XIV. But oh, when the wind was loud in the trees, AVhen the fluttering petals snowed down on the leas. And the dim sun went out like an ember. He stood by the gate all drenched with the mist. And I gave him my last Christmas rose, which he kissed For the last time that last of November. Say, could he help if a hope as sweet As the wild thyme had sprouted under his feet ? If his face in my heart is enfolden, As the sun-smit globes of the summer rain Reflect and hold and refract again The sun, the eternally golden. XVI. He oometh, he cometh, oh brother, there ! Ah would that you saw the glint of his hair. For he looks like that saint in the story Whom you loved so to hear of in days of old, Till he lit up your dreams with his curls of gold. Exhaling a mystical glory. XVII. The unseen wings of the morning air Fan his brow and ruffle his hair As he steps with a stately measure ; White daisies under his feet are spread, White butterflies hover above his head, White clouds high up in the azure : 234 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE XVIII. Pelt Mm with sunlit April rain, Rain which ripens the earth-hid grain, Which brings up the grass and the heather ! Hark at the peal of the bridal bells, How their musical chiming swells and swells As they enter the church door together. Let us go hence now — 'tis over — the twain One wiU they be when they pass here again : All my flowers in their pathway I scatter ; Though he forget me as yesterday's rose, My heart with a heavenly feeling o'erflows : If I love him, to whom does it matter ? Come, let us go now ; the stile, it is here : And now, love, I live but for thee. What ! a tear Splashed on thy hand ? Nay, a drop from the shower That has passed over, for bright, on yon dark Ominous cloud, dearest brother, the arc Of the promise now breaks into flower. THE TEAMSTER 235 THE TEAMSTBE. With slow and slouching gait Sain leads the team ; He stoops i' the shoulders, worn with work not years ; One only passion has he, it would seem — The passion for the horses which he rears : He names them as one would some household pet. May, Violet. He thinks them quite as sensible as men ; As nice as women, but not near so skittish ; He fondles, cossets, scolds them now and then. Nay, gravely talks as if they knew good British : You hear him call from dawn to set of sun, " Goo back ! Com on ! " Sam never seems depressed nor yet elate, Like Nature's self he goes his punctual round ; On Sundays, smoking by his garden gate, For hours he'll stand, with eyes upon the ground, * Lilse some tired cart-horse in a field alone. And still as stone. Ynt, howsoever stolid he may seem, Sam has his tragic background, weird and wUd Jjike some adventure in a drunkard's dream. Impossible, you'd swear, for one so mild : Yet village gossips dawdling o'er their ale StiU tell the tale. 236 DHAMAS IN ^HNIATVRE In his young days Sam loved a servant-maid, A girl with happy eyes like hazel hrooks That dance i' the sun, cheeks as if newly made Of pouting roses coyly hid in nooks, And warm brown hair that wantoned into curl : A fresh-blown girl. Sam came a-oourting while the year was blithe, When wet browed mowers, stepping out in tune, With level stroke and rhythmic swing of scythe. Smote down the proud grass in the pomp of June, And wagons, half-tipped over, seemed to sway With loads of hay. The elder bush beside the orchard croft Brimmed over with its bloom like curds and cream ; From out grey nests high in the granary loft Black clusters of small heads with callow scream Peered open-beaked, as swallows flashed along To feed their young. Eipening towards the harvest swelled the wheat, Lush cherries dangled 'gainst the latticed panes ; The roads were baldng in the windless heat. And dust had floured the glossy country lanes, One sun-hushed, light-flushed Sunday afternoon. The last of June ; When, with his thumping heart all out of joint. And pulses beating like a stroller's drum. THE TEAMSTEIi 237 Sam screwed his courage to the sticking point And asked his blushing sweetheart if she'd come To Titsey Fair ; he meant to coax coy May To name the day. But her rich master snapped his thumb and swore The gii-1 was not for him 1 Should not go out ! And, whistling to his dogs, slammed-to the door Close in Sam's face, and left him dazed without In the fierce sunshine, blazing in his path Like fire of wrath. Unheeding, he went forth with hot wild eyes Past fields of feathery oats and wine-red clover ; Unheeded, larks soared singing to the skies. Or rang the plaintive cry of rising plover ; Unheeded, pheasants with a startled sound Whirred from the ground. On, on he went by acres full of grain. By trees and meadows reeling past his sight As to a man whirled onwards in a train The land with spinning hedgerows seems in flight ; At last he stopped and leant a long, long while Against the stile. Hours passed ; the clock struck ten ; a hush of night. In which even wind and water seemed at peace ; But here and there a glimmering cottage hght Shone like a glowworm through the slumberous trees ; Or from some far-off homestead through the dark A watch-dog's bark. 238 DRAiFAfl IN MINIATUHE But all at once Sam gave a stifled cry : " There's fire," he muttered, " fire upon the hills I " No fire — but as the late moon rose on high Her light looked smoke-red as through belching nulls No fire — but moonlight turning in his path To fire of wrath. He looked abroad with eyes that gave the mist A lurid tinge above the breadths of grain Owned by May's master. Then he shook his fist, StUl muttering, " Fire I " and measured o'er again The road he'd come, where, lapped in moonlight, lay Huge ricks of hay. There he paused glaring. Then he turned and waned Like mist into the misty, moon-soaked night, Where the pale silvery fields were blotched and stained With strange 'fantastic shadows. But what light Is that which leaps up, flickering lithe and long. With hcking tongue ! Hungry it darts and hisses, twists and turns, And with each minute shoots up higher and higher, Till, wrapped in flames, the mighty hayrick burns And sends its sparks on to a neighbouring byre, Where, frightened at the hot, tremendous glow. The cattle low. And rick on rick takes fire ; and next a stye, Whence through the smoke the little pigs rush out ; THE TEAMSTER 239 The house-dog barks ; then, with a startled cry, The window is flung open, shout on shout Wakes the hard-sleeping farm where man and maid Start up dismayed. And with wild faces wavering in the glare. In nightcaps, bedgowns, clothes half huddled on. Some to the pump, some to the duck-pond tear In frantic haste, whUe others splashing run With pails, or turn the hose with flame-scorched face Upon the blaze. At last, when some wan streaks began to show In the chill darkness of the sky, the fire Went out, subdued but for the sputtering glow Of sparks among wet ashes. Barn and byre Were safe, but swallowed all the summer math By fire of wrath. Still haggard from the night's wild work and pale, Farm-men and women stood in whispering knots, Begaled with foaming mugs of nut-brown ale ; Firing his oaths about like vicious shots, The farmer hissed out now and then ; " Gad damn I It's that black Sam." They had him up and taxed him with the crime ; Denying naught, he sulked and held his peace ; And so, a branded convict, in due time, Handcuffed and cropped, they shipped him over-seas : Seven years of shame sliced from his labourer's life As with a knife. •240 TJEAMAS IX MIS I AT U RE But through it all the image of a girl With hazel eyes like pebbled waters clear, And warm brown hair that wantoned into curl, Kept his heart sweet through manj' a galling year, Like to a bit of lavender long pressed In some black chest. At last his time was up, and Sam returned To his dear ^'illage with its single street, Where, in the sooty forge, the fire still burned, As, hammering on the anvil, red with heat, The smith wrought at a shoe with tongues aglow, Blow upon blow. There stood the church, with peals for death and birth. Its ancient spire o'ertoj)piug ancient trees. And there the graves and mounds of unknown eartli. Gathered like little children round its knees ; There was " The Bull," with sign above the door. And sanded floor. Unrecognised Sam took his glass of beer. And picked up gossip which .the men let fall : How Farmer Clow had failed, and one named Steer Had taken on the land, repairs and all ; And how the Kimber girl was to be wed To Betsy's Ned. Sam heard no more, flung down his pence, and took The way down to the well-remembered stile ; THE TEAMSTER 241 There, in the gloaming by the trysting brook, He came upon his May — with just that smile For sheep-faced Ned, that light in happy eyes : Oh, sugared lies ! He came upon them with blaok-knitted brows And clenched brown hands, and muttered huskily : " Oh, little May, are those your true love's vows You swore to keep while I was over-sea? " Then crying, turned upon the other one, " Com on, com on." Then they feU to with faces set for fight. And hit each other hard with rustic pride ; But Saiu, whose arm with iron force could smite, Knocked his cowed rival down, and won his bride. May wept and smiled, swayed like a wUd red rose As the wind blows. She married Sam, who lo-yed her with a wild Strong love he could not put to words — too deep For her to gauge ; but with her first-born child May dropped off, flower-like, into the long sleep, And left him nothing but the memory of His little love. Since then the silent teamster lives alone, The trusted headman of his master Steer ; One only passion seems he still to own — The passion for the foals he has to rear ; And stUl the prettiest, full of life and play. Is little May. 17 242 DRAMAS IN MINIATUBE NOONDAY BEST. The willows whisper very, very low Unto the hstening breeze ; Sometimes they lose a leaf which, ilickering slow, Faints on the sunburnt leas. Beneath the whispering boughs and simmering skies On the hot ground at rest, StiU as a stone, a ragged woman lies. Her baby at the breast. Nibblmg round her browse monotonous sheep, FUes buzz about her head ; Her heavy eyes are shuttered by a sleep As of the slumbering dead. The happy birds that hve to love and sing, Flitting from bough to bough. Peer softly at this ghastly himian thing With grizzled hair and brow. O'er what strange ways may not these feet have trod That match the crackling clay ? Man had no pity on her — no, nor God — A nameless castaway ! But Mother Earth now hugs her to her breast. Defiled or undefiled ; And willows rock the weary soul to rest, As she, even she, her chUd. Hampstbad Heath. THE MESSAGE 243 THE MESSAGE. Prom side to side the sufferer tossed With quick impaitient sighs ; Her face was bitten as by frost, The look as of one hunted crossed The fever of her eyes. All seared she seemed with life arid woe, Yet scarcely could have told More than a score of springs or so ; Her hair had girlhood's morning glow, And yet her mouth looked old. Not long for her the sun would rise, Nor that young shp of moon. Wading through London's smoky skies, Would dwindhng meeb those dwindhng eyes, Ere May was merged in June. May was it somewhere ? Who, alas 1 Could fancy it was May ? For here, instead of meadow grass. You saw, through naked panes of glass. Bare walls of whitish gray. Instead of songs, where in the quick Leaves hide- the blackbirds' nests, You heard the moaning of the sick. And tortured breathings harsh and thick Dravsm from their labourmg chestsi 2i4 VnAMAS IN MINIATUnii She muttered, " AVhat's the odds to me ? " AVith an old cynic's sneer ; And looking up, cried mockingly, " I hate you, nurse ! Why, can't you see You'll make no convert here ? " And then she shook her fist at Heaven, And broke into a laugh ! Yes, though her sins were seven times seven Let others pray, to be forgiven — She scorned such canting chaff. Oh, it was dreadful, sir 1 Far worse In one so young and fair ; Sometimes she'd scoff and swear and curse ; Call me bad names, and vow each nurse A fool for being there. And then she'd fall back on her bed. And many a weary hour Would lie as rigid as one dead ; Her white throat with the golden head Lilie some torn lily flower. We could do nothing, one and all How much we might beseech ; Her girlish blood had turned to gall ; Far lower than her body's fall Her soul had sunk from reach. THE MESSAGE 245 Her soul had sunk into a slough Of evil past repair. The world had been against her ; now Nothing in heaven or earth should bow Her stubborn knees in prayer. Yet I felt sorry all the same, And sometimes, when she slept, With head and hands as hot as flame, I watched beside her, half in shame. Smoothed her bright hair and wept. To die like this — 'twas awful, sir ! To know I prayed in vain ; And hear her mock me, and aver That if her life came back to her She'd live her life again. Was she a wicked girl ? What then ? She didn't care a pin ! She was not worse than all those men Who looked so shocked in public, when They made and shared her sin. " Shut up, nurse, do ! Your sermons pall; Why can't you let me be ? Instead of worrying o'er my fall, I wish, just wish, you sisters all Turned to the Ukes of me.' 246 DRA3IAS IN MINIATURE I shuddered ! I could bear no more, And left her to her fate ; She was too cankered at the core ; Her heart was lilje a bolted door, Where Love had knocked too late. I left her in her savage spleen, And hoarsely heard her shout, " ^¥hat does the cursed sunlight mean By shining in upon this scene ? Oh, shut the sunlight out 1 " Sighing, I went my round once more, Full heavy for her sin ; Just as Big Ben was striking four. The sun streamed through the open door. As a young girl came in. She held a basket full of flowers — Cowslip and columbine ; A lilac bunch from rustic bowers, Strong-scented after morning showers. Smelt like some cordial wine. There, too, peeped Robin-in-the-hedge, There daisies pearled with dew. Wild parsley from the meadow's edge. Sweet-william and the purple vetch, And hyacinth's heavenly blue. THE MESSAGE 247 But best of all the spring's array, Green botighs of miUt-white thorn ; Their petals on each perfumed spray Looked like the wedding gift of May On nature's marriage morn. And she who bore those gifts of grace To our poor patients there, Passed like a sunbeam through the place : Dull eyes grew brighter for her face. Angelically fair. She went the round with elf -like tread, And with kind words of cheer. Soothing as balm of Gilead, Laid wild flowers on each patient's bed. And made the flowers more dear. At last she came where Nellie Dean Still moaned and tossed about — " What does the cursed sunlight mean By shining in upon this scene ? Will no one shut it out ? " And then she swore with rage and pain, And moaning tried to rise ; It seemed her ugly words must stain The child who stood -with heart astram. And large blue listening eyes. 248 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Her fair face did not blush or bleach. She did not shrinl^ away ; Alas ! she was beyond the reach Of sweet or bitter human speech — Deaf as the flowers of May. Only her listening eyes could hear That hardening in despair, Which made that other girl, so near In age to her, a thing to fear Like fever-tainted air. She took green boughs of milk-white thorn And laid them on the sheet, Whispering appealingly, " Don't scorn My flowers I I think, when one's forlorn, They're like a message. Sweet.' How heavenly fresh those blossoms smelt, LUce showers on thirsty ground 1 The sick girl frowned as if repelled. And with hot hands began to pelt And fling them all around. But then some influence seemed to stay Her hands with calm control ; Her stormy passions cleared away, The perfume of the breath of May Had passed into her soul. THE MESSAGE 249 A nerve of memory had been thrilled, And, pushing back her hair, She stretched out hungry arms half filled With flower and leaf, and panting shrilled, " Where are you, mother, where ? " And then her eyes shone darkly bright Through childhood m a mist. As if she suddenly caught sight Of some one hidden in the light And waited to be kissed. " Oh, mother dear ! " we heard her moan, " Have you not gone away ? I dreamed, dear mother, you had gone. And left me in the world alone, In the wild world astray. " It was a dream ; I'm home again 1 I hear the ivy -leaves Tap -tapping on the leaded pane ! Oh, listen ! how the laughing rain Euns from our cottage eaves ! " How very sweet the things do smell ! How bright our pewter shines ; I am at home ; I feel so well : I think I hear the evening bell Above our nodding pines. 250 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE " The firelight glows upon the brick, And pales the rising moon ; And when your needles flash and click, My heart, my heart, that felt so sick, Throbs like a hive in June. " If only father would not stay And gossip o'er his brew ; Then, reeling homewards, lose his way, Come staggering in at break of day And beat you black and blue ! " Yet he can be as good as gold, "SVhen mindful of the farm. He tills the field and tends the fold ; But never fear; when I'm grown old I'll keep him out of harm. " And then we'll be as happy here As kings upon their throne ! I dreamed you'd left me, mother dear ; That you lay dead this many a year Beneath the churchyard stone. " Mother, I sought you far and wide, And ever in my dream. Just out of reach you seemed to hide ; I ran along the streets and cried, ' AVhere are you, mother, where ? ' THE MESSAGE 251 " Through never-ending streets in fear I ran and ran forlorn ; And through the twilight yellow-drear I saw blurred masks of loafers leer, And point at me in scorn. " How tired, how deadly tired, I got ; I ached through all my bones ! The lamplight grew one quivering blot, And like one rooted to the spot, I dropped upon the stones. " A hard bed make the stones and cold. The mist a wet, wet sheet ; And in the mud, like molten gold, The snaky lampHght blinking rolled Like guineas at my feet. " Surely there were no mothers when A voice hissed in my ear, ' A sovereign ! Quick ; Come on ! ' — and then A knowing leer ! There were but men. And not a creature near. " I went — I could not help it. Oh, I didn't want to die ; "With now a kiss and now a blow. Strange men would come, strange men would go I didn't care — not I, 2.52 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE " Sometimes my life was like a tale Read in a story-book ; Our blazing nights turned daylight pale, Champagne would fizz like ginger-ale, Eed wine flow like a brook. " Then like a vane my dream would veer : I walked the street again ; And through the twilight yellow-drear Blurred clouds of faces seemed to peer. And drift across the rain." She started \\ith a piercing scream And wildly rolling eye : ' ' Ah me I it was no evil dream To pass with the first market-team — That thing of shame am I. " Where were you that you could not come ? Were you so far above- Far as the moon above a slum ? Yet, mother, you were all the sum I had of human love. " Ah yes ! you've sent this branch of May, A fair light from the past. The town is dark — I went astray. Forgive me, mother ! Lead the way ; I'm going home at last," A MOTHER'S DREAM 253 In eager haste she tried to rise, And struggled up in bed, With luminous, transfigured eyes, As if they glassed the opening skies. Pell back, sir, and was dead. A MOTHEE'S DEBAM. The snow was falling thick and fast On Christmas Eve ; Across the heath the distant blast Wailed wildly like a soul in grief, A waste soul or a windy leaf Whirled round and round without reprieve, And lost at last. Lisa woke shivering from her sleep At break of day. And felt her flesh begin to creep. " My child, my chUd 1 " she cried ; " now may Our blessed Lord, whose hand doth stay The wild -fowl on their trackless way. Thee guard and keep." 254 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE " Dreams 1 dreams I " she to herself did say, And shook with fright. " I saw her plainly where I lay Ply past nie like a flash of light ; Fly out into the wintry night, Out in the snow as snowy white. Far, far away. " Her cage hvmg empty just above Your chair, ina miej Empty as is my heart of love Since you, my child, dwell far from me- Dwell in the convent over sea ; All of you left to love Marie. Your darling dove.' Hark to that fond, famUiar coo I Oh, joy untold 1 It falls upon her heart like dew. There safely perching as of old. The dove is calling through the cold And ghastly dawn o'er wood and wold, " Coo-whoo ! Coo-whoo 1 " A MOTHER'S DREAM 255 The snow fell softly, flake by flake, This Christmas Day, And whitened every bush and brake ; And o'er the hills so ashen gray The wind was wailing far away. Was wailing like a child astray Whose heart must break. " I miss my child," she waUe'd ; " I miss Her everywhere ! That's why I have such dreams as this. I miss her step upon the stair, I miss her laughter in the air, I miss her bonnie face and hair, And oh — her kiss 1 " Christmas ! Last Christmas, oh how fleet. With lark-hke trill. She danced about on fairy feet 1 Her eyes clear as a mountain rill, Where the blue sky is liugering still ; Her rosebud hps the dove would bUl For something sweet. 256 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE " My dove 1 my dear ! my undefiled 1 Oh, heavy doom 1 My life has left me with the child. She was a sunbeam in my room, She was a rainbow on the gloom. She was the wild rose on a tomb Where weeds run wild. " And yet — 'tis better thus ! 'Tis best, They tell me so. Yes, though my heart is like a nest. Whence all the little birds did go — An empty nest that's full of snow — Let me take all the wail and woe. So she be blest. " Let me take all the sin and shame, And weep for two, That she may bear no breath of blame. ' Sin — sin ! ' they say ; what sin had you, Pure as the dawn upon the dew ? Child — robbed of a child's rightful due, Her father's name. A MOTHER'S DREAM 257 " I gave her life to live forlorn ! Oh, let that day Be darkness wherein I was born ! Let not God light it, let no ray Shine on it ; let it turn away Its face, because my sin must weigh Her down with shame. '•I? I? Was I the sinner ? I, Not he, they say, Who told me, looking eye in eye. We'd wed far North where grand and gray His fair ancestral castle lay, Amid the woods of Darnaway — And told a lie. " But I was young ; and in my youth I simply thought That English gentlemen spoke truth, Even to a Norman maid, who wrought The blush-rose shells the tide had brought To fairy toys which children bought Before my booth. 18 258 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE " ' Those fairy fingers,' he would say, ' With shell-pink nails. Shall shame the pearls of Darnaway 1 ' And in his yacht with swelling sails We flew before the favouring gales. Where leagues on leagues his woods and vales Stretched dim and gray. " Grim rose his castle o'er the wood ; Its hoary halls Frowned o'er the Findhorn's roaring flood ; Where, winged with spray and water-galls, The headlong torrent leaps and falls In thunder through its tunnelled walls, Streaked as with blood." It all came back in one wild flash Of cruel light, And memory smote her like a lash :^- The foolish trust, the fond delight, The helpless rage, the fevered flight, The feet that dragged on through the" night. The torrent's splash. A MOTHER'S DREAM 259 The long, long sickness bred of lies And lost belief ; The short, sharp pangs and shuddering sighs : The new-born babe, that in her grief Bore her wrecked spirit such relief As the dove-carried olive-leaf To Noah's eyes. It all came back, and lit her soul With lurid flame ; How she — she — she — frora whom he stole Her virgin love and honest name — Must, for the ailing child's sake, tame Her pride, and take — oh, shame of shame !- His lordship's dole. Like one whom grief hath driven wild. She cried again, " My snowdrop shall not be defiled, Nor catch the faintest soil or stain, Eeared in the shadow of my pain I How should a guilty mother train A guiltless child ? 260 BEAHIAS IN MINIATVRE " You shall be spotless, you 1 " said she, " Whate'er my woe ; Even as the snow on yonder lea. You shall be spotless 1 " Faint and low, The wind in dying seemed to blow, To breathe across the hills of snow, " Marie ! Marie ! " A voice was calling far away, O'er fields and fords, Across the Channel veiled and gray ; A voice was calling without words, Touching her nature's deepest chords ; Drawing her, drawing her as with cords — She might not stay. Uprose the sun and still and round, Shorn of his heat, Glared bloodshot o'er the frosty ground. As down the shuttered village street Fast, fast walked Lisa, and her feet Left black tracks in earth's winding-sheet And made no sound. A MOTSER'S DREA3I 261 Then on, on, by the iron way — With whistling scream — Piercing hard rooks hke potter's clay. She flashed as in a shifting dream Through flying town, o'er flowing stream. Borne on by mighty wings of steam. Away, away. A sound of wind, and in the air The sea-gull's screech. And waves lap-lapping everywhere ; A rush of ropes and volleyed speech, And white chffs sinking out of reach, Then rismg on the rival beach, Boulogne-sur-Mer. Above the ramparts on the hill, AVhenoe like a chart It saw the low land spreading ohUl, Within its cloistered walls apart The Convent of the Sacred Heart Eose o'er the noise of street and mart, Serenely still. 262 DRAMAS IN 21INIATURE Above the unquiet sea it rose, A quiet nest, Severed from earthly wants and woes. There might the weary find his rest ; There might the pilgrim cease his quest ; There might the soul with guilt oppressed Implore repose. The day was done, the sun dropped low Behind the mill That swung within its blood-red glow ; And up the street and up the hill Lisa walked fast and faster still. Her sable shadow lengthening chill Across the enow. Hark ! heavenly clear, with holy swell. She hears elate The greeting of the vesper bell, And, knocking at the convent gate. Sighs, " Here she prays God early and late ; Walled in from love, walled in from hate ; All's well ! All's well 1 " A MOTHER'S DEEA3I 263 A sweat broke from her every pore, And yet she smiled, As stumbling through the clanging door. She faced a nun of aspect mUd. Like some starved wolf's her eyes gleamed wild : " My ohUd ! " she gasped ; " I want my child." And nothing more. The nun looked at her, shocked to see The violent sway Of love's unbridled agony ; And calmly queried on the way, " Your child, Madame ? What child, I pray ? " StiU, still the mother could but say, " Marie ! Marie ! " The nun in silence bowed her head. And then aloud, " Christ Jesus knows our needs," she said. " Madame, far from the sinful crowd. The maiden to the Lord you vowed ; There is no safeguard like a shroud — Your child is dead. 261 DRA3US IN MINIATURE XXXIII. " Upon the night Christ saw the light She passed away, As snow will when the sun shines bright. We heard her moaning where she lay, ' Come, mother, come, while yet you may ; ' Then lilce a dove, at break of day, Her soul took flight." XXXIV. As from a blow the mother fell. No moan made she ; They bore her to the little cell : There in her coffin lay Marie, Spotless as snow upon the lea, Beautiful exceedingly : All's weU! All's well! A CAENIVAL EPISODE. NICE, '87. We two there together alone in the night, Where its shadow unconsciously bound us ; My beautiful lady all shrouded in white. She and I looking down from the balcony's height On the maskers below in the flickering light, As they revelled and rioted round us. A CARNIVAL EPISODE 26? II. Such a rush, such a rage, and a rapture of life Such shouts of delight and of laughter. On the quays that I watched with the General's wife ; Such a merry-go-reeling of figures was rife. Turning round to the tune of gay fiddle and fife, As if never a morning came after. III. The houses had emptied themselves in the streets. Where the maskers bombarded each other With a shower of confetti and hailstorm of sweets TRl the pavements were turning the colour of sheets ; Where a prince wiU crack jokes with a pauper he meets. For the time like a man and a brother. IV. The Carnival frolic was now at its height ; The whole population in motion Stood watching the swift constellations of light That crackling flashed up on their arrowy flight. Then spreading their fairy-lilce fires on the night. Fell in luminous rain on the ocean, V. And now and again the quick dazzle would flare. Glowing red on black masks and white dresses. We two there together drew back from the glare ; Drew in to the room, and her hood unaware Fell back from the plaits of her opulent hair. That uncoiled the brown snakes of its tresses. 266 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE VI. How fatally fair was my lady, my queen, As that wild light fell round her in flashes ; How fatally fair with that mutinous mien, And those velvety hands all alive with the sheen Of her rings, and her eyes that were narrowed between Heavy lids darkly laced with long lashes ! VII. Almost I hated her beauty ! The air I was breathing seemed steeped in her presence. How maddening that waltz was ! Ah, how came I there Alone with that woman so fatally fair. With the scent of her garments, the smell of her hair. Passing into my blood like an essence ? VIII. Her eyes seemed to pluck at the roots of my heart, And to put all my blood in a fever ; My soul was on fire, my veins seemed to start. To hold her, to fold her but once to my heart, I'd have willingly bared my broad chest to the dart, And been killed, ay, and damned too for ever. I forgot^ I forgot ! — oh, disloyal, abhorred. With the spell of her eyes on my eyes — That her husband, the men of all men I adored, Might be fighting for us at the point of the sword ; Might be killing or killed by an African horde. Afar beneath African skies. A CARNIVAL EPISODE 267 X. I forgot — nay, I cared not I What oared I to-night For aught but my lady, my love, As she toyed with her mask in the flickering light Then suddenly dropped it, perchance, at the sight Of my passion now reaching its uttermost height, As a tide with the full moon above ! Yet I knew, though I loved her so madly,- 1 knew She was only just playing her game. She would toy with my heart all the Carnival through ; She would turn to a traitor a man who was true ; She would drain him of love and then break him in two, And wash her white hands of his shame. Yet beware, my beautiful lady, beware ! You must cure me of love or else kill. That fire burns longest that's slowest to flare : My love is a force that will force you to care ; Nay, I'll strangle us both in the ropes of your hair Should you dream you can drop me at wOl. And then — how I know not — delirious delight ! Her lips were pressed close upon mine ; My arms clung about her as when in affright Wrecked men cling to spars in a tempest at night ; So raadly I clung to her, crushed her with might To my heart which her heart made divine. 268 DRAMAS IN MINIATUBE xrv. Oh, merciful Heavens I What drove us apart With a shudder of sundering lives ? Oh, was it the throh of my passionate heart That made the doors tremble, the windows to start ; Or was it my lady just playing her part. Most indignant, most outraged of wives ? XV. She was white as the chalk in the streets — was she fain To turn on me now vidth a sneer ? All the blood in my body surged up to my brain. And my heart seemed half bursting with passion and pain. As I seized her slim hands — but I dropped them again 1 Ah ! treason is mother to fear. XVI. Had it come upon us at that magical hour, The judgment of God the Most High ? The floor 'gan to heave and the ceiling to lower. The dead walls to start with malevolent power. Till your hair seemed to rise and your spirit to cower, As the very stones shook with a sigh. XVII. With you in my arms let the world crack asunder ; Let us die, love, together ! " I cried. Then, then with a clatter and boom as of thunder, A beam crashed between us and drove us asunder. And all things rocked round us, above us and under, Like a boat that is rooked on a tide. A CARNIVAL EPISODE 268 XVIII. She sprang like a greyhound — no greyhound more fleet— And ran down the staircase in motion ; And blindly I followed her into the street, All choked up with people in panic retreat From the houses that scattered their plaster Uke sleet On the crowd in bewildered commotion. Black masks and white dominoes, hale men and dying. Scared women that shook as with fever Poor babes in their bedgowns all piteously crying, Tiles hurled from the housetops — all flying, all flying, As I, wild with passion, implored her with sighing To fly with me now and for ever. " Go, go ! " and she waved me away as she spoke, Carried on by the crowd hke a feather ; " You forget that it was but a Carnival joke. Now blest be the terrible earthquake that broke In between you and me, and has saved at a stroke Us two in the night there together." 270 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE A BEIDAL IN THE BOIS DB BOULOGNE How the lilacs, tlie lilacs are glowing and blowing ! And white through the delicate verdure of May The blossoming boughs of the hawthorn are showing, Like beautiful brides in their bridal array ; With cobwebs for laces, and dewdrops for pearls. Fine as a queen's dowry for workaday girls. In an aisle of Acacias enlaced and. enlacing, Where the silvery sunlight tunnels the shade. Where snowflakes of butterflies airily chasing Each other in trios flash down the arcade : Arrayed in white" muslin the new wedded bride Looks fresh as a daisy, the groom by her side. The guests flitted round her with light-hearted laughter ; They hunted the slipper, they kissed in the ing ; The days gone before and the days coming after They thought of no more than the bird on the wing. Were the loves and the laughter and lilacs of May, With the sunshine above, not enough for the day ? And tlae lilacs, the lilacs are blowing and glowing 1 They pluck them by handfuls and pile in a mass And the sap of the Springtide is rising and flowing Through the veins of the greenwood, the blades of the grass: Up, up to the last leaf a dance on the tree, It leaps like a fountain abundant and free. A BRIDAL IN THE BOIS BE BOULOGNE 271 The blackbirds are building their nests in the bushes, And whistle at work, as the workpeople do ; The trees swing their censers, the wind comes in gushes Of delicate scent mixed of honey and dew. Now loud and now low through the garrulous trees A burst of gay music is blown with the breeze. And the girls and the boys from the faubourgs of Paris, The premature gamins as wise as fourscore ; The vain little Margots and wide-awake Harrys, Surprised into childhood, grew simple once mofe, And vied with the cuckoo as, shouting at play. They dashed through the thickets and darted away. Ah, fair is the forest's green ghmmeriag splendour. The leaves of the lime tree a network of light ; And fringing long aisles of acacia, a tender And delicate veiling of virginal white, Where, framed in the gladdening flowers of May, The bride and her bridesmaids beam gladder than they. They have crowned her brown tresses with hawthorn in blossom. They have made her a necklace of daisies for pearls ; They have set the white lily against her white bosom. Enthroned on the grass mid a garland of girls ; With the earth for a footstool, the sky-roof above. She is queen of the Springtide and Lady of Love, 272 Dl^AMAS IN MINIA'l'VBE Oh, the lilacs, the lilacs are glowing and blowing ! They pluck them by bushels as bhthely they go Through the green, scented dusk where the hawthorn is showing A luminous whiteness of blossoming snow. And the Sun ere he goes gives the Moon half his light, As a lamp to lead Love on the bridal night. THE BATTLE OF FLOWEES. The battle raged, no blood was spilled. Though missiles flew in showers ; Hard though they hit, they never killed Or maimed the merry throwers : Or if they killed, those winged darts, They killed but unprotected hearts ; For flowers fronr flower-like hands can slay, Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Ray I II. Like humming-birds upon the breeze So swiftly shot the posies ; Glory of red anemones. Pink buds of ourled-up roses, Lilacs and lilies of the vale ; Yea, every flower that scents the gale Yielded up incense to its day, Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Ray ! THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS 273 How gallsmtly along the course, Stepping with conscious glances, Each flower-decked, gaily harnessed horse, In rank and file advances ! Even as gi'een boughs and daisy chains Enwreathe their bits and bridle-reins. Bright pleasure hides black grief away, Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Eay 1 The people humming like a hive, Swarm closely pressed together, To watch high fashion's crowded drive With flu't of fan and feather ; And nosegays thrown up high in air. Now hitting gray, now golden hair, Now deftly caught upon their way, Jeanne Kay ! Jeanne Eay ! And past the eager jostling crowd. Watching their guests from far lands. Gigs flash by in a violet cloud. And drags with rose-red garlands ; There meet crowned heads from many zones And princes who have lost their thrones, AVith gifts from Ind and far Cathay, Jeanne Ray ! Jeanne Ray 1 19 274 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Ah, who shall bear away the prize In this bewitching battle, Where shafts are hurled from brightest eyes. And Cupid's arrows rattle ; In that fair fight where flowers alone By fairer flowers are overthrown ? Who shall be victor in this fray ? Jeanne Eay I Jeanne Bay 1 And people bet with buzz of tongue As the gay pageant passes ; Now runs a murmur through the throng And stirs the thrilling masses. All heads are turned, all necks astrain, As through the thickening floral rain, " Look 1 look ! She comes 1 " you hear them say- Jeanne Bay ! Jeanne Eay ! No turn-out in that festive throng Is half so bright and airy ; Your cream-white ponies prance along As if they drew a fairy ; They step along with heads held high. And favours blue to match the sky : They know theirs is the winning way, Jeanne Eay I Jeanne Bay I tSe Battle of flowers IX. A queen in exile might you be, Or leader o£ tlie fashion ? Some Jenny Lind from over sea Melting all hearts with passion ? Some tragic Muse whose mighty spell Unlocks the gates of heaven and heU ? What sceptre is it that you sway ? Jeanne Eay 1 Jeanne Bay ! All by yourself in spotless white, You sit there in your glory ; Your black eyes scintUlate with light- Eyes that may hide a story. In spotless white with ribbons blue. You look fresh from a bath of dew That sparkles in the rising day, Jeanne Bay I Jeanne Bay ! Triumphant — without shame or fear — You air a thousand graces ; Though women turn when you appear With cold, averted faces ; Though men at sight of you will stop, As if they looked into a shop ; Shall both for this not doubly pay ? Jeanne Bay ! Jeanne Bay ! 2,76 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE And with a smile upon your lips, Perhaps a shade too rosy, You shake two dainty finger-tips And lightly fling a posy : So might a high-born dame perchance, In days of tourneys and romance, Have flung her glove into the fray, Jeanne Kay 1 Jeanne Ray 1 As with that little careless sign You fling your bouquet lightly. Three graybeards, flushing as with wine. Lift hats and bow pohtely ; And one, the grandest of the three. Stoops low with stiff, rheumatic knee ; Out of the dust he picks your spray, Jeanne Ray ! Jeanne Kay 1 His coat is all ablaze with stars For deeds of martial daring ; His name, a watchword in the wars. Kept soldiers from despairing. Now see beside his orders rare Your mignonette and maidenhair ; With just a nod you turn away, Jeanne Kay! Jeanne Kay! THE BATTLE OF FLOWERS 277 You turn to meet the wintry face Of an old beggar-woman, Just there beyond the railed-in space, Brown, bony, hardly human ; Who in her tatters seems at least The skeleton of Egypt's feast ; A ghastly emblem of decay, Jeanne Ray 1 Jeanne Ray ! With palsied head and shaking hand. As if it were December, Grim by the harrier see her stand, Just mumbling a " Remember 1 Remember in thy days of lust. That fairest flesh must come to dust ; Then have some pity while you may," Jeanne Ray ! Jeanne Ray I Why do you shiver at her glance, As if the wind blew chilly ? Why does your rosy countenance Turn pale as any lily ? The sun is warm, the sky is bright, The sea dissolving into light Breaks into blossom-bells of spray ; Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Ray 1 278 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Ah, could some instinct in your breast Reveal that beggar's story, Would not your gay life lose its zest. Your empire lose its glory ? Or would you only care to waste Life's bounty in yet hotter haste ? For is the world not beauty's prey ? Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Ray 1 Alighting at the beggar's feet, A bright Napoleon flashes ; Then gaily through the dust and heat Your light Victoria dashes. Again your face is rosy clear, As with a loud and ringing cheer They hail you winner of the day, Jeamie Ray I Jeanne Ray ! And gloriously at set of sun, In triumph now departing. The golden prize your flowers have won Leaves rival bosoms smarting. How many deem you half divine, "Where amid bouquets you recline — Proud beauty in the devil's pay, Jeanne Ray ! Jeanne Ray THE SONG OF THE WILLI 279 XXI. Down, down beneath the rolling wheels, The flowers, so fresh this morning. Lie trampled under careless heels, Vile stuff for all men's scorning. The roses crushed, the lilies soiled, The violets of their sweets despoiled, In dusty heaps defile your way, Jeanne Ray I Jeanne Ray I THE SONG OF THE WILLI. According to a widespread Hungarian superstition — showing the ingrained national passion for dancing — the Willi or Willis were the spirits of young affianced girls who, dying before marriage, could not rest in their graves. It was popularly believed that these phantoms would nightly haunt lonely heaths in the neighbourhood of their native villages till the disconsolate lovers came as if drawn by a magnetic charm. On their appear- ance the Willi would dance with them without intermission till they dropped dead from exhaustion. The wild wind is whistling o'er moorland and heather, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho 1 I rise from my bed, and my bed has no feather. Heigh-ho ! My bed is deep down in the brown sullen mould, My head is laid low on the clod ; So wormy the sheets, and the pillow so cold. Of clammy and moist clinging sod, 280 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE The lone livid moon rides alone high in heaven, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho 1 The stars' cutting glitter their duU shrouds hath riven, Heigh-ho ! I rise and I glide out far into the night, A shadow so swift and so still ; Bleak, bleak is the moonshine all ghastly and white, The dank morass drinketh its fill. And down in yon valley in wan vapour shriiiking. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! The bare moated town cowers fitfuUy blinking, Heigh-ho I There, warm under shelter, the fire burning bright. My lover sleeps sound in his bed ; But I flit alone in the pitiless night, Unpitied, unloved, and unwed. And hast thou forgotten the deep troth we plighted ? Heigh-ho, heigh-ho 1 Too warm was thy love by cold death to be bUghted, Heigh-ho I My sweetheart ! and mind'st thou that this is the night. The night that we should have been wed ? And while I flit restless, a low wailing sprite. Ah, say, canst thou sleep in thy bed ? THE SONG OF THE WILLI 281 A week, but a week, and a wreath of gay flowers, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! I wore as I vied with the fleet-footed hours Heigh-ho ! As I vied with the hours in dancing them down Till the stars reeled low in the sky, And sweet came thy whispers as rose-leaves when blown About in the breeze of July. " Thou'rt light, my chosen ; a bird is not lighter, love, my love ! I'd dance uito death with thee ; death would be brighter. My love ! " And they struck up a wild and a wonderful measure ; Quick, quick beat our hearts to the tune ; Quick, quick the feet flew in a frenzy of pleasure, To the sound of the fife and bassoon. On, on whirled the pairs on the swift music driven, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho I Like gossamer vapours afloat in high heaven, Heigh-ho I Like gossamer vapours, in silence they fled, With a shifting of face into face ; But fleeter than all the fleet dancers we sped In the rush of the rapturous race. 282 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE / VIII. How often turned Wanda, the slim, lily-throated, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho I And gazed at us wistful as onward we floated, Heigh-ho 1 And Bilba, the swarthy, whose eyes had the trick Of a stag's, with a glitter of steel ; She lifted her lashes, so long and so thick, To stare at my true love and leal. But he, he saw none o' them, brown-faced or rosy. Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! Tho' maidens bloomed bright like a fresh-gathered posy. Heigh-ho I For his eyes that shone black as the sloes of the hedges, They shone like two stars over me ; And his breath, thrilling o'er me as wind over sedges. Stirred my hair till I tingled with glee. Now slow as two down-bosomed swans, we were sliding, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! O'er the low heaving swell of the silver sounds gliding. Heigh-ho ! Now hollowly booming drums rumbled apace. Flashed sharp clatt'ring cymbals around. And swung like loose leaves in a stormy embrace We whirled in a tumult of sound, THE SONG OF THE WILLI 283 But pallid ovir cheeks grew, late flushing with pleasure, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho 1 As slowly away swooned the languishing measure. Heigh-ho 1 For shrill orew the cock as the sun 'gan to rise. And it rang from afar hke a knell ; Oar kisses grew bitter and sweet grew our sighs. As sadly we murmured, " Farewell 1 " High up in the chambers the maidens together, O love, my love ! Were piling bleached linen as white as swan's feather. My love I Were weaving and spinning and singing aloud. While broidering my bride-veil of lace ; But the three fatal sisters they wove me my shroud. And death kissed me cold on the face. Tlie wild wind is whistling o'er moorland and heather, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho 1 I rise from my bed, and my bed has no feather, Heigh-ho I The snow driveth grisly and ghostly, and gleams In the glare of the moon's chilly glance ; What pale flitting phantoms aroused by her beams Are circling in shadowy dance I 284 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE xrv. Mayhap ye were maidens death plucked m your flower, Heigh ho, heigh-ho 1 As clustering you glowed in love's murmuring bower, Heigh-ho ! Who, dehrious for life from the gloom of your graves, Are driven to wander with me. And you rise from your tombs like the white-crested waves, Prom the depths of the dolorous sea. Ah, maidens, pale maidens, o'er moorland and heather, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! The bridegroom is coming athwart the wild weather. Heigh-ho 1 Full shines the fair moon on his beautiful face. He walketh like one in a trance ; Nay, is running like one who is running a race Against death, with his dead bride to daiaoe. At the sound of thy footfall my numb heart is sjiaken, love, my lovs ! Once again all its pulses to new life awaken, My love ! It leaps like a stag that is home as on wings To the brooks thawing thick through the noon. Like a lark from the glebe, like a lily that springs From its bier to the bosom of Juno. THE SONG OF. THE WILLI 285 XVII. " I hold thee, I hold thee, I drink thy caresses, O love, my love ! " Bound thy face, round thy throat, I roll my dank tresses, My love ! " I hold thee, I hold thee 1 Eight nights, wan and weep- ing," I wandered loud sobbing thy name ! " Thy lips are as cold as the snowdrift a-sweeping ; " But thy breath soon shall fan them to flame I Blow up for the dance now o'er moorland and heather I Heigh-ho, heigh-ho ! Blow, blow, you wild winds, while we two dance together. Heigh-ho ! Till the clouds dance above with tempestuous embraces Of maidenly moonbeams in flight ; In the sUvery rear of whose fugitive traces Eeel the stars through the revelling night I XIX. " Cocks crow, and the breath on thy sweet lip is faOing, love, my love ! " Stars swoon, and the flame in thy dark eye is quailing. My love ! '• Oh, brighter the night than the fires of the day " When thine eyes shine as stars over me ! "Oh, sweeter thy grave than the soft breath of May Then down, Lpve, to death, but with thee. 286 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE THE ABANDONED. She sat by the wayside and wept, where roses, red roses and white, Lay wasted and withered and sere, Hke her life and its ruined delight ; Like chaff blown about in the wind whirled roses, white roses and red. And pale, on night's threshold, the moon bent over the day that was dead. She sat by the wayside and wept ; far over the desolate plain A noise as of one that is weeping re-echoed in wind and in rain, And the long dim line of the poplars, thin spectres, with dolorous wall Nodded their bald-headed tops as they chattered with cold in the gale. She sat by the wayside and wept in a passion of vain desire. And her weak heart fluttered and failed like the flame of a faltering fire. Fluttered and failed in her breast like the broken wing of a bird When its feathers are dabbled with gore, and the low last gurgle is heard, THE ABANDONED 287 And behold, like balm on her soul, while she sat by the wayside and wept, There came a forgetting of sorrow, a lulling of grief, and she slept ; Yea, like the wings of a dove when cooing it broods on the nest. So the wings of slumber about her assuaged and filled her with rest. And a light that was not the sun's nor the moon's light illumined her brain ; From afar in the country of dreams three maidens stole over the plain, Three loveliest maidens they were, like roses, red roses and white ; And behold the earth and the heavens were glorified in their light. And the first of the maidens was fair, as fair as the blue- kirtled Spring, When she comes with a snowfall of blossoms and a rustling of birds on the wing. When a glimmer of green like a tide rolls over the wood- land and vales. And odours are blown on the winds with the singing of the nightingales. The second was loftier of statue, a mighty huntress of grief ; The wilderness glowed as she passed and broke into blossom and leaf ; 288 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Yea, it seemed that her upturned eyes, with their fathomless gaze, Could pierce to the shining stars tlwough the veil of the noonday blaze. But the third was a splendour incarnate, a luminous form. Thrilling with raptures that keep the heart of the cold earth warm, Who hidden far in the mystical glory of quivering rays Sets the whole world on fire for an absolute sight of her face. But darkling ever they see her, and ever as through a veil, For if naked she lightens upon them, their lives must shrivel and fail. Must faU and shrivel consumed by that burst of in- sufferable light. As a tree set on fire by lightning which burns to the ground in a night. The first one she kissed her cheek, her cheek grew pallid and wan : " Q-oodbye," she cried, " we must part ; I am Youth, and I follow the sun ; I am Youth, and I love to build in the heart that is buoyant and gay ; Goodbye, we shall meet not again," she cried, as she fluttered away. SCHEBZO 289 The second she kissed her eyes, then the glamour went out of their gaze, Through the magical show she beheld life staring her straight in the face ; With a terrible Gorgon stare that turned her heart into stone — "Adieu," she sighed, " I am Hope, all is over between us and done." The third one she kissed her lips, and the kiss was a quenchless fire. It burned up her life like a victim's in the flames of a funeral pyre — "Farewell," she wailed, "I am Love," and her wings were spread as for flight — It was like the wail of the wind as they left her alone with the night. SCHEEZO. Oh, beloved, come and bring All the flowery wealth of spring ! Though the leaf be in the sere. Icy winter creeping near ; Though the trees like mourners all Standing at a funeral. Black against the pallid air Toss their wild arms in despair, With their bald heads sadly bowed O'er dead summer in her shroud. 20 290 DRAMAS IN MINIATURE Yea, thougli golden days be o'er, If you enter at my door, Spring, dear spring, will come once more. There will break upon the night That glad flash of dewy light "Which, like young love in a pet. Once with sunny tears would wet Many a wild- wood violet ; And the hyacinth will arise In the April of your eyes. Blossoms of the apple tree ? Rarer blossoms bloom for me In the cunning white and red. Most felicitously wed, On your cheek. And then your brow — Can a snow-white cherry-bough Match its bland, unsullied hue, Where, like threads of silky blue, Little veins show here and there Through broad temples where your hair. Clustering, hangs a tender brown Softer than the fluffy down Which before the leaf in March Beards the lime tree and the larch ? Shall I grieve because the rose. The red rose, no longer blows. Since all roses you eclipse With the roses of your lips ? And what matter, my sweet. Though the genial light and heat Have departed for a while 1 SCHERZO 291 Only let nie see you smile, Let me see that dulcet curve Like a dimpling wavelet swerve Bound the coral of your miouth, And the North will change to South : To the happy South, whose clear Light o'er-brimming atiiaosphere, Flowing in at every pore, Sets life glowing to the core. You are light and life in sooth. Fair as was that Grecian youth Who in her cold sphere above Drove poor Dian mad with love — When she saw him where he lay, White and golden like a spray Of tall jonquils whose intense Sweetness faints upon the sense ; When she saw him swathed in light, Couched on the aerial height Of hoar Latmos, hushed and warm ; WhUe, to shield him from all harm, LDie a woman's rounded arm, A fresh creeper wildly fair Twined around his throat and hair. And the goddess clean forgot Her fair fame without a blot, And untarnished reputation. Free from faintest inputation Of such frailties as the fair Dwellers in Elysian air Find recorded to their shame. 292 DRAMAS IN MINIATVRB Chronicled with date and name, In the annals of the skies. She forgot in her surprise, "When her empyrean eyes Saw Endymion where he lay Slumbering, and she east away Her immortal honour, clear As her own unclouded sphere. For the palpitating bliss Of a surreptitious kiss. Oh, beloved, come and bring All the flowery wealth of spring — All its blossoms, buds, and bells. And wmd-coaxing violet smells — All its mu'aole of grace In the blossom of your face. LOVE IN EXILE Xove in lEyile LOVE IN EXILE— I. She stood against the Orient sun, Her face inscrutable for light ; A inyriad larks in unison Sang o'er her, soaring out of sight. A myriad flowers around her feet Burst flame-like from the yielding sod. Till all the wandering airs were sweet With incense mounting up to Grod. A mighty rainbow shook, inclined Towards her, from the Occident, Girdling the cloud-wrack which enshrined Halt the light-bearing firmament. Lit showers flashed golden o'er the hiUs. And trees flung silver to the breeze, And, scattering diamonds, fleet-foot rills Fled laughingly across the leas. 295 296 LOVE IN EXILE Yea, Love, the skylarks laud but thee, And writ in flowers thine awful name ; Spring is thy shade, dread Ecstasy, And life a brand which feeds thy flame. II. Winding aU my Kfe about thee. Let me lay my lips on thine ; What is all the world without thee ? Mine — oh mine ! Let me press my heart out on thee, Grape of life's most fiery vine. Spilling sacramental on thee Love's red wine. Let thy strong eyes yearning o'er me Draw me with their force divine ; All my soul has gone before me Clasping thine. Irresistibly I follow, As wherever we may run Buias our shadow, as the swallow Seeks the sun. Yea, I tremble, swoon, surrender All my spirit to thy sway. As a star is drowned in splendour Of the day. LOVE IN EXILE 297 III. I CHARGE you, winds of the West, winds with the wings of the dove, That ye blow o'er the brows of my Love, breathing low that I sicken for love. I charge you, dews of the Dawn, tears of the star of the morn, That ye fall at the feet of my love with the sound of one weeping forlorn. I charge you, birds of the Air, O birds flying home to your nest, That ye sing in his ears of the joy that for ever has fled from my breast. I charge you, flowers of the Earth, frailest of things, and most fair, That ye droop in his path as the life in me shrivels con- sumed by despair. O Moon, when he lifts up his face, when he seeth the waning of thee, A memory of her who lies wan on the limits of life let it be. Many tears cannot quench, nor my sighs extinguish, the flames of love's fire. Which lifteth my heart like a wave, and smites it, and breaks its desire. 298 LOVE IN EXILE I rise like one in a dream when I see the red sun flaring low, That drags me back shuddering from sleep each morning to life with its woe. I go like one in a dream, unbidden my feet know the way To that garden where love stood in blossom with the red and white hawthorn of May. The song of the throstle is hushed, and the fountain is dry to its core. The moon cometh up as of old ; she seeks, but she finds him no more. The pale-faced, pitiful moon shines down on the grass where I weep. My face to the earth, and my breast in an anguish ne'er soothed into sleep. The moon returns, and the spring, birds warble, trees burst into leaf. But Love once gone, goes for ever, and all that endures is the grief. IV. Thou walkest with mc as the spirit-light Of the hushed moon, high o'er a snowy hill, Walks with the houseless traveller all the night. When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill. Moon of my soul, phantasm of delight. Thou walkest with me*still. LOVE IN EXILE 299 The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns In my soul's sanctuary. Tea, still for thee My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea : My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns The life that aches through me. V. I THINK of thee in watches of the night, I feel thee near ; Like mystic lamps consumed with too much light Thine eyes burn clear. The barriers that divide us in the day And hide from view. Like idle cobwebs now are brushed away Between us two. I probe the deep recesses of thy mind Without control, And in its inmost labyrinth I find My own lost soul. No longer lilse an exile on the earth I wildly roam, I was thy double from the hour of birth And thou my home. mo LOVE IN EXILE VI. I WAS again beside thee in a dream : Earth was so beautiful, the moon was shininf; ; The muffled voice of many a cataract stream Came Hke a love-song, as, with arms entwining, Our hearts were mixed in unison supreme. The wind lay spell-bound in each pillared pine, The tasselled larches had no sound or motion, As my whole life was sinking into thine — Sinking into a deep, unfathomed ocean Of infinite love — unoircumscribed, divine. Night held her breath, it seemed, with all her stars : Eternal eyes that watched in mute compassion Our little lives o'erleap their mortal bars. Fused in the fulness of immortal passion, A passion as immortal as the stars. There was no. longer any thee or me ; No sense of self, no wish or incompleteness ; The moment, rounded to Eternity, Anniliilated time's destructive fleetness : For all but love itself had ceased to be. VII. Our souls have touched each other, Two fountains from one jet ; Like children of one mother Our leaping thoughts have met LOVE IN EXILE 301 We were as far asunder As green isles in the sea ; And now we ask in wonder How that could ever be. I dare not call thee lover Nor any earthly name, Though love's full cup flows over As water quick with flame. "When two strong minds have mated As only spirits may, The world shines new created In a diviner day. Yea, though hard fate may sever My fleeting self from thine. Thy thought will live for ever And ever grow in mine. VIII. I AM athirst, but not for wine ; The drink I long for is divine, Poured only from your eyes in mine. I hunger, but the bread I want. Of which my blood and brain are scant. Is your sweet speech, for which I pant. 302 LOVE IN EXILE I am a-oold, and lagging lame, Life creeps along my languid frame ; Your love would fan it into flame. Heaven's in that little word — j'our love 1 It makes my heart ooo like a dove, My tears fall as I think thereof. IX. I WOULD I were the glow-worm, thou the flower, That I might fill thy cup with glimmering light ; I would I were the bird, and thou the bower. To sing thee songs throughout the summer night. I would I were a pine tree deeply rooted. And thou the lofty, cloud-beleaguered rock, Still, while the blasts of heaven around us hooted, To cleave to thee and weather every shock. I would I were the rill, and thou the river ; So might I, leaping from some headlong steep, With all my waters lost in thine for ever, Be hurried onwards to the unfathonjed deep. I would — what would I not ? foolish dreaming ! My words are but as leaves by autumn shed, That, in the faded moonlight idly gleaming, Drop on the grave where all our love lies dead. LOVE IN EXILE 303 X. The woods shake in an ague-fit, The mad wind rocks the pine, From sea to sea the white gulls flit Into the roaring brine. The moon as if in panic grief Darts through the clouds on high. Blown like a wild autumnal leaf Across the wilder sky. The gusty rain is driving fast, And through the rain we hear. Above the equinoctial blast. The thunder of the Weir. The voices of the wind and rain Wail echoing through my heart — That love is ever dogged by pain And fondest souls must part. You made heart's summer, my friend, But now we bid adieu. There will be winter without end And tears for ever new. XI. Dost thou remember ever, for my sake. When we two rowed upon the rock-bound lake ? How the wind-fretted waters blew their spray About our brows like blossom-falls of May One memorable day ? 304 LOVE IN EXILE Dost thou remember the glad mouth that cried — " Were it not sweet to die now side by side, To lie together tangled in the deep Close as the heart-beat to the heart — so keep The everlasting sleep ? " Dost thou remember ? Ah, such death as this Had set the seal upon my heart's young bKss ! But, wrenched asunder, severed and apart, Life knew a deadlier death : the blighting smart Which only kills the heart. XII. MOON, large golden summer moon, Hanging between the linden trees, Which in the intermittent breeze Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June ! night-air, scented through and through With honey-coloured flower of lime, Sweet now as in that other time When all my heart was sweet as you ! The sorcery of this breathing bloom W^orks like enchantment in my brain, Till, shuddering back to life again. My dead self rises from its tomb. And, lovely with the love of yore. Its white ghost haunts the moon-white ways ; But, when it meets me face to face. Flies trembling to the grave once more. LOVE IN EXILE 305 XIII. Why will you haunt me unawares And walk into my sleep, Pacing its shadowy thoroughfares, Where long-dried perfume scents the airs, While ghosts of sorrow creep. Where on Hope's ruined altar-stairs. With ineffectual beams. The Moon of Memory coldly glares Upon the land of dreams ? My yearning eyes were fain to look Upon your hidden face ; Their love, alas 1 you could not brook, But in your own you mutely took My hand, and for a space You wrung it till I throbbed and shook, And woke with wildest moan And wet face channelled like a brook With your tears or my own. XIV. Yea, the roses are still on fire With the bygone heat of July, Though the least little wind drifting by Shake a rose-leaf or two from the brier. Be it never so soft a sigh. 21 306 LOVE IN EXILE Ember of love still glows and lingers Deep at the red heart's smouldering core ; With the sudden passionate throb of yore We shook as our eyes and clinging fingers Met once only to meet no more. XV. AVhen you wake from troubled slumbers With a dream-bewildered brain, And old leaves which no man numbers Chattering tap against the pane ; And the midnight wind is wailing Till your very life seems quailing As the long gusts shudder and sigh : Know you not that homeless cry Is my love's, which cannot die. Wailing through Eternity ? When beside the glowing embers, Sitting in the twilight lone, Drop on drop you hear November's Melancholy monotone. As the heavy rain comes sweeping. With a sound of weeping, weeping. Till your blood is chilled with fears ; Know you not those falling tears. Flowing fast through years on years, For my sobs within your ears ? LOVE IN EXILE 307 When with dolorous moan the billows Surge around where, far and wide, Leagues on leagues of sea-worn hollows Throb with thunders of the tide, And the weary waves in breaking Pill you, thrill you, as with aching Memories of our love of yore. Where you pace the sounding shore, Hear you not, through roU and roar, Soul call soul for evermore ? XVI. In a lonesome burial-place Crouched a mourner white of face ; WUd her eyes — unheeding Circling pomp of night and day-- Ever crying, " Well away. Love lies a-bleeding I " And her sighs were like a kneU, And her tears for ever fell. With their warm rain feeding That purpureal flower, alas ! Trailing prostrate in the grass, Love lies a-bleeding. Through the yews' black-tufted gloom Crimson light fell on the tomb. Funeral shadows breedmg : 308 LOVE IN EXILE In the sky the sun's light shed Dyed the earth one awful red — Love lies a-bleeding. Came grey mists, and blanching cloud Bore one universal shroud ; Came the bowed inoon leading, From the infinite afar Star that rumoured unto star — Love lies a-bleeding. XVII. Deep in a yew-sequestered grove I sat and wept my heart away ; A child came by at close of day With eyes as sweet as new-born love. He came from sun-bleached meadows where High on the hedge the topmost rose Curtsies to every wind that blows, A wanton of the summer air. The sunset aureoled his brow, Kindling the roses in his hand, And by my side I saw him stand To offer me his rose-red bough : LOVE IN EXILE 309 Take back thy gift^I sighed forlorn, And showed where lilie the yew's red seed, My blood had trickled, bead on bead, From wounds made by his cruel thorn. He smiled and said : — Nay, take my Rose ; You know, when all is said and done, There's not a joy beneath the sun Worth lovers' joys but lovers' woes. XVIII. On life's long round by chance I found A dell impearled with dew ; Where hyacinths, gushing from the ground. Lent to the earth heaven's native hue Of holy blue. I sought that plot of azure light Once more in gloomy hours ; But snow had fallen overnight And wrapped in mortuary white My fairy ring of flowers. XIX. Ah, yesterday was dark and drear, My heart was deadly sore ; Without thy love it seemed, my Dear, That I could live no more. 310 LOVE IN EXILE And yet I laugh and sing to-day ; Care or care not for me, Thou canst not take the love away With which I worship thee. And if to-morrow, Dear, I live. My heart I shall not break : For still I hold it that to give Is sweeter than to take. XX. We met as strangers on life's lonely way. And yet it seemed we knew each other well ; There was no end to what thou hadst to say. Or to the thousand things I found to tell. My heart, long silent, at thy voice that day Chimed in my breast like to a silver bell. How much we spoke, and yet stiU. left untold Some secret half revealed within our eyes : Didst thou not love me once in ages old ? Had I not called thee with importunate cries. And, like a child left sobbing in the cold. Listened to catch from far thy fond replies ? We met as strangers, and as such we part ; Yet all my hfe seems leaving me with thine ; Ah, to be clasped once only heart to heart. If only once to feel that thou wert mine ! These lips are locked, and yet I know thou art That all in all for which my soul did pine. LOVE IN EXILE 311 XXI. You make the sunshine of my heart And its tempestuous shower ; Sometimes the thought of you is like A lilao bush in flower, Yea, honey- sweet as hives in May. And then the pang of it will strike My bosom with a fiery smart. As though love's deeply planted dart Drained all its life away. My thoughts hum round you, Bear, like bees About a baiJi of thyme, Or round the yellow blossoms of The heavy-scented lime. Ah, sweeter you than honeydew. Yet dark the ways of love. For it has robbed my soul of peace, And marred my life and turned heart's-ease Into funereal rue. XXII. Dear, when I look into your eyes My hurts are healed, my heart grows whole The barren places in my soul. Like waste lands under AprU skies. Break into flower beneath your eyes. 312 LOVE IN EXILE Ah, life grows lovely where you are ; Only to think of you gives light To my dark heart, within whose night Your image, though j'ou bide afar. Glows like a lake-reflected star. Dare I crave more than only this : A thrill of love, a transient smile To gladden all my world awhile ? No more, alas ! Is mortal bliss Not transient as a lover's kiss ? XXIII. Ah, if you knew how soon and late My eyes long for a sight of you, Sometimes in passitig by my gate You'd linger until fall of dew. If you but knew ! Ah, if you know how sick and sore My life flags for the want of you. Straightway you'd enter at the door And clasp my hand between your two, If you but knew ! Ah, if you knew how lost and lone I watch and weep and wait for you. You'd press my heart close to your own Till love had healed me through and through. If you but knew ! LOVE IN EXILE 313 XXIV. Your looks have touched my soul with bright Ineffable emotion ; As moonbeams on a stormy night Illume with transitory light A seagull on her lonely flight Across the lonely ocean. Fluttering from out the gloom and roar, On fitful wing she flies, Moon-white above the moon-washed shore ; Then, drowned in darkness as before. She's lost, as I when lit no more By your beloved eyes. XXV. Oh, brown Eyes with long black lashes, Young brown Eyes, Depths of night from which there flashes Lightning as of summer skies. Beautiful brown Eyes. In your veiled mysterious splendour Passion lies Sleeping, but with sudden tender Dreams that flU with vague surmise Beautiful brown Eyes. 314 LOVE IN EXILE All my soul, with yearning shaken, Asks in sighs — Who will see your heart awaken, Love's divine sunrise In those young brown Eyes ? XXVI. Once on a golden day, In the golden month of May, I gave my heart away — Little birds -were singing. I culled my heart in truth, Wet with the dews of youth. For love to take, forsooth- Little flowers were springing. Love sweetly laughed at this. And between kiss and kiss Fled with my heart in his : Winds warmly blowing. And with his sun and shower Love kept my heart in flower. As in the greenest bower Rose richly glowing. TUl, worn at evensong, Love dropped my heart among Stones by the way ere long ; Misprized token. LOVE IN EXILE 315 There in the wind and rain, Trampled and rent in twain, Ne'er to be whole again, My heart lies broken. XXVII. What magic is there in thj- mien. What sorcery in thy smile. Which charms away all oark and care, Which turns the foul days into fair. And for a little while Changes this disenchanted scene Prom the sere leaf into the green. Transmuting with love's golden wand This beggared life to fairyland ? My heart goes forth to thee, oh friend. As some poor pilgrim to a shrine, A pilgrim who has come from far To seek his spirit's folding star, And sees the taper shine ; The goal to which his wanderings tend. Where want and weariness shall end. And kneels ecstatically blest Because his heart hath entered rest. LOVE IN EXILE L'BNVOI. Thou art the goal for which my spirit longs ; As dove on dove, Bound for one home, I send thee all my songs With all my love. Thou art the haven with fair harbour lights ; Safe locked in thee. My heart would anchor after stormful nights Alone at sea. Thou art the rest of which my life is fain, The perfect peace ; Absorbed in thee the world, with all its pain And toil, would cease. Thou art the heaven to which my soul would go ! O dearest eyes. Lost in your light you would turn hell below To Paradise. Thou all in all for which my heart-blood yearns ! Yea, near or far — Where the unfathomed ether throbs and burns With star on star. LOVE IN EXILE 317 Or where, enkindled by the fires of June, The fresh earth glows. Blushing beneath the mystical white moon Through rose on rose — Thee, thee I see, thee feel in all live things, Beloved one ; In the first bird which tremulously sings Ere peep of sun ; In the last nestling orphaned in the hedge, Kocked to and fro. When dying summer shudders in the sedge. And swallows go ; When roaring snows rush down the mountain-pass, March floods with rills. Or April lightens through the living grass In daffodils ; When poppied cornfields simmer in the heat With tare and thistle, And, like winged clouds above the mellow wheat, The starlings whistle ; When stained with sunset the wide moorlands glare In the wild weather, And clouds with flaming craters smoke and flare Bed o'er red heather ; 318 LOVE IN EXILE When the bent moon, on frostboimd naidnights waking, Leans to the snow Like some world-mother whose deep heart is breaking O'er human woe. As the round sun rolls red into the ocean. Till all the sea Glows fluid gold, even so life's mazy motion Is dyed with thee : For as the wave-like years subside and roU, O heart's desire. Thy soul glows interfused within my soul, A quenchless fire. Yea, thee I feel, all storms of life above. Near though afar ; thou my glorious morning star of love, And evening star. LOVE IN EXILE— II. Like some wild sleeper who alone at night Walks with unseeing eyes along a height, With death below and only stars above ; I, in broad daylight, walk as if in sleep, Along the edges of life's perilous steep. The lost somnambulist of love. LOVE IN EXILE 319 I, in broad day, go walking in a dream, Led on in safety by the starry gleam Of thy blue eyes that hold my heart in thrall. Let no one wake me rudely, lest one day. Startled to find how far I've gone astray, I dash my life out in my fall. II. A TWILIGHT glow diffused on high Flushed all the autumn land beneath ; Like love that lights your azure eye. The pond's blue goblet on the heath Was brimful of the sky. We met by chance, and heaven's rich hue Leaped to your face in rosy flame ; Ah, is it possible you knew The wild dehght that filled my frame As I caught sight of you ? Ah, is it possible, my love. That your delight can equal muae ? Nay, then, the burning sky above Grows pale beside this bliss divine. And the deep glow thereof. 307 320 LOVE IN EXILE III. I TOOK your face into my dreams, It floated round me like a light ; Your beauty's consecrating beams Lay mirrored in my heart all night. As in a lonely mountain mere, Un visited of any streams. Supremely bright and still and clear, The solitary moonlight gleams. Your face was shining in my dreams. IV. No butterfly whose frugal fare Is breath of heliotrope and clove. And other trifles light as air. Could live on less than doth my love. That childlike smile that comes and goes About your gracious lips and eyes. Hath all the svyeetness of the rose, Which feeds the freckled butterflies. I feed my love on smiles, and yet Sometimes I ask, vi'ith tears of vfoe, How had it been if we had met, If you had met me long ago, LOVE IN EXILE 321 Before the fast, defacing years Had made all ill that once was well ? Ah, then your smiling breeds such tears As Tantalus may weep in hell. Y. Sometimes I wonder if you guess The deep impassioned tenderness Which overflows my heart ; The love I never dare confess ; Yet hard, yea, harder to repress Than tears too fain to start. Sometimes I ponder, my sweet, The things I'll tell you when we meet ; But straightway at your sight My heart's blood oozes to my feet Like thawing waters in the heat. Confused with too much light.. I hardly know, when you are near. If it is love, or joy, or fear Which fills my languid frame ; Enveloped in your atmosphere. My dark self seems to disappear, A moth entombed in flame. 22 322 I^OVE IN EXn.E VI. Many will love you ; you were made for love ; For the soft plumage of the unruffled dove Is not so soft as your caressing eyes. You will love many ; for the wuids that veer Are not more prone to shift their compass, dear, Than your quick fancy flies. Many will love you ; but I may not, no ; Even though your smile sets all my life aglow, And at your fairness all my senses ache. You will love many ; but not me, my dear. Who have no gift to give you but a tear Sweet for your sweetness' sake. VII Only a dream, a beautiful baseless dream ; Only a bright Flash from your eyes, a brief electrical gleam. Charged with delight. Only a waking, alone, in the moon's last gleam Fading from sight ; Only a flooding of tears that shudder and stream Fast through the night. LOVE IN EXILE 323 VIII. I PLANTED a rose tree in my garden, In early days when the year was young ; I thought it would bear me roses, roses, While nights were dewy and days were long. It bore but once, and a white rose only — A lovely rose with petals of light ; Like the moon in heaven, supreme and lonely ; And the lightning struck it one summer night. IX. Even as on some black background full of night, And hollow storm in cloudy disarray, The forceful brush of some great master may More brilliantly evoke a higher light ; So beautiful, so delicately white. So like a very metaphor of May, Your loveliness on my life's sombre gray In its perfection stands out doubly bright. And yet your beauty breeds a strange despair. And pang of yearnuag in the helpless heart. To shield you from time's fraying wear and tear That from yourself yourself would wrench apart ; How save you, fairest, but to set you where Mortality kills death in deathless art ? 324 LOVE IX EXILE The year is on the wing, my love, With tearful clays and nights ; The clouds are on the wing above With gathering swallow-flights. The year is on the wing, my sweet, And in the ghostly race, With patter of unnumbered feet. The dead leaves fly apace. The year is on the wing, and shakes The last rose from its tree ; And I, whose heart in parting breaks. Must bid adieu to thee. SUNDEEED PATHS. Two travellers, worn with sun and rain And gropings o'er dim paths unknown, Meet where long separate ways have grown To one, and then diverge again. They halt anigh the green wayside. Where groves pant with the impassioned song Of nightingales ; wild roses throng Around them leaning side by side. ON AND ON 323 As close and still more close they cling, Like some weird tale — once more in dreams Lived through with ghastlier horror — seems That old, cold, lonely wayfaring. Oh close sweet clasp of hands ! oh sweet Close beat of heart on happy heart ; Beating as though no more apart Their pulses ever again should beat ! One look of love ! one long embrace ! One kiss that welds two lives in one ! And lo, the sudden lifted sun Lights their slow feet on separate ways. Fledged by strong love, their winged speech Is borne awhile from soul to soul, Then ever-widening waters roll And drown their voices each from each. ON AND ON. By long leagues of wood and meadow On and on we drive apace ; In the dreamy light and shadow Veiling earth's autumnal face. Eosy clouds are drifting o'er us. Rooks rise parleying from their tryst, And the road lies fax before us. Fading into amethyst. 326 LOVE IN EXILE On and on, through leagues of heather, Deeps of scarlet beaded lane. Like a pheasant's golden feather Golden leaves around us rain. On and on, where woodlands hoary, In October's lavish fire. Flame up with unearthly glory, Beauteous summer's funeral pyre. On and on, where casements blinking Lighten into transient gules. As the dying day in sinking Splashes all the wayside pools. On and on ; the land grows dimmer. And our road recedes afar ; While on either hand there glimmer Setting sun and rising star. Would I knew what thoughts steal o'er you. As the long road lengthens yet : Ah, like hope it winds before you. And behind me lUie regret. LINES 327 CEOSS-EOADS. The rain beat in our faces, And shrill the wild airs grew ; The long-maned clouds in races Coursed o'er heaven's windy blue. The tortured trees were lashing Each other in their wrath, Their wet leaves wildly dashing Across the forest path. We did not heed the sweeping Of storm-bewildered rain : Our cheeks were wet with weeping, Our hearts were wrung with pain. For where the cross-roads sever. Parting to East and West, We bade goodbye for ever To what we each loved best. The Mooks. LINES Thou earnest with the coming Spring I AVith swallows, and the murmuring Of unloosed waters, with the birth Of daisies dimpling the green earth. 328 LOVE IN EXILE And when the perfect rose of June Eesponded to the golden noon, My heart's deep core, suffused with bliss, Broke into flower beneath thy kiss. But now the swallows seaward fly. The winds in chorus wail, " Good-bye ! " The dead leaves whirl, and like a leaf My heart shakes on the gusts of grief. And yet awhile earth's fiowerless breast In lethal folds of snow wUl rest ; On thee too, heart, with all thy woe, Death falls one day Uke falling snow. THE FOREST POOL. Lost amid gloom and solitude, A pool lies hidden in the wood, A pool the autumn rain has made Where flowers with their fair shadows played. Bare as a beggar's board, the trees Stand in the water to their knees ; The birds are mute, but far away I hear a bloodhound's sullen bay. Blue-eyed forget-me-nots that shook, Kissed by a httle laughing brook. Kissed too by you with lips so red, Float in the water drowned and dead. ONCE WE PLAYED 329 And dead and drowned 'mid leaves that rot, Our angel-eyed Forget-me-not, The love of unforgotten years, Floats corpse-like in a pool of tears. Dblambre Forest. ONCE WE PLAYED. Once ■wo played at love togethei- — Played it smartly, if you please ; Lightly, as a wind-blown feather, Did we stake a heart apiece. Oh, it was delicious fooling ! In the hottest of the game. Without thought of future cooling, All too quickly burned Life's flame. In this give-and-take of glances. Kisses sweet as honey dews. When we played with equal chances, Did you win, or did I lose ? Was your heart then hurt to bleeding, In the ardour of the throw ? Was it then I lost, unheeding, Lost my heart so long ago ? Who shall say ? The game is over. Of us two who loved in fun. One lies low beneath the clover, One lives lonely in the sun. 330 LOVE IN EXILE AFFINITIES. I. I will take your thoughts to my heart ; I will keep and garner them there Locked in a casket apart. Far above rubies or rare Pearls from the prodigal deep, ■Which men stake their lives on to find, And women their beauty to keep, I will treasure the pearls of your mind. How long has it taken the earth To crystallise gems in a mine ? How long was the sea giving birth To her pearls, washed in bitterest brme '? "What sorrows, what struggles, what fierce Endeavour of lives in the past. Hearts tempered by fire and tears. To fashion your manhood at last ! 11. Take me to thy heart, and let me Rest my head a little while ; Rest my heart from griefs that fret me In the mercy of thy smile. In a twilight pause of feeling, Time to say a moment's grace. Put thy hands, whose touch is healing. Put them gently on my face. SEEKING 331 Found too late in Life's wild welter, All I ask, for weal or woe. Friend, a moment's friendly shelter, And thy blessing ere I go. Full many loves and friendships dear Have blossomed brightly in my path : And some were like the primrose rathe. And withered with the vernal year. And some were like the joyous rose. Most prodigal with scent and hue. That glows whUe yet the sky is blue. And falls with every wind that blows — Mere guests and annuals of the heart ; But you are that perennial bay, Greenest when greener leaves decay, Whom only death shall bid depart. SEEKING. In many a shape and fleeting apparition. Sublime in age or with clear morning eyes Ever I seek thee, tantalising Vision, Which beckoning flies. 332 LOVE IN EXILE Ever I seek Thee, O evasive Presence, Wliioh on that far horizon's utmost verge, LDje some wild star in luminous evanescence. Shoots o'er the surge. Ever I seek Thy features ever flying. Which ne'er beheld I never can forget: Lightning which flames through love, and mimics dying In souls that set. Ever I seek Thee through all clouds of error ; As when the moon behind earth's shadow slips. She wears a momentary mask of terror In brief eclipse. Ever I seek Thee, passionately yearning ; Like altar-fire on some forgotten fane. My life flames up irrevocably burning And burnt in vain. POEMS OF THE OPEN AIE poems of tbe ©pen Hiv THE SOWBE. The winds had hushed at last as by command ; The quiet sky above, With its grey clouds spread o'er the fallow land, Sat brooding like a dove. There was no motion in the air, no sound Within the tree-tops stirred. Save when some last leaf, fluttering to the ground, Dropped like a wounded bird : Or when the swart rooks in a gathering crowd With clamorous noises wheeled, Hovering awhile, then swooped with wrangling loud Down on the stubbly field. For now the big-thewed horses, toiling slow In straining couples yoked. Patiently dragged the ploughshare to and fro Till their wet haunches smoked. 336 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR Till the stiff acre, broken into clods, Bruised by the harrow's tooth, Laj' lightly shaken, with its humid sods Ranged into furrows smooth. There looming lone, from rise to set of sun, Without or pause or speed, Solemnly striding by the fvirrows dun, The sower sows the seed. The sower sows the seed, which mouldering, Deep coffined in the earth. Is buried now, but ^\-ith the future spring Will quicken into birth. Oh, poles of birth and death ! Controlling Powers Of human toil and need ! On this fair earth all men are surely sowers, Surely all life is seed ! All life is seed, dropped in Time's yawning furrow. Which with slow sprout and shoot. In the revolving world's unfathomed morrow. Will blossom and bear fruit. EEAPEES. SuN-TANNBD men and women, toiling there together ; Seven I count in all, in yon field of wheat, Wher the rich ripe ears in the harvest weather Glow an orange gold through the sweltering heat. .1 SFRING-SONG 337 Busy life is still, sunk in brooding leisure : Birds have hushed their singing m the hushed tree- tops ; Not a single cloud mars the flawless azure ; Not a shadow moves o'er the moveless crops ; In the grassy shallows, that no breath is creasing, Chestnut-colourpd cows in the rushes dank Stand like cows of bronze, save when they flick the teasing Flies with switch of tail from each quivering flanlj. Nature takes a rest — even her bees are sleeping, And the silent wood seems a church that's shut ; But these human creatures cease not from their reaping While the corn stands high, waiting to be cut. A SPEING SONG. Daek sod pierced by flames of flowers. Dead wood freshly quickening, Bright skies dusked with sudden showers, Lit by rainbows on the wing. Cuckoo calls and young lambs' bleating, Nimble airs which coyly bring Little gusts of tender greeting From shy nooks where violets cling. 23 338 POEMS OF THE OPEN AJR Half-fledged buds and birds and vernal Fields of grass dew-glistening ; Evanescent life's eternal Besurrection, bridal Spring ! APEIL EAIN. The April rain, the April rain, Comes slanting down in fitful showers, Then from the furrow shoots the grain. And banks are fledged with nestling flowers ; And in grey shaw and woodland bowers The ouokoo through the April rain Calls onoe again. The April sun, the April sun. Glints through the rain in fitful splendour. And in grey shaw and woodland dun The little leaves spring forth and tender Their infant hands, yet weak and slender. For warmth towards the April sun. One after one. And between shower and shine hath birth The rainbow's evanescent glory ; Heaven's light that breaks on mists of earth ! Frail symbol of our human story, It flowers through showers where, looming hoary. The rain-clouds flash with April mirth, Like Life on earth. APPLE-BLOSSOM 339 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. There was intoxication in the air ; The wind, keen blowing from across the seas, O'er leagues of new-ploughed land and heathery leas. Smelt of wild gorse whose gold flamed everywhere. An undertone of song pulsed far and near, The soaring larks filled heaven with ecstasies. And, like a living clock among the trees. The shouting cuckoo struck the time of year. For now the Sun had found the earth once more. And woke the Sleeping Beauty with a kiss ; Who thrilled with light of love in every pore, Opened her flower-blue eyes, and loolied in his. Then all things felt life fluttering at their core — The world shook mystical in lambent bliss. APPLE-BLOSSOM. Blossom of the apple trees 1 Mossy trunks all gnarled and hoary, Grey boughs tipped with rose-veined glory. Clustered petals soft as fleece Garlanding old apple trees ! How you gleam at break of day ! When the coy sun, glancing rarely, Pouts and sparkles in the pearly Pendulous dewdrops, twinkhng gay On each dancing leaf and spray. 340 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR Through your latticed boughs on high, Framed in rosy wreaths, one catches Brief kaleidoscopic snatches Of deep lapis-lazuli In the April-coloured sky. When the simdown's dying brand Leaves your beauty to the tender Magic spells of moonlight splendour. Glimmering clouds of bloom you stand, Turning earth to fairyland. Cease, wild winds, 0, cease to blow ! Apple-blossom, fluttering, flying, Palely on the green turf lymg. Vanishing like winter snow ; Swift as joy to come and go. THE MUSIC-LESSON. A THRUSH alit on a yomig-leaved spray. And, lightly clinging. It rocked in its smging As the rapturous notes rose loud and gay ; And with liquid shalces, And trUls and breaks, Eippled through blossoming boughs of May. PAUPER POET'S SONG 341 Like a ball of fluff, with a warm brown throat And throbbing bosom, 'Mid the apple-blossom. The new-fledged nestling sat learning by rote To echo the song So tender and strong, As it feebly put in its frail Uttle note. PAUPEE POET'S SONG. Sun, moon, and stars, the ample air, The birds shrill whistling everywhere. Fields white with lambs and daisies ; The pearls of eve, the jewelled morn. The rose rich blowing on the thorn. The glow of blush-rose faces ; The silver glint of sun-smit rain. The shattered sun-gold of the main. And heaven's sweet breath that moves it ; The earth, our myriad-bosomed nurse, This whole miraculous universe Belongs to him who loves it 1 Why fret then for the gold of this, The fame of that man, or the bliss, Or such another's graces ? Oh heart that ohim'st with golden verse, My heart, thou art the magic purse Which all duU trouble chases ; 342 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIM Thine too fruition of all fame When the live soul, as flame with flame, Weds the dead soul that moves it ; Then sing for aye, and aye rehearse. This whole miraculous universe Belongs to him who loves it ! SNOW OE SNOWDEOPS? Is it snow or snowdrops' shimmer Whitens thus the bladed grass. With a faint aerial glimmer, — Spring or winter, which did pass ? For the sky is dim and tender With the evanescent light. And the fading fields are white. White with snow or snowdrops, under The fair flrsthng stars of night. Little robin, softly, cheerly Piping on yon wintry bough. Why have all the fields that pearly Iridescence, knowest thou ? Did old Winter, grim and hoary. Aim a parting dart at Spring As she fled on azure wing, Or did she with rainbow glory In his face her snowdrops fling ? IN SPRING 343 SONG. All my heart is stirring lightly Like dim violets winter-bound, Quickening as they feel the brightly Glowing sunlight underground. Yea, this drear and silent bosom, Hushed as snow-hid grove but now, Breaketh into leaf and blossom Like a gleaming vernal bough. Oh the singing, singing, singing I Callow hopes that thrill my breast ! Can the lark of love be winging Back to its abandoned nest ? IN SPRING. The young birds shy twitter In hedges and bowers, Fields brighten and glitter With dewdrops and flowers. Over flood, over fallow, Impelled by old yearning. The nest-building swallow Exults at returning ; For dark days and hoary Are routed and over. 344 POEMS OP THE OPEN AIR Dark Winter is gone ; Eesplendent in glory, The eni-th meets her lover, Her bridegroom the Sun. Must I alone sorrow. Despairingly languish. Breaks never a morrow On the night of my anguish ? The jubilant gladness In bird, beam, and blossom. But deepens the sadness That weighs on my bosom. Oh, Spring, in whose azure Wake follow the starling. The daisy, the dove ; Sweet spendthrift of pleasure. Bring also my darling, Oh bring me my love ! A HIGHLAND VILLAGE. Cleae shining after the rain, The sun bursts the clouds asunder, And the hollow-rumbling thunder Groans like a loaded wain As, deep in the Grampians yonder. He grumbles now and again. A HIGHLAND VILLAGE 34/5 Whenever the breezes shiver The leaves where the rain-drops quiver. Each bough and bush and brier Breaks into living fire, TUl every tree is bright With blossom bursts of Hght. From golden roof and spout Brown waters gurgle and splutter, And rush down the flooded gutter Where the village children shout, As barefoot they splash in and out The water with tireless patter. The bald httle Highland street Is all ahve and a-glitter ; The air blows keen and sweet From the field where the swallows twitter ; Old wives on the doorsteps meet, At the corner the young maids titter. And the reapers hasten again. Ere quite the daylight wane To shake out the barley sheave While through the twinkling leaves The harvest moon upheaves Clear shining after the rain. 346 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR ON A FORSAKEN LAEK'S NEST. Lo, where left 'mid the sheaves, out down by the iron- fanged reaper, Eating its way as it clangs fast through the wavering wheat, Lies the nest of a lark, whose little brown eggs could not keep her As she, affrighted and soared, fled from the harvester's feet. Ah, what a heartful of song that now wUl never awaken. Closely packed in the shell, awaited love's fostering. That should have quickened to life what, now a-oold and forsaken. Never, enamoured of light, will meet the dawn on the wing. Ah, what pseans of joy, what raptures no mortal can measure. Sweet as honey that's sealed in the cells of the honey- comb, Would have ascended on high in jets of mellifluous pleasure, Would have dropped from the clouds to nest in its gold- curtained home. Poor, pathetic brown eggs ! Oh, pulses that never will quicken Music mute in the shell that hath been turned to a tomb ! THE STREET-CHILDREN'S DANCE 347 Many a sweet human singer, chilled and adversity- stricken, Withers benumbed in a world his joy might have helped to illume. THE STEBET-CHILDEEN'S DANCE. Now the earth in fields and hills Stirs with pulses of the Spring, Nest-embowering hedges ring With interminable trills ; Sunlight runs a race with rain, All the world grows young again. Young as at the hour of birth : Prom the grass the daisies rise With the dew upon their eyes. Sun-awakened eyes of earth ; Fields are set with oups of gold ; Can this budding world grow old ? Can the world grow old and sere, Now when ruddy-tasselled trees Stoop to every passing breeze, Rustling in their silken gear ; Now when blossoms pink and white Have their own terrestrial light ? 348 POEMS OF THE OPEN All! Brooding light falls soft and warm, Where in many a wind-rocked nest, Curled up 'neath the she-bird's breast, Clustering eggs are hid from harm ; While the mellow-throated thrush AVarbles in the purpling bush. Misty purple bathes the Spring : Swallows flashing here and there Float and dive on waves of air. And make love upon the wing ; Croous-buds in sheaths of gold Burst like sunbeams from the mould. Chesnuts leaflets burst their buds. Perching tiptoe on each spray, Springing toward the radiant day, As the bland, pacific floods Of the generative sun All the teeming earth o'errun. Can this earth run o'er with beauty, Laugh through leaf and flower and grain. While in close-pent court and lane, In the air so thick and sooty, Little ones pace to and fro. Weighted with their parents' woe ?• Woe-predestined little ones ! Putting forth their buds of life In an atmosphere of strife. And crime breeding ignorance ; THE STREET-CHILDREN'S DANGE 349 Where the bitter surge of care Freezes to a dull despair. Dull despair and misery Lie about them from their birth ; Ugly curses, uglier mirth, Are their earliest lullaby ; Fathers have they without name, Mothers crushed by want and shame. Brutish, overburthened mothers, AVith theu' hungry children cast Half -nude to the nipping blast ; Little sisters with their brothers Dragging in their arms all day Children nigh as big as they. Children mothered by the street : Shouting, flouting, roaring after Passers-by with gibes and laughter. Diving between horses' feet, In and out of drays and barrows. Recklessly, like London spai-rows. Mudlarks of our slums and alleys. All unconscious of the blooming World behind those housetops looming, Of the happy fields and valleys, Of the miracle of Spring With its boundless blossoming. 350 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR Blossoms of humanity ! Poor soiled blossoms in the dust ! Through the thick defiling crust Of soul-stifling poverty, In your features may be traced Childhood's beauty half effaced — Childhood, stunted in the shadow Of the light-debarring walls : Not for you the cuckoo calls O'er the silver-threaded meadow ; Not for you the lark on high Pours his music from the sky, Ah ! you have your music too ! And come flocking round that player Grinding at his organ there. Summer-eyed and swart of hue, Battling off his well-worn tune On this April afternoon. Lovely April lights of pleasure Flit o'er want-beclouded features Of these little outcast creatures. As they swing with rhythmic measure, In the courage of their rags. Lightly o'er the slippery flags. Little footfalls, lightly glancing In a luxury of motion. Supple as the waves of ocean In your elemental dancing. APPLE-GATHERING 351 How you fly, and wheel, and spin. For your hearts too dance within. Dance along with mirth and laughter, Buoyant, fearless, and elate, Dancing in the teeth of fate, Ignorant of your hereafter That with all its tragic glooms Blindly on your future looms. Past and future, hence away ! Joy, diffused throughout the earth, Centre in this moment's mirth Of ecstatic holiday : Once in all their lives' dark story, Touch them. Fate ! with April glory. APPLE-GATHBEING . Essex flats are pink with clover, Kent is crowned with flaunting hops, Whitely shine the cliffs of Dover, Yellow wave the Midland crops ; Sussex Downs the flocks grow sleek on. But, for me, I love to stand Where the Herefordshire beacon Watches o'er his orchard land. 352 POEMS OF THE OFEN AIR Where now sun, now shadow dapples - As it wavers in the breeze — Clumps of fresh-complexioned apples On the heavy-laden trees : Eed and yellow, streaked and hoary, Russet-ooated, pale or brown — Some are dipped in sunset glory, And some painted by the dawn. What profusion, what abundance ! Not a twig but has its fruits ; High in air some in the sun dance, Some lie scattered near the roots. These the hasty winds have taken Are a green, untimely crop ; Those by burly rustics shaken Fall with loud resounding plop. In this meUow autumn weather. Buddy 'mid the long green grass, Heaped-up baskets stand together, Filled by many a blowsy lass. Red and yellow, streaked and hoary. Pile them on the granary floors, Till the yule-log's flame in glory Loudly up the chimney roars ; AUTVBIN TINTS 353 Till gay troops of children, lightly Tripping in with shouts of glee, See ripe apples dangling brightly On the red-lit Christmas-tree. THE SONGS OF SUMMEE. The songs of summer are over and past 1 The swallow's forsaken the dripping eaves ; Euined and black 'mid the sodden leaves The nests are rudely swung in the blast : And ever the wind like a soul in pain Knocks and knocks at the window-pane. The songs of summer are over and past 1 Woe's me for a music sweeter than theirs — The quick, light bound of a step on the stairs. The greeting of lovers too sweet to last : And ever the wind like a soul in pain Knocks and knocks at the window-pane. AUTUMN TINTS. CoRAL-coLODEED ycw-berries Strew the garden ways. Hollyhocks and sunflowers Make a dazzling blaze In these latter days. 24 354 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR Marigolds by cottage doors Flaunt their golden pride, Crimson-punctured bramble leaves Dapple far and wide The green mountain-side. Far away, on MUy slopes Where fleet rivulets run, Miles and miles of tangled fern. Burnished by the sun. Glow a copper dun. For the year that's on the wane. Gathering all its fire, Flares up through the kindling world As, ere they expire Flames leap high and higher. GEEEN LEAVES AND SEEE. Three tall poplars beside the pool Shiver and moan in the gusty blast. The carded clouds are blown like wool. And the yellowing leaves fly thick and fast. The leaves, now driven before the blast, Now flung by fits on the curdling pool. Are tossed heaven-high and dropped at last As if at the whim of a jabbering fool. THE HUNTER'S MOON 353 leaves, once rustling green and cool ! Two met here where one moans aghast With wild heart heaving towards the past : Three tall poplars beside the pool. THE HUNTEE'S MOON. The Hunter's Moon rides high, High o'er the close-cropped plain ; Across the desert sky The herded clouds anaain Scamper tumultuously, Chased by the hounding wind That yelps behind. The clamorous hunt is done, Warm-housed the kennelled pack ; One huntsman rides alone With dangling bridle slack ; He wakes a hollow tone, Par echoing to his horn In clefts forlorn. The Hunter's Moon rides low, Her course is nearly sped. Where is the panting roe ? Where hath the wild deer fled ? Hunter and hunted now Lie in obUvion deep : Dead or asleep. 356 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR EOMAN ANEMONES. The maiden meadows softly blush Beneath the enamoured breeze, And break into one purple flush Of frail anemones. Violet and rose and vermeil white, Woven of sun and showers. They seem to be embodied light Transfigured into flowers. AVE MAEIA IN EOME. Fae away dim violet mountains Fade away from sight ; Flashing from fantastic fountains, Jets the liquid light, Where from Nymph's or Triton's lip Bubbling waters drip and drip, Bubbling day and night. Pealed from tower to answering tower. O'er the city swells, Ringing in the hallowed hour. Rhythm of bells on bells ; And on wings of Choral Song, Confluent hearts to Mary throng, From low, cloistered cells. THE NEW PROSERPINE 357 On the golden ground of even, Like a half-way home, On the pilgrim road to heaven Floats St. Peter's Dome ; High, high, in the air alone, Man's dread Thought transformed to stone. Pinnacled o'er Kome. PiNCIO. THE NEW PROSEEPINB. Where, countless as the stars of night. The daisies made a miUsy way Across fresh lawns, and flecked with light,. Old Ilex groves walled round with bay,^ I saw thee stoop, oh lady sweet. And with those pale, frail hands of thine Gather the spring flowers at our feet, Fair as some late-born Proserpine. Yea, gathering flowers, thou might'st have been That goddess of the ethereal brow, Revisiting this radiant scene From realms of dolorous shades below. Thou might'st have been that Queen of Sighs, Love-bound by Hades' dreadful spell ; For veiled within thy heaven-blue eyes. There lay the memory of Hell. Villa Pamfili Dokia. 358 POBBIS OF THE OPEN AIR CAGNES. ON THE EIVIEEA. In tortuous windings up the steep incline The sombre street toils to the village square, Whose antique walls ia stone and moulding bear Dumb witness to the Moor. Afar off shine, With tier on tier, cutting heaven's blue divine. The snowy Alps ; and lower the hiUs are fair. With wave-green olives rippling down to where Gold clusters hang and leaves of sunburnt vine. You may perchance, I never shall forget When, between twofold glory of land and sea, We leant together o'er the old parapet. And saw the sun go down. For, oh, to me. The beauty of that beautiful strange place Was its reflection beaming from your face. A WINTEE LANDSCAPE. All night, aU day, in dizzy, downward flight. Fell the wild-whirling, vague, chaotic snow, TiU every landmark of the earth below, Trees, moorlands, roads, and each familiar sight Were blotted out by the bewildering white ; And winds, now shrieking loud, now whimpering low, Seemed lamentations for the world-old woe That death must swallow life, and darkness light. THE PASSING YEAR 359 But all at once the rack was blown away, The snowstorm hushing ended in a sigh ; Then hke a flame the orescent moon on high Leaped forth among the planets ; pure as they, Earth vied in whiteness with the Milky Way : Herself a star beneath the starry sky. IN THE ST. GOTTHAEDT PASS. The storm which shook the silence of the hiUs And sleeping pinnacles of ancient snow Went muttering off in one last thunder throe Mixed with a moan of multitudinous rUls ; Yea, even as one who has wept much, but stills The flowing tears of some convulsive woe When a fair light of hope begins to glow Athwart the gloom of long remembered ills i So does the face of this scarred mountain height Kelax its stony frown, while slow uprolled Invidious mists are changed to veiling gold. Wild peaks still fluctuate between dark and bright, But when the sun laughs at them, as of old. They kiss high heaven in all embraoiog light. THE PASSING YEAR. No breath of wind stirs in the painted leaves. The meadows are as stirless as the sky, Like a Saint's halo golden vapours lie Above the restful valley's garnered sheaves. 360 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR The journeying Sun, like one who fondly grieves, Above the hills seems loitering vcith a sigh, As loth to bid the fruitful earth goodbye, On these hushed hours of luminous autumn eves. There is a pathos in his softening glow. Which like a benediction seems to hover O'er the tranced earth, ere he must sink below And leave her widowed of her radiant Lover, A irost-bound sleeper in a shroud of snow WhUe winter winds howl a wild dirge above her. THE EOBIN EEDBREAST. The year's grown songless I No glad pipings thrill The hedge-row elms, whose wind-worn branches shower Their leaves on the sere grass, where some late flower In golden chalice hoards the sunlight still. Our summer guests, whose raptures used to fill Each apple-blossomed garth and honeyed bower, Have in adversity's inclement hour Abandoned us to bleak November's chill. But hearken ! Yonder russet bird among The crimson clusters of the homely thorn Still bubbles o'er with little riUs of song — A blending of sweet hope and resignation : Even so, when life of love and youth is shorn, One friend becomes its last, best consolation. riTE MED SUNSETS, 1883 361 THE BED SUNSETS, 1883. The boding sky was charactered with, cloud, The scripture of the storm — but high in air. Where the unfathomed zenith still was bare, A pure expanse of rose-flushed violet glowed And, kindling into crimsom light, o'erfiowed The hurrying wrack with such a blood-red glare, That heaven, igniting, wildly seemed to flare On the dazed eyes of many an awe-struck crowd. And in far lands folk presaged with blanched Ups Disastrous wars, earthquakes, and foundering ships. Such whelming floods as never dykes could stem, Or some proud empire's ruin and eclipse : Lo, such a sky, they cried, as burned o'er them Once lit the sacking of Jerusalem 1 THE RED SUNSETS, 1883. The twilight heavens are flushed with gathering light. And o'er wet roofs and huddling streets below Hang with a strange Apocalyptic glow On the black fringes of the wintry night. Such bursts of glory may have rapt the sight Of hina to whom on Patmos long ago The visionary angel came to show That heavenly city built of chrysolite. 362, POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR And lo, three factory hands begrimed with soot, Aflame with the red splendour, marvelling stand, And gaze with lifted faces awed and mute. Starved of earth's beauty by Man's grudging hand, O toilers, robbed of labour's golden fruit, Ye, too, may feast in Nature's fairyland. ON THE LIGHTHOUSE AT ANTIBBS. A STOEMY light of sunset glows and glares Between two banks of cloud, and o'er the brine Thy fair lamp on the sky's carnation line Alone on the lone promontory flares : -Friend of the Fisher who at nightfall fares Where lurk false reefs miasked by the hyaline Of dimpling waves, within whose smile divine Death lies in wait behind Circean snares. The evening knows thee ere the evening star ; Or sees thy flame sole Begent of the bight, When storm, hoarse rumoured by the hills afar. Makes mariners Steer landward by thy light. Which shows through shook of hostile nature's war How man keeps watch o'er man through deadliest night. SPEING IN THE ALPS. The flowers are at their Bacchanals Among the lusty green ; Wild Orchis and Narcissus waltz With Marguerite for queen; SPUING IN THE ALPS 363 Birds join in glees and madrigals To little loves unseen ; And unimprisoned Waterfalls Flash laughing in between. The Sunlight, leaping from the Heights, Flames o'er the fields of May, Winged with unnumbered swaUow-flights Fresh from the long sea way ; And butterflies and insect mites, Born with the new-blown day. Cross fires in shining opal lights From spray to beckoning spray. The dandelion puffs her balls, Free spinsters of the air, Who scorn to wait for beetle calls Or bees to find them fair ; But breaking through the painted walls Their sisters tamely bear. Fly off in dancing down, which falls And sprouts up everywhere. And far above Earth's flower-filled lap And rosy reveby. The mountain mothers feed her sap From herded clouds on high — Each pinnacle and frozen pap Whose life has long gone by, A bridge which spans the mighty gap Between the earth and sky. St. Gotthaedt. 364 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR A WHITE NIGHT. The land lay deluged by the Moon ; The molten silver of the lake Shimmered in many a broad lagoon Between grey isles, whose copse and brake Lay folded on the water's breast, Like halcyons in a floating nest. And like a child who trusts in God When in the dark it lies alone. Stretched on the aromatic sod IVty heart was laid against your own, Against your heart, which seemed to be Mine own to all Eternity. Lapped in illimitable light, The woods and waters seemed to swoon, And clouds like angels winged the night. And slipped away into the Moon, Lost in that radiant flame above As we were lapped and lost in love. ACHENSEE. THE MOAT. Around this hchened home of hoary peace. Invulnerable in its glassy moat, A breath of ghostly summers seems to float And murmur mid the immemorial trees. ON A TOE SO OF CUPID 365 The tender slopes, where cattle browse at ease, Swell softly, like a pigeon's emerald throat : And, self-oblivious. Time forgets to note The flight of velvet-footed centuries. The golden sunshine, netted in the close. Sleeps indolently by the Yew's slow shade ; Still as some relic an old Master made The jewelled peacock's rich enamel grows ; And on yon mossy wall that youthful rose Blooms like a rose which never means to fade. Geoombridge. ON A TOESO OP CUPID. Peach trees and Judas trees. Poppies and roses. Purple anemones In garden closes ! Lost in the limpid sky. Shrills a gay lark on high ; Lost in the covert's hush. Gurgles a wooing thrush. Look, where the ivy weaves. Closely embracing. Tendrils of clinging leaves Round him enlacing. With Nature's sacredness Clothing the nakedness, Clothing the marble of This poor, dismembered love. 366 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR Gone are the hands whose skill Aimed the light arrow, Strong once to cure or kill, Pierce to the marrow ; Gone are -the lips whose kiss Held hives of honeyed bhss ; Gone too the little feet, Overfond, overfleet. O helpless god of old, Maimed mid the tender Blossoming white and gold Of April splendour 1 Shall we not make thy grave Where the long grasses wave ; Hide thee, O headless god, Deep in the daisied sod ? Here thou mayst rest at last After life's fever ; After love's fret is past Best thee for ever. Nay, broken God of Love, Still must, thou bide above While left for woe or weal Thou hast a heart to feel. Villa Mattei, THE MIBBOR OF DIANA 367, THE MIEROE OP DIANA. She floats into the quiet skies Where, in the circle of the hills, Her inimeraorial mirror fills With hght, as of a virgin's eye§ When, love a-tremble in their blue, They glow twin violets dipped in dew. Mild as a metaphor of Sleep, Immaculately maiden- white, The Queen Moon of ancestral night Beholds her image in the deep : As if a-gaze she beams above Lake Nemi's magic glass of love. White rose, white lily of the vale. Perfume the even breath of night ; In many a burst of sweet deUght The love throb of the nightingale Swells through lush flowering woods and fills The circle of the Hstening hills. White rose, white lily of the skies, The Moon-flower blossoms in the lake ; The nightingale for her fair sake With hopeless love's impassioned cries Seems fain to sing tUl song must kill Himself with one tumultuous trill, 368 POEMS OF THE OPEN AIR And all the songs and aU the scents, The light of glowworms and the fires Of fireflies in the cypress spires ; And all the wild wind instruments Of pine and ilex as the breeze Sweeps out their mystic harmonies ; — All are but Messengers of May To that white orb of maiden fire Who fills the moth with mad desire To die enamoured in her ray, And turns each dewdrop in the grass Into a fairy looking-glass. Beauty, far and far above The night moth and the nightingale ! Far, far above life's narrow pale, O Unattainable I O Love I Even as the nightingale we cry For some Ideal, set on high. Haunting the deep reflective mind, You may surprise its perfect Sphere Glassed like the Moon within her mere. Who at a puff of alien wind Melts in innumerable rings. Elusive in the flux of things. Lake Nbmi. SONGS OF THE OEIBNT 25 QorxQB of tbc ©rient PRELUDE. What a twitter 1 what a tumult I what a whirr of wheeling wings I Birds of Passage hear the message which the Equinoctial brings. Birds of Passage hear the message, and beneath the flying clouds, Mid the falling leaves of autumn, congregate in clamorous crowds. Shall they venture on the voyage ? are the nestlings fledged for flight; Fit to face the fluctuant storm-wLnds and the elemental night ? What a twitter ! what a tumult 1 to the wild wind's marching song Multitudinous Birds of Passage round the cliffs of England throng. 371 372 SONGS OF THE ORIENT And o'er tempest-trodden Ocean, cloud-entangled day and night, Birds on birds, in corporate motion, wing a common- wealth in flight. Waves, like hollow graves beneath them, hoarsely howling, yawn for prey; And the welkin glooms above them shifting formless, grey in grey. And across the Bay of Biscay on undaunted wing they flee. Where mUd seas move musically murmuring of the Odyssey ; Where the gurgling whirlpools glitter and by soft Circean Straits, Fell Charybdis lies in ambush, and the ravenous Scylla waits ; Where a large Homeric laughter lingers in the echoing caves. And in playful exultation Dolphins leap from dimpling waves ; Where, above the fair Sicilian, flock-browsed, flower- pranked meadows, looms ^tna — 'hoariest of Volcanoes — ominously veiled in fumes ; PliELUDE 373 Where the seas roll blue and bluer, high and higher arch the skies, And as measureless as ocean new horizons meet the eyes ; Where at night the ancient heavens bend above the ancient earth, With the young-eyed Stars enkindled fresh as at their hour of birth ; Where old Egypt's desert, stretching leagues on leagues of level land. Gleams with threads of channelled waters, green with palms on either hand; Where the Fellah strides majestic through the gUm- mering dourah plain. And in rosy flames flamingoes rise from rustling sugar- cane ; — On and on, along old Nilus, seeking still an ampler light. O'er its monumental mountains, Birds of Passage take their flight. Where the sacred Isle of Philse, twinned within the sacred stream. Floats, like some rapt Opium-eater's labyrinthine lotos dream. Birds on birds take up their quarters in each creviced capital. In each crack of frieze and cornice, in each cleft of roof and wall. 374 SONGS OF THE ORIENT And within those twilight-litten, holy halls of Death and Birth, Even the gaily twittering swallows, even the swallows, hush their mirth. And they oast the passing shadows of their palpitating wings O'er the fallen gods of Egypt and the prostrate heads of KS. Even as shadows Birds of Passage cast upon their onward flight Have men's generations vanished, waned and vanished into night. WELCOME TO EGYPT. The Palms stood motionless as Pyramids Against the golden halo of the sky ; Interminable crops of wheat and rye Mantled the plain with downy coverlids Of silken green, where little freckled kids Frolicked beneath the staid maternal eye ; And babe-led buffaloes plashed trampling by, Sprinkling cool water on their dusty lids. Spake the grave Arab, as his flashing glance Swept the large, luminous verdure's dewy sheen, Sedately, with a bronze-like countenance : " NehS,rak Said 1 Lo, this happy day, My country decks herself in sumptuous green, And smiling welcome. Lady, bids you stay.'' SPHINX-MONEY 37£ THE SPHINX. Wandbeer, behold Life's riddle writ in stone, Fronting Eternity with lidless eyes ; Of all that is beneath the changing skies, Immutably abiding and alone. The handiwork of hands unseen, unknown. When Pharaolis of immortal dynasties Bunt Pyramids to brave the centuries, Cheating Annihilation of her own. The heart grows hushed before it. Nay, methinljs That Man, and all on which Man wastes his breath, The World, and all the World inheriteth. With infinite, inexorable links Grappling the soul ; that love, hate, birth and death Dwindle to nothingness before thee — Sphinx. SPHINX-MONEY. Where Pyramids and temple-wrecks are piled Confusedly on canael-ooloured sands. And the mute Arab motionlessly stands. Like some swart god who never wept or smiled, — I picked up mummy relics of the wild (As sea-sheUs once with clutching baby hands). And felt a wafture from old Motherlands, And all the morning wonder of a Child 376 SONGS OF THE ORIENT To find Sphinx-money. So the Beduin calls Small fossils of the waste. Nay, poet's gold : 'TwiU give thee entrance to those rites of old, When hundred-gated Thebes, with storied walls, Gleamed o'er her Plain, and vast processions rolled To Amon-Ea through Karnak's pUlared halls. THE TOMBS OP THE KINGS. Whbeb the mummied Kings of Egypt, wrapped in linen fold on fold. Couched for aged in their coffins, crowned with crowns of dusky gold. Lie in subterranean chambers, biding to the day of doom. Counterfeit life's hollow semblance in each mazy moun- tain tomb, Grisly in their gilded coffins, mocking masks of skin and bone. Yet remain in change unchanging, balking Nature of her own ; Mured in mighty Mausoleums, walled in from the night and day, Lo, the mortal Kings of Egypt hold immortal Death at bay. THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS 37T For — so spake the Kings of Egypt— those colossal ones whose hand Held the peoples from Pitasa to the Kheta's conquered land; Who, with flash and clash of lances and war-chariots stormed and won Many a town of stiflf-necked Syria to high-towering Askalon ; " We have been the faithful stewards of the deathless gods on high ; We have built them starry temples underneath the starry sky. " We have smitten rebel nations, as a child is whipped with rods : We the living incarnation of imperishable gods. " Shall we suffer Death to trample us to nothmgness ? and must We be scattered, as the whirlwind blows about the desert dust? " No ! Death shall not dare come near us, nor Corruption shall not lay Hands upon our sacred bodies, incorruptible as day. " Let us put a bit and bridle, and rein in Time's headlong course ; Let us ride him through the ages as a master rides his horse. 378 SONGS OF THE ORIENT " On the changing earth unchanging let us hide till Time .... shall end, Till, reborn in blest Osiris, mortal with Immortal blend." Yea, so spake the Kings of Egypt, they whose lightest word was law, At whose nod the far-off nations cowered, stricken dumb with awe. And Pate left the haughty rulers to work out their monstrous doom ; And, embalmed with myrrh and ointments, they were carried to the tomb ; Through the gate of Bab-el-Molouk, where the sulphur hills lie bare, Where no green thing casts a shadow in the noon's tremendous glare ; Where the unveiled Blue of heaven in its bare intensity Weighs upon the awe-struck spirit with the world's immensity ; Through the Vale of Desolation, where no beast or bird draws breath, To the Coffin-Hills of Tuat— the Metropohs of Death. Down — down — down into the darkness, where, on either hand, dread Fate, In the semblance of a serpent, watches by the dolorous gate; THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS 379 Down — -down — down into the darkness, where no gleam of sun or star Sheds its purifying radiance from the living world afar ; "Where in labyrinthine windings, darkly hidden, down and down, — Proudly on his marble pillow, with old Egypt's double crown, And his mien of cold commandment, grasping still his staff of state, Bests the mightiest of the Pharaohs, whom the world surnamed the Great. Swathed in fine Sidonian linen, crossed hands folded on the breast, There the mummied Kings of Egypt lie within each painted chest. And upon their dusky foreheads Pleiades of flaming gems. Glowing through the nether darkness, flash from lumi- nous diadems. Where is Memphis ? Like a Mirage, melted into empty air: But these royal gems yet sparkle richly on their raven hair. Where is Thebes in all her glory, with her gates of beaten gold ? Where SyenS, or that marvel, Heliopolis of old ? 380 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Where is Edfu ? Where Abydos ? Where those pillared towns of yore Whose auroral temples glittered by the Nile's thick- peopled shore ? Gone as evanescent cloudlands, Alplike in the afterglow ; But these Kings hold fast their bodies of four thousand years ago. Sealed up in their Mausoleums, in the bowels of the hills, There they hide from dissolution and Death's swiftly grinding mills. Scattering fire, Ureeus serpents guard the Tombs' tre- mendous gate ; While Thoth holds the trembling balance, weighs the heart and seals its fate. And a multitude of mummies in the swaddling clothes of death, Ferried o'er the sullen river, on and on still hasteneth. And around them and above them, blazoned on the rocky walls. Crowned with stars, enlaced by serpents, in divine processionals. Ibis-headed, jackal-featured, ^•ulture-hooded, pass on high, Gods on gods through Tune's perspectives — pilgrims of Eternity. THE TOMBS OF THE KINGS 381 There, revealed by fitful flashes, in a gloom that may be felt, Wild Chimaeras flash from darkness, glittering like Orion's belt. And on high, o'er shining waters, in their barks the gods sail by, In the Sunboat and the Moonboat, rowed across the rose- hued sky. * Night, that was before Creation, watches sphinx-like, starred with eyes, And the hours and days are passing, and the years and centuries. But these mummied Kings of Egypt, pictures of a perished race, Lie, of busy Death forgotten, face by immemorial face. Though the glorious sun above them, burning on the naked plain, Clothes the empty wildernesses with the golden, glowing grain; Though the balmy Moon above them, floating in the milky Blue, Fills the empty wildernesses with a silver fall of dew ; Though life comes and flies unresting, like the shadow which a dove Casts upon the Sphinx, in passing, for a moment from above ; — 382 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Still these mummied Kings of Egypt, wrapped in linen, fold on fold. Bide through ages in their coffins, crowned with crowns of dusky gold. Had the sun once brushed them lightly, or a breath of air, they must Instantaneously have crumbled into evanescent dust. Pale and passive in their prisons, they have conquered,, chained to death ; And their lineaments look living now as when they last drew breath ! Have they conquered ? Oh the pity • of those Kings within their tombs. Looked in stony isolation in those petrifying glooms ! Motionless where all is motion in a rolling Universe, Heaven, by answering their prayer, turned it to a deadly curse ; Left them fixed where all is fluid in a world of star- winged skies ; Where, in myriad transformations, all things pass and nothing dies ; Nothing dies but what is tethered, kept when Time would set it free. To fulfil Thought's yearning tension upward through Eternity. HYMN TO HORUS 383 HYMN TO HOEUS. Hail, God revived in glory 1 The night is over and done ; Par mountains wrinkled and hoary, Fair cities great in story. Flash in the rising sun. The young-eyed Day uncloses Curtains of iilmy lawn ; And blossoming like roses The Wilderness reposes Beneath the Eose of Dawn. HaU, golden House of Horus, Lap of heaven's holiest God ! From lotos-banks before us Birds in ecstatic chorus Fly, singing, from the sod. Up, up, into the shining, Translucent morning sky. No longer dull and pining. With drooping plumes declining, The storks and eagles fly. The Nile amid his rushes Eefleots thy risen disk ; A light of gladness gushes Through kindling halls, and flushes Each flaming Obelisk. 384 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Vast Temples catch thy splendour ; Vistas of columns shine Celestial, with a tender Eose-bloom on every slender Papyrus-pillared shrine. In manifold disguises, And under many names. Thrice-holy son of Isis, We worship him who rises A child-god fledged in flames. Hail, sacred Hawk, who, winging. Grossest the heavenly sea ! With harp-playing, with singing, With linen robes, white clinging. We come, fair God, to thee. Thou whom our soul espouses, When weary of the way. Enter our golden houses. And, with thy mystic spouses. Best from the long, long way. NVIT 385 NUIT. The all upholding, The all enfolding, The all beholding. Most secret Night ; Prom whose abysses, With wordless blisses. The Sun's first kisses. Called gods to light. One god undying, But multiplying, Bestlessly trying, Doing : undone. Through myriad changes, He sweeps and ranges ; But life estranges Many in one. In wild commotion, Out of the ocean, With moan and motion, Waves upon waves, Mingling in thunder, Rise and go under : Break, life, asunder ; Night has her graves. 26 386 SONGS OF THE ORIENT EGYPTIAN THEOSOPHY. Par in the introspective East A meditative Memphian Priest Would solve — such is the Sage's curse — The Eiddle of the Universe. Thought, turning round itself, revolved. How was this puzzling World evolved ? How came the starry sky to be, The sun, the earth, the Nile, the sea ? And Man, most tragi-comio Man, Whence came he here, and where began ? Communing with the baffling sky That twinkled, but made no reply. He brooded, tiU his heated brain Grew fairly addled with the strain. For in that dim, benighted age Philosopher and hoary sage Had not yet had the saving grace To teach the Schools that Time and Space And all the marvels they contain, Are but the phantoms of the brain. THE MOON OF RAMADAN 387 But that profound Egyptian Seer Maybe — who knows ?— came pretty near ; When, after days of strenuous fast, He hit the startling truth at last ; And on select, mysterious nights, Veiled in occult, symboUc rites. He taught — ^that once upon a time — To disbelieve it were a crime — - The World's great egg — refute who can, That meditates on Life and Man — While deafening cacklings spread the news — Was laid by an Almighty Goose, THE MOON OP EAMADAN. The sunset melts upon the NUe, The stony desert glows, Beneath heaven's universal smile. One burning damask rose ; And like a Peri's pearly boat. No longer than a span. Look, faint on fiery sky afloat, The Moon of Ramadan. 3S8 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Our boat drifts idly with the Stream, Our boatmen ship the oar ; Vistas of endless temples gleam On either topaz shore ; And swimming over groves of Palm, A crescent weak and wan. There steals into the perfect calm The Moon of Eamadan. All nature seems to bask in peace And hush her lowest sigh ; Above the river's golden fleece The happy Halcyons fly. And lost in some old lotos dream, The pensive Pelican Sees mirrored in the mazy stream The Moon of Eamadan. Black outlined on the golden air, A turbaned Silhouette, The Mueddin invites to prayer From many a Minaret. Our dusky boatmen hear the call, And prostrate, man on man. They bow, adoring, one and all. The Moon of Eamadan. Where Luxor's rose-flushed columns shine Above the river's brim, The priests with incense once, and wine, Made sacrifice to Him, THE MOON OP RAMAdAn 389 The highest god of Thebes, and head Of all the heavenly clan ; But now the Moslem hails instead The Moon of Ramadan. The gods have come, the gods have gone, Yet wedded to their walls, Winged with the serpent of the Sun In mute processionals, They stride from door to massy door. Bound nations in their van, Though Amon's Sun has waned before The Moon of Eamadan. Yea, even proud Egypt's proudest king, "Who chastised rebel lands. And brought his gods for offering Mountains of severed hands ; Who singly, like a god of War, Smote hosts that swerved and ran. Lies low 'neath Allah's scimetar — The Moon of Kamadan. And Isis, Queen, whose sacred disk's Horned splendour crowned her brow, While fires of flashing Obelisks Flamed in the Afterglow ; And white-robed priests who served her shrine Have turned Mahommedan, And worship Him who wears for sign The Moon of Eamadan. 390 SONGS OF THE ORIENT The rosy lotos, flower and leaf, Which wreathed each sacred lake, With Nature's loveliest bas-relief, Has followed in their wake ; Yea, with the last true Pharaoh's death. The lotos leaves, grown wan, Have changed to lily white beneath The Moon of Bamadan. The gods may come, the gods may go. And royal realms change hands ; But the most ancient Nile will flow. And flood the desert sands ; And nightly will he glass the stars' Unearthly caravan, Nor care if it be Eome's red Mars Or Moon of Ramadsin. The sunset fades upon the Nile ; The desert's stony gloom, Eeceding blankly mile on mile, Grows silent as a tomb. All weary wanderers, man and beast. Hie, fasting, to the Khan, While shines above their nightly feast The Moon of Eamadan. THE BEAUTIFUL BEESHAREEN BOY 391 THE BEAUTIFUL BEESHAREEN BOY. Bbadtiful, black-eyed boy, lithe-limbed Beeshareen ! Face that finds no maid coy, Page for some peerless queen : Some Orient queen of old, Sumptuous in woven gold. Close-clinging fold on fold, Lightning, with gems between. Bred in the desert, where Only to breathe and be Alive in living air Is finest ecstasy ; Where just to ride or rove. With sun or stars above. Intoxicates like love. When love shall come to thee. Thy lovely limbs are bare ; Only a rag, in haste, Draped with a princely air, Girdles thy slender waist. And gaudy beads and charms. Dangling from neck and arms. Ward off dread spells and harms Of Efreets of the waste. 392 SONGS OP THE ORIENT Caressed of wind and sun, Across the white-walled town Fawnlike we saw thee run, Light Love in Mocha brown ! A¥ild Cupid, without wings. Twanging thy viol strings ! With crocodiles and rings Bartered for half a crown. Spoilt darling of our bark. Smiling with teeth as white As when across the dark There breaks a flash of light. And what a careless grace Showed in thy gait and pace Eyes starlike in a face Sweet as a Nubian night ! Better than Pelt or Fez, High on thy forehead set. Countless in lock and tress. Waved a wild mane of jet. Kings well might envy thee What courts but rarely see. Curls of rich ebony Coiled in a coronet. Lo — in dim days long since — The strolling Almehs tell, Thou shouldst have been a prince, Boy of the ebon fell 1 THE BEAUTIFUL BEESHAREEN BOY 393 If truth the poet sings, Thy tribe, oh Beduin, springs From those lost tribes of Kings, Once Kings in Israel. Ah me ! the camp-fires gleam Out yonder, where the sands Fade like a lotos dream In hollow twilight lands. Our sail swells to the blast. Our boat speeds far and fast. Farewell ! And to the last Smile, waving friendly hands. From England' storm-girt isle. O'er seas where seagulls wail. Rooked on the rippling Nile, We drift with drooping sail. On waters hushed at night. Where stars of Egypt write In hieroglyphs of light Their undeciphered tale. Forlorn sits Assouan ; Where is her boy, her pride '? — Now in the lamplit Khan, Now by the riverside. Or where the Soudanese, Under mimosa trees, Chaunt mournful melodies. We've sought him far and wide. 394 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Oh, desert-nurtured Child, How dared they carry thee. Par from thy native "Wild, Across the Western Sea ? Packed off, poor boy, at last, With many a plaster cast Of plinth and pillar vast. And waxen mummies piled ! Ah 1 just like other ware, For a lump sum or so Shipped to the World's great Fair— »; The big Chicago Show ! With mythic beasts and thin Beetles and buUs with wings. And imitation Sphinx, Eanged row on curious row I Beautiful, black-eyed boy ; Ah me ! how strange it is That thou, the desert's joy. Whom heavenly winds would kiss, With Ching and Chan-hwa ware. Blue pots and bronzes rare, Shouldst now be over there Shown at Porkopolis. Gone like a lovely dream. Child of the starry smile ; Gone from the glowing stream Glassing its greenest isle ! THE DYING DRAGOMAN 395 We've sought, but sought in vain ; Thou wilt not come again, Never for bliss or pain, Home to thy orphaned Nile. THE DYING DEAGOMAN. Far in the fiery wilderness, Beyond the town of Assouan, Left languishing in sore distress, There lay a dying dragoman. Alone amid the waste, alone. The hot sand burnt him to the bone ; And on his breast, like heated stone, The burden of the air did press. His head was pillowed on a tomb. Beared to some holy Sheik of old ; The irresistible Simoom Whirled drifts of sand that rose and rolled Around him, and the panting air Was one sulphureous spectral glare. Shot with such gleams as lights the lair Of tigers in a jungle's gloom. Groaning, he closed his bloodshot eyes. As if to shut out all he feared ; And greedily a swarm of flies Fell on his face and tangled beard. 396 SONGS OF THE ORIENT He lay like one who ne'er would lift His head above that ashy drift ; When lo, there gleamed across a rift The blue oasis of the skies. LOie smoke dispersing far and wide, The draggled sands were blown away ; The wild clouds in a refluent tide Eeoeded from the face of day. The Hngering airs yet lightly blew Till the last speck cleared out of view, And left the hushed Eternal Blue, And nothing else beside. Then once again, with change of moods, A mighty shadow, broadening, feU Across those shadeless solitudes. Without a Palm, without a Well. Wing wedged in wing, an ordered mass. Unnumbered numbers pass and pass, As if one WUl, one only, was In all those moving multitudes. A chord thrilled in the sick man's brain ; He raised his heavy-hdded eyes. He raised his heavy head with pain, And caught a glimpse of netted skies, • Meshed in ten thousand wings in flight That cleft the air. Oh wondrous sight ! He gasped, he shrieked in sheer delight : " The Storks ! The Storks fly home again 1 THE DYING DRAGOMAN 397 " I too, Storks, I too, even I, Would see my native land again. Oh, had I wings that I might fly With you, vfild birds, across the main ! Take, take me to the land, I pray. The land where nests are fuU in May, The land where my young children play : Oh, take me with you, or I die. " My lonely heart blooms like a flower. My children, when I think of you ; My love is like an April shower. And fills my heart with drops of dew. Along their unknown tracks ; ah me ! The Storks will fly across the sea ; My children soon wiU hail with glee Their red bills on the rain- washed tower." Home-sickness seized him for the herds That browse upon the fresh green leas ; Home-sickness for the cuckoo birds That shout afar in feathery trees ; For running stream and rippling rUl That, racing, turned his woodland mill : And tears on tears began to fill His eyes, confusing all he sees. Again he doats on rosy cheeks Of children roUing in the grass ; Again the busy days and weeks, The months and years serenely pass. 398 SONOS OF THE ORIENT Black forest clocks tick day and night, His board and bed are snowy white, His humble house is just as bright As if it were a house of glass. Again, beneath the high-peaked roof, His wife's unresting shuttle flies Across the even warp and woof ; Again his thrifty mother plies Her wheel, that hums like noontide bees ; And lint-locked babes about her knees Hark to strange tales of talking trees, And Storks deep versed in sage replies. Again the ring of swinging chimes Calls all the pious folk to church, With shining Sunday face, betimes. Through rustling woods of beech and birch, Full of moist glimmering hoUows where The pines bow murmuring as in prayer, And musically through the air The forest's mighty Choral swells. Again, Lord, again he sees The place where Heaven came down one day ; Where, in a space of bloom and bees. He won his wife one morn of May. Warm pulses shook and thrilled his blood. Wild birds were singing in the wood. The flowering world in bridal mood Joined ii; the Pinewood's symphonies, THE DYING DBAGOMAN 399 Again, Lord, in grief and fear. He bids goodbye to all he loves ; The waters swell, the woods are sere. The Storks are gone, and hushed the doves. He goes with them ; he goes to heal The sickness whose insidious seal Is set on him. Ah, tears will steal And blur the Storks that disappear. A furnace fire behind the hill. The sun has burnt itself away ; The ghost of light, transparent, chill, Yet floats upon the edge of day. And all the desert holds its breath As if it felt and crouched beneath The filmy, flying bat of death About a heart for ever still. And one by one, seraphic, bland. The bright stars open in the skies ; And large above the Shadow land The white-faced moon begins to rise. And all the wilderness grows wan Beneath the stars, that one by one Look down upon the lifeless man As if they were his children's eyes. 400 SONGS OF THE OBIENT A FANTASY. I WAS an Arab, I loved my horse ; Swift as an arrow He swept the course. Sweet as a lamb He came to hand ; He was the flower Of all the land. • Through lonely nights I rode afar ; God lit His lights- Star upon star. God's in the desert ; His breath the air : Beautiful desert, Boundless and bare ! Free as the wUd wind, Light as a foal ; Ah, there is room there To stretch one's soul. Far reached my thought. Scant were my needs : A few bananas And lotus seeds. A FANTASY 401 Sparkling as water Cool in the shade, Ibrahim's daughter, Beautiful maid. Out of thy KuUeh, Fairest and first, Give me to drink. Quencher of thirst. I am athirst, girl ; Parched with desire, Love in my bosom Burns as a fire. Green thy oasis, Waving with Palms ; Oh, be no niggard, Maid, with thy alms. Kiss me vidth kisses. Buds of thy mouth. Sweeter than Cassia Fresh from the South. Bind me with tresses, Clasp with a curl ; And in caresses Stifle me, girl. 27 402 SONGS OF THE ORIENT I was an Arab Ages ago ! Hence this home-sickness And all my woe. THE DESEET. Uncircdmsceibed, unmeasured, vast, Eternal as the Sea ; What lacks the tidal sea thou hast — Profound stability. Beneath the sun that burns and brands In hushed Noon's halting breath, Calm as the Sphinx upon thy sands Thou art — nay, calm as death. The desert foxes bide in holes. The jackal seeks his lair ; The sombre rooks, like reddening coals, Glow lurid in the glare. Only some vulture far away, Bald-headed, harpy-eyed. Flaps down on lazy wing to prey On what has lately died. THE DESERT 403 No palm tree lifts a lonely shade, No dove is on the wing ; It seems a land which Nature made Without a living thing, Or wreckage of some older world, Ere children grew, or flowers. When rocks and hissmg stones were hurled In hot, volcanic showers. The solemn Blue bends over all ; Par as winged thought may flee Boll ridges of black mountain wall. And flat sands like the sea. No trace of footsteps to be seen, No tent, no smoking roof ; Nay, even the vagrant Beeshareen Keeps warily aloof. But yon, mid tumbled hillocks prone. Some human form I scan — A hmnan form, indeed, but stone : A cold, colossal Man 1 How came he here mid piling sands. Like some huge cliff enisled, Osiris-wise, with folded hands. Mute spirit of the Wild ? 404 SONGS OF THE ORIENT Ages ago the hands that hewed, And in the living rook Carved this Colossus, granite-thewed, And curled each crispy lock : Ages ago have dropped to rest. And left him passive, prone, Forgotten on earth's barren breast. Half statue and half stone. And Persia ruled and Palestine ; And o'er her violet seas Arose, vcith marble gods divine, The grace of god-like Greece. And Bome, the Mistress of the World Amid her diadem Of Eastern Empires set impearled The Scarab's mystic gem. Perchance he has been lying here Since first the vi^orld began, Poor Titan of some earlier sphere Of prehistoric Man 1 To whom we are as idle flies. That fuss and buzz their day ; While atm immutable he lies. As long ago he lay. SCABAn.EUS SISYPHUS 405 Empurpled in the Afterglow, Thou, with the Sun alone, Of all the stony waste below. Art King, but king of stone Unciroumscribed, unmeasured, vast. Eternal as the Sea, The present here becomes the past, For all futurity. SCAEAB^US SISYPHUS. I've watched thee, Scarab ! Yea, an hour in vain I've watched thee, slowly toiling up the hill. Pushing thy lump of mud before thee still With patience infinite and stubborn strain. Strive as thou mayest, spare neither time nor pain, To screen thy burden from all chance of ill; Push, push, with all a beetle's force of will. Thy ball, alas 1 rolls ever down again. Toil without end ! And why ? That after thee Dim hosts of groping Scarabs too shall climb This self-same height ? Accursed progeny Of Sisyphus, what antenatal crime Has doomed us too to roll incessantly Life's Stone, recoiling from the Alps of time ? 40G SONGS OF THE ORIENT THE COLOSSI OF THE PLAIN. Ancient of Days ! Before the Trojan Wars You towered as now in your colossal prime, Watching the rosy footed morning climb O'er far Arabia's flushing mountain bars. Despite your weird disfigurement and scars You dwarf all other monuments. Sublime Survivors of old Thebes 1 you baffle Time, And sit in sUent conclave with the Stars. Ah, once below you through the glittering plain Stretched avenues of Sphinxes to the Nile ; And, flanked with towers, each consecrated fane Enshrined its god. The broken gods lie prone In roofless halls, their hallowed terrors gone, Helpless beneath Heaven's penetrating smile. MOUENING WOMEN. All veiled in black, with faces hid from sight. Crouching together in the jolting cart. What forms are these that pass alone, apart. In abject apathy to life's delight ? The motley crowd, fantastically bright. Shifts gorgeous through each dazzling street and ma„ Only these sisters of the suffering heart Strike discords in this symphony of light. THE HAKIYEH Most wretched woman 1 whom your prophet dooms To take love's penalties without its prize ! Yes ; you shall bear the unborn in your wombs, And water dusty death with streaming eyes, And, wailing, beat your breasts among the tombs ; But souls ye have none fit for Paradise. THE SAKIYBH. " How long shall Man be Nature's fool ? " Man cries ; " Be like those great, gaunt oxen, drilled and bound. Inexorably driven round and round To turn the water-wheel with bandaged eyes ? And as they trudge beneath Egyptian skies. Watering the wrinkled desert's beggared ground. The hoarse Sakiyeh's lamentable sound Pills all the land as with a people's sighs ? " Poor Brutes I who in unconsciousness sublime. Replenishing the ever-empty jars, Endow the waste with palms and harvest gold : And men, who move in rhythm with moving stars, Should shrink to give the borrowed lives they hold Bound blindfold to the groaning wheel of Time. 408 SONGS OF THE ORIENT INTEENAL FIEESIDBS. BBWiLDERiNGLy, from wildly shaken cloud, Invisible hands, deft moving everywhere, Have woven a winding sheet of velvet air, And laid the dead earth in her downy shroud. And more and more, in white confusion, crowd Wan, whirling flakes, while o'er the icy glare Blue heaven that was glooms blackening through the bare Tree skeletons, to ruthless tempest bowed. Nay, let the outer world be winter-locked ; Beside the hearth of glowing memories I warm my life. Once more our boat is rooked. As on a cradle by the palm-fringed Nile ; And, sharp-cut silhouettes, in single file, Lank camels lounge against transparent skies. ON READING THE " EUBAIYAT " OF OMAE KHAYYAM. IN A KENTISH EOSE GARDEN. Beside a Dial in the leafy close, Where every bush was burning with the Rose, With million roses falling flake by flake Upon the lawn in fading summer snows ; ON READING THE "RUBAIYAT" 409 I read the Persian Poet's rhyme of old, Each thought a ruby in a ring of gold — Old thoughts so young, that, after all these years, They're writ on every rose-leaf yet unrolled. You may not know the secret tongue aright The Sunbeams on their rosy tablets write ; Only a poet may perchance translate Those ruby-tinted hieroglyphs of light. LYRICAL POEMS X^rical ip^oems SONG. Oh haste while roses bloom below, Oh haste while pale and bright above The sun and moon alternate glow, To pluck the rose of love. Yea, give the morning to the lark, The nightingale her glimmering grove, Give moonlight to the htmgry dark, But to man's heart give love ! Then haste while still the roses blow, And pale and bright in heaven above The sun and moon alternate glow. Pluck, pluck the rose of love. PASTICHE. I, LovB, oh. Love's a dainty sweeting. Wooing now, and now retreating; Brightest joy and blackest care. Swift as light, and light as air. 413 414 LYRICAL POEMS Would you seize and fix and capture All his evanescent rapture ? Bind him fast with golden curls, Fetter with a chain of pearls ? III. Would you catch him in a net, Like a white moth prankt with jet ? Clutch him, and his bloomy wing Ttirns a dead, discoloured thing 1 IV. Pluck him like a rosebud red. And he leaves a thorn instead ; Let him go without a care. And he follows unaware. V. Love, oh. Love's a dainty sweeting. Wooing now, and now retreating ; Lightly come, and lightly gone. Lost when most securely won ! ON A VIOLA D'AMORE 415 ON A VIOLA D'AMOEB. CAEVED WITH A CDPID's HEAD, AND PLAYED ON FOE THE PIEST TIME AFTEE MOHE THAN A CBNTUEY. What fairy music clear and light, Eesponsive to your fingers. Swells rippling on the summer night. And amorously lingers Upon the sense, as long ago In days of rouge and rococo 1 A century of silence lay On strings that had not spoken Since powdered lords to ladies gay, Gave, for a lover's token. Fans glowing fresh from Watteau's art. Well worth a marchioness's heart. Your dormant music tranced and bound Was like the Sleeping Beauty Prince Charming in the forest found, And kissed in loyal duty : And when she woke her eyes' blue fire Turned the dumb forest to a lyre. 416 LYRICAL POEMS Thus Amor with the bandaged eyes, Pit symbol of hushed numbers, Most musically wakes and sighs After an age of shim.bers : Beneath your magic bow's control The Viol has regained her soul. A CHILD'S FANCY. "Hush, hush! Speak softly, Mother dear, So that the daisies may not hear ; For when the stars begin to peep, The pretty daisies go to sleep. " See, Mother, round us on the lawn ; With soft white lashes closely drawn. They've shut their eyes so golden-gay. That looked up through the long, long day. " But now they re tired of all the fun — Of bees and birds, of wind and sun Playing their game at hide-and-seek ; — Then very softly let us speak." A myriad stars above the child Looked down from heaven and sweetly smiled But not a star in all the skies Beamed on him with his Mother's eyes. BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKING 417 She stroked his ourly chestnut head, And whispering very softly, said, " I'd quite forgotten they might hear; Thank you for that reminder, dear.'' BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKING. Softly in a dream I heard. Ere the day was breaking, Softly call a cuckoo bird Between sleep and waking. CalUng through the rippling rain And red orchard blossom ; Calling up old love again, Buried in my bosona ; Calling till he brought you too From some magic region ; And the whole sprmg followed you, Birds on birds in legion. Youth was in your beaming glance, Love a rainbow round you ; Blushing trees began to dance, Wreaths of roses crowned you. And I called your name, and woke To the cuckoo's calling : And you waned in waning smoke. As the rain was falling. 28 418 LYRICAL POEMS Had the cuckoo called " Adieu," Ere the day was breaking ? All the old wounds bled anew Between sleep and waking. A PAEABLE. Between the sandhills and the sea A narrow strip o£ sUver sand AVhereon a little maid doth stand, Who picks up shells continually Between the sandhills and the sea. Far as her wondering eyes can reach A Vastness, heaving grey in grey To the frayed edges where the day Furls his red standard on the breach, Between the skyline and the beach. The waters of the flowing tide Cast up the seapink shells and weed ; She toys with shells, and doth not heed The ocean, which on every side Is closing round her vast and wide. It creeps her way as if in play. Pink shells at her pink feet to oast ; But now the wild waves hold her fast And bear her off and melt away A Vastness heaving grey in grey. A DREAM 419 LOVE AND THE MUSE Steuck down by Love in cruel mood, That ever I met Love I rued, Bleeding and bruised I lay, Wet was my face as with the salt sea spray. A lovely Muse on sparkling wing A painless elemental thing, Free as a bird did float. Swift flames of song light leaping from her throat. And being more pitiful that Love Stooped glowing from her path above. And an unearthly kiss Laid on my lips ; Muse, answer, what is this ? In dreams or drunkenness divine My life is all transfused with thine ; Like bubbles swept along, My tears dissolve on cataracts of song. A DEEAM. In dreams I met my Love : he stood alone, A sadness like wan mist bedimmed his face ; His eyes met mine, then as with anguish prone. Or yet in shame — he turned away his gaze, 420 LYIUCAL POEMS I made no moan, but even as one in sleep Helplessly murmurs, murmuring fell tis name, Lilie tears wliicli tremulous eyelids may not keep, Or flicker of involuntary flame. Sharply he turned : I neither moved nor spoke, But all life's pent up passion gathered form. Till on our eyes the full-orbed lovelight broke, Even as the sun will break upon a storm, And opening wide his arms, he stood I But I, Like a pale wave with backward fluttering crest, Wavered awhile, then with a rapturous cry, Shivering in ecstasy, fell on his breast. LOVE'S PHANTOM. Shut out day's wintry beams ! Sleep, brood upon my brain ! For sweet sleep bringeth dreams And love again ! Love cold and wan and sere. Heaped over with tears and snows, Lo, born within its bier, Blooms like a rose ! Its fragrance fills each vein, Its fervour flushes my heart, I feel through breast and brain Its rapturous smart ; MY LADY 421 The look, the tone, the deep Supreme smile of delight : Ah, fickle as love, false sleep. Why take thy flight ? MY LADY. Like putting forth upon a sea On which the moonbeams shimmer Where reefs and unknown perils be To wreck, yea, wreck one utterly, It were to love you, lady fair. In whose black braids of billowy hair The misty moonstones glimmer. Oh, misty moonstone-coloured eyes, Latticed behind long lashes. Within whose clouded orbs there lies, Lilie lightning in the sleeping skies A spark to kindle and ignite. And set a fire of love alight To burn one's heart to ashes. I will not put forth on this deep Of perilous emotion ; No, though your hands be soft as sleep, They shall not have my heart to keep. Nor draw it to your fatal sphere. Lady, you are as much to fear As is the fickle ocean. 422 LYRICAL POEMS AS MANY STAES. As many stars as are aglow Deep in the hollows of the night ; As many as the flowers that blow Beneath the kindling light ; As many as the birds that fly Unpiloted across the deep ; As many as the clouds on high, And all the drops they weep ; As many as the leaves that fall In autumn, on the withering lea. When wind to thundering wind doth call, And sea calls unto sea ; As many as the multitude Of quiet graves, where mutely bide The wicked people and the good. Laid softly side by side ; — So many thoughts, so many tears. Such hosts of prayers, are sent on high. Seeking, through all Man's perished years, A love that will not die. ro A FRIEND 423 TO A FEIBND. WITH A VOLUME OF VERSES. To you who dwell withdrawn, above The world's tumtiltuous strife, And, in an atmosphere of love. Have triumphed over life ; To you whose heart has kept so young Beneath the weight of years, I give these passion flowers of song. Still wet vidth undried tears. You too have trod that stony path Which deeply winds afar. And seen, through nights of storm and wrath. The bright and Morning Star ; Where, shming o'er the Alps of time On valleys full of mist. It beckons us to peaks sublime. Oh, brave Idealist. 424 LYRICAL POEMS PEEEBCT UNION. W.K.C.— Maech 3, 1879. " A free man thinks of nothing so little as of death ; and his... wisdom is a meditation, not of death, but of life." — Spinoza. " Draw back the curtain, wife,'' he said ; And, dying, raised his feeble head, As all his gathered soul leaped sheer Into his waning eyes, and yearned After the journeying sun which turned Towards that other hemisphere. Then, as its incandescent bulls; Sank slowly. Kite the foundering hulk Of some lone burning ship at sea, His life set with it — bright as brief — In that invincible belief Of Man's august supremacy. Truth's van ward hero 1 Calmly brave Fronting the dumb unfathomed grave With unintimidated eyes ; Though not for him, beyond its night, Besuscitated Hope alight Prescient, on peaks of Paradise. PERFECT UNION. 425 And like some solemn parting word From one beloved friend on board Bound for some undiscovered shore, To one who stands with straining gaze To catch the last look of a face Which he may see, ah never more — So, ere he drifted to the deep Unknowable, the utter sleep, Out, out beyond life's harbour bar, He whispered, " Perfect ! no one knows How perfect ! " and his eyes did close Even like a sun-extinguished star. His eyes did close : I held his hand : I loved, so came to understand The inmost working of his mind ; Yea, in that clasp, I know not how. Did not his Ufe of life then flow Through miine, while mine was left behind ? I know not how, and yet it seems As in some prank of shifting dreams, That it was I who died, not he : And then again, I know not how, I feel new powers upheave and glow, And all his life that stirs in me. I am no longer what I was ; My nature is the pictured glass. :26 LYRICAL POEMS Where he who lived lives on and on ; All ye who loved him, ye may see His spirit stiU investing me, As moonlight but reflects the sun. For ever deepening grows his sway : A voice cries in me night and day : " He'll never die to me, his wife ; In our strong love death hath no part ; I hold and fold him in my heart — There he shall live while I have life." SODL-DEIFT. I LET my soul drift with the thistledown Afloat upon the honeymooning breeze ; My thoughts about the swelling buds are blown. Blown with the golden dust of flowering trees On fleeting gusts of desultory song, I let my soul drift out into the Spring ; The Psyche flies and palpitates among The palpitating creatures on the wing. Go, happy Soul I run fluid in the wave, Vibrate in hght, escape thy natal curse ; Go forth no longer as my body-slave. But as the heir of all the Universe. Villa Boeghese. EEST 427 LASSITUDE. I LAID me down beside th« sea, Endless in blue monotony ; The clouds were anchored in the sky, Sometimes a sail went idling by. Upon the shingles on the beach Gray linen was spread out to bleach, And gently with a gentle swell The languid ripples rose and fell. A fisher-boy, in level line. Cast stone by stone into the brine : Methought I too might do as he. And cast my sorrows on the sea. The old, old sorrows in a heap Dropped heavily into the deep ; But with its sorrow on that day My heart itself was cast away. BEST. We are so tired ; my heart and I. Of all things here beneath the sky Only one thing would please us best — Endless, unfathomable rest. 428 LYRICAL POEMS We are so tired ; we ask no more Than just to slip out by Life's door ; And leave behind the noisy rout And everlasting turn about. Once it seemed well to run on too With her importunate, fevered orew, And snatch amid the frantic strife Some morsel from the board of life. But we are tired. At Life's crude hands We ask no gift she understands ; But kneel to him she hates to crave The absolution of the grave. SONNETS Sonnets SLEEP. LovB-CEADLiNG Night, lit by the lucent moon, Most pitiful and mother-hearted Night ! Blest armistice in life's tumultuous fight, Resolving discords to a spheral tune I When tired with heat and strenuous toil of noon. With ceaseless conflict betwixt might and right. With ebb and flow of sorrow and delight, Our panting hearts beneath their burdens swoon To thee, star-eyed comforter, we creep. Earth's ill-used step-children to thee make moan, As hiding in thy dark skirts' ample sweep ; — Poor debtors whose brief life is not their own ; For dunned by Death, to whom we owe its loan. Give us, Night, the interest paid in sleep. DEAD LOVE. Mother of the unfortunate, mystic form, Who calm, immutable, like oldest fate, Sittest, where through the sombre swinging gate Moans immemorial life's encircling storm, 431 32 SONNETS My heart, sore stricken by grief's leaden arm, Lags like a weary pilgrim knocking late, And sighetli — toward thee staggering with its weight- Behold Love conquered by thy son, the worm I He stung him mid the roses' purple bloom, The Eose of roses, yea, a thing so sweet. Haply to stay bhnd Change's ilying feet, And stir with pity the unpitying tomb. Here, take him, cold, cold, heavy and void of breath ! Nor me refuse, O Mother almighty, death. DESPAIE. Thy wings swoop darkening round my soul, Despair And on my bram thy shadow seems to brood And hem me round with stifling solitude. With chasms of vacuous gloom which are thy lair. No light of human joy, no song or prayer. Breaks ever on his chaos, all imbrued With heart's-blood trickling from the multitude Of sweet hopes slain, or agonising there. Lo, wilt thou yield thyself to grief, and roll Vanquished from thy high seat, imperial brain. And abdicating turbulent life's control. Be dragged a captive bound in sorrow's chain ? Nay 1 though my heart is breaking with its pain. No pain on earth has power to crush my soul. THE DEAD 433 CLEAVE THOU THE WAVES. Cleave thou the waves that weltering to and fro Surge multitudinous. The eternal Powers Of sun, moon, stars, the air, the hurrying hours. The winged winds, the still dissolvuag show Of clouds ill calm or storm, for ever flow Above thee ; whUe the abysmal sea devours The untold dead insatiate, where it lowers O'er glooms unfathomed, limitless, below. No longer on the golden-fretted sands, Where many a shallow tide abortive chafes, Mayst thou delay ; life onward sweeping blends With far-off heaven : the dauntless one who braves The perilous flood with calm unswerving hands, The elements sustain ; cleave thou the waves. THE DEAD. The dead abide with us ! Though stark and cold Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still : They have forged our chains of being for good or ill And their invisible hands these hands yet hold. Our perishable bodies are the mould In which their strong imperishable will — Mortality's deep yearning to fulfil — Hath grown incorporate through dim time untold. 29 434 SONNETS Vibrations infinite of life in death, As a star's travelling light survives its star I So may we hold our lives, that when we are The fate of those who then will draw this breath, They shall not drag us to their judgment bar, And curse the heritage which we bequeath. HOPE. All treasures of the earth and opulent seas, Metals and odorous woods and cunning gold. Fowls of the air and furry beasts untold. Vineyards and harvest fields and fruitful trees Nature gave unto Man ; and last her keys Vouched passage to her secret ways of old AVhence knowledge should be wrung, nay power to mould Out of the rough, his occult destinies. But tired of these he craved a wider scope : Then fair as PaUas from the brain of Jove From his deep wish there sprang, full-armed to cope With all life's ills, even very death in love. The only thing man never wearies of — His own creation — visionary Hope. SUFFERING. Oh ye, all ye, who suffer here below, Schooled in the baffling mystery of pain, AVho on life's anvil bear the fateful strain. Wrung as forged iron, hammered blow on blow. ANAFKH 43S Take counsel with your grief, in that you know That he who suffers suffers not in vain, Nay, that it shall be for the whole world's gain. And wisdom prove the priceless price of woe. Thus in some new-found land where no man's feet Have trod a path, bold voyagers astray, May fall foredone by torturing thirst and heat : But from the impotent body of defeat The winners spring who carve a conquering way — Measured by milestones of their perished clay. ANAl'KII. Like a great rock which looming o'er the deep Oasts his eternal shadow on the strands, And veiled in cloud inexorably stands, While vaulting round his adamantine steep Embattled breakers clamorously leap, Sun-garlanded and hope-uphfted bands, But soon with waters shattered in the sands Slowly recoiling back to ocean creep ; So sternly dost thou tower above us. Fate ! For still our eager hearts exultant beat. Borne in the hurrying tide of life elate. And dashing break against thy marble feet. But would Hope's rainbow-aureole round us fleet. Without these hurtling shocks of man's estate ? 436 SONNI^fS TO MBMOEY. Oh in this dearth and winter of the soul, When even Hope, still wont to soar and sing, Droopeth, a starveling bird whose downy wing Stiffens ere dead through the dank drift it fall- Yea, ere Hope perish utterly, I call On thee, fond Memory, that thou haste and bring One leaf, one blossom from that far-off spring When love's auroral light lay over all. Bring but one pansy : haply so the thrUl Of poignant yearning for those glad dead years May, like the gusty south, breathe o'er the chill Of frozen grief, dissolving it in tears, TiU numb Hope, stirred by that warm dropping rain. Win deem, perchance. Love's springtide come again. THE APTBE-GLOW. It is a solemn evening, golden-clear — The Alpine summits flame with rose-lit snow And headlands purpling on wide seas below, And clouds and woods and arid rocks appear Dissolving in the sun's own atmosphere And vast circumference of light, whose slow Transfiguration — glow and after-glow — Turns twilight earth to a more luminous sphere. ON GUIDO'S AUBOHA 437 Oh heart, I ask, seeing that the orb of day Has sunk below, yet left to sky and sea His glory's spiritual after-shine : I ask if Love, whose sun hath set for thee. May not touch grief with his memorial ray. And lend to loss itself a joy divine ? LOVE'S VISION. Teanspobted out of self by Youth's sweet madness, Emulous of love, to Love's empyrean height, Where I beheld you aureoled in light. My soul upsprang on wings of angel-gladness. Far, far below, the earth and all earth's badness — • A speck of dust — shpped darkling into night. As suns of fairer planets flamed in sight. Pure orbs of bliss unstained by gloom or sadness. Lo, as I soared ethereally on high, You vanished, from my swimming eyes aloof. Alone, alone, within the empty sky, I reached out giddily, and reeling fell From starriest heaven, to plunge in lowest hell. My proud heart broken on Earth's humblest roof. ON GUIDO'S ADEOEA. Glokious, in saffron robes and veil unfurled. Borne on the wind of her ecstatic flight, Aurora floats before the Lord of Light, And showers her roses on a jubilant world, 438 SONNETS Lo, where he beams, ambrosial, yellow curled, The God of Day, with unapparent might. Checking his fiery steeds, that plunge and bite As if from heaven his Chariot should be hurled. And on the Clouds a many -tinted band Of Hours dance round their Leader, grave or gay As glowing near or in his wake they sway ; While poised above the sun-awakened land The Morning Star, fair herald of the day, Hovers, a Cupid, back-blown torch in hand. SEA-MUSIC. The voices of the whispering woods are still ; No truant brook runs chattering to the stream ; Like heaven's own likeness mirrored in a dream. The sea coils round each jutting rock and hill. Nay, hark I what faint aerial harpings thrill The lonely bay ; what choral voices seem To float around and melt like rolling steam On air as quiet as a windless mill. No holy chant in husheS cathedral naves Had ever such unearthly harmony, As these mysterious chords ineffable That peal from organ-pipes of fluted caves, Eeverberate in hollow mountain shell, The music of the everlasting sea, ANNE HATHAWAY 43< SHAKESPEAEB SONNETS I.— ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE. Is this the Cottage, ivy-girt and crowned, And this the path down which our Shakespeare ran When, in the April of his love, sweet Anne Made all his mighty pulses throb and bound ; Where, mid coy buds and winking flowers around, She blushed a rarer rose than roses can, To greet her Will — even Him, fair Avon's Swan — Whose name has turned this plot to holy ground ? To these dear walls, once dear to Shakespeare's eyes, Time's Vandal hand itseU has done no wrong ; This nestling lattice opened to his song. When, with the lark, he bade his love arise In words whose strong enchantment never dies — Old as these flowers, and, like them, ever young. II.— ANNE HATHAWAY. His Eve of Women I She, whose mortal lot Was linked to an Immortal's unaware, With Love's lost Eden in her blissful air. Perchance would greet him in this blissful spot, 440 SONNETS No shadow of the coming days durst blot. The flower-like face, so innocently fair, As lip met lip, and lily arms, all bare, Clung round him in a perfect lover's knot. Was not this Anne the flame-like daffodil Of Shakespeare's March, whose maiden beauty took His senses captive ? Thus the stripling brook Mirrors a vdld flower nodding by the miU, Then grows a river in which proud cities look, And with a land's load widens seaward still. III.-CLEVB WOODS. Sweet Avon glides where clinging rushes seem To stay his course, and, in his flattering glass, Meadows and hills and mellow woodlands pass, A fairer world as imaged in a dream. And sometimes, in a visionary gleam. From out the secret covert's tangled mass, The fisher-bird starts from the rustling grass, A jewelled shuttle shot along the stream. Even here, methinks, when moon-lapped shallows smiled Round isles no bigger than a baby's cot, Titania found a glowworm -lighted child, Led far astray, and, with anointing hand Sprinkling clear dew from a forget-me-not. Hailed him the Laureate of her Fairyland, THE AVON 441 IV.— LOST TEEASUEE. The autumn day steals, pallid as a ghost, Along these iields and man-forsaken ways ; And o'er the hedgerows' bramble-knotted maze The whitening locks of Old Man's Beard are tost. Here, shrunk by centuries of fire and frost, A crab tree stands where — lingering gossip says — In ocean-moated England's golden days, Great treasure, in a frolic, once was lost. Here — fresh from fumes of soane Palstaffian bout, When famous champions, fired by many a bet. Had drained huge bumpers while the stars would set- Beneath its reeling branches by the way. Till twice twelve hours of April bloom were out — Locked in oblivion — Shakespeare lost a day. v.— THE AVON. What are the Willows whispering in a row, Nodding their old heads o'er the river's edge ? What does the West wind whisper to the sedge And to the shame-faced purples drooping low ? Why sobs the water, in its broken flow Lapping against the grey weir's ruined ledge ? And, in the thorny shelter of the hedge. What birds unloads his little heart of woe '? 442 SONNETS Green Avon's haunted ! Look, from yonder bank The willow leans, that hath not ceased to weep. Whence, hanging garlands, fair Ophelia sank ; Since Jacques moped here the trees have had a tongue ; And all these streams and whispering willows keep The moan of Desdemona's dying song. VI.— EVENSONG. (holy trinity chuech.) The hectic autumn's dilatory fire Has turned this lime tree to a sevenfold brand. Which, self -consuming, lights the sunless land, A death to which all poet souls aspire. Above the graves, where all men's vain desire Is hushed at last as by a Mother's hand, And, Time confounded. Love's blank records stand, The Evensong swells from the pulsing choir. What incommunicable presence clings To this grey church and willowy twilight stream ? Am I the dupe of some delusive dream ? Or, like faint fluid phosphorescent rings On refluent seas, doth Shakespeare's spirit gleam Pervasive round these old familiar things ? CEDARS OF LEBANON AT WARWICK CASTLE 443 VII.— SHAKESPEARE . Yearning to know herself for all she was, Her passionate clash of warring good and ill, Her new life ever ground in Death's old mill, With every delicate detail and en masse, — Blind Nature strove. Lo, then it came to pass, That Time, to work out her unconscious Will, Once wrought the Mmd which she had groped for still. And she beheld herself as in a glass. The world of men, unrolled before our sight, Showed like a map, where stream and waterfall And village- cradUng vale and cloud-capped height Stand faithfully recorded, great and small ; For Shakespeare was, and at his touch, with light Impartial as the Sun's, revealed the All. VIII.— CEDAES OF LEBANON AT WAEWICK CASTLE. Cedars of Lebanon ! Labyrinths of Shade, Making a mystery of open day ; With layers of gloom keeping the Sun at bay, And solemn boughs which never bloom or fade. Contemporaries of that great Crusade, AVhen militant Christendom leaped up one day, Fired by the Cross, and, rushing to the fray, Poured Eastward as" oracular Peter bade, 444 SONNETS Borne hither when Christ's Sepulchre was won, And planted by hoar Warwick's feudal walls, You grew, o'ershadowing every rival stem. Wlien English woods don May's fresh coronals, Say, — Mourn ye still for lost Jerusalem, Funereal trees — beloved of Lebanon ? TO THE OBELISK DUEING THE GEE AT PEOST, 1881. Thou sign-post of the Desert ! Obelisk, Onee fronting in thy monumental pride Egypt's fierce sun, that blazing far and wide, Sheared her of tree and herb, till like a disk Her waste stretched shadowless, and fought with risk To those who with their beasts of burden hied Across the seas of sand until they spied Thy pillar, and their flagging hearts grew brisk : Now reared beside our Thames so wintry gray. Where blocks of ice drift with the drifting stream, Thou risest o'er the alien prospect ! Say, Yon dull, blear, rayless orb whose lurid gleam Tinges the snow-draped ships and writhing steam. Is this the sun which fired thine orient day ? MYSTEnY OF MYSTERIES 445 MANCHESTEE BY NIGHT. O'be this huge town, rife with intestine wars, Whence as from monstrous sacrificial shrines Pillars of smoke olimh heavenward, Night inclines Black brows majestioal with glimmering stars. Her dewy silence soothes life's angry jars : And like a mother's wan white face, who pines Above her children's turbulent ways, so shines The moon athwart the narrow cloudy bars. Now toiling multitudes that hustling crush Each other in the fateful strife for breath, And, hounded on by divers hungers, rush Across the prostrate ones that groan beneath, Are swathed within the universal hush, As life exchanges semblances with death. MYSTEEY OP MYSTEEIES. Before the abyss of the unanswering grave Each mortal stands at last aloof, alone. With his beloved one turned as deaf as stone. However rebel love may storm and rave. No will, however strong, avails to save The wrecked identity knit to our own ; We may not hoard one treasured look or tone, Dissolved in foam on Death's dissolving wave. 446 SONNETS Is this the End ? This handful of brown earth For all releasing elements to take And free for ever from the bonds of birth ? Or wDl true life from Life's disguises break, Called to that vast confederacy of minds Which casts all flesh as chaff to all the winds ? THE AGNOSTIC. Not in the hour of peril, thronged with foes. Panting to set their heel upon my head. Or when alone from many wounds I bled Unflinching beneath Fortune's random blows ; Nor when my shuddering hands were doomed to close The unshrinking eyelids of the stony dead ; — Not then I missed my God, not then — but said : " Let me not burden God with all men's woes ! " But when resurgent from the womb of night Spring's Oriflamme of flowers waves from the Sod ; When peak on flashing Alpine peak is trod By sunbeams on their missionary flight ; When heaven-kissed Earth laughs, garmented in light ;■ That is the hour in which I miss my God. UNTIMELY LOVE 447 HEAET'S-EASB. As opiates to the sick on wakeful nights, As light to flowers, as flowers in poor men's rooms, As to the fisher when the tempest glooms The cheerful twinkling of his village lights ; As emerald isles to flagging swallow flights, As roses garlanding with tendrilled blooms The unweeded hillocks of forgotten tombs, As singing birds on cypress-shadowed heights. Thou art to me — a comfort past compare — For thy joy-kindling presence, sweet as May, Sets all my nerves to music, makes away With sorrow and the numbing frost of care, Until the influence of thine eyes' bright sway Has made life's glass go up from foul to fair. UNTIMELY LOVE. Peace, throbbing heart, nor let us shed one tear O'er this late love's unseasonable glow ; Sweet as a violet blooming in the snow, The posthumous offspring of the widowed year That smells of March when all the world is sere, And, while around the hurtling sea-winds blow- Whioh twist the oali and lay the pine tree low- Stands childlike in the storm and has no fear. 448 SONNETS Poor helpless blossom orphaned of the sun, How could it thus brave winter's rude estate ? Oh love, more helpless love, why bloom so late. Now that the flower-time of the year is done ? Since thy dear course must end when scarce begun. Nipped by the cold touch of relentless fate. HAUNTED STEBETS. Lo, happily walking in some clattering street — Where throngs of men and women dumbly pass. Like shifting pictures seen within a glass Which leave no trace behind — one seems to meet. In roads once trodden by our mutual feet, A face projected from that shadowy mass Of faces, quite familiar as it was. Which beaming on us stands out clear and sweet. The face of faces we again behold That lit our life when life was very fair, And leaps our heart towards eyes and mouth and hair; Oblivious of the undying love grown cold. Or body sheeted in the churchyard mould. We stretch out yearning hands and grasp — the air. THE EVENINO OF THE YEAR 449 CHEISTMAS EVE. Alone — with one fair star for company, The loveliest star among the hosts of night, While the grey tide ebbs with the ebbing light — I pace along the darkening wintry sea. Now round the yule-log and the glittering tree Twinkling with festive tapers, eyes as bright Sparkle with Christmas joys and young delight. As each one gathers to his family. But I — a waif on earth where'er I roam — Uprooted with life's bleeding hopes and fears From that one heart that was my heart's sole home Feel the old pang pierce through the severing years. And as I think upon the years to come That fair star trembles through my falling tears. THE EVENING OF THE YBAE. Wan mists enwrap the stUl-bom day ; The harebell withers on the heath ; And all the moorland seems to breathe The hectic beauty of decay. Within the open grave of May Dishevelled trees drop wreath on wreath ; Wind-wrung and ravelled underneath Waste leaves choke up the woodland way. 30 450 SONNETS The grief of many partings near Wails like an echo in the wind : The days of love he far behind, The days of loss lie shuddering near, Lite's morning-glory who shall bind ? It is the evening of the year. NEW YEAE'S EVE. Another fuU-orbed year hath waned to-day And set in the irrevocable past. And headlong whirled along Time's winged blast My fluttering rose of youth is borne away : Ah rose once crimson with the blood of May, A honeyed haunt where bees would break their fast I watch thy scattering petals flee aghast. And all the flickering rose-Ughts turning grey. Poor fool of life 1 plagued ever with thy vain Eegrets of futile longings I were the years Not cups o'erbrimming still with gall and tears ? Let go thy puny personal joy and pain I If youth with all its brief hope disappears. To deathless hope we must be born again. NOTES NOTES. Page 374, line 25. " Neharak Said " : " May thy day be happy." Page 375. " Sphinx-Money " : Small fossil shells or am- monites, frequently found in some parts of the desert. Page 378, line 12. " Bab-el-Molouk " : The Gate of the Kings. The entrance to the rooky tombs, most of which belong to the eighteenth and nineteenth Dynasties. Page 878, line 21. " Tuat " ; The depth of the grave. Page 380, line 14. " While Thoth holds the trembling balance, weighs the heart and seals its fate." Perhaps of all Egyptian beliefs, none is so widely known as "The Judgment of the Dead." It is frec[uently represented on tombs and temples, and there is a remarkable wall-painting of it in the beautiful little temple of D6r-el-Medtneh. After Osiris, Judge of the under world, Thoth plays the chief part in this impressive ceremony. He is the Moon-god, generally represented as an Ibis or Baboon. " The soul first advanced to the foot of the throne, carrying on its outstretched hands the image of its heart or of its eyes, agents and accomplices of its vices and virtues. It humbly ' smelt the earth,' then arose, and with uplifted hands recited its profession of faith. In the middle of 1S3 454 NOTES the hall its acts were weighed by the assessors. Like all obieots. belonging to the gods, the balance is magic. Truth squats upon one of the scales ; Thoth places the heart upon the other, and, always merciful, bears upon the side of Truth, that judgment may be favourably inclined. He affirms that the heart is light of offence, inscribes the results of the proceeding upon a wooden tablet, and pronounces the verdict aloud." — " The Dawn of Civilization," by G. Maspero. Page 381, line 7. " In the Sunboat and the Moonboat " : The chief barks of Hsi, the Sun-god, were called Saktit and Maztt. He entered one on his rising in the East, which carried him along the celestial river; and the other about the middle of his course, which bore him to the land of Manii, which is at the entrance of Hades. Page 383. " Horus " : Horus, the Egyptian Apollo, son of Osiris and Isis, and avenger of his murdered father. He is chiefly associated with the victoriously rising sun, and a slayer of the Serpent, like all Sun-gods. He is generally depicted with the side-lock of infancy, or as hawk-headed, or simply as a great golden Sparrow-Hawk, who puts all other birds to flight. Page 385. " Ntilt " ; One of the names for the primsBval night of Egyptian mythology. She is described as follows in an inscription cut on the front of the mummy-case of Mykerinos, the builder of the third great Pyramid ; " Thy Mother Nult has spread herself out over thee in her name of Mystery of the Heavens." Page 386. " Egyptian Theosophy." The Egyptian imagination was extremely fertile in inventing myths of the creation. " One amongst many was that Sibfl was concealed under the form of a colossal gander, whose mate once laid the Sun-Egg, and perhaps still laid it daily. From the piercing cries wherewith NOTES 458i he congratulated her, and announced the good news to all who oared to hear it — after the manner of his kind — he had received the flattering epithet of Ngagu-oirft, the Great Caokler. Other versions repudiated the goose in favour of a vigorous bull, the father of gods and men, whose companion was a cow, a large- eyed Hathor, of beautiful countenance." — " The Dawn of Civilization," by G. Maspero. Page 387. " The Moon of Eamadan." The month of Bamadan Is the month of fasting, which begins as soon as a Muslim declares that he has seen the new moon. From daybreak to sunset, throughout the month, eating and drinking are abso- lutely prohibited, but the faithful indemnify themselves by feasting and smoking throughout a great part of the night. Page 389, line 15— " And brought his gods for offering Mountains of severed hands." The Pharaohs used to cut off the hands of their conquered enemies, and make them an offering to their gods. The subject is depicted in a striking wall-painting of the Temple at Medinet Haboo. Page 391. "The Beautiful Beeshareen Boy." The Bee- shareens are a wandering desert tribe of Upper Egypt, reminding one of our Gypsies. Many of them are remark- ably handsome, more particularly in childhood. The grace of their movements and charm of manner must strike all travellers on the NUe. The children haunt the shore where boats land, and set up an incessant cry for " backsheesh," and there are few who can resist the winning smiles with which they sweeten their importunities. Conspicuous among the 456 NOTES crowd was a lovely boy of sixteen, who attracted the attention of artists and photographers two or three winters ago. He had the elegant proportions of a Tanagra statuette, and was so constantly asked to sit for his portrait that he must have thought that that was the end and aim of all tourists. Finally, he was carried oft to the World's Pair with other curiosities of Egypt. When the Beeshareens returned to Assouan he was not amongst them, and rumour says that he got as far as Marseilles, where he utterly vanished. This tribe dress their profuse black hair in qyxite an extraordinary fashion. It is worn in countless little plaits, with a high, fuzzy bunch in the centre. I have heard it said that they wear it thus in memory of their descent from one of the lost tribes of Israel. Page 403, line 19— " A human form, indeed, but stone : A cold, colossal Man ! " This unfinished Colossus of red granite was discovered by two English officers while riding in the desert round Assouan. The scene is one of extraordinary desolation. The ash-coloured sand, broken by blue-black ridges, is a chaos of scattered stones and boulders which might be part of a landscape in the moon. The statue is believed to be that of Amenhotep III., to whom we owe the two Colossi of the Plain, of which one is the famous " Vocal Memnon." He was also the Egyptian Nimrod, and on one of his lion-hunting expeditions to the South is said to have met a beautiful young maiden, whom he married, though she was neither Egyptian nor of royal race. She was that famous Queen Thi who introduced the worship of the Sun's disk into Egypt. NOTES 457 Page 405. " Soarabseus." The beetle {Sca/rabiBus sacer) was the emblem of the principle of life and creative power, which the Egyptians worshipped under such manifold forms. It was supposed to have no female, and to roll the eggs which produce its offspring into a kind of ball, sparing no effort to place them in safety. Page 407. " The Sakiyeh " ; The ancient Egyptian water- wheel, stUl in use. It is made of a notch-wheel fixed vertically on a horizontal axle, and a long chain of earthenware vessels brings the water either from the river itself or from some little branch canal, and empties it into a system of troughs and reservoirs. DNWIN BBOTBKBS, THE GBESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON. ■i!i.!u.:niii:!iil!ii!ii