CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
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 the Cornell University Library. 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013439033 
 
POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
UNIFORM EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES' 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 In Seven folumes. Small Post S-vo, 6s. each. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Volume I : P rometheus the Firegiver — Eros and Psyche — The Growth 
 
 of Love — Notes. 
 
 VoLtTME II : Shorter Poems — New Poems — Notes. 
 
 Volume III : The First Part of Nero — Achilles of Scyros — Notes. 
 
 Volume IV : Palicio — The Return of Ulysses— Notes. 
 
 Volume V: The Christian Captives — Humours of the Court — Notes. 
 
 Volume VI : The Feast of Bacchus — Second Part of the History of 
 
 Nero — Notes. 
 
 Volume VII in preparation, 
 
 *^* This volume completes the Uniform Edition of 
 
 Mr. Robert Bridges' Works. 
 
 LoNDOli : SMITH, ELDER & CO. 
 
 I J Waterloo Place, S.W. 
 
POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BRIDGES 
 
 EXCLUDING 
 THE EIGHT DRAMAS 
 
 HENRY FROWDE 
 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS 
 
 LONDON, NEW YORK, TORONTO AND MELBOURNE 
 
 1 51 1 1 '^ *- 
 
OXFORD : HORACE HART 
 TRINTKR TO THE UNIVERSITY 
 
NOTE 
 
 THIS book consists of the Poems and Masks (as apart 
 from the Dramas) contained in the collected editions of 
 the Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, together with two 
 groups of Later Poems and Poems in Classical Prosody 
 now published for the first time or now first collected. 
 
 A record of the previous publication of the poems will be 
 found in the bibliographical notes prefixed to the various 
 sections of the present book. 
 
 The spelling of certain words is not uniform throughout 
 the poems. This is due to oTDservance of the text of the 
 earlier editions of different dates, in the notes to which the 
 author's justification of these peculiarities was given. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prometheus the Firegiver. A Mask in the Greek 
 
 Manner I 
 
 Demeter. a Mask 49 
 
 Eros and Psyche . . S7 
 
 The Growth of Love . • . . . i§5 
 
 Shorter Poems. 
 
 Book I . • • 225 
 
 Book II . . . 242 
 
 Book III ......... 264 
 
 Book IV 281 
 
 Book V ........ 301 
 
 New Poems 321 
 
 Later Poems . . ...... 365 
 
 Poems in Classical Prosody ..... 409 
 
 Index of First Lines .... . . 465 
 
Prometheus the Firegiver 
 
 <lA dMask 
 in the Greek ^LManner 
 
 € 
 
 PT{E}^IOUS EDITIONS 
 
 I . Private Press of H. Daniel. Oxford, 1883. 
 I, Chisivicl^ Press. G . Bell & Sons, \iZ,\. 
 3. Clarendon Press. Smith, Elder & Co. yol. f, 1892 
 
 H 
 
ARGUMENT 
 
 Prometheus coming on earth to give Jire to men appears 
 before the palace of Inachus in Argos on a festival of Zeus. 
 He ifiterrupts the ceremony by announcing fire and persuades 
 Inachus to dare the anger of Zeus and accept the gift. Inachus 
 fetching Argeia his wife from the palace has in turn to quief 
 her fears. He asks a prophecy of Prometheus who foretells the 
 fate of lo their daughter. Prometlieus then setting flame to the 
 altar and writing his own name thereon in the place of Zeus 
 disappears. 
 
 The Chorus sing (i) a Hymn to Zeus imth the stories of the 
 birth of Zeus and the marriage of Hera with the dances of the 
 Curetes and the Hesperides, (2) their a?iticipation of fire with 
 an Ode on Wonder, (3) a Tragic Hymn on the lot of man, 
 (4) a Fire-chorus, (5) a final Chorus in praise of Prometheus. 
 
 All the characters are good, Prometheus prologizes. He 
 carries a long reed. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 
 INACHUS. 
 
 ARGEIA. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 10 (^persona mutci). 
 
 CHORUS: Youths and maidens of the house of 
 Inachus. 
 
 The SCENE is in ARGOS before the palace of Inachus. 
 
 An altar inscribed to Zeus is at the 
 
 centre of the stage. 
 
 (^ ) 
 
PROMETHEUS 
 THE FIREGIVER 
 
 PROMETHEUS. 
 From high Olympus and the £etherial courts, 
 Where mighty Zeus our angry king confirms 
 The Fates' decrees and bends the wills of the gods, 
 I come : and on the earth step with glad foot. 
 
 This variegated ocean-floor of the air. 
 The changeful circle of fair land, that lies 
 Heaven's dial, sisterly mirror of night and day : 
 The wide o'er-wandered plain, this nether world 
 My truant haunt is, when from jealous eyes 
 I steal, for hither 'tis I steal, and here 
 Unseen repair my joy : yet not unseen 
 Methinks, nor seen unguessed of him I seek. 
 Rather by swath or furrow, or where the patii 
 Is walled with corn I am found, by trellised vine 
 Or olive set in banks or orchard trim ; 
 I watch all toil and tilth, farm, field and fold, 
 And taste the mortal joy ; since not in heaven 
 Among our easeful gods hath facile time 
 A touch so keen, to wake such love of life 
 As stirs the frail and careful being, who here. 
 The king of sorrows, melancholy man. 
 Bows at his labour, but in heart erect 
 A god stands, nor for any gift of god 
 Would barter his immortal-hearted prime. 
 
 Could I but win this world from Zeus for mine, 
 With not a god to vex my happy rule, 
 I would inhabit here and leave high heaven : 
 So much I love it and its race of men, 
 
 (3 ) 
 
Prometheus 
 
 Even as he hates them, hates botli them, and me 
 
 For loving what he hates, and would destroy me, 1,° 
 
 Outcast in the scorn of all his cringing crew, 
 
 For daring but to save what he would slay : 
 
 And me must first destroy. Thus he denieth 
 
 My heart's wish, thus my counsel sets at naught, 
 
 AVhich him saved once, when all at stake he stood 
 
 Uprisen in rebellion to overthrow 
 
 The elderseated Titans, for I that day 
 
 Gave him the counsels which his foes despised. 
 
 Unhappy they, who had still their blissful seats 
 
 Preserved and their Olympian majesty, 40 
 
 Had they been one with me. Alas, my kin 1 
 
 But he, when he had taken the throne and chained 
 His foes in wasteful Tartarus, said no more 
 Where is Prometheus our wise counsellor ? 
 'What saith Prometheus ? tell us, O Prometheus, 
 AVhat Fate requires ! but waxing confident 
 And wanton, as a youth first tasting power. 
 He wrecked the timeless monuments of heaven, 
 The witness of the wisdom of the gods. 
 And making all about him new, beyond 50 
 
 Determined to destroy the race of men, 
 And that create afresh or else have none. 
 
 Then his vain mind imagined a device. 
 And at his bidding all the opposed winds 
 Blew, and the scattered clouds and furled snows. 
 From every part of heaven together flying. 
 He with brute hands in huge disorder heaped : 
 They with the winds' weight and his angry breath 
 Were thawed : in cataracts they fell, and earth 
 In darkness deep and whelmed tempest lay, q. 
 
 Drowned 'neath the waters. Yet on the mountain-tops 
 Some few escaped, and some, thus warned by me, 
 Made shift to live in vessels which outrode 
 The season and the fury of the flood. 
 
 (4) 
 
The Firegtper 
 
 And when his rain was spent and from clear skies 
 Zeus looking down upon the watery world, 
 Beheld these few, the remnant of mankind, 
 \Vho yet stood up and breathed ; he next withdrew 
 The seeds of fire, that else had still lain hid 
 In withered branch and the blue flakes of flint 70 
 
 For man to exact and use, but these withdrawn, 
 Man with the brutes degraded would be man 
 No more ; and so the tyrant was content. 
 
 But I, despised again, again upheld 
 The weak, and pitying them sent sweet Hope, 
 Bearer of dreams, enchantress fond and kind, 
 From heaven descending on the unhindered rays 
 Of every star, to cheer with visions fair 
 Their unamending pains. And now this day 
 Behold I come bearing the seal of all 80 
 
 Which Hope had promised ; for within this reed 
 A prisoner I bring them stolen from heaven, 
 The flash of mastering fire, and it have borne 
 So swift to earth, that when yon noontide sun 
 Rose from the sea at morning I was by. 
 And unperceived of Helios plunged the point 
 r the burning axle, and withdrew a tongue 
 Of breathing flame, which lives to leap on earth 
 For man the father of all fire to come. 
 
 And hither have I brought it even to Argos go 
 
 Unto king Inachus, him having chosen 
 Above all mortals to receive my gift : 
 For he is hopeful, careful, wise, and brave. 
 
 He first, when first the floods left bare the land. 
 Grew warm with enterprise, and gathered men 
 Together, and disposed their various tasks 
 For common weal combined ; for soon were seen 
 The long straight channels dwindling on the plain, 
 \Vhich slow from stagnant pool and wide morass 
 The pestilent waters to the rivers bore : loo 
 
 ( 5 ) 
 
T*rometheus 
 
 Then in the ruined dwellings and old tombs 
 
 rie dug, unbedding from the wormed ooze 
 
 i^'essels and tools of trade and husbandry ; 
 
 iVherewith, all seasonable works restored, 
 
 Dil made he and wine anew, and taught mankind 
 
 To live not brutally though without fire. 
 
 Tending their flocks and herds and weaving wool, 
 
 Living on fruit and milk and shepherds' fare, 
 
 rill time should bring back flame to smithy and hearth, 
 
 3r Zeus relent. Now at these gates I stand, no 
 
 ^t this mid hour, when Inachus comes forth 
 
 To offer sacrifice unto his foe. 
 
 For never hath his faithful zeal forborne 
 
 To pay the power, though hard, that rules the world 
 
 The smokeless sacrifice ; which first to-day 
 
 shall smoke, and rise at heaven in flame to brave 
 
 The baffled god. See here a servant bears 
 
 For the cold altar ceremonial wood : 
 
 My shepherd's cloak will serve me for disguise. 
 
 SERVANT. 
 
 ^Vith much toil have I hewn these sapless logs. 120 
 
 Pr. But toil brings health, and health is happiness. 
 
 Serv. Here's one I know not — nay, how came he here 
 Qnseen by me ? I pray thee, stranger, tell me 
 ^Vhat wouldst thou at the house of Inachus ? 
 
 Pr. Intruders, friend, and travellers have glib tongues, 
 Silence will question such. 
 
 Serv. If 'tis a message, 
 
 To-day is not thy day — who sent thee hither ? 
 
 Pr. The business of my leisure was well guessed : 
 But he that sent me hither is I that come. 
 
 Serv. I smell the matter — thou wouldst serve the house ? 
 
 Pr. 'Twas for that very cause I fled my own. 131 
 
 Serv. From cruelty or fear of punishment ? 
 
 Pr. Cruel was my master, for he slew his father. 
 (6) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 His punishments thou speakest of are crimes. 
 
 Serv. Thou dost well flying one that slew his father. 
 
 Pr. Thy lord, they say, is kind. 
 
 Serv. Well, thou wilt see. 
 
 Thou may'st at once begin— come, give a hand. 
 
 Pr. a day of freedom is a day of pleasure : 
 And what thou doest have I never done, 
 And understanding not might mar thy work. 140 
 
 Serv. Ay true — there is a right way and a wrong 
 In laying wood. 
 
 PR- Then let me see thee lay it : 
 
 The sight of a skill'd hand will teach an art. 
 
 Serv. Thou seest this faggot which I now unbind, 
 How it is packed within. 
 
 Pr. I see the cones 
 
 And needles of the fir, which by the wind 
 In melancholy places ceaselessly 
 Sighing are strewn upon the tufted floor. 
 
 Serv. These took I from a sheltered bank, whereon 
 The sun looks down at noon ; for there is need 150 
 
 The things be dry. These first I spread ; and then 
 Small sticks that snap i' the hand. 
 
 Pr. Such are enough 
 
 To burden the slow flight of labouring rooks. 
 When on the leafless tree-tops in young March 
 Their glossy herds assembling soothe the air 
 With cries of solemn joy and cawings loud. 
 And such the long-necked herons will bear to mend 
 Their airy platform, when the loving spring 
 Bids them take thought for their expected young. 
 
 Serv. See even so I cross them and cross them so : 160 
 Larger and by degrees a steady stack 
 Have built, whereon the heayiest logs may lie : 
 And all of sun-dried wood : and now 'tis done. 
 
 Pr. And now 'tis done, what means it now 'tis done ? 
 
 Serv. Well, thus 'tis rightly done : but why 'tis so 
 ( 7 ) 
 
Trometheus 
 
 I cannot tell, nor any man here knows ; 
 
 Save that our master when he sacrificeth, 
 
 As thou wilt hear anon, speaketh of fire ; 
 
 And fire he saith is good for gods and men ; 
 
 And the gods have it and men have it not : i^i 
 
 And then he prays the gods to send us fire ; 
 
 And we, against they send it, must have wood 
 
 Laid ready thus as I have shewn thee here. 
 
 Pr. To-day he sacrificeth ? 
 
 Serv. Ay, this noon. 
 
 Hark ! hear'st thou not ? they come. The solemn flutes 
 Warn us away ; we must not here be seen 
 In these our soilfed habits, yet may stand 
 Where we may hear and see and not be seen. 
 
 \Exeunt R 
 
 Enter CHORJUSy and from the palace Inachus bearing cakfs ; h 
 comes to stand behind the altar, 
 
 CHORUS. 
 God of Heaven ! 
 
 We praise thee, Zeus most high, i8c 
 
 To whom by eternal Fate was given 
 The range and rule of the sky; 
 ■When thy lot, first of three 
 Leapt out, as sages tell. 
 And won Olympus for thee, 
 Therein for ever to dwell : 
 But the next with the barreh sea 
 To grave Poseidon fell, 
 And left fierce Hades his doom, to be 
 The lord and terror of hell. i^e 
 
 (2) Thou sittest for aye 
 Encircled in azure bright, 
 Regarding the path of the sun by day, 
 And the changeful moon by night : 
 ( 8 ) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 Attending with tireless ears 
 
 To the song of adoring love, 
 
 With which the separate spheres 
 
 Are voiced that turn above : 
 
 And all that is hidden under 
 
 The clouds thy footing has furl'd 
 
 Fears the hand that holdeth the thunder, 
 
 The eye that looks on the world. 
 
 Semkhorus ofyomhi. 
 
 Of all the isles of the sea 
 
 Is Crete most famed in story : 
 
 Above all mountains famous to me 
 
 Is Ida and crowned with glory. 
 
 There guarded of Heaven and Earth 
 
 Came Rhea at fall of night 
 
 To hide a wondrous birth 
 
 From the Sire's unfathering sight. 
 
 The halls of Cronos rang 
 
 With omens of coming ill, 
 
 And the mad Curetes danced and sang 
 
 Adown the slopes of the hill. 
 
 Then all the peaks of Gnossus kindled red 
 Beckoning afar unto the sinking sun, 
 He thro' the vaporous west plunged to his bed, 
 Sunk, and the day was done. 
 But they, though he was fled, 
 Such light still held, as oft 
 Hanging in air aloft, 
 At eve from shadowed ship 
 The Egyptian sailor sees : 
 Or like the twofold tip 
 That o'er the topmost trees 
 Flares on Parnassus, and the Theban dames 
 Quake at the ghostly flames. 
 
 (9 ) 
 
'Prometheus 
 
 Then friendly night arose 
 
 To succour Earth, and spread 
 
 Her mantle o'er the snows 230 
 
 And quenched their rosy red ; 
 
 But in the east upsprings 
 
 Another light on them, 
 
 Selen^ with white wings 
 
 And hueless diadem. 
 
 Little could she befriend 
 
 Her father's house and state, 
 
 Nor her weak beams defend 
 
 Hyperion from his fate. 
 
 Only where'er she shines, 24a 
 
 In terror looking forth, 
 
 She sees the wailing pines 
 
 Stoop to the bitter North : 
 
 Or searching twice or thrice 
 
 Along the rocky walls. 
 
 She marks the columned ice 
 
 Of frozen waterfalls : 
 
 But still the darkened cave 
 
 Grew darker as she shone, 
 
 Wherein was Rhea gone 251 
 
 Her child to bear and save. 
 
 [rfcejf dxnce 
 Then danced the Dactyls and Curetes wild, 
 And drowned with yells the cries of mother and child ; 
 Big-armed Damnameneus gan prance and shout : 
 And burly Acmon struck the echoes out : 
 And Kermis leaped and howled : and Titias pranced 
 And broad Cyllenus tore the air and danced : 
 While deep within the shadowed cave at rest 
 Lay Rhea, with her babe upon her breast. 
 
 ( 10 ) 
 
The Firegi'per 
 
 IN AC H vs. 
 
 If any here there be whose impure hands 260 
 
 Among pure hands, or guilty heart among 
 Our guiltless hearts be stained with blood or wrong, 
 Let him depart ! 
 
 If there be any here in whom high Zeus 
 Seeing impiety might turn away, 
 Now from our sacrifice and from his sin 
 Let him depart ! . 
 
 Semkhoms of maidens. 
 
 I have chosen to praise 
 
 Hera the wife^ and bring 
 
 A hymn for the feast on marriage days 270 
 
 To the wife of the gods' king. 
 
 How on her festival 
 
 The gods had loving strife, 
 
 Which should give of them all 
 
 The fairest gift to the wife. 
 
 But Earth said, Fair to see 
 
 Is mine and yields to none, 
 
 I have grown for her joy a sacred tree. 
 
 With apples of gold thereon. 
 
 Then Hera, when she heard what Earth had given, 2S0 
 Smiled for her joy, and longed and came to see ; 
 On dovewings flying from the height of heaven, 
 Down to the golden tree : 
 As tired birds at even 
 Come flying straight to house 
 On their accustomed boughs. 
 "Twas where, on tortured hands 
 Bearing the mighty pole. 
 Devoted Atlas stands: 
 And round his bowed head roll 2yo 
 
 ( " ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Day-light and night, and stars unmingled dance, 
 Nor can he raise his glance. 
 
 She saw the rocky coast 
 ■\Vhereon the azured waves 
 Are laced in foam, or lost 
 In water-lighted caves ; 
 The olive island where, 
 Amid the purple seas. 
 Night unto Darkness bare 
 
 The four Hesperides ; 301 
 
 And came into the shade 
 Of Atlas, where she found 
 The garden Earth had made 
 And fenced with groves around. 
 And in the midst it grew 
 Alone, the priceless stem, 
 As careful, clear and true 
 As graving on a gem. 
 Nature had kissed Art 
 
 And borne a child to stir 31c 
 
 With jealousy the heart 
 Of heaven's Artificer. 
 From crown to swelling root 
 It mocked the goddess' praise, 
 The green enamelled sprays, 
 The emblazoned golden fruit. 
 
 \Thzy dance 
 
 And 'neath the tree, with hair and zone unbound, 
 The fair Hesperides aye danced around^ 
 And ^gle danced and sang ' O welcome, Queen ! ' 
 And Erytheia sang ' The tree is green ! ' 321 
 
 And Hestia danced and sang ' The fruit is gold ! ' 
 And Arethusa sang ' Fair Queen, behold ! ' 
 And all joined hands and danced about the tree, 
 And sang ' O Queen, we dance and sing for thee ! ' 
 
 ( 12 ) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 In. If there be any here who has complaint 
 Against our rule or claim or supplication, 
 Now in the name of Zeus let it appear, 
 Now let him speak ! 
 
 Prometheus re-enteri. 
 
 Pr. All hail, most worthy king, such claim have I. 
 
 In. May grace be with thee, stranger ; speak thy mind. 
 
 Pr. To Argos, king of Argos, at thy house 331 
 
 I bring long journeying to an end this hour, 
 Bearing no idle message for thine ears. 
 For know that far thy fame has reached, and men 
 That ne'er have seen thee tell that thou art set 
 Upon the throne of virtue, that goodwill 
 And love thy servants are, that in thy land 
 Joy, honour, trust and modesty abide 
 And drink the air of peace, that kings must see 
 Thy city, would they know their peoples' good 340 
 
 And stablish them therein by wholesome laws. 
 But one thing mars the tale, for o'er thy lands 
 Travelling I have not seen from morn till eve. 
 Either from house or farm or labourer's cot. 
 In any village, nor this town of Argos 
 A blue-wreathed smoke arise ; the hearths are cold, 
 This altar cold : I see the wood and cakes 
 Unbaken — O king, where is the fire ? 
 
 In. If hither, stranger, thou wert come to find 
 That which thou findest wanting, join with us 350 
 
 Now in our sacrifice, take food within, 
 And having learnt our simple way of life 
 Return unto thy country whence thou camest. 
 But hast thou skill or knowledge of this thing, 
 How best it may be sought, or by what means 
 Hope to be reached, O speak ! I wait to hear. 
 
 Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day. 
 
 In. On earth there is fire thou sayest ! 
 
 Pr. There is fire. 
 
 ( ^3 ) 
 
Prometheus 
 
 In. On earth this day ! 
 
 Pr. There is fire on earth this day. 
 
 In. This is a sacred place, a solemn hour, 360 
 
 Thy speech is earnest : yet even if thou speak truth, 
 O welcome messenger of happy tidings, 
 And though I hear aright, yet to believe 
 Is hard : thou canst not know what words thou speakest 
 Into what ears : they never heard before 
 This sound but in old tales of happier timeSj 
 Jn sighs of prayer and faint unhearted hope : 
 Maybe they heard not rightly, speak again ! 
 
 Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day. 
 
 In. Yes, yes, again. Now let sweet Music blab 370 
 
 Her secret and give o'er ; here is a trumpet 
 That mocks her method. Yet 'tis but the word. 
 Maybe thy fire is not the fire I seek ; 
 Maybe though thou didst see it, now 'tis quenched, 
 Or guarded out of reach : speak yet again 
 And swear by heaven's truth is there fire or no ; 
 And if there be, what means may make it mine. 
 
 Pr. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day : 
 But not as thou dost seek it to be found. 
 
 In. How seeking wrongly shall I seek aright? 380 
 
 Pr. Thou prayest here to Zeus, and him thou callest 
 Almighty, knowing he could grant thy prayer : 
 That if 'twere but his will, the journeying sun 
 Might drop a spark into thine outstretched hand : 
 That at his breath the splashing mountain brooks 
 That fall from Orneae, and cold Lerne's pool 
 Would change their element, and their chill streams 
 Bend in their burning banks a molten flood : 
 That at his word so many messengers 
 Would bring thee fire from heaven, that not a hearth 390 
 In all thy land but straight would have a god 
 To kneel and fan the flame : and yet to him, 
 It is to him thou prayest. 
 
 ( M) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 In, Therefore to hitn. 
 
 Pr. Is this thy wisdom, king, to sow thy seed 
 Year after year in this unsprouting soil ? 
 Hast thou not proved and found the will of Zeus 
 A barren rock for man with prayer to plough ? 
 
 In. His anger be averted ! we judge not god 
 Evil, because our wishes please him not. 
 Oft our shortsighted prayers to heaven ascending 400 
 
 Ask there our ruin, and are then denied 
 In kindness above granting : were 't not so, 
 Scarce could we pray for fear to pluck our doom 
 Out of the merciful withholding hands. 
 
 Pr. Why then provokest thou such great goodwill 
 In long denial and kind silence shown ? 
 
 In. Fie, fie ! Thou lackest piety : the god's denial 
 Being nought but kindness, there is hope that he 
 Will make that good which is not : — or if indeed 
 Good be withheld in punishment, 'tis well 410 
 
 Still to seek on and pray that god relent. 
 
 Pr. O Sire of Argos, Zeus will not relent. 
 
 In. Yet fire thou say'st is on the earth this day. 
 
 Pr. Not of his knowledge nor his gift, O king. 
 
 In. By kindness of what god then has man fire ? 
 
 Pr. I say but on the earth unknown to Zeus. 
 
 In. How boastest thou to know, not of his knowledge ? 
 
 Pr. I boast not ; he that knoweth not may boast. 
 
 In. Thy daring words bewilder sense with sound. 
 
 Pr. I thought to find thee ripe for daring deeds. 420 
 
 ' In. And what the deed for which I prove unripe? 
 
 Pr. To take of heaven's fire. 
 
 I^f. And were I ripe, 
 
 What should I dare, beseech you ? 
 
 Pr_ The wrath of Zeus. 
 
 In. Madman, pretending in one hand to hold 
 The wrath of god and in the other fire. 
 
 Pr. Thou meanest rather holding both in one. 
 
 ( IS ) 
 
'Prometheus 
 
 In. Both impious art thou and incredible. 
 
 Pr. Yet impious only till thou dost believe. 
 
 In. And what believe? Ah, if I could believe ! 
 It was but now thou saidst that there was fire, 43° 
 
 And I was near believing ; I believed : 
 Now to believe were to be mad as thou. 
 
 Chorus. He may be mad and yet say true— maybe 
 The heat of prophecy like a strong wine 
 Shameth his reason with exultant speech. 
 
 Pr. Thou say'st I am mad, and of my sober words 
 Hast called those impious which thou fearest true, 
 Those which thou knowest good, incredible. 
 Consider ere thou judge : be first assured 
 All is not good for man that seems god's will, 440 
 
 See, on thy farming skill, thy country toil 
 Which bends to aid the willing fruits of earth, 
 And would promote the seasonable year, 
 The face of nature is not always kind : 
 And if thou search the sum of visible being 
 To find thy blessing featured, 'tis not there : 
 Her best gifts cannot brim the golden cup 
 Of expectation which thine eager arms 
 Lift to her mouthed horn — what then is this 
 Whose wide capacity outbids the scale 450 
 
 Of prodigal beauty, so that the seeing eye 
 And hearing ear, retiring unamazed 
 Within their quiet chambers, sit to feast 
 With dear imagination, nor look forth 
 As once they did upon the varying air ? 
 Whence is the fathering of this desire 
 Which mocks at fated circumstance? nay though 
 Obstruction lie as cumbrous as the mountains, 
 Nor thy particular hap hath armed desire 
 Against the brunt of evil, — yet not for this 460 
 
 Faints man's desire : it is the unquenchable 
 Original cause, the immortal breath of being : 
 
 ( rr, ) 
 
The Firegtper 
 
 Nor is there any spirit on Earth astir, 
 
 Nor 'neath the airy vagalt, nor yet beyond 
 
 In any dweller in far-reaching space, 
 
 Nobler or dearer than the spirit of man : 
 
 That spirit which lives in each and will not die, 
 
 That wooeth beauty, and for all good things 
 
 Urgeth a voice, or in still passion sigheth. 
 
 And where he loveth draweth the heart with him. 470 
 
 Hast thou not heard him speaking oft and oft, 
 
 Prompting thy secret musings and now shooting 
 
 His feathered fancies, or in cloudy sleep 
 
 Piling his painted dreams ? O hark to him ! 
 
 For else if folly shut his joyous strength 
 
 To mope in her dark prison without praise, 
 
 The hidden tears with which he wails his wrong 
 
 Will sour the fount of life. hark to him ! 
 
 Him may'st thou trust beyond the things thou seest. 
 
 For many things there be upon this earth 4S0 
 
 Unblest and fallen from beauty, to mislead 
 
 Man's mind, and in a shadow justify 
 
 The evil thoughts and deeds that work his ill ; 
 
 Fear, hatred, lust and strife, which, if man question 
 
 The heavenborn spirit within him, are not there. 
 
 Yet are they bold of face, and Zeus himself, 
 
 Seeing that Mischief held her head on high, 
 
 Lest she should go beyond his power to quell 
 
 And draw the inevitable Fate that waits 
 
 On utmost ill, himself preventing Fate 490 
 
 Hasted to drown the world, and now would crush 
 
 Thy little remnant : but among the gods 
 
 Is one whose love and courage stir for thee ; 
 
 Who being of manlike spirit, by many shifts 
 
 Has stayed the hand of the enemy, who crieth 
 
 Thy world is not destroyed, thy good shall live : 
 
 Thou hast more power for good than Zeus for ill. 
 
 More courage, justice, more abundant art, 
 
 ( 17 ) 
 
T'rometheus 
 
 More love, more joy, more reason : though around ihee 
 Rank-rooting evil bloom with poisonous crown, ,^oo 
 
 Though wan and dolorous and crooked things 
 Have made their home with thee, thy good shall live. 
 Know thy desire : and know that if thou seek it. 
 And seek, and seek, and fear not, thou shalt find. 
 
 Sem. (youths). Is this a god that speaketh thus ? 
 
 Sem. {maidens). He speaketh as a man 
 In love or great affliction yields his soul. 
 
 In. Thou, whencesoe'er thou comest, whoe'er thou art, 
 Who breakest on our solemn sacrifice 
 With solemn words, I pray thee not depart • 510 
 
 Till thou hast told me more. This fire I seek 
 Not for myself, whose thin and silvery hair 
 Tells that my toilsome age nears to its end. 
 But for my children and the aftertime, 
 For great the need thereof, wretched our state ; 
 Nay, set by what has been, our happiness 
 Is very want, so that what now is not 
 Is but the measure of what yet may be. 
 And first are barest needs, which well I know 
 Fire would supply, but I have hope beyond, 520 
 
 That Nature in recovering her right 
 Would kinder prove to man who seeks to learn 
 Her secrets and unfold the cause of life. 
 So tell me, if thou knowest, what is fire ? 
 Doth earth contain it ? or, since from the sun 
 Fire reaches us, since in the glimmering stars 
 And pallid moon, in lightning, and the glance 
 Of tracking meteors that at nightfall show 
 How in the air a thousand sightless things 
 Travel, and ever on their windswift course 530 
 
 Flame when they list and into darkness go, — 
 Since in all these a fiery nature dwells, 
 Is fire an airy essence, a thing of heaven, 
 That, could we poise it, were an alien power 
 ( 18 ) 
 
The Firegiye?- 
 
 To make our wisdom less, our wonder more ? 
 
 Pr. Thy wish to know is good, and happy is he 
 Who thus from chance and change has launched his mind 
 To dwell for ever with undisturbed truth. 
 This high ambition doth not prompt his hand 
 To crime, his right and pleasure are not wronged 54c 
 
 By folly of jhis fellows, nor his eye 
 Dimmed by the griefs that move the tears of men. 
 Son of the earth, and citizen may be 
 Of Argos or of Athens and her laws, 
 But still the eternal nature, where he looks, 
 O'errules him with the laws which laws obey, 
 And in her heavenly city enrols his heart. 
 
 In. Thus ever have I held of happiness. 
 The child of heavenly truth, and thus have found it 
 In prayer and meditation and still thought, 550 
 
 And thus my peace of mind based on a floor 
 That doth not quaver like the joys of sense : 
 Those I possess enough in seeing my slaves 
 And citizens enjoy, having myself 
 Tasted for once and put their sweets away. 
 But of that heavenly city, of which thou sayest 
 Her laws o'errule us, have I little learnt, 
 For when my wandering spirit hath dared alone 
 The unearthly terror of her voiceless halls, 
 She hath fallen from delight, and without guide .tjCa 
 
 Turned back, and from her errand fled for fear. 
 
 Pr. Think not that thou canst all things know, nor deem 
 Such knowledge happiness : the all-knowing Fates 
 No pleasure have, who sit eternally 
 Spinning the unnumbered threads that Time hath woven. 
 And weaves, upgathering in his furthest house 
 To store from sight ; but what 'tis joy to learn 
 Or use to know, that may'st thou ask of right. 
 
 In. Then tell me, for thou knowest, what is fire ? 
 
 Pr. Know then, O king, that this fair earth of men, 570 
 (19) 
 
Trometheus 
 
 The Olympus of the gods, and all the heavens 
 Are lesser kingdoms of the boundless space 
 Wherein Fate rules ; they have their several times, 
 Their seasons and the limit of their thrones. 
 And from the nature of eternal things 
 Springing, themselves are changed ; even as the trees 
 Or birds or beasts of earth, which now arise 
 To being, now in turn decay and die. 
 
 The heaven and earth thou seest, for long were held 
 By Fire, a raging power, to whom the Fates 58 
 
 Decreed a slow diminishing old age, 
 But to his daughter, who" is that gentle goddess, 
 Queen of the clear and azure firmament, 
 In heaven called Hygra, biit by mortals Air, 
 To her, the child of his slow doting years, 
 Was given a beauteous youth, not long to outlast 
 His life, but be the pride of his decay. 
 And win to gentler sway his lost domains. 
 
 And when the day of time arrived, when Air 
 Took o'er from her decrepit sire the third 59 
 
 Of the Sun's kingdoms, the one-moonfed earth, 
 Straight came she down to her inheritance. 
 
 Gaze on the sun with thine unshaded eye 
 And shrink from what she saw. Forests of fire 
 Whose waving trunks, sucking their fuel, reared 
 In branched flame roaring, and their torrid shades 
 Aye underlit with fire. The mountains lifted 
 And fell and followed like a running sea, 
 And from their swelling flanks spumed froth of fire ; 
 Or, like awakening monsters, mighty mounds 601 
 
 Rose on the plain awhile. 
 
 Sem. (tnaidens). He discovers a foe. 
 
 Sem. (youths). An enemy he paints. 
 
 Pr. These all she quenched 
 
 Or charmed their fury into the dens and bowels 
 Of earth to smoulder, there the vital heat 
 
 ( 2° ) 
 
ihe Firegiyer 
 
 To hold for her creation, which then — to her aid 
 Summoning high Reason from his home in heaven, — 
 She wrought anew upon the temperate lands. 
 
 Sem. {maidens). 'Twas well Air won this kingdom of her 
 sire. 
 
 Skm. iyotcths). Now say how made she green this home 
 of fire. 
 
 Pk. The waters first she brought, that in their streams 
 And pools and seas innumerable things 6ii 
 
 Brought forth, from whence she drew the fertile seeds 
 Of trees and plants, and last of footed life. 
 That wandered forth, and roaming to and fro, 
 The rejoicing earth peopled with living sound. 
 Reason advised, and Reason praised her toil ; 
 Which when she had done she gave him thanks, and said, 
 ' Fair comrade, since thou praisest what is done. 
 Grant me this favour ere thou part from me : 
 Make thou one fair thing for me, which shall suit 620 
 
 ■\Vith what is made, and be the best of all.' 
 'Twas evening, and that night Reason made man. 
 
 Sem. {maidens). Children of Air are we, and live by fire. 
 
 Sem. {youths). The sons of Reason dwelling on the 
 earth. 
 
 Sem. {maidens). Folk of a pleasant kingdom held 
 between 
 Fire's reign of terror and the latter day 
 When dying, soon in turn his child must die. 
 
 Sem. {youths). Having a wise creator, above time 
 Or youth or change, from whom our kind inherit 
 The grace and pleasure of the eternal gods. Cjo 
 
 In. But how came gods to rule this earth of Air ? 
 
 Pr. They also were her children who first ruled, 
 Cronos, lapetus, Hyperion, 
 Theia and Rhea, and other mighty names 
 That are but names — whom Zeus drave out from heaven, 
 And with his tribe sits on their injured thrones. 
 
 ( 21 ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 In. There is no greater god in heaven than he. 
 
 Pr. Nor none more cruel nor niore tyrannous. 
 
 In. But what can man against the power of god ? 
 
 Fr. Doth not man strive with him ? thyself dost pray. 
 
 In. That he may pardon our contrarious deeds. 641 
 
 Pr. Alas ! alas ! what more contrarious deed, 
 What greater miracle of wrong than this, 
 That man should know his good and take it not ? 
 To what god wilt thou pray to pardon this ? 
 In vain was reason given, if man therewith 
 Shame truth, and name it wisdom to cry down 
 The unschooled promptings of his best desire. 
 The beasts that have no speech nor argument 
 Confute him, and the wild hog in the wood 65° 
 
 That feels his longing, hurries straight thereto, 
 And will not turn his head. 
 
 In. How mean'st thou this ? 
 
 Pr. Thou hast desired the good, and now canst feel 
 How hard it is to kill the heart's desire. 
 
 In. Shall Inachus rise against Zeus, as he 
 Rose against Cronos and made war in heaven ? 
 
 Pr. I say not so, yet, if thou didst rebel, 
 The tongue that counselled Zeus should counsel thee. 
 
 Sem. {maidens). This is strange counsel. 
 
 Sei.i. {youths). He is not 
 
 A counsellor for gods or men. 660 
 
 In. O that I knew where I might counsel find, 
 That one were sent, nay, were 't the least of all 
 The myriad messengers of heaven, to me ! 
 One that should say ' This morn I stood with Zeus, 
 He hath Tieard thy prayer and sent me : ask a boon. 
 What thing thou wilt, it shall be given thee.' 
 
 Pr. What wouldst thou say to such a messenger ? 
 
 In. No need to ask then what I now might ask, 
 How 'tis the gods, if they have care for mortals, 
 Slubber our worst necessities— and the boon, 670 
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
The Ftregiyer 
 
 No need to tell liim that. 
 
 ^^- Now, king, thou seest 
 
 Zeus sends no messenger, but I am liere. 
 
 In. Thy speech is hard, and even thy kindest words 
 Unkind. If fire thou hast, in thee 'tis kind 
 To proffer it : but thou art more unkind 
 Yoking heaven's wrath therewith. Nay, und how knowest 
 
 thou 
 Zeus will be angry if I take of it ? 
 Thou art a prophet : ay, but of the prophets 
 Some have been taken in error, and honest time 
 Has honoured many with forgetfulness. 680 
 
 I'll make this proof of thee ; Show me thy fire — 
 Nay, give 't me now — if thou be true at all, 
 Be true so far : for the rest there 's none will lose, 
 Nor blame thee being false — where is thy fire ? 
 
 Pr. O rather, had it thus been mine to give, 
 I would have given it thus : not adding aught 
 Of danger or diminishment or loss ; 
 So strong is my goodwill ; nor less than this 
 My knowledge, but in knowledge all my power. 
 Yet since wise guidance with a little means 690 
 
 Can more than force unminded, I have skill 
 To conjure evil and outcompass strength. 
 Now give I thee my best, a little gift • 
 To work a world of wonder ; 'tis thine own 
 Of long desire, and with it I will give 
 The cunning of invention and all arts 
 In which thy hand instructed may command, 
 Interpret, comfort, or ennoble nature ; 
 AVith all provision that in wisdom is, 
 And what prevention in foreknowledge lies. 700 
 
 In. Great is the gain. 
 
 Pr. O king, the gain is thine, 
 
 The penalty I more than share. 
 
 In. Enough, 
 
 ( ^3 ) 
 
'Prometheus 
 
 I take thy gift ; nor hast thou stood more firm 
 To every point of thy strange chequered tale, 
 Revealing, threatening, offering more and more, 
 And never all, than I to this resolve. 
 
 Pr. I knew thy heart would fail not at the hour. 
 
 In. Nay, failed I now, what were my years of toil 
 More than the endurance of a harnessed brute, 
 Flogged to his daily work, that cannot view 710 
 
 The high design to which his labour steps ? 
 And I of all men were dishonoured most 
 Shrinking in fear, who never shrank from toil, 
 And found abjuring, thrusting stiffly back. 
 The very gift for which I stretched my hands. 
 ^^'hat though I suffer ? are these wintry years 
 Of growing desolation to be held 
 As cherishable as the suns of spring ? 
 Nay, only joyful can they be in seeing 
 
 Long hopes accomplished, long desires fulfilled. po 
 
 And since thou hast touched ambition on the side 
 Of nobleness, and stirred my proudest hope. 
 And wilt fulfil this, shall I count the cost ? 
 Rather decay will triumph, and cold death 
 Be lapped in glory, seeing strength arise 
 From weakness, from the tomb go forth a flame. 
 
 Pr. 'Tis well ; thou art exalted now, the grace 
 Becomes thy valiant spirit. 
 
 In. Lo ! on this day 
 
 Which hope despaired to see, hope manifests 
 A vision bright as were the dreams of youth ; 730 
 
 ^Vhen life was easy as a sleeper's faith 
 Who swims in the air and dances on the sea ; 
 When all the good that scarce by toil is won. 
 Or not at all is won, is as a flower 
 Growing in plenty to be plucked at will : 
 Is it a dream again or is it truth. 
 This vision fair of Greece inhabited ? 
 
 ( 24 ) 
 
ihe Firegiyer 
 
 A fairer sight than all fair Iris sees, 
 
 Footing her airy arch of colours spun 
 
 From Ida to Olympus, when she stays 740 
 
 To look on Greece and thinks the sight is fair ; 
 
 Far fairer now, clothed with the works of men. 
 
 Pr. Ay, fairer far : for nature's varied pleasaunce 
 Without man's life is but a desert wild, 
 Which most, where most she mocks him, needs his aid. 
 She knows her silence sweeter when it girds 
 His murmurous cities, her wide wasteful curves 
 Larger beside his economic line ; 
 Or what can add a mystery to the dark. 
 As doth his measured music when it moves 750 
 
 With rhythmic sweetness through the void of night ? 
 Nay, all her loveliest places are but grounds 
 Of vantage, where with geometric hand, 
 True square and careful compass he may come 
 To plan and plant and spread abroad his towers. 
 His gardens, temples, palaces and tombs. 
 
 And yet not all thou seest, with tranced eye 
 Looking upon the beauty that shall be, 
 The temple-crowned heights, the walled towns. 
 Farms and cool summer seats, nor the broad ways ?6o 
 
 That bridge the rivers and subdue the mountains, 
 Nor all that travels on them, pomp or war 
 Or needful merchandise, nor all the sails 
 Piloting over the wind-dappled blue 
 Of the summer-soothed ^gean, to thy mind 
 Can picture what shall be : these are the face 
 And form of beauty, but her heart and life 
 Shall they be who shall see it, born to shield 
 A happier birthright with intrepid arms, 
 To tread down tyranny and fashion forth ??o 
 
 A virgin wisdom to subdue the world, 
 To build for passion an eternal song. 
 To shape her dreams in marble, and so sweet 
 
 ( 25 ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Their speech, that envious Time hearkening shall stay 
 In fear to snatch, and hide his rugged hand. 
 Now is the birthday of thy conquering youth, 
 
 man, and lo ! thy priest and prophet stand 
 Beside the altar and have blessed the day. 
 
 In. Ay, blessed be this day. Where is thy fire ? 
 Or is aught else to do, ere I may take ? jSc 
 
 Pr. This was my message, speak and there is fire. 
 In. There shall be fire. Await me here awhile. 
 
 1 go to acquaint my house, and bring them forth. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 Chorus. 
 
 Hearken, O Argos, hearken ! 
 There will be fire. 
 And thou, O Earth, give ear ! 
 There will be fire. 
 
 Sem. {maidens). Who shall be sent to fetch this fire for 
 the king ? 
 
 Sem. {youths). Shall we put forth in boats to reap. 
 And shall the waves for harvest yield ygo 
 
 The rootless flames that nimbly leap 
 Upon their ever-shifting field ? 
 
 Sem. {maidens). Or we in olive-groves go shake 
 And beat the fruiting sprays, till all 
 The silv'ry glitter which they make 
 Beneath into our baskets fall i* 
 
 Sem. (youths). To bind in sheaves and bear away 
 The white unshafted da,rts of day ? 
 
 Sem. {maidens). And from the shadow one by one 
 Pick up the playful oes of sun ? 800 
 
 Sem. {youths). Or wouldst thou mine a passage deep 
 Until the darksome fire is found, 
 AVhich prisoned long in seething sleep 
 Vexes the caverns underground ? 
 
 Sem. {maidens). Or bid us join our palms perchance, 
 ( 26 ) 
 
The Fir ego er 
 
 To cup the slant and chinked beam, 
 ■Which mounting morn hath sent to dance 
 Across our chamber while we dream ? 
 
 Sem. ijouths). Say whence and how shall we fetch this 
 fire for the king ? 
 Our hope is impatient of vain debating. 810 
 
 Sem. {maidens). My heart is stirred at the name of the 
 wondrous thing, 
 And trembles awaitipg. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 A coy inquisitive spirit, the spirit of wonder. 
 
 Possesses the child in his cradle, when mortal things 
 
 Are new, yet a varied surface and nothing under. 
 
 It busies the mind on trifles and toys and brings 
 
 Her grasp from nearer to further, from smaller to greater. 
 
 And slowly teaches flight to her fledgeling wings. 
 
 Where'er she flutters and falls surprises await her : 
 She soars, and beauty's miracles open in sight, 820 
 
 The flowers and trees and beasts of the earth ; and later 
 The skies of day, the moon and the stars of night ; 
 'Neath which she scarcely venturing goes demurely. 
 With mystery clad, in the awe of depth and height. 
 
 O happy for still unconscious, for ah ! how surely. 
 How soon and surely will disenchantment come, 
 ■\Vhen first to herself she boasts to walk securely. 
 And drives the master spirit away from his home ; 
 
 Seeing the marvellous things that make the morning 
 
 Are marvels of every-day, familiar, and some S30 
 
 Have lost with use, like earthly robes, their adorning. 
 
 As earthly joys the charm of a first delight. 
 
 And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning ; 
 
 Until— 
 
 O tarry not long, dear needed sprite ! 
 
 ( 27 ) 
 
Trometheus 
 
 Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest 
 To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright : 
 To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest ; 
 Wherein — 
 
 from the smile of beauty afar forecasting 
 The pleasure of god, thou livest at pea:ce and yearnest 
 
 ^Vith wonder everlasting. 840 
 
 SECOND PART 
 
 Re-enter from the palace Inachus, with ArgeiA and lo. 
 
 INACHUS. 
 
 That but a small and easy thing now seems, 
 
 Which from my house when I came forth at noon 
 
 A dream was and beyond the reach of man. 
 
 Tis now a fancy of the will, a word. 
 
 Liberty's lightest prize. Yet still as one 
 
 Who loiters on the threshold of delight. 
 
 Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure, 
 
 [ dally — Come, Argeia, and share my triumph ! 
 
 And set our daughter by thee ; though her eyes 
 
 Are young, there are no eyes this day so young 850 
 
 ^s shall forget this day — while one thing more 
 
 [ ask of thee ; this evil, will it light 
 
 Dn me or on my house or on mankind ? 
 
 Pr. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus 
 \. second time failing will not again 
 Pleasure his spite against their better fate. 
 \.nd now the terror, which awhile o'er Earth 
 !ts black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend 
 Vnd gnaw the tyrant's heart : for there is whispered 
 V word gone forth to scare the mighty gods ; 860 
 
 iow one must soon be born, and born of men, 
 ( 28 ) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven, 
 
 And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind 
 
 In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall 
 
 This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king ; 
 
 Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece. 
 
 In. Then on my house 'twill be. Know'st thou no more ? 
 
 Pr. Know I no more ? Ay, if my purpose fail 
 'Tis not for lack of knowing : if I suffer, 
 'Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, 8^0 
 
 Or let brave resolution walk unarmed. 
 My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus, 
 The direful penalties his oath hath laid 
 On every good that I in heart and hand 
 Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats, 
 Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine. 
 Am bound the more. Nay^ nor his evil minions, 
 Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will. 
 
 ARGEIA. 
 
 Alas, alas, what heavy words are these, 
 
 That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, SSo 
 
 That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow 
 
 Sighs in his heart ? I came to share a triumph ; 
 
 All is dismay and terror. What is this? 
 
 In. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee 
 The winter-withering hope of my whole life 
 Has flower'd to-day in amaranth : what the hope 
 Thou knowest, who hast shared ; but the condition 
 I told thee not and thou hast heard : this prophet, 
 Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus 
 Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth S90 
 
 AVith us that take it. 
 
 Ar. O doleful change, I came 
 
 In pious purpose, nay, I heard within 
 The hymn to glorious Zeus : I rose and said. 
 The mighty god now bends, he thrusts aside 
 
 ( 29 ) 
 
'Prometheus 
 
 His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer 
 
 Of Inachus his servant ; let him hear. 
 
 O let him turn away now lest he hear. 
 
 Nay, frown not on me ; though a woman's voice 
 
 That counsels is but heard impatiently, 
 
 Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900 
 
 By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit, 
 
 By our long happiness and hope of more. 
 
 Hear me and let me speak. 
 
 In. Welt, wife, speak on. 
 
 Ar. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite ; 
 Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not ? 
 Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well. 
 He will not bound his kindness in a day. * 
 
 Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon 
 And fetch thy son Phor6neus, for his stake 
 In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910 
 
 'Twere well Phordneus and .^Egialeus 
 Were both here : maybe they would both refuse 
 The strange conditions which this stranger brings. 
 Were we not happy too before he came ? 
 Doth he not offer us unhappiness ? 
 Bid him depart, and at some other time, 
 ■\Vhen you have well considered, then return. 
 
 In. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear. 
 
 Ar. O hide them yet ! Are there not tales enough 
 Of what the wrathful gods have wrought on men ? 920 
 
 Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take. 
 Which vain Salmoneus, son of Mo\ns, 
 Made boast to have, and from his rattling car 
 Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him 
 The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent 
 One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky 
 Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen 
 In memory, and he was not, or for burial 
 Rode with the ashes of his royal city 
 
 ( 30) 
 
The Ftregiyer 
 
 Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. y3o 
 
 And after him his brother Athamas, 
 
 King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell 
 
 For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son ; 
 
 And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled 
 
 Into the sea, preferring there to woo 
 
 The choking waters, rather than that the arm 
 
 Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong. 
 
 For which old crimes the gods yet linappeased 
 
 Demand a sacrifice, and the king's son 
 
 Dreads the priest's knife, and all the city mourns. 940 
 
 Or shall I say what shameful fury it was 
 
 With which Poseidon smote Pasiphae, 
 
 But for neglect of a recorded vow : 
 
 Or how ActEeon fared of Artemis 
 
 When he surprised her, most himself surprised : 
 
 And even while he looked his boasted bow 
 
 Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran 
 
 A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense 
 
 Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear 
 
 Which bade him fly, and faster, as behind 950 
 
 He heard his hounds give tongue, that through the wood 
 
 Were following, closing, caught him and tore him down. 
 
 And many more thus perished in their prime ; 
 
 Lycaon and his fifty sons, whom Zeus 
 
 In their own house spied on, and unawares 
 
 Watching at hand, from his disguise arose. 
 
 And overset the table where they sat 
 
 Around their impious feast and slew them all : 
 
 Alcyone and Ceyx, queen and king. 
 
 Who for their arrogance were changed to birds : 960 
 
 And Cadmus now a serpent, once a king : 
 
 And saddest Niobe, whom not the love 
 
 Of Leto aught availed, when once her boast 
 
 Went out, though all her crime was too much pride 
 
 Of heaven's most precious gift, her children fair. 
 
 ( 31 ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons ; 
 
 But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve. 
 
 And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks 
 
 On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night 
 
 Who dance all day by Achelous' stream, 9;a 
 
 The once proud mother lies, herself a rock. 
 
 And in cold breast broods o'er the goddess' wrong. 
 
 In. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still. 
 Or if thou fear, fear passion ; for the freshes 
 Of tenderness and motherly love will drown 
 The eye of judgment : yet, since even excess 
 Of the soft quality fits woman well, 
 I praise thee ; nor would ask thee less to aid 
 With counsel, than in love to share my choice. 
 The' weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark 980 
 
 This balance, how the good of all outweighs 
 The good of one or two, though these be us. 
 Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice 
 AVhich in another thou wert first to praise. 
 
 Ar. Alas for me, for thee and for our children, 
 AVho, being our being, having all our having, 
 If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust. 
 
 In. O deem not a man's children are but those 
 Out of his loins engendered — our spirit's love 
 Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue 990 
 
 Cometh of ancestry rhore pure than blood, 
 And counts her seed as sand upon the shore. 
 Happy is he whose body's sons proclaim 
 Their father's honour, but more blest to whom 
 The world is dutiful, whose children spring 
 Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud 
 Rise to regenerate when they call him sire. 
 
 Ar. Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy 
 Nobleness cheaply being linked with thee. 
 Forgive my weakness ; see, I now am bold ; looa 
 
 Tell me the worst I'll hear and wish 'twere more. 
 
 ( 32 ) 
 
The Firegfs>er 
 
 In. Retire — thy tears perchance may stir again. 
 
 Ar. Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear. 
 
 Pr. Bid me not tell if ye have fear to hear ; 
 But have no fear. Knowledge of future things 
 Can nothing change man's spirit : and though he seem 
 To aim his passion darkly, like a shaft 
 Shot toward some fearful sound in thickest night, 
 He hath an owl's eye, and must blink at day. 
 The springs of memory, that feed alike loio 
 
 His thought and action, draw from furthest time 
 Their constant source, and hardly brook constraint 
 Of actual circumstance, far less attend 
 On glassed futurity ; nay, death itself. 
 His fate unquestioned, his foretasted pain, 
 The certainty foreknown of things unknown, 
 Cannot discourage his habitual being 
 In its appointed motions, to make waver 
 His eager hand, nor loosen the desire 
 Of the most feeble melancholy heart ro2o 
 
 Even from the unhopefullest of all her dreams. 
 
 In. Since then I long to know, now something say 
 Of what will come to mine when I am gone. 
 
 Pr. And let the maid too hear, for 'tis of her 
 I speak, to tell her whither she should turn 
 The day ye drive her forth from hearth and home. 
 
 In. What say'st thou? drive her out? and we? from 
 home ? 
 Banish the comfort of our eyes ? Nay rather 
 Believe that these obedient hands will tear 
 The heart out of my breast, ere it do this. 1030 
 
 Pr. When her wild cries arouse the house at night, 
 And, running to her bed, ye see her set 
 Upright in tranced sleep, her starting hair 
 With deathly sweat bedewed, in horror shaking, 
 Her eyeballs fixed upon the unbodied dark, 
 Through which a draping mist of luminous gloom 
 
 ( 33 ) c 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Drifts from her couch away, — when, if asleep, 
 
 She walks as if awake, and if awake 
 
 Dreams, and as one who nothing hears or sees. 
 
 Lives in a sick and frantic mood, whose cause 1040 
 
 She understands not or is loth to tell — 
 
 Ar. Ah, ah, my child, my child ! — Dost thou feel aught ? 
 Speak to me — nay, 'tis nothing — hearken not. 
 
 Pr. Ye then distraught with sorrow, neither knowing 
 Whether to save were best or lose, will seek 
 Apollo's oracle. 
 
 In. And what the answer ? 
 
 Will it discover nought to avert this sorrow ? 
 
 Pr. Or else thy whole race perish root and branch. 
 
 In. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Pr. Yet shall she live though lost ; from human form 
 Changed, that thou wilt not know thy daughter more. 105 1 
 
 In. Woe, woe ! my thought was praying for her death. 
 
 Pr. In Hera's temple shall her prison be 
 At high Mycenae, till from heaven be sent 
 Hermes, with song to soothe and sword to slay 
 The beast whose hundred eyes devour the door. 
 
 In. Enough, enough is told, unless indeed. 
 The beast once slain, thou canst restore our child. 
 
 Pr. Nay, with her freedom will her wanderings 
 Begin. Come hither, child — nay, let her come: lofio 
 
 What words remain to speak will not offend her, 
 And shall in memory quicken, when she looks 
 To learn where she should go ; — for go she must. 
 Stung by the venomous fly, whose angry flight 
 She still will hear about her, till she come 
 To lay her sevenfold-carried burden down 
 Upon the ^thiop shore where he shall reign. 
 
 In. But say — say first, what form — 
 
 Pr. ■ In snow-white hide 
 
 Of those that feel the goad and wear the yoke. 1069 
 
 In. Round-hoofed, or such as tread with cloven foot ? 
 
 ( 34) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 Pr. Wide-horned, large-eyed, broad-fronted, and the feet 
 Cloven which carry her to her far goal. 
 
 In. Will that of all these evils be the term ? 
 
 Pr. Ay, but the journey first which she must learn. 
 Hear now, my child ; the day when thou art free, 
 Leaving the lion-gate, descend and strike 
 The Tretan road to Nemea, skirting wide 
 The unhunted forest o'er the watered plain 
 To walled Cleonse, whence the traversed stream 
 To Corinth guides ; there enter not, but pass 1080 
 
 To narrow Isthmus, where Poseidon won 
 A country from Apollo, and through the town 
 Of Crommyon, till along the robber's road 
 Pacing, thy left eye meet the westering sun 
 O'er Geraneia, and thou reach the hill 
 Of Megara, where Car thy brother's babe 
 In time shall rule; next past Eleusis climb 
 Stony Panactum and the pine-clad slopes 
 Of Phyle ; shun the left-hand way, and keep 
 The rocks ; the second day thy feet shall tread 1090 
 
 The plains of Grasa, whence the roadway serves 
 Aulis and Mycalessus to the point 
 Of vext Euripus : fear not then the stream. 
 Nor scenting think to taste, but plunging in 
 Breast its salt current to the further shore. 
 For on this island mayst thou lose awhile 
 Thy maddening pest, and rest and pasture find. 
 And from the heafs of bold Macistus see 
 The country left and sought : but when thou feel 
 Thy torment urge, move down, recross the flood, iioo 
 
 And west by Harma's fenced gap arrive 
 At seven-gated Thebes : thy friendly goddess 
 Ongan Athene has her seat without. 
 
 Chor. Now if she may not stay thy toilsome destined 
 steps, 
 I pray that she may slay for thee the maddening fly. 
 
 ( 35 ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Pr. Keep not her sanctuary long, but seek 
 Bceotian Ascra, where the Muses' fount, 
 Famed Aganippfe, wells : Ocalea 
 Pass, and Tilphusa's northern steeps descend 
 By Alalcomenffi, the goddess' town. i"o 
 
 Guard now the lake's low shore, till thou have crossed ' 
 Hyrcana and Cephissus, the last streams 
 Which feed its reedy pools, when thou shalt come 
 Between two mountains that enclose the way 
 By peaked Abse to Hyampolis. 
 The right-hand path that thither parts the vale 
 Opes to Cyrtone and the Locrian lands ; 
 Toward Elateia thou, where o'er the marsh 
 A path with stones is laid ; and thence beyond 
 To Thronium, Tarphe, and Thermopylae, iiao 
 
 Where rocky Lamia views the Maliac gulf. 
 
 Chor. If further she should go, will she not see 
 That other Argos, the Dodonian land ? 
 
 Pr. Crossing the Phthian hills thou next shalt reach 
 Pharsalus, ahd Olympus' peakfed snows 
 Shall guide thee o'er the green Pelasgic plains 
 For many a day, but to Argissa come 
 Let old Peneius thy slow pilot be 
 Through Tempe, till they turn upon his left 
 Crowning the wooded slopes with splendours bare. 113c 
 
 Thence issuing forth on the Pierian shore 
 Northward of Ossa thou shalt touch the lands 
 Of Macedon. 
 
 Chor. Alas, we wish thee speed. 
 But bid thee here farewell ; for out of Greece 
 Thou goest 'mongst the folk whose chattering speech 
 Is like the voice of birds, nor home again 
 Wilt thou return. 
 
 Pr. Thy way along the coast 
 
 Lies till it southward turn, when thou shalt seek 
 Where wide on Strymon's plain the hindered flood 
 
 (36) 
 
The Firegbper 
 
 Spreads like a lake; thy course to his oppose i\j,o 
 
 And face him to the mountain whence he comes : 
 
 Which doubled, Thrace receives thee : barbarous names 
 
 Of mountain, town and river, and a people 
 
 Strange to thine eyes and ears, the Agathyrsi, 
 
 Of pictured skins, who owe no marriage law, 
 
 And o'er whose gay-spun garments sprent with gold 
 
 Their hanging hair is blue. Their torrent swim 
 
 That measures Europe in two parts, and go 
 
 Eastward along the sea, to mount the lands 
 
 Beyond man's dwelling, and the rising steeps 1150 
 
 That face the sun untrodden and unnamed. — 
 
 Know to earth's verge remote thou, then art come, 
 The Scythian tract and wilderness forlorn, 
 Through whose rude rocks and frosty silences 
 No path shall guide thee then, nor my words now. 
 There as thou toilest o'er the treacherous snows, 
 xA. sound then thou shall hear to stop thy breath, 
 And prick thy trembling ears; a far-off cry. 
 Whose throat seems the white mountain and its passion 
 The woe of earth. Flee not, nor turn not back : 1160 
 
 Let thine ears drink and guide thine eyes to see 
 That sight whose terrors shall assuage thy terror. 
 Whose pain shall kill thy pain. Stretched on the rock, 
 Naked to scorching sun, to pinching frost. 
 To wind and storm and beaks of winged fiends 
 P'rom year to year he lies. Refrain to ask 
 His name and crime — nay, haply when thou see him 
 Thou wilt remember — 'tis thy tyrant's foe, 
 Man's friend, who pays his chosen penalty. 
 Draw near, my child, for he will know thy need, 1170 
 
 And point from land to land thy further path. 
 
 Chorus. 
 O miserable man, hear now the worst. 
 O weak and tearful race, 
 
 ( 37 ) 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 Born to unhappiness, see now thy cause 
 Doomed and accurst ! 
 
 It surely were enough, the bad and good 
 Together mingled, against chance and ill 
 To strive, and prospering by turns, 
 Now these, now those, now folly and now skill. 
 Alike by means well understood ii8( 
 
 Or 'gainst all likelihood ; 
 Loveliness slaving to the unlovely will 
 That overrides the right and laughs at law. 
 
 But always all in awe 
 And imminent dread : 
 
 Because there is no mischief thought or said, 
 Imaginable or unguessed, 
 But it may come to be ; nor home of rest, 
 Nor hour secure : but anywhere, 
 
 At any moment ; in the air, 119c 
 
 Or on the earth or sea. 
 Or in the fair 
 
 And tender body itself it lurks, creeps in. 
 Or seizes suddenly, 
 
 Torturing, burning, withering, devouring. 
 Shaking, destroying ; till tormented life 
 Sides with the slayer, not to be. 
 And from the cruel strife 
 Falls to fate overpowering. 
 
 Or if somS patient heart, 1200 
 
 In toilsome steps of duty tread apart, 
 Thinking to win her peace within herself. 
 And thus awhile succeed : 
 She must see others bleed. 
 At others' misery moan. 
 And learn the common suffering is her own. 
 From which it is no freedom to be freed : 
 
 ( 38 ) 
 
The Firegi'^er 
 
 Nay, Nature, her best nurse, 
 
 Is tender but to breed a finer sense, 
 
 Which she may easier wound, with smart the worse 1210 
 
 And torture more intense. 
 
 And no strength for thee but the thought of duty, 
 Nor any solace but the love of beauty. 
 O Right's toil unrewarded ! 
 O Love's prize unaccorded ! 
 
 I say this might sufifice, 
 O tearful and unstable 
 And miserable man. 
 Were 't but from day to day 
 
 Thy miserable lot, 1220 
 
 This might suffice, I say, 
 To term thee miserable. 
 
 But thou of all thine ills too must take thought. 
 Must grow familiar till no curse astound thee, 
 With tears recall the past, 
 With tears the times forecast ; 
 With tears, with tears thou hast 
 The scapeless net spread in thy sight around thee. 
 
 How then support thy fate, 
 O miserable man, if this befall, 1330 
 
 That he who loves thee and would aid thee, daring 
 To raise an arm for thy deliverance. 
 Must for his courage suffer worse than all ? 
 
 In. Bravest deliverer, for thy prophecy 
 Has torn the veil which hid thee from my eyes, 
 If thyself art that spirit, of whom some things 
 ^Vere darkly spoken, — nor can I doubt thou art, 
 Being that the heaven its fire withholds not from thee 
 Nor time his secrets, — tell me now thy name, 
 That I may praise thee rightly ; and my late 1 340 
 
 ( 39 ) 
 
Trometheus 
 
 Unwitting words pardon thou, and these who still 
 In blinded wonder kneel not to thy love. 
 
 Pr. Speak not of love. See, I am moved with hate, 
 And fiercest anger, which will sometimes spur 
 The heart to extremity, till it forget 
 That there is any joy save furious war. 
 Nay, were there now another deed to do, 
 ■\Vhich more could hurt our enemy than this. 
 Which here I stand to venture, here would I leave thee 
 Conspiring at his altar, and fly off 1250 
 
 To plunge the branding terror in his soul. 
 But now the rising passion of my will 
 Already jars his reaching sense, already 
 From heaven he bids his minion Hermes forth 
 To bring his only rebel to his feet. 
 Therefore no more delay, the time is short. 
 
 In. I take, I take. 'Tis but for thee to give. 
 
 Pr. O heavenly fire, life's life, the eye of day, 
 Whose nimble waves upon the starry night 
 Of boundless ether love to play, 1260 
 
 Carrying commands to every gliding sprite 
 To feed all things with colour, from the ray 
 Of thy bright-glancing, white 
 And silver-spinning light : 
 Unweaving its thin tissue for the bow 
 Of Iris, separating countless hues 
 Of various splendour for the grateful flowers 
 To crown the hasting hours. 
 Changing their special garlands as they choose. 
 
 spirit of rage and might, 1270 
 
 Who canst unchain the links of winter stark, 
 And bid earth's stubborn metals flow like oil, 
 Her porphyrous heart-veins boil ; 
 Whose arrows pierce the cloudy shields of dark ; 
 Let now this flame, which did to life awaken 
 (40 ) 
 
The Firegher 
 
 Beyond the cold dew-gathering veils of morn, 
 
 And thence by me was taken, 
 
 And in this reed was borne, 
 
 A smothered theft and gift to man below. 
 
 Here with my breath revive, 1280 
 
 Restore thy lapsed realm, and be the sire 
 
 Of many an earthly fire. 
 
 O flame, flame bright and live, 
 Appear upon the altar as I blow. 
 
 Chor. 'Twas in the marish reed. 
 See to his mouth he sets its hollow flute 
 And breathes therein with heed, 
 As one who from a pipe with breathings mute 
 AVill nmsic's voice evoke. — ■ 
 
 See, the curl of a cloud. 1290 
 
 In. The smoke, the smoke ! 
 Semichorus. Thin clouds mounting higher. 
 In. 'Tis smoke, the smoke of fire. 
 Semichorus. Thick they come and thicker. 
 Quick arise and quicker. 
 Higher still and higher. 
 Their wreaths the wood enfold. 
 —I see a spot of gold. 
 They spring from a spot of gold. 
 Red gold, deep among 1300 
 
 The leaves : a golden tongue. 
 O behold, behold, 
 Dancing tongues of gold. 
 That leaping aloft flicker. 
 Higher still and higher. 
 
 In. 'Tis fire, the flame of fire ! 
 Semichorus. The blue smoke overhead 
 Is turned to angry red. 
 The fire, the fire, it stirs. 
 
 Hark, a crackling sound, 13'° 
 
 ( 41 ) C3 
 
T^rometheus 
 
 As when all around 
 
 Ripened pods of furze 
 
 Split in the parching sun 
 
 Their dry caps one by one, 
 
 And shed their seeds on the ground. 
 
 — Ah ! what clouds arise. 
 
 Away I O come away. 
 
 The wind-wafted smoke, 
 
 Blowing all astray. 
 
 Blinds and pricks my eyes. 
 
 Ah ! I choke, I choke. 
 
 — All the midst is rent : 
 
 See, the twigs are all 
 
 By the flaming spent 
 
 White and gold, and fall. 
 
 How they writhe, resist, 
 
 Blacken, flake, and twist, 
 
 Snap in gold and fall. 
 
 — See the stars that mount. 
 
 Momentary bright 
 
 Flitting specks of light 
 
 More than eye can count. 
 
 Insects of the air. 
 
 As in summer night 
 
 Show a fire in flying 
 
 Flickering here and there, 
 
 Waving past and dying. 
 
 — Look, a common cone 
 
 Of the mountain pine 
 
 Solid gold is grown ; 
 
 Till its scales outshine, 
 
 Standing each alone 
 
 In the spiral rows 
 
 Of their fair design, 
 
 .\11 the brightest shows 
 
 Of the sun's decline. 
 
 ( 42 ) 
 
 [Prometheus. 
 aflerwritingh ii 
 name on the al- 
 tar, goes out an- 
 obsei-ved.'] 
 
 I33C 
 
 J 34= 
 
The Firegher 
 
 135 
 
 ■ — Hark, there came a hiss, 
 Like a startled snake 
 Sliding through the brake. 
 Oh, and what is this ? 
 Smaller flames that flee 
 Sidelong from the tree, 
 Hark, they hiss, they hiss. 
 — How ;the gay flames flicker. 
 Spurting, dancing, leaping 
 Quicker yet and quicker. 
 Higher yet arid higher, 
 — Flaming, flaring, fuming, 
 Cracking, crackling, creeping, 
 
 Hissing and consuming ; 136 
 
 Mighty is the fire. 
 
 In. Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he. 
 The prophet, — nay, what say I, — the god, the giver? 
 Chor. He is not here — he is gone. 
 
 In. Search, search around 
 
 Search all, search well. 
 
 Chor. He is gone, — ^he is not here. 
 
 In. The palace gate lies open : go, Argeia, 
 Maybe he went within : go seek him there. 
 
 \E\h Ar 
 Look down the sea road, down the country road : 
 Follow him if ye see him. 
 
 Chor. He is not there. 
 
 In. Strain, strain your eyes ; look well : search everywhere 
 Look towriwards — is he there? 
 JPart of CaoRV?, rettirning. He is not there.^ 1371. 
 
 Other part returning. He is not there. 
 
 Argeia. re-entermg. 
 Ar. He'is not there. 
 
 Chor. O see ! 
 
 Chor. See where ? — 
 
 ( 43 ) 
 
Prometheus 
 
 Chor. See on the altar — see !' 
 
 Chor. What see yc on the altar? 
 
 Chor. Here in front 
 
 ^Vords newly writ. 
 
 Chor. What words ? 
 
 Chor. A name— 
 
 In. Ay true — 
 
 There is the name. How like a child was I, 
 That I must wait till these dumb letters gave 
 The shape and soul to knowledge : when the god 
 Stood here so self-revealed to ears and eyes 
 That, 'tis a god I said, yet wavering still, 1380 
 
 Doubting what god, — and now, who else but he ? 
 I knew him, yet not well ; I knew him not : 
 Prometheus — ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children, 
 This name we see was writ by him we seek. 
 'Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name, 
 Feared and revered among the immortal gods ; 
 Divine Prometheus : see how here the large 
 Cadmeian characters run, scoring out 
 The hated title of his ancient foe, — 
 
 To Zeus 'twas made, — and now 'tis to Prometheus — 1390 
 Writ with the charred reed — theft upon theft. 
 He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, arid with his fire 
 Hath lit our sacrifice unto himself. 
 16 Prometheus, friend and firegiver, 
 For good or ill thy thefts and gifts are ours. 
 We worshipped thee unknowing. 
 
 Chor. But now where is he ? 
 
 In. No need to search — we shall not see him more. 
 We look in vain. The high gods when they choose 
 Put on and off the solid visible shape 
 Which more deceives our hasty sense, than when 1400 
 
 Seeing them not we judge they stand aloof. 
 And he, he now is gone ; his work is done : 
 'Tis ours to see it be not done in vain. 
 
 (44) 
 
The Firegiyer 
 
 Chor. What is to do ? speak, bid, command, we fly. 
 
 In. Go some and fetch more wood to feed the fire ; 
 And some into the city to proclaim 
 That fire is ours : and send out messengers 
 To Corinth, Sicyon, Megara and Athens 
 And to Mycenae, telling we have fire : 
 And bid that in the temples they prepare i4T( 
 
 Their altars, and send hither careful men 
 To learn of me what things the time requires. 
 
 [Exit fart of Chorus 
 The rest remain to end our feast; and now 
 Seeing this altar is no more to Zeus, 
 But shall for ever be with smouldering heat 
 Fed for the god who first set fire thereon, 
 Change ye your hymns, which in the praise of Zeus 
 Ye came to sing, and change the prayer for fire 
 Which ye were wont to raise, to high thanksgiving. 
 Praising aloud the giver and his gift. i42( 
 
 . Fart of Chorus. Now our happy feast hath ending, 
 While the sun in heaven descending 
 Sees us gathered round a light 
 Born to cheer his vacant night. 
 Praising him to-day who came 
 Bearing far his heavenly flame : 
 Came to crown our king's desire 
 With his gift of golden fire. 
 
 Semichorus. My heart, my heart is freed. 
 Now can I sing. I loose a shaft from my bow, i43< 
 
 A song from my heart to heaven, and watch it speed. 
 It revels in the air, and straight to its goal doth go. 
 
 I have no fear . I praise distinguishing duly : 
 I praise the love that I love and I worship truly. 
 Goodness I praise, not might, 
 Nor more will I speak of wrong, 
 
 (45 ) 
 
'Prometheus 
 
 But of.lovingkindness and right ; 
 
 And the god of my love shall rejoice at the sound of my ?ong, 
 
 I praise him whom I have seen : 
 As a man he is beautiful, blending prime and youth, 1440 
 Of gentle and lovely mien, 
 With the step and the eyes of truth. 
 As a god, — O were I a god, but thus to be man ! 
 As a god, I set him above 
 
 The rest of the. gods ; for his gifts are pledges of love. 
 The words of his' mouth rare and precious. 
 His eyes' glance and the smile of his lips are love. 
 
 He is the one 
 Alone of all the gods. 
 
 Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son, 1450 
 
 Who hates the wrongs they have done. 
 He is the one I adore. 
 
 For if there be love in heaven with evil to cope, — 
 And he promised us more and more, — 
 For what may we not hope ? 
 
 ODE. 
 
 My soul is drunk with joy, her new desire 
 In far forbidden places wanders away. 
 Her hopes with free bright-coloured wings of fire 
 Upon the gloom of thought 
 
 Are sailing out. 1460 
 
 Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall, 
 Like butterflies, that flit 
 Across the mountains, or upon a wall 
 Winking their idle fans at pleasure sit. 
 
 O my vague desires ! 
 Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires : 
 That are my soul herself in pangs sublime 
 Rising and flying to heaven before her time : 
 (46 ) 
 
The Firegfi>er 
 
 AVhat doth tempt you forth 
 To melt in the south or shiver in the frosty north ? 1470 
 What seek ye or find ye in your random flying, 
 I'or ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying ? 
 
 Joy, the joy of flight ; 
 They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night. 
 Gone up, gone out of sight — and ever again 
 Follow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain. 
 
 Ah ! couW I control 
 These vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul : 
 Could I but quench the fire, ah I could I stay 
 My soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away ! i^So 
 
 [Enter other fart o/'ChoRUS. 
 I'arf o/Chov.. Here is wood to feed the fire — 
 Never let its flames expire. 
 Sing ye still while we advance 
 Round the fire in measured dance, 
 While the sun in heaven descending 
 Sees our happy feast have ending. 
 Weave ye still your joyous song. 
 While we bear the wood along. 
 
 Semichorus. But O return, 
 Return, thou flower of the gods I 1490 
 
 Remember the limbs that toil and the hearts that yearn. 
 Remember, and soon return ! 
 To prosper with peace and skill 
 Our hands in the works of pleasure, beauty and use. 
 Return, and be for us still 
 Our shield from the anger of Zeus. 
 
 And he, if he raise his arm in anger to smite thee. 
 And think for the good thou hast done with pain to requite 
 
 thee, 
 Vengeance I heard thee tell, 
 
 And the curse I take for my own, 1500 
 
 That his place is prepared in hell, 
 
 ( 47 ) 
 
Prometheus 
 
 And a greater than he shall hurl him down from his throne. 
 
 Down, down from his throne ! 
 For the god who shall rule mankind from the deathless 
 
 skies 
 By mercy and truth shall be known, 
 In love and peace shall arise. 
 For him, — if again I hear him thunder above, 
 
 then, if I crouch or start, 
 
 1 will press thy lovingkindness more to my heart. 
 Remember the words of thy mouth rare and precious, 1510 
 Thy heart of hearts and gifts of divine love. 
 
 (48) 
 
DEMETER 
 
 dAdMask 
 
 '■'■Dreams & the light imaginings of men " 
 
 Written for the ladies at 
 
 somerville college 
 
 & acted by them 
 
 at the inauguration of their new building 
 
 IN 1904 
 
 PI{Ef^IOUS EDITION 
 Oxford: at the Cla-fendon Pren, 1905; 
 
ARGUMENT OF THE PLAY 
 
 The scene is in the flcnvery valley below Enna. Hades 
 prologizes, and tells how he has come with consent of Zeus to 
 carry off Persephone to he his queen. The Chorus of Ocean 
 nymphs entering praise Sifily and the spring. Persephone 
 enters with Athena and Artemis to gather flonvers for the 
 festival of Zeus. Persephone being left alone is carried off ly 
 Hades. 
 
 In the second act, which is ten days later, the Cliorus deplore 
 the loss of Persephone. Demeter entering upbraids them in 
 a choric scene and describes her search for Perseplione until 
 she learnt her fate from. Helios. Afterwards she describes her 
 plan for compelling Zeus to restore her. Hermes brings from 
 Zeus a command to Demeter that she shall return to Olympus. 
 She sends defiance to Zeus, a7id the Chorus end the scene by 
 voiving to win Poseidon to aid Demeter. 
 
 In the third act, which is a year later, the Chorus, ivho 
 have been swnmoned by Demeter to witness the restoration of 
 Persephone, lament Demeter's anger. Demeter narrates the 
 Eleusinian episode of her wanderings, until Hermes enters 
 leading Persephone. After their greeting Demeter hears from 
 Hermes the terms of Persephone^ s restoratioti ; she is reconciled 
 ihe?-eto by Persephone, and invites her to Eleusis. The Chorus 
 sing and crown Persephone with flowers. 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONyE 
 
 HADES. I ARTEMIS. \ 
 
 DEMETER. ] HERMES. \ 
 PERSEPHONE. Chorus of 
 
 ATHENA. OCEANIDES. 
 
 (5°) 
 
DEMETER 
 
 HADS:S. 
 
 I AM the King of Hell, nor prone to vex 
 Eternal destiny with weak complaiiit ; 
 Nor when I took my kingdom did I mourn 
 My lot, from heav'n expell'd, deny'd to enjoy 
 Its radiant revelry and ambrosial feast, 
 Nor blamed our mighty Sisters,' that not one 
 Would share my empire in the shades of night. 
 
 But when a younger race of gods arose, 
 And Zeus set many sons on heav'nly seats, 
 And many daughters dower'd with new domain. 
 And year by year were multiply'd on earth 
 Their temples and their statu'd sanctities, 
 Mirrors of man's ideas that grow apace, 
 Yea, since man's mind was one with my desire 
 That Hell should have a queen, — for heav'n hath queens 
 Many, nor on all earth reigns any king 
 In unkind isolation like to me, — 
 I claimed from Zeus that of the fair immortals 
 One should be given to me to grace my throne. 
 
 Willing he was, and quick to praise my rule, : 
 
 And of mere justice there had granted me 
 Whome'er I chose : but ' Brother mine,' he said, 
 ' Great as my power aniong the gods, this thing 
 I cannot compass, that a child of mine, 
 Who once hath tasted of celestial life. 
 Should all forgo, and destitute of bliss 
 Descend into the shades, albeit to sit 
 An equal on thy throne. Take whom thou wilt ; 
 
 (51) 
 
Demeter 
 
 But by triumphant force persuade, as erst 
 
 I conquer'd heav'n.' Said I ' My heart is set : 30 
 
 I take Demeter's child Persephone ; 
 
 Dost thou consent? ' Whereto he gave his nod. 
 
 And I am come to-day with hidden powers, 
 
 Ev'n unto Enna's fair Sicilian field. 
 
 To rob her from the earth. 'Tis here she wanders 
 
 With all her train : nor is this flow'ry vale 
 
 Fairer among the fairest vales of earth, 
 
 Nor any flower within this flow'ry vale 
 
 Fair above other flowers, as she is fairest 
 
 Among immortal goddesses, the daughter 40 
 
 Of gentle-eyed Demeter ; and her passion 
 
 Is for the flowers, and every tenderness 
 
 That I have long'd for in my fierce abodes. 
 
 But she hath always ip attendant guard 
 
 The dancing nymphs of Ocean, and to-day 
 
 The wise Athena and chaste Artemis 
 
 Indulge her girlish fancy, gathering flowers 
 
 To deck the banner of my golden brother. 
 
 Whose thought they guess not, tho' their presence here 
 
 Affront his will and mine. If once alone 50 
 
 I spy her, I can snatch her swiftly down ; 
 
 And after shall find favour for my fault, 
 
 When I by gentle means have won her love. 
 
 I hear their music now. Hither they come ; 
 I'll to my ambush in the rocky cave. [Exit. 
 
 ( S^ ) 
 
Demeter 
 ACT I 
 
 Enter (inrm of Oceanides, ivith baskets. 
 
 OCEANIDES. 
 Gay and lovely is earth, man's decorate dwelling ; 
 AVith fresh beauty ever varying hour to hour. 
 As now bathed in azure joy she awakeneth 
 AVith bright morn to the sun's life-giving effluence, 
 Or sunk into solemn darkness aneath the stars 60 
 
 In mysterious awe slumbereth out the night, 
 Then from darkness again plunging again to day ; 
 Like dolphins in a swift herd that accompany 
 Poseidon's chariot when he rebukes the waves. 
 But no country to mfe 'neath the enarching air 
 Is fair as Sicily's flowery fruitful isle : 
 Always lovely, whether winter adorn the hills 
 AVith his silvery snow, or generous summer 
 Outpour her heavy gold on the river-valleys. 
 Her rare beauty giveth gaiety unto man, jo 
 
 A delite dear to immortals. 
 2 
 And one season of all chiefly deliteth us, 
 When fair Spring is afield. O happy is the Spring ! 
 Now birds early arouse their pretty minstreling ; 
 Now down its rocky hill murmureth ev'ry rill ; 
 Now all bursteth anew, wantoning in the dew 
 Their bells of bonny blue, their chalices honey'd. 
 Unkind frost is away ; now sunny is the day ; 
 Now man thinketh aright, Life it is all delite. 
 Now maids playfully dance o'er enamel'd meadows, So 
 
 And with goldy blossom deck forehead and bosom ; 
 AVhile old Pan rollicketh thro' the budding shadows, 
 Voicing his merry reed, laughing aloud to lead 
 The echoes madly rejoicing. 
 
 (S3) 
 
Demeter [i 
 
 3 
 We be Oceanids, Persephone's lovers, 
 Who all came hurrying joyfully from the sea 
 Ere daybreak to obey her beloved summons. 
 At her fancy to pluck these violets, lilies, 
 Windflow'rs and daffodils, all for a festival 
 Whereat shd will adorn Zeuses honour'd banner.- 90 
 
 And with Persephone there cometh Artemis 
 And grave Pallas . . . Hilloo ! already they approach ! 
 Haste, haste ! stoop to gather ! seem busy ev'ryone ! 
 Crowd all your wicker arcs with the meadow-lilies ; 
 Lest our disreverenc'd deity should rebuke 
 The divine children of Ocean. 
 
 \Emir Athena, Persephone, and Artemis. Persephone har 
 a basket half fill' d with gather'd floiversJj 
 
 ATHENA. 
 
 These then are Enna's flowery fields, and here 
 In midmost isle the garden of thy choice? 
 
 PERSEPHONE. 
 
 Is not all as I promist ? Feel ye not 
 
 Your earthborn ecstasy concenter'd here ? 100 
 
 Tell me, Athena, of thy wisdom, whence 
 
 Cometh this joy of earth, this penetrant 
 
 Palpitant exultation so unlike 
 
 The balanc't calm of high Olympian state ? 
 
 Is 't in the air, the tinted atmosphere 
 
 Whose gauzy veil, thrown on the hills, will paint 
 
 Their features, changing with the gradual day. 
 
 Rosy or azure, clouded now, and now 
 
 Again afire ? Or is it that the sun's 
 
 Electric beams — which shot in circling fans' up 
 
 Whirl all things with them— as they strike the earth 
 Excite her yearning heart, till stir'd beneath 
 
 (54 ) 
 
I] Demeter 
 
 The rocks and silent plains, she cannot hold 
 Her fond desires, but sends them bursting forth 
 In scents and colour'd blossoms of the spring ?-r- 
 Breathes it not in the flowers ? 
 
 Ath. Pair are the flowers. 
 
 Dear child ; and yet to me far lovelier 
 Than all their beauty is thy love for them. 
 Whate'er I love, I contemplate my love 
 More than the object, and am so rejoic'd. 120 
 
 For life is one, and like a level sea 
 Life's flood of joy. Thou wond'rest at the flowers. 
 But I would teach thee wonder of thy wonder ; 
 Would shew thee beauty in the desert-sand, 
 The worth of things unreckt of, and the truth 
 That thy desire and love may spring of evil 
 And ugliness, and that Earth's ecstasy 
 May dwell in darkness also, in sorrow and tears. 
 
 Per. I'd not believe it : why then should we pluck 
 The flowers and not the stalks without the flowers ? 130 
 
 Or do thy stones breathe scent? Would not men laugh 
 To see the banner of almighty Zeus 
 Adorn'd with ragged roots and straws? — Dear Artemis, 
 How lovest thou the flowers ? 
 
 ARTEMIS. . 
 
 I'll love them better 
 Ever for thy sake, Cora ; but for me 
 The joy of Earth is, in the breath of life 
 And animal motions : nor are flowery sweets 
 Dear as the scent of life. This petal'd cup, 
 AVhat is it by the wild fawn's liquid eye 
 Eloquent as love-music 'neath the moon ? . , . 140 
 Nay, not a flower in all thy garden here. 
 Nor wer't a thousand-thousand-fold enhanc't 
 In every charm, but thou wouldst turn from it. 
 To view the antler'd stag, that in the glade 
 
 ( 55 ) 
 
Demeter [i 
 
 ^Vith the coy gaze of his majestic fear 
 Faced thee a moment ere he turn'd to fly. 
 
 Per. But why, then, hunt and kill what thou so lovest ? 
 
 Ar. Dost thou not pluck thy flowers ? 
 
 Per. 'Tis not the same. 
 
 Thy victims fly for life ; they pant, they scream. 
 
 Ar. Were they not mortal, sweet, I coud not kill them. 
 They kill each other in their lust for life ; 151 
 
 Nay, cruelly persecute their blemisht kin : 
 And they that thus are exiled from the herd 
 Slink heart-brok'n to sepulchral solitudes, 
 Defenceless and dishonour'd ; there to fall 
 Prey to the hungry glutton of the cave, 
 Or stand in mute pain lingering, till they drop 
 In their last lair upon the ancestral bones. 
 
 Per. What is it that offends me ? 
 
 Ath. 'Tis Pity, child, 
 
 The mortal thought that clouds the brow of man 160 
 
 With dark reserve, or poisoning all delite 
 Drives him upon his knees in tearful prayer 
 To avert his momentary qualms : till Zeus 
 At his reiterated plaint grows wrath. 
 And burdens with fresh curse the curse of care. 
 And they that haunt with men are apt to take 
 Infection of his mind : thy mighty mother 
 Leans to his tenderness. 
 
 Per. How should man, dwelling 
 
 On earth that is so gay, himself be sad ? 
 Is not earth gay? Look on the sea, the sky, 170 
 
 The flowers ! 
 
 Ath. 'Tis sad to him because 'tis gay. — 
 
 For whether he consider how the flowers, 
 • — Thy miracles of beauty above praise, — 
 Are wither'd in the moment of their glory. 
 So that of all the mounting summer's wealth 
 The show is chang'd each day, and each day dies, 
 
 ( 56 ) 
 
I J Demeter 
 
 Of no more count in Nature's estimate 
 
 Than crowded bubbles of the fighting foam : 
 
 Or whether 'tis the sea, whose azure waves 
 
 Play'd in the same infinity of motion i8c 
 
 Ages ere he beheld it, and will play 
 
 For ages after him ;— alike 'tis sad 
 
 To read how beauty dies and he must die. 
 
 Per. Were I a man, I would not worship thee, 
 Thou cold essential wisdom. If, as thou say'st, 
 Thought makes men sorrowful, why help his thought 
 To quench enjoyment, who might else as I 
 Revel among bright things, and feast his sense 
 AVith beauty well-discern'd ? Nay, why came ye 
 To share my pastime ? Ye love not the flowers. 19c 
 
 Ath. Indeed I love thee, child ; and love thy flowers, — 
 Nor less for loving wisely. All emotions. 
 Whether of gods or men, all loves and passions. 
 Are of two kinds ; they are either inform'd by wisdom. 
 To reason obedient, — or they are unconducted, 
 Flames of the burning life. The brutes of earth 
 And Pan their master know these last ; the first 
 Are seen in me : betwixt the extremes there lie 
 Innumerable alloys and all of evil. 
 
 Per. Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well : 20c 
 I am a child, and ye would nurse me up 
 A pupil in your school. I know ye twain 
 Of all the immortals are at one in this ; 
 Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feud 
 With Aphrodite, and ye fear for me, 
 Lest she should draw me to her wanton way. 
 Fear not : my party is taken. Hark ! I'll tell 
 AVhat I have chosen, what mankind shall hold 
 Devote and consecrate to me on earth : 
 It is the flowers : but only among the flowers aic 
 
 Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue. 
 Having no other uses : I have found 
 
 ' ( 57 ) 
 
Demeter [I 
 
 Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not. — 
 
 She loves vines, olives, orchards, ' the rich leas 
 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,' 
 
 But for the idle flowers she hath little care ; 
 
 She will resign them willingly. And think not, 
 
 Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd. 
 
 Or rank a meaner goddess unto man. 
 
 His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom, 220 
 
 Pleasures above necessities, and thus 
 
 He ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guess 
 
 AVhere rich men only and superfluous kings 
 
 Around their palaces reform the land 
 
 To terraces and level lawns, whereon 
 
 Appointed slaves are told, to tend and feed 
 
 Lilies and roses and all rarest plants 
 
 Fetch'd from all lands ; that they — these lordly men — 
 
 'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odours 
 
 May pace in indolence : this is their bliss; 230 
 
 This first they do : and after, it may be. 
 
 Within their garden set their academe : — 
 
 But in the poorest villages, around 
 
 The meanest cottage, where no other solace 
 
 Comforts the eye, some simple gaiety 
 
 Of flowers in tended garden is seen ; some pinks. 
 
 Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path ; 
 
 Where oft at eve the grateful labourer 
 
 Sits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun : 
 
 And even the children, that half-naked go, 240 
 
 Have posies in their hands, and of themselves 
 
 Will choose a queen in whom to honour Spring, 
 
 Dancing before her garlanded with may. 
 
 The cowslip makes them truant, they forget 
 
 The hour of hunger and their homely feast 
 
 So they may cull the delicate primrose. 
 
 Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty j 
 
 AVith unconsider'd hecatombs assuring 
 
 ( S8 ) 
 
I] Demeter 
 
 Their dim sense of immortal mystery. — 
 
 Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave 35a 
 
 All men shall love me, shall adore my name. 
 
 And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers. 
 
 Ath. Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May Zeus 
 Give thee a better province than thy thought. 
 
 [A//«/f heard. 
 
 Ar. Listen ! the nymphs are dancing. Let us go ! 
 
 [ They move ojf. 
 Come, Cora ; wilt thou learn a hunting dance ? 
 I'll teach thee. 
 
 Per. Can I learn thy hunter-step 
 
 Without thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet ? 
 
 Ar. Give me thy hand. 
 
 Per. Stay ! stay ! I have left my flowers. 
 
 I follow. \_Exeunt Athena and Artemis. 
 
 \_Persephone feturning to right slowly. 
 They understand not — Now, praise be to Zeus, 26 1 
 
 That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know 
 Something that Pallas knows not. 
 
 \She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kpeels 
 to fluck^a flower : and then comes to sit on a banl\with the basket 
 in hand on her kpees, facing the audience.^ 
 
 Thou tiny flower ! 
 
 Art thou not wise ? 
 Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone. 
 Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion, 
 Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd 
 Till thou art seen ? — And how so wisely, thou. 
 Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270 
 
 While others are so strict ? This six-leaved tulip, 
 — He would not risk a seventh for all his worth, — 
 He thought to attain unique magnificence 
 By sheer simplicity — a pointed oval 
 Bare on a stalk erect : and yet, grown old 
 He will his young idea quite abandon, 
 
 (59) 
 
Demeter \J 
 
 In his dishevel'd fury wantoning 
 
 Beyond belief . . . Some are four-leaved : this poppy 
 
 Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief, 
 
 Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag — 280 
 
 I think he watch'd a summer-butterfly 
 
 Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case. 
 
 Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue 
 
 And sleek the velvet of his painted wings : — 
 
 And so doth he. — Between such different schemes, 
 
 Such widely varied loveliness, how choose ? 
 
 Yet loving dU, one should be most belov'd, 
 
 Most intimately mine ; to mortal men 
 
 My emblem : tho' I never find in one 
 
 The sum of all distinctions. — Rose were best : 290 
 
 But she is passion's darling, and unkind 
 
 To handle — set her by. — Choosing for odour. 
 
 The violet were mine — men call her modest. 
 
 Because she hides, and when in company 
 
 Lacks manner and the assertive style of worth : — 
 
 While this narcissus here scorns modesty, 
 
 AVill stand up what she is, tho'. something pri'm : 
 
 Her scent, a saturation of one tone. 
 
 Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy : — 
 
 Whereas this iris, — she outvieth man's 300 
 
 Excellent artistry ; elaboration 
 
 Confounded with simplicity, till none 
 
 Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find 
 
 A scented iris, I should be content : 
 
 Yet men would call me proud : Iris is Pride. — 
 
 To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet ; 
 
 Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee 
 
 Wearing thee in Olympus. — Help ! help ! Ay me ! 
 
 [^Periefhone rifes to her feet, and amidst a contriiiance of confused 
 darknest Hades is seen rushing from behind. He seizes her and 
 drags her backward. Her baskft is thrown uf and the floivers 
 scattered.^ 
 
 (60) 
 
^^] Demeter 
 
 ACT II 
 
 CHORUS. 
 1(a) 
 
 Bright day succeedeth unto day — 
 
 Night to pensive night — 310 
 
 With his towering ray 
 Of all-fathering light — 
 With the solemn trance 
 Of her starry dance. — 
 
 Nought is new or strange 
 In the eternal change. — 
 
 As the light clouds fly 
 O'er the tree-tops high, 
 So the days go by. — 
 
 Ripples that arrive 330 
 
 On the sunny shore, 
 Dying to their live 
 Music evermore. — 
 
 Like pearls on a thread, — 
 Like notes of a song, — 
 Like the measur'd tread 
 Of a dancing throng. — 
 
 0) 
 
 Oceanides are we, 
 
 Nereids of the foam, 
 
 But we left the sea 330' 
 
 On the earth to roam 
 
 With the fairest Queen 
 
 That the world hath seen. — 
 
 ( 61 ) 
 
Demeter [ii 
 
 Why amidst our play 
 Was she sped away ? — 
 
 Over hill and plain 
 
 We have sought in vain ; 
 
 She comes not again. — 
 
 Not the Naiads knew 
 
 On their dewy lawns :- 340 
 
 Not the laughing crew 
 
 Of the leaping Fauns. — 
 
 Now, since she is gont;, 
 All our dance is slow, 
 All our joy is done. 
 And our song is woe. — 
 
 II 
 
 Saw ye the mighty Mother, where she went 
 
 Searching the land ? 
 Nor night nor day resting from her lament, 
 
 With smoky torch in hand. 350 
 
 Her godhead in the passion of a sorrow spent 
 Which not her mind coud suffer, nor heart withstand ? — 
 
 2 
 Enlanguor'd like a fasting lioness, 
 
 That prowls around 
 Robb'd of her whelps, in fury comfortless 
 Until her lost be found : 
 Implacable and terrible in her wild distress ; 
 And thro' the affrighted country her roars resound. — 
 
 3 
 But lo ! what form is there ? Thine eyes awaken ! 
 
 See I see ! O say, 360 
 
 Is not that she, the furious, the forsaken ? 
 She cometh, lo ! this way ; 
 Her golden-rippling hair upon her shoulders shaken, 
 And all her visage troubled with deep dismay. 
 (62 ) 
 
nj Demetej'' 
 
 DEMETER (entering). 
 
 Here is the hateful spot, the hollow rock 
 Whence the fierce ravisher sprang forth — 
 
 {seeing the nymphs) AIi ! ye ! 
 I know you well : ye are the nymphs of Ocean. 
 Ye, graceful as your watery names 
 And idle as the mimic flames 
 
 That skip upon his briny floor, 3^0 
 
 When the hot sun smiteth thereo'er ; 
 Why did ye leave your native waves ? 
 Did false Poseidon, to my hurt 
 Leagued with my foe, bid you desert 
 Your opalescent pearly caves, 
 Your dances on the shelly strand ? 
 
 Ch. Poseidon gave us no command, 
 Lady ; it was thy child Persephone, 
 Whose beauty drew us from the sea. 
 
 Dem. Ill company ye lent, ill-fated guards ! 380 
 
 How was she stolen from your distracted eyes ? 
 
 Ch. There, where thou standest now, stood she com- 
 panion'd 
 By wise Athena and bright Artemis. 
 AVe in flower-gathering dance and idle song 
 AVere wander'd off apart ; we fear'd no wrong. 
 
 DeiM. Li heav'n I heard her cry : ye nothing heard ? 
 
 Ch. We heard no cry — How coudst thou hear in 
 heaven ?. 
 Ask us not 6f her : — we have nought to tell. — 
 
 Dem. I seek not knowledge of you, for I know. 
 
 Ch. Thou knowest? Ah, mighty Queen, deign then to tell 
 If thou hast found her. Tell u-s — tell us — tell ! 391 
 
 Dem. Oh, there are calls that love can hear, 
 That strike not on the outward ear. 
 None heard save I : but with a dart 
 Of lightning-pain it pierc'd my heart, 
 
 ( 63 ) 
 
Demeter [n 
 
 That call for aid, that cry of fear. 
 It echo'd from the mountain-steeps 
 Down to the dark of Ocean-deeps ; 
 O'er all the isle, from ev'ry hill 
 
 It pierc'd my heart and echoes still, 400 
 
 Ay me ! Ay me ! 
 
 Ch. Where is she, O mighty Queen ? — Tell us — O tell ! — 
 
 Dem. Swift unto earth, in frenzy led 
 By Cora's cry, from heav'n I sped. 
 Immortal terror froze my mind : 
 I fear'd, ev'n as I yearn'd to find 
 My child, my joy, fain from my care 
 Wrong'd or distresst, I knew not where, 
 
 Cora, my Cora ! 
 Nor thought I whither first to fly, 410 
 
 Answ'ring the appeal of that wild cry : 
 But still it drew me till I came 
 To Enna, calling still her name, 
 Cora, my Cora ! 
 
 Ch. If thou hast found her, tell us. Queen, O tell ! 
 
 Dem. Nine days I wander'd o'er the land. 
 From Enna to the eastern strand 
 I sought, and when the first night came 
 I lit my torch in Etna's flame. 
 
 But neither 'mid the chestnut woods 4ao 
 
 That rustle o'er his stony floods ; 
 Nor yet at daybreak on the meads 
 Where bountiful Symaethus leads 
 His chaunting boatmen to the main ; 
 Nor where the road on Hybla's plain 
 Is skirted by the spacious corn ; 
 Nor where embattled Syracuse 
 With lustrous temple fronts the morn ; 
 Nor yet by dolphin'd Arethuse ; 
 
 Nor when I crossed Anapus wide, 430 
 
 Where Cyane, his reedy bride, 
 
 (64) 
 
11] Demeter 
 
 Uprushing from her crystal well, 
 Doth not his cold embrace repel ; 
 Nor yet by western Eryx, where 
 Gay Aphrodite high in air 
 Beams gladness from her marble chair ; 
 Nor 'mong the mountains that enfold 
 Panormos in her shell of gold, 
 Found I my Cora : no reply 
 
 Came to my call, my helpless cry, 44 
 
 Cora, my Cora I 
 
 Ch. Hast thou not found her, then ? Tell us— O tell ! 
 
 Dem. AVhat wonder that I never found 
 Her whom I sought on mortal ground, 
 ^Vhen she — (now will ye understand?) — 
 Dwelt in the land that is no land, 
 The fruitless and unseason'd plain 
 ^Vhere all lost things are found again ; 
 Where man's distract imaginings 
 
 Head-downward hang on bat-like wings, 45 
 
 'Mid mummied hopes, sleep-walking cares, 
 Crest-fain illusions and despairs. 
 The tortur'd memories of crime, 
 The outcasts of forgotten time ? 
 
 Ch. Where is she. Queen? — where? — where? 
 
 Dem. Nor had I known 
 
 Had not himself high Helios seen and told me. 
 
 Ch. Alas ! Alas ! we cannot understand — 
 We pray, dear Queen, may great Zeus comfort thee. 
 
 Dem. Yea, pray to Zeus ; but pray ye for yourselves. 
 That he have pity on you, for there is need. 46< 
 
 Or let Zeus hear a strange, unwonted prayer 
 That in his peril he will aid himself; 
 For I have said, nor coud his Stygian oath 
 Add any sanction to a mother's word. 
 That, if he give not back my daughter to me. 
 Him will I slay, and lock his pining ghost 
 
 ( 65 ) D 
 
Demeter [ii 
 
 In sleepy prisons of unhallowing hell. 
 
 Ch. (aside). Alas ! alas ! she is distraught with grief. — 
 What comfort can we make? — How reason with her? — 465 
 {to D.) This coud not be, great Queen. How coud it be 
 That Zeus should be destroy'd, or thou destroy him ? 
 
 Dem. Yea, and you too : so make your prayer betimes. 
 
 Ch. We pray thee. Lady, sit thou on this bank 
 And we will bring thee food ; or if thou thirst, 
 Water. We know too in what cooling caves 
 The sly Fauns have bestow'd their skins of wine. 
 
 Dem. Ye simple creatures, I need not these things, 
 
 And stand above your pity. Think ye me 
 
 A woman of the earth derang'd with grief? 
 
 Nay, nay : but I have pity on your pity, 48c 
 
 And for your kindness I will ease the trouble 
 
 Wherewith it wounds your gentleness : attend ! 
 
 Ye see this jewel here, that from my neck 
 
 Hangs by this golden chain. _ 
 
 yrhey crowd near to see. 
 
 „„. . ., , Look, 'tis a picture, 
 
 I IS of Persephone. 
 
 Ch. How ?— Is that she ?— 
 
 A crown she weareth. — She was never wont 
 Thus . . . — nor her robe thus — and her countenance 
 Hath not the smile which drew us from the sea. 
 
 Dem. Daedalus cut it, in the year he made 
 The Zibian Aphrodite, and Hephaestus 4gc 
 
 O'erlookt and praised the work. I treasure it 
 Beyond all other jewels that I have, 
 And on this chain I guard it. Say now : think ye 
 It cannot fall loose until every link 
 Of all the chain be broken, or if one 
 Break, will it fall ? 
 
 Ch. Surely if one break, Lady, 
 
 The chain is broken and the jewel falls. 
 
 Dem. 'Tis so. Now hearken diligently. All life 
 Is as this chain, and Zeus is as the jewel. 
 (66) 
 
II J Demeter 
 
 The universal life dwells first in the Earth, 500 
 
 The stones and soil ; therefrom the plants and trees 
 
 Exhale their being ; and on them the brutes 
 
 Feeding elaborate their sentient life, 
 
 And from these twain mankind ; and in mankind 
 
 A spirit lastly is form'd of subtler sort 
 
 Whereon the high gods live, sustain'd thereby, 
 
 And feeding on it, as plants on the soil. 
 
 Or animals on plants. Now see ! I hold. 
 
 As well ye know, one whole link of this chain : 
 
 If I should kill the plants, must not man perish? 510 
 
 And if he perish, then the gods must die. 
 
 Ch. If this were so, thou wouldst destroy thyself. 
 
 Dem. And therefore Zeus will not believe my word. 
 
 Ch. Nor we believe thee. Lady : it cannot be 
 That thou shouldst seek to mend a private fortune 
 By universal ruin, and restore 
 Thy daughter by destruction of thyself. 
 
 Dem. Ye are not mothers, or ye would not wonder. 
 In me, who hold from great all-mother Rhea 
 Heritage of essential motherhood, 520 
 
 Ye would look rather for unbounded passion. 
 Coud I, the tenderness of Nature's heart, 
 Exist, were I unheedful to protect 
 From wrong and ill the being that I gave. 
 The unweeting passions that I fondly nurtured 
 To hopes of glory, the young confidence 
 In growing happiness ? Shall I throw by 
 As self-delusion the supreme ambition, 
 Which I encourag'd till parental fondness 
 Bore the prophetic blessing, on whose truth 530 
 
 My spirit throve ? Oh never ! nay, nay, nay ! 
 That were the one disaster, and if aid 
 I cannot, I can mightily avenge. 
 On irremediable wrong I shrink not 
 To pile immortal ruin, there to lie 
 
 ( 67 ) 
 
Demeter [ii 
 
 As trophies on a carven tomb : nor less 
 For that no memory of my deed survive, 
 Nor any eye to see, nor tongue to tell. 
 
 Ch. So vast injustice, Lady, were not good. 
 
 Dp:m. To you I seem unjust involving man. 540 
 
 Ch. Why should man suffer in thy feud with Zeus ? 
 
 Dem. Let Zeus relent. There is no other way. 
 I will destroy the seeds of plant and tree : 
 Vineyard and orchard, oliveyard and cornland 
 Shall all withhold their fruits, and in their stead 
 Shall flourish the gay blooms that Cora loved. 
 There shall be dearth, and yet so gay the dearth 
 That all the land shall look in holiday 
 AVith mockery of foison ; every field 
 
 With splendour aflame. .For wheat the useless poppy 550 
 In sheeted scarlet ; and for barley and oats 
 The blue and yellow weeds that mock men's toil, 
 Centaury and marigold in chequer'd plots : 
 Where seed is sown, or none, shall dandelions 
 And wretched ragwort vie, orchis and iris 
 And garish daisy, and for every flower 
 That in this vale she pluckt, shall spring a thousand. 
 ^Vhere'er she stept anemones shall crowd, 
 And the sweet violet. These things shall ye see. 
 — But I behold him whom I came to meet, 560 
 
 Hermes : — he, be he laden howsoe'er, 
 Will heavier-laden to his lord return. 
 
 HERMES {entering). 
 
 Mighty Demeter, Mother of the seasons, 
 Bountiful all-sustainer, fairest daughter 
 Of arch-ancestral Rhea, — to thee Zeus sendeth 
 Kindly message. He grieves seeing thy godhead 
 Offended wrongly at eternal justice, 
 'Gainst destiny ordain'd idly revolting. 
 ( 68 ) 
 
Ij^] Demeter 
 
 Ever will he, thy brother, honour thee 
 
 And willingly aid thee; but since now thy daughter s7a 
 
 Is raised to a place on the tripartite throne, 
 
 He finds thee honour'd duly and not injur'd. 
 
 Wherefore he bids thee now lament no more. 
 
 But with thy presence grace the courts of heav'n. 
 
 DE^r. Bright Hermes, Argus-slayer, born of Maia, 
 ■\Vho bearest empty words, the mask of war. 
 To Zeus make thine own words, that thou hast found me 
 Offended, — that I still lament my daughter. 
 Nor heed his summons -to the courts of heav'n. 
 
 Her. Giv'st thou me nought but these relentless words ? 
 
 DeiM. I send not words, nor dost thou carry deeds. 581 
 But know, since heav'n denies my claim, I take 
 Earth for my battle-field. Curse and defiance 
 Shall shake his throne, and, readier then for justice, 
 Zeus will enquire my terms ; thou, on that day. 
 Remember them ; that he shall bid thee lead 
 Persephone from Hades by the hand. 
 And on this spot, whence she was stol'n, restore her 
 Into mine arms. Execute that ; and praise 
 Shall rise from earth and peace return to heav'n. 59'= 
 
 Her. How dare I carry unto Zeus thy threats ? 
 
 Dem. Approach him with a gift : this little wallet. 
 
 [Giving a. little hag of seeds 
 
 I will not see thee again until the day 
 
 Thou lead my daughter hither thro' the gates of Hell. [Going 
 
 Her. Ah! mighty Queen, the lightness of thy gift 
 Is greater burden than thy weighty words. 
 
 [Exeunt severally r. and I 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 (i) Sisters ! what have we heard ! 
 
 Our fair Persephone, the flower of the earth. 
 By Hades stolen away, his queen to be. 
 
 (others) Alas !— alas ! — ay me ! 6o< 
 
 ( 69 ) 
 
Demeter [ii 
 
 (2) And great Demeter's bold relentless word 
 To Hermes given, 
 Threatening mankind with dearth. 
 (others) Ay me ! alas ! alas ! — • 
 (3 or i) She in her sorrow strong 
 
 Fears not to impeach the King of Heaven, 
 And combat wrong with wrong. — 
 {others confusedly) What can we do ? — Alas ! — 
 Back to our ocean-haunts return 
 To weep and mourn. — 610 
 
 What use to mourn ? — 
 Nay, nay ! — Away with sorrow : 
 Let us forget to-day 
 And look for joy to-morrow : — 
 [(i) Nay, nay ! hearken to me !] 
 
 Nay, how forget that on us too, — 
 Yea, on us all 
 The curse will fall. — 
 [(i) Hearken ! I say !] 
 
 What can we do ? Alas ! alas ! 620 
 
 (i) Hearken ! There's nought so light, 
 Nothing of weight so small. 
 But that in even balance 'twill avail 
 Wholly to turn the scale. 
 Let us our feeble force unite, 
 And giving voice to tears. 
 Assail Poseidon's ears ; 
 Rob pleasure from his days, 
 Darken with sorrow all his ways. 
 Until his shifty mind ri-o 
 
 Become to pity inclined. 
 And 'gainst his brother turn. 
 (others) 'Tis well, thou sayest well. 
 (2) Yea ; for if Zeus should learn 
 
 That earth and sea were both combined 
 Against his cruel intent, 
 
 ( 70) 
 
i^J JDemeter 
 
 Sooner will he relent. 
 {others) 'Tis well— we do it — 'tis well.— 
 (i) Come let us vow. Vow all with one accord 
 
 To harden every heart 640 
 
 Till we have won Poseidon to our part. 
 (all) We vow — we do it — we vow. 
 (i) Till we have conquer'd heav'n's almighty lord 
 
 And seen Persephone restored. 
 {alt) We vow — we vow. 
 (i) Come then all; and, as ye go, 
 
 Begin the song of woe. 
 
 Song. 
 Close up, bright flow'rs, and hang the head, 
 
 Ye beauties of the plain. 
 The Queen of Spring is with the dead, 650 
 
 Ye deck the earth in vain. 
 From your deserted vale we fly. 
 
 And where the salt waves mourn 
 Our song shall swell their burd'ning sigh 
 
 Until sweet joy return. 
 
 ACT in 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Song. 
 
 Lo where the virgin veiled in airy beams, 
 All-holy Morn, in splendor awakening, 
 Heav'n's gate hath unbarred, the golden 
 Aerial lattices set open. 
 
 With music endeth night's prisoning terror, 6(10 
 
 With flow'ry incense : Haste to salute the sun, 
 That for the day's chase, like a huntsman. 
 With flashing arms cometh o'er the mountain. 
 
 ( 7t ) 
 
Demeter [m 
 
 Inter se. That were a song for Arteihis — I have heard 
 
 Men thus salute the rising sun in spring — 
 
 — See, we have wreaths enough and garlands plenty 
 
 To hide our lov'd Persephone from sight 
 
 If she should come. — But think you she will come ? — 
 
 If one might trust the heavens, it is a morn 
 
 Promising happiness — 'Tis like the day 670 
 
 That brought us all our grief a year ago. — 
 
 ODE. 
 
 O that the earth, or only this fair isle wer' ours 
 
 Amid the ocean's blue billows, 
 AVith flow'ry woodland, stately mountain and valley. 
 
 Cascading and lilied river ; 
 Nor ever a mortal envious, laborious. 
 
 By anguish or dull care opprest. 
 Should come polluting with remorseful countenance 
 
 Our haunt of easy gaiety. 
 For us the grassy slopes, the country's airiness, 680 
 
 The lofty whispering forest, 
 ^Vhere rapturously Philomel invoketh the night 
 
 And million eager throats the morn ; 
 AVith doves at evening softly cooing, and mellow 
 
 Cadences of the dewy thrush. 
 We love the gentle deer, the nimble antelope ; 
 
 Mice love we and springing squirrels ; 
 To watch the gaudy flies visit the blooms, to hear 
 
 On ev'ry mead the grasshopper. 
 All thro' the spring-tide, thro' the indolent summer, C90 
 
 (If only this fair isle wer' ours) 
 Here might we dwell, forgetful of the weedy caves 
 
 Beneath the ocean's blue billows. 
 
 Enter Demeter. 
 
 Ch. Hail, mighty Mother ! — Welcome, great Demeter ! — 
 (i) This day bring joy to thee, and peace to man ! 
 
 ( r- ) 
 
m] Demeter 
 
 Dem. I welcome you, my loving true allies, 
 And thank you, who for me your gentle tempers 
 Have stiffen'd in rebellion, and so long 
 Harass'd the foe. Here on this field of flowers 
 I have bid you share my victory or defeat. foo 
 
 For Hermes hath this day command from Zeus 
 To lead our lost Persephone from Hell, 
 Hither whence she was stolen. — And yet, alas ! 
 Tho' Zeus is won, some secret power thwarts me ; 
 All is not won : a cloud is o'er my spirit. 
 ^Vherefo^e not yet I boast, nor will rejoice 
 Till mine eyes see her, and my arms enfold her, 
 And breast to breast we meet in fond embrace. 
 
 Ch. ^\'ell hast thou fought, great goddess, so to wrest 
 Zeus from his word. We thank thee, call'd to share 710 
 Thy triumph, and rejoice. Yet O, we pray. 
 Make thou this day a day of peace for man ! 
 Even if Persephone be not restored, 
 Whether Aidoneus hold her or release, 
 Relent thou. — Stay thine anger, mighty goddess ; 
 Nor with thy hateful famine slay mankind. 
 
 Dem. Say not that word ' relent ' lest Hades hear ! 
 
 Ch. Consider rather if mankind should hear. 
 
 Dem. Do ye love man ? 
 
 Ch. We have seen his sorrows, Lady . . . 
 
 Dem. And what can ye have seen that I know not ? — 
 His sorrow? — Ah my sorrow ! — and ye bid 731 
 
 Me to relent ; whose deeds of fond compassion 
 Have in this year of agony built up 
 A story for all time that shall go wand'ring 
 Further than I have wander'd ;— whereto all ears 
 Shall hearken ever^ as ye will hearken now. 
 
 Ch. Happy are we, who first shall hear the tale 
 From thine own lips, and tell it to the sea. 
 
 Dem. Attend then while I tell. — 
 — Parting from Hermes hence, anger'd at heart, 730 
 
 ( 73 ) i^ 3 
 
Demeter [m 
 
 Self-exiled from the heav'ns, forgone, alone, 
 
 My anguish fasten'd on me, as I went 
 
 AVandering an alien in the haunts of men. 
 
 To screen my woe I put my godhead off, 
 
 Taking the likeness of a worthy dame, 
 
 A woman of the people well in years ; 
 
 Till going unobserv'd, it irked me soon 
 
 To be unoccupy'd save by my grief; 
 
 While men might find distraction for their sorrows 
 
 In useful toil. Then, of my pity rather 74° 
 
 Than hope to find their simple cure my own, 
 
 I took resolve to share and serve their needs^ 
 
 And be as one of them. 
 
 Ch. Ah, mighty goddess, 
 
 Coudst thou so put thy dignities away, 
 And suffer the familiar brunt of men ? 
 
 Dem. In all things even as they. — And sitting down 
 One evening at Eleusis, by the well 
 Under an olive-tree, likening myself 
 Outwardly to some kindly-hearted matron. 
 Whose wisdom and experience are of worth "50 
 
 Either where childhood clamorously speaks 
 The engrossing charge of Aphrodite's gifts. 
 Or merry maidens in wide-echoing halls 
 Want sober governance ; — to me, as there 
 I sat, the daughters of King Keleos came. 
 Tall noble damsels, as kings' daughters are. 
 And, marking me a stranger, they drew from me 
 A tale told so engagingly, that they 
 Grew fain to find employment for my skill ; 
 ■ — As men devise in mutual recompense, 760 
 
 Hoping the main advantage for themselves ; — 
 And so they bad me follow, and I enter'd 
 The palace of King Keleos, and received 
 There on my knees the youngest of the house, 
 A babe, to nurse him as a mother would : 
 
 ( 74 ) 
 
i^y Demeter 
 
 And in that menial service I was proud 
 To outrun duty and trust : and there I liv'd 
 Disguised among the maidens many months. 
 
 Ch. Often as have our guesses aim'd, dear Lady, 
 AVhere thou didst hide thyself, oft as we wonder'd j-j'o 
 
 AVhat chosen work was thine, none ever thought 
 That thou didst deign to tend a mortal babe. 
 
 Dem. What life I led shall be for men to tell. 
 But for this babe, the nursling of my sorrow, 
 AVhose peevish cry was my consoling care, 
 How much I came to love him ye shall hear. 
 
 Ch. What was he named, Lady ? 
 
 Dem. Demophoon. 
 
 Yea, ye shall hear how much I came to love him. 
 I'"or in his small epitome I read 
 
 The trouble of mankind ; in him I saw ;8o 
 
 The hero's helplessness, the countless perils 
 In ambush of life's promise, the desire 
 Blind and instinctive, and the will perverse. 
 His petty needs were man's necessities ; 
 In him I nurst all mortal natur', embrac'd 
 With whole affection to my breast, and luU'd 
 Availing humanity upon my knee. 
 
 Ch. We see thou wilt not now destroy mankind. 
 
 Dem. What I coud do to save man was my thought. 
 And, since my love was center'd in the boy, 790 
 
 My thought was first for him, to rescue him ; 
 That, thro' my providence, he ne'er should know 
 Suffering, nor disease, nor fear of death. 
 Therefore I fed him on immortal food. 
 And should have gain'd my wish, so well he throve, 
 But by ill-chance it hapt, once, as I held him 
 Bathed in the fire at midnight (as was my wont),— 
 His mother stole upon us, and ascare 
 At the strange sight, screaming in loud dismay 
 Compel'd me to unmask, and leave for ever Sect 
 
 ( 75 ) 
 
Demeter [m 
 
 The halls of Keleos, and my work undone. 
 
 Ch. 'Twas pity that she came ! — Didst thou not grieve to 
 lose 
 The small Demophoon ?— Coudst thou not save him ? 
 
 Dh;m. I had been blinded. Think ye for yourselves , . . 
 What vantage were it to mankind at large 
 That one should be immortal, — if all beside 
 Must die and suffer misery as before ? 
 
 Ch. Nay, truly. And great envy borne to one 
 So favour'd might have more embitter'd all. 
 
 Dem. I had been foolish. My sojourn with men Sio 
 Had warpt my mind with mortal tenderness. 
 So, questioning myself what real gift 
 I might bestow on man to help his state, 
 I saw that sorrow was his life-companion. 
 To be embrac't bravely, not weakly shun'd ; 
 That as by toil man winneth happiness, 
 Thro' tribulation he must come to peace. 
 How to make sorrow his friend then, — this my task. 
 Here was a mystery . . . and how persuade 
 This thorny truth? ... Ye do not hearken me. 820 
 
 Ch. Yea, honour'd goddess, yea, we hearken still : 
 Stint not thy tale. 
 
 Dem. Ye might not understand. 
 
 My tale to you must be a tale of deeds — 
 How first I bade King Keleos build for me 
 A temple in Eleusis, and ordain'd 
 My worship, and the mysteries of my thought ; 
 AVhere in the sorrow that I underwent 
 Man's state is pattern'd ; and in picture shewn 
 The way of his salvation. . . . Now with me 
 — Here is a matter grateful to your ears — 830 
 
 Your lov'd Persephone hath equal honour, 
 And in the spring her festival of flowers : 
 And if she should return . . . [Listening. 
 
 Ah ! hark ! what hear I ? 
 ( 76 ) 
 
Ill] Demeter 
 
 Ch. We hear no sound. 
 
 Df.m. Hush ye ! Hermes : he comes. 
 
 Ch. What hearest thou ? 
 
 Dem. Hermes ; and not alone. 
 
 She is there. 'Tis she : I have won. 
 
 Ch. Where ? where ? 
 
 Dem. (aside). Ah ! can it be that out of sorrow's night, 
 From tears, from yearning pain, from long despair, 
 Into joy's sunlight I shall come again ? — 
 Aside ! stand ye aside ! 840 
 
 Enter Tiermes leading Persephone. 
 
 Her. Mighty Demeter, lo ! I execute 
 The will of Zeus and here restore thy daughter. 
 Dem. I have won. 
 
 Per. Sweet Mother, thy embrace is as the welcome 
 Of all the earth, thy kiss the breath of life. 
 
 Dem. Ah ! but to me, Cora ! Thy voice again . . . 
 My tongue is trammel'd with excess of joy. 
 Per. Arise, my nymphs, my Oceanides ! 
 My Nereids all, arise ! and welcome me ! 
 Put off your strange solemnity ! arise ! 850 
 
 Ch. Welcome ! all welcome, fair Persephone ! 
 (r) AVe came to welcome thee, but fell abash'd 
 Seeing thy purple robe and crystal crown. 
 Per. Arise and serve my pleasure as of yore. 
 Dem. And thou too doff thy strange solemnity, 
 That all may see thee as thou art, my Cora, 
 Restor'd and ever mine. Put off thy crown ! 
 
 Per. Awhile ! dear Mother — what thou say'st is true ; 
 I am restor'd to thee, and evermore 
 
 Shall be restor'd. Yet am I none the less 860 
 
 Evermore Queen of Hades ; and 'tis meet 
 I wear the crown, the symbol of my reign. 
 
 Dem. What words are these, my Cora ! Evermore 
 Restor'd to me thou say'st . . . 'tis well — but then 
 
 ( 77 ) 
 
Demeter [iii 
 
 Evermore Queen of Hades . . . what is this ? 
 I liad a dark foreboding till I saw thee ; 
 Alas, alas I it lives again ; destroy it ! 
 Solve me this riddle quickly, if thou mayest. 
 
 Per. Let Hermes speak, nor fear thou. All is well. 
 
 Her. Divine Demeter, thou hast won thy will, 870 
 
 And the command of Zeus have I obey'd. 
 Thy daughter is restor'd, and evermore 
 Shall be restor'd to thee as on this day. 
 But Hades holding to his bride, the Fate.s 
 Were kind also to him, that she should be 
 His queen in Hades as thy child on earth. 
 Yearly, as spring-tide cometh, she is thine 
 While flowers bloom and all the land is gay ; 
 But when thy corn is gather'd, and the fields 
 Are bare, and earth withdraws her budding life 880 
 
 From the sharp bite of winter's angry fang, 
 Yearly will she return and hold her throne 
 With great Aidoneus and the living dead : 
 And she hath eaten with him of such fruit 
 As holds her his true bride for evermore. 
 
 Dem. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 Per. Rejoice, dear jMother. Let not vain lament 
 Trouble our joy this day, nor idle tears. 
 
 Dem. Alas ! from my own deed my trouble comes : 
 He gave thee of the fruit which I had curs'd : 8go 
 
 I made the poison that enchanted thee. 
 
 Per. Repent not in thy triumph, but rejoice, 
 ■\Vho hast thy will in all, as I have mine. 
 
 Dem. I have but half my will, how hast thou more ? 
 
 Per. It was my childish fancy (thou rememb'rest), 
 I would be goddess of the flowers : I thought 
 That men should innocently honour mu 
 With bloodless sacrifice and spring-tide joy. 
 Now Fate, that look'd contrary, hath fulfill'd 
 My project with mysterious efficacy : j,oo 
 
 ( 78 ) 
 
i^i] Demeter 
 
 And as a plant that yearly dieth down 
 
 AVhen summer is o'er, and hideth in the earth, 
 
 Nor showeth promise in its wither'd leaves 
 
 That it shall reawaken and put forth 
 
 Its blossoms any more to deck the spring ; 
 
 So I, the mutual symbol of my choice, 
 
 Shall die with winter, and with spring revive. 
 
 How without winter coud I have my spring? 
 
 How come to resurrection without death ? 
 
 Lo thus our joyful meeting of to-day, gic 
 
 Born of our separation, shall renew 
 
 Its annual ecstasy, by grief refresht : 
 
 And no more pall than doth the joy of spring 
 
 Yearly returning to the hearts of men. 
 
 See then the accomplishment of all my hope : 
 
 Rejoice, and think not to put off my crown. 
 
 Dem. What hast thou seen below to reconcile thee 
 To the dark moiety of thy strange fate ? 
 
 Per. Where have I been, mother? what have I seen? 
 The downward pathway to the gates of death : 920 
 
 The skeleton of earthly being, stript 
 Of all disguise : the sudden void of night : 
 The spectral records of unwholesome fear : — 
 Why was it given to me to see these things ? 
 The ruin'd godheads, disesteem'd, condenin'd 
 To toil of deathless mockery : conquerors 
 In the reverse of glory, doom'd to rule 
 The multitudinous army of their crimes : 
 The naked retribution of all wrong : — 
 Why was it given to me to see such things ? 930 
 
 Dem. Not without terror, as I think, thou speakest. 
 Nor as one reconcil'd to brook return. 
 
 Per. But since I have seen these things, with salt and fire 
 My spirit is purged, and by this crystal crown 
 Terror is tamed within me. If my words 
 Seem'd to be tinged with terror, 'twas because 
 
 ( 79) 
 
Demeter [nr 
 
 I knew one hour of terror (on the day 
 
 That took me hence) and with that memory 
 
 Colour'd my speech, using the terms which paint 
 
 The blindfold fears of men, who little reckon 94c 
 
 How they by holy innocence and love. 
 
 By reverence and geptle lives may win 
 
 A title to the fair Elysian fields, 
 
 Where the good spirits dwell in ease and light 
 
 And entertainment of those fair desires 
 
 That made earth beautiful . . . brave souls that spent 
 
 Their lives for liberty and truth, grave seers 
 
 Whose vision conquer'd darkness, pious poets 
 
 Whose words have won Apollo's deathless praise, 
 
 AVho all escape Hell's mysteries, nor come nigh 950 
 
 The Cave of Cacophysia. 
 
 Dem. Mysteries ! 
 
 What mysteries are these ? and what the Cave ? 
 
 Pkr. The mysteries of evil, and the cave 
 Of blackness that obscures them. Even inhell 
 The worst is hidden, and unfructuous night 
 Stifles her essence in her truthless heart. 
 
 Dem. What is the arch-falsity ? I seek to know 
 The mystery of evil. Hast thou seen it ? 
 
 Per. I have seen it. Coud I truly rule my kingdom 
 Not having seen it ? 
 
 Dem. Tell me what it is. 96a 
 
 Per, 'Tis not that I forget it ; tho' the thought 
 Is banisht from me. But 'tis like a dream 
 Whose sense is an impression lacking words. 
 
 Dem. If it would pain thee telling . . . 
 
 PER- Nay, but surely 
 
 The words of gods and men are names of things 
 And thoughts accustom'd : but of things unknown 
 And unimagin'd are no words at all. 
 
 Dem. And yet will words sometimes outrun the thought. 
 
 Per. What can be spoken is nothing : 'twere a path 
 (80 ) 
 
mi Demeter 
 
 That leading t'ward some prospect ne'er arrived. 970 
 
 Dem. Tlie more thou holdest back, the more I long. 
 
 Per. The outward aspect only mocks my words. 
 
 Dem. Yet what is outward easy is to tell. 
 
 Per. Something is possible. This cavern lies 
 In very midmost of deep-hollow'd hell. 
 O'er its torn mouth the black Plutonic rock 
 Is split in sharp disorder'd pinnacles 
 And broken ledges, whereon sit, like apes 
 Upon a wither'd tree, the hideous sins 
 Of all the world : once having seen within 980 
 
 The magnetism is heavy on them, and they crawl 
 Palsied with filthy thought upon the peaks ; 
 Or, squatting thro' long ages, have become 
 Rooted like plants into the griping clefts : 
 And there they pullulate, and moan, and strew 
 The rock with fragments of their mildew'd growth. 
 
 Dem. Cora, my child ! and hast thou seen these things ! 
 
 Per. Nay but the outward aspect, figur'd thus 
 In mere material loathsomeness, is nought 
 Beside the mystery that is hid within. 990 
 
 Dem. Search thou for words, I pray, somewhat to tell. 
 
 Per. Are there not matters past the thought of men 
 Or gods to know ? 
 
 Dem. Thou meanest wherefore things 
 
 Should be at all ? Or, if they be, why thus, 
 As hot, cold, hard and soft : and wherefore Zeus 
 Had but two brothers ; why the stars of heaven 
 Are so innumerable, constellated 
 Just as they are ; or why this Sicily 
 Should be three-corner'd ? Yes, thou sayest well. 
 Why things are as they are, nor gods nor men 1000 
 
 Can know. We say that Fate appointed thus, 
 And are content. — 
 
 Per. Suppose, dear Mother, there wer' a temple in 
 heaven, 
 
 ( 81 ) 
 
Demeter [i^^ 
 
 Which, dedicated to the unknown Cause 
 
 And worship of the unseen, had power to draw 
 
 All that was worthy and good within its gate : 
 
 And that the spirits who enter'd there became 
 
 Not only purified and comforted. 
 
 But that the mysteries of the shrine were such, 
 
 That the initiated bathed in light loto 
 
 Of infinite intelligence, and saw 
 
 The meaning and the reason of all things. 
 
 All at a glance distinctly, and perceived 
 
 The origin of all things to be good, 
 
 And the end good, and that what appears as evil 
 
 Is as a film of dust, that fain thereon. 
 
 May, — at one stroke of the hand, — 
 
 Be brush'd away, and show the good beneath. 
 
 Solid and fair and shining : If moreover 
 
 This blessed vision were of so great power 1020 
 
 That none coud e'er forget it or relapse 
 
 To doubtful ignorance : — I say, dear Mother, 
 
 Suppose that there were such a temple in heaven. 
 
 Dem. O child, my child ! that were a temple indeed. 
 'Tis such a temple as man needs on earth ; 
 A holy shrine that makes no pact with sin, 
 A worthy shrine to draw the worthy and good, 
 A shrine of wisdom trifling not with folly, 
 A shrine of beauty, where the initiated 
 Drank love and light. . . . Strange thou shouldst speak of it. 
 I have inaugurated such a temple 1031 
 
 These last days in Eleusis, have ordain'd 
 These very mysteries ! — Strange thou speakest of it. 
 But by what path return we to the Cave 
 Of Cacophysia ? 
 
 Per. By this path, dear Mother. 
 
 The Cave of Cacophysia is in all things 
 T'ward evil, as that temple were t'ward good. 
 I enter'd in. Outside the darkness was 
 ( 82 ) 
 
^^^] Demeter 
 
 But as accumulated sunlessness ; 
 
 Within 'twas positive as light itself, ,040 
 
 A blackness that extinguish'd : Yet I knew, 
 
 For Hades told me, that I was to see ; 
 
 And so I waited, till a forking flash 
 
 Of sudden lightning dazzlingly reveal'd 
 
 All at a glance. As on a pitchy night 
 
 The warder of some high acropolis 
 
 Looks down into the dark, and suddenly 
 
 Sees all the city, with its roofs and streets, 
 
 Houses and walls, clear as in summer noon. 
 
 And ere he think of it, 'tis dark again, — 1050 
 
 So I saw all within the Cave, and held 
 
 The vision, 'twas so burnt upon my sense. 
 
 Dem. What saw'st thou, child ? what saw'st thou ? 
 
 Per. Nay, the things 
 
 Not to be told, because there are no words 
 Of gods or men to paint the inscrutable 
 And full initiation of hell. — I saw 
 The meaning and the reason of all things, 
 All at a glance, and in that glance perceiv'd 
 The origin of all things to be evil. 
 
 And the ^nd evil : that what seems as good 1060 
 
 Is as a bloom of gold that spread thereo'er 
 May, by one stroke of the hand. 
 Be brush'd away, and leave the ill beneath 
 Solid and foul and black. . . . 
 
 Dem. Now tell me, child. 
 
 If Hades love thee, that he sent thee thither. 
 
 Per, He said it coud not harm me : and I think 
 
 It hath not. \Gomg up to Demeter, who kissex her. 
 
 Dem. Nay it hath not, . . . and I know 
 "^rhe power of evil is no power at all 
 Against eternal good. 'Tis fire on water. 
 As darkness against sunlight, like a dream loj-o 
 
 To waken'd will. Foolish was I to fear 
 
 (83) 
 
Demeter [ni 
 
 That aught coud hurt thee, Cora. But to-day 
 
 Speak we no more. . . . This mystery of Hell 
 
 Will do me service : I'll not tell thee now : 
 
 But sure it is that Fate o'erruleth all 
 
 For good or ill : and we (no more than men) 
 
 Have power to oppose, nor any will nor choice 
 
 Beyond such wisdom as a fisher hath 
 
 AVho driven by sudden gale far out to sea 
 
 Handles his fragile boat safe thro' the waves, 1080 
 
 Making what harbour the wild storm allows. 
 
 To-day hard-featured and inscrutable Fate 
 Stands to mine eyes reveal'd, nor frowns upon me. 
 I thought to find thee as I knew thee, and fear'd 
 Only to find thee sorrowful : I find thee 
 Far other than thou wert, nor hurt by Hell. 
 I thought I must console thee, but 'tis thou 
 Playest the comforter : I thought to teach thee. 
 And had prepared my lesson, word by word ; 
 But thou art still beyond me. One thing only 1090 
 
 Of all my predetermin'd plan endures : 
 My purpose was to bid thee to Eleusis 
 For thy spring festival, which three days hence 
 Inaugurates my temple. Thou wilt come ? 
 
 Per. I come. And art thou reconcil'd, dear Mother? 
 
 Dem. Joy and surprise make tempest in my mind ; 
 When their bright stir is o'er, there will be peace. 
 But ere we leave this flowery field, the scene 
 Of strange and beauteous memories evermore, 
 I thank thee, Hermes, for thy willing service. 1 100 
 
 Per. I thank thee, son of Maia, and bid farewell. 
 
 Her. Havethyjoynow, great Mother ; and have thou joy, 
 Fairest Persephone, Queen of the Spring. 
 
 ( 84 ) 
 
Demeter 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Fair Persephone, garlands we bring thee, 
 I'low'rs and spring-tide welcome sing thee. 
 
 Hades held thee not, 
 
 Darkness quell'd thee not. 
 Gay and joyful welcome ! 
 AVelcome, Queen, evermore. 
 
 Earth shall own thee, 
 
 Thy nymphs crown thee. 
 Garland fhee and crown thee. 
 Crown thee Queen evermore. 
 
 ( 8S ) 
 
Eros &" Psyche 
 
 (lA narrative Toem 
 in twelve measures 
 
 The story done into English 
 from the latin 
 
 OF 
 APULEIUS 
 
 Uanima semplketta che sa nulla. 
 
 O I at eft l>orn, O lovelieft vision far 
 Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy. 
 
PKEinoUS EDITIONS 
 
 r. Chismck^Press for Bell &■ Sons. I 88^. 
 
 1. Do, do. revised. 1894. 
 
 3. Smith, Elder & Co. Kol. I. 1S98. 
 
 (88) 
 
FIRST QUARTER 
 SPRING 
 
 psyche's earthly parentage • worshipped by 
 
 men • & persecuted by aphrodite • she is 
 
 loved & carried off by eros 
 
 MARCH 
 
 In midmost length of hundred-citied Crete, 
 The land that cradl'd Zeus, of old renown, 
 ^Vhere grave Demeter niirseried her wheat, 
 And Minos fashion'd law, ere he went down 
 To judge the quaking hordes of Hell's domain, 
 There dwelt a King on the Omphalian plain 
 Eastward of Ida, in a little town. 
 
 Three daughters had this King, of whom my tale 
 Time hath preserved, that loveth to despise 
 The wealth which men misdeem of much avail, 
 Their glories for themselves that they devise ; 
 For clerkly is he, old hard-featured Time, 
 And poets' fabl'd song and lovers' rhyme 
 He storeth on his shelves to please his eyes. 
 
 ( 89 ) 
 
Eros ^ Psyche 
 
 3 
 These three princesses all were fairest fair; 
 And of the elder twain 'tis truth to say 
 That if they stood not high above compare, 
 Yet in their prime they bore the palm away; 
 Outwards of loveliness ; but Nature's mood, 
 Gracious to make, had grudgingly endued 
 And marr'd by gifting ill the beauteous clay. 
 
 And being in honour they were well content 
 To feed on lovers' looks and courtly smiles, 
 To hang their necks with jewel'd ornament, 
 And gold, that vanity in vain beguiles, 
 And live in gaze, and take their praise for due, 
 To be the fairest maidens then to view 
 Within the shores of Greece and all her isles. 
 
 ' 5 
 But of that youngest one, the third princess. 
 There is no likeness ; since she was as far 
 From pictured beauty as is ugliness. 
 Though on the side where heavenly wonders are, 
 Ideals out of being and above. 
 Which music worshippeth, but if love love, 
 'Tis, as the poet saith, to love a star. 
 
 Her vision rather drave from passion's heart 
 What earthly soil it had afore possest; 
 Since to man's purer unsubstantial part 
 The brightness of her presence was addrest : 
 And such as mock'd at God, when once they saw 
 Her heavenly glance, were humbl'd, and in awe 
 Of things unseen, return'd to praise the Best. 
 
 ( 90) 
 
JVlarch 
 
 7 
 And so before her, wheresoe'er she went, 
 Hushing the crowd a thriOing whisper ran, 
 And silent heads were reverently bent; 
 Till from the people the belief began 
 That Love's own mother had come down on earth, 
 Sweet Cytherea, or of mortal birth 
 A greater Goddess was vouchsaft to man. 
 
 Then Aphrodite's statue in its place 
 Stood without worshippers ; if Cretans pray'd 
 For beauty or for children, love or grace, 
 The prayer and vow were offer'd to the maid; 
 Unto the maid their hymns of praise were sung, 
 Their victims bled for her, for her they hung 
 Garland and golden gift, and none forbade. 
 
 9 
 And thence opinion spread beyond the shores, 
 From isle to isle the wonder flew, it came 
 Across the ^gtean on a thousand oars, 
 Athens and Smyrna caught the virgin's fame ; 
 And East or ^Vest, where'er the tale had been. 
 The adoration of the foam-born queen 
 Fell to neglect, and men forgot her name. 
 
 lO 
 
 No longer to high Paphos now 'twas sail'd; 
 The fragrant altar by the Graces served 
 At Cnidus was forsaken; pilgrims fail'd 
 The rocky island to her name reserved, 
 Proud Ephyra, and Meropis renown'd; 
 'Twas all for Crete her votaries were bound, 
 And to the Cretan maid her worship swerved. 
 
 ( 91 ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 AVhich when in heaven great Aphrodite saw, 
 Who is the breather of the year's bright morn, 
 Fount of desire and beauty without flaw^ 
 Herself the life that doth the world adorn; 
 Seeing that without her generative might 
 Nothing can spring upon the shores of light, 
 Nor any bud of joy or love be born ; 
 
 She, when she saw the insult, did not hide 
 
 Her indignation, that a mortal frail 
 
 With her eterne divinity had vied. 
 
 Her fair Hellenic empire to assail. 
 
 For which she had fled the doom of Ninus old, 
 
 And left her wanton images unsoul'd 
 
 In Babylon and Zidon soon to fail. 
 
 13 
 'Not long,' she cried, 'shall that poor girl of Crete 
 God it in my despite; for I will bring 
 Such mischief on the sickly counterfeit 
 As soon shall cure her tribe of worshipping : 
 Her beauty will I mock with loathed lust. 
 Bow down her dainty spirit to the dust, 
 And leave her long alive to feel the sting.' 
 
 14 
 
 With that she calls to her her comely boy, 
 The limber scion of the God of War, 
 The fruit adulterous, which for man's annoy 
 To that fierce partner Cytherea bore, 
 Eros, the ever young, who only grew 
 In mischief, and was Cupid named anew 
 In westering aftertime of latin lore. 
 (92 ^ 
 
March 
 
 What tlie first dawn of manhood is, the hour 
 When beauty, from its fleshy bud unpent, 
 Flaunts like the corol of a summer flower, 
 As if all life were for that ornament, 
 Such Eros seemed in years, a trifler gay, 
 The prodigal of an immortal day 
 For ever spending, and yet never spent. 
 
 i6 
 
 His skin is brilliant with the nimble flood 
 Of ichor, that comes dancing from his heart, 
 Lively as fire, and redder than the blood, 
 And maketh in his eyes small flashes dart, 
 And curleth his hair golden, and distilleth 
 Honey on his tongue, and all his body filleth 
 With wanton lightsomeness in every part. 
 
 17 
 Naked he goeth, but with sprightly wings 
 Red, iridescent, are his shoulders fledged. 
 A bow his weapon, which he deftly strings, 
 And little arrows barb'd and keenly edged; 
 And these he shooteth true ; but else the youth 
 For all his seeming recketh naught of truth, 
 But most deceiveth where he most is pledged. 
 
 18 
 
 'Tis he that maketh in men's heart a strife 
 Between remorseful reason and desire, 
 Till with life lost they lose the love of life. 
 And by their own hands wretchedly expire; 
 Or slain in bloody rivalries they miss 
 Even the short embracement of their bliss, 
 His smile of fury and his kiss of fire. 
 
 ( 93 ) 
 
Eros &' 'Fsyche 
 
 19 
 
 He makes the strong man weak, the weak man wild; 
 
 Ruins great business and purpose high; 
 
 Brings down the wise to folly reconciled, 
 
 And martial captains on their knees to sigh : 
 
 He changeth dynasties, and on the head 
 
 Of duteous heroes, who for honour bled, 
 
 Smircheth the laurel that can never die. 
 
 Him then she call'd, and gravely kissing told 
 The great dishonour to her godhead done; 
 And how, if he from that' in heaven would hold, 
 On earth he must maintain it as her son ; 
 The rather that his weapons were most fit, 
 As was 'lis skill ordain'd to champion it ; 
 And flattering thus his ready zeal she won. 
 
 Whereon she quickly led hina down on earth, 
 
 And show'd him psyche, thus the maid was named ; 
 
 Whom when she show'd, but coud not hide her worth, 
 
 She grew with envy tenfold more enflamed. 
 
 ' But if,' she cried, ' thou smite her as I bid, 
 
 Soon shall our glory of this affront be rid. 
 
 And she and all her likes for ever shamed. 
 
 ' Make her to love the loathliest, basest wretch, 
 
 Deform'd in body, and of moonstruck mind, 
 
 A hideous brute and vicious, born to fetch 
 
 Anger from dogs and cursing from the blind. 
 
 And let her passion for the monster be 
 
 As shameless and detestable as he 
 
 Is most extreme and vile of humankind.' 
 
 (94) 
 
March 
 
 Which Solid, when he agreed, she spake no more, 
 But left him to his task, and took her way 
 Beside the ripples of the shell-strewn shore. 
 The southward stretching margin of a bay, 
 Whose sandy curves she pass'd, and taking stand 
 Upon its taper horn of furthest land, 
 Lookt left and right to rise and set of day. 
 
 24 
 
 Fair was the sight ; for now, though full an hour 
 
 The sun had sunk, she saw the evening light 
 
 In shifting colour to the zenith tower. 
 
 And grow more gorgeous ever and more bright. 
 
 Bathed in the warm and comfortable glow. 
 
 The fair delighted queen forgot her woe. 
 
 And watch'd the unwonted pageant of the night. 
 
 25 
 Broad and low down, where late the sun had been 
 A wealth of orange-gold was thickly shed, 
 Fading above into a field of green, 
 Like apples ere they ripen into red; 
 Then to the height a variable hue 
 Of rose and pink and crimson freak'd with blue. 
 And olive-border'd clouds o'er lilac led. 
 
 26 
 
 High in the opposed west the wondering moon 
 All silvery green in flying green was fleec't; 
 And round the blazing South the splendour soon 
 Caught all the heaven, and ran to North and East; 
 And Aphrodite knew the thing was wrought 
 By cunning of Poseidon, and she thought 
 She would go see with whom he kept his feast. 
 
 ( 95 ) 
 
Eros &* ^Psyche 
 
 27 
 
 Swift to her wish came swimming on the waves 
 His lovely ocean nymphs, her guides to be, 
 The Nereids all, who live among the caves 
 And valleys of the deep, Cymodoce, 
 Agavfe, blue-eyed Hallia and Nesaea, 
 Speio, and Thoe, Glaucfe and Actsea, 
 laira, Melite and Amphinome, 
 
 28 
 
 Apseudfes and Nemertbs, Callianassa, 
 Cymothoe, Thaleia, Limnorrhea, 
 Clymene, laneira and lanassa, 
 Doris and Panope and Galatea, 
 Dynamenb, Dexamenfe and Maira, 
 Ferusa, Doto, Proto, Callianeira, 
 Amphithoe, Oreithuia and Amathea. 
 
 29 
 
 And after them sad Melicertes drave 
 His chariot, that with swift unfellied wheel, 
 By his two dolphins drawn along the wave, 
 Flew as they plunged, yet did not dip nor reel, 
 But like a plough that shears the heavy land 
 Stood on the flood, and back on either hand 
 O'erturn'd the briny furrow with its keel. 
 
 Behind came Tritons, that their conches blew, 
 Greenbearded, tail'd like fish, all sleek and stark; 
 And hippocampi tamed, a bristly crew. 
 The browzers of old Proteus' weedy park. 
 Whose chiefer Mermen brought a shell for boat. 
 And balancing its hollow fan afloat, 
 Push'd it to shore and bade the queen embark ; 
 (96) 
 
March 
 
 31 
 
 And then the goddess stept upon the shell 
 Which took her weight ; and others threw a train 
 Of soft silk o'er her, that unfurl'd to swell 
 In sails, at breath of flying Zephyrs twain ; 
 And all her way with foam in laughter strewn, 
 With stir of music and of conches blown, 
 Was Aphrodite launch'd upon the main. 
 
 APRIL 
 
 But fairest Psyche still in favour rose, 
 
 Nor knew the jealous power against her sworn ; 
 
 And more her beauty now surpass't her foe's, 
 
 Since 'twas transfigured by the spirit forlorn, 
 
 That writeth, to the perfecting of grace, 
 
 Immortal question in a mortal face. 
 
 The vague desire whereunto man is born. 
 
 Already in good time her sisters both, 
 Whose honest charms were never famed as hers, 
 With princes of the isle had plighted troth. 
 And gone to rule their foreign courtiers ; 
 But she, exalted evermore beyond 
 Their loveliness, made yet no lover fond. 
 And gain'd but number to her worshippers. 
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
Eros ^ 'Psyche 
 
 3 
 To joy in others' joy had been her lot, 
 And now that that was gone she wept to see 
 How her transcendent beauty overshot 
 The common aim of all felicity. 
 For love she sigh'd ; and had some peasant rude 
 For true love's sake in simple passion woo'd, 
 Then Psyche had not scorn'd his wife to be. 
 
 4 
 For what is Beauty, if it doth not fire 
 The loving answer of an eager soul ? 
 Since 'tis the native food of man's desire. 
 And doth to good our varying world control ; 
 Which, when it was not, was for Beauty's sake 
 Desired and made by JLove, who still doth make 
 A beauteous path thereon to Beauty's goal. 
 
 '■ 5 
 Should all men by some hateful venom die, 
 The pity were that o'er the unpeopl'd sphere 
 The sun would still bedeck the evening sky 
 And the unimaginable hues appear. 
 With none to mark the rose and gold and green; 
 That Spring should walk the earth, and nothing seen 
 Of her fresh delicacy year by year. 
 
 6 
 
 And if some beauteous things, — whose heavenly worth 
 And function overpass our mortal sense, — 
 Lie waste and unregarded on the earth 
 By reason of our gross intelligence, 
 These are not vain, because in nature's scheme 
 It lives that we shall grow from dream to dream 
 In time to gather an enchantment thence. 
 (98) 
 
7 
 Even as we see the fairest works of men 
 Awhile neglected, and the makers die ; 
 But Truth comes weeping to their graves, and then 
 Their fames victoriously mounting high 
 Do battle with the regnant names of eld, 
 To win their seats ; as when the Gods rebel'd 
 Against their sires and drave them from the sky. 
 
 But to be praised for beauty and denied 
 The meed of beauty, this was yet unknown : 
 The best and bravest men have ever vied 
 To win the fairest women for their own. 
 
 Thus Psyche spake, or reason'd in her mind, 
 Disconsolate ; and with self-pity pined, 
 In the deserted halls wandering alone. 
 
 ' 9 
 And grieved grew the King to see her woe : 
 And blaming first the gods for her disease. 
 He purposed to their oracle to go 
 To question how he might their wrath appease, 
 Or, if that might not be, the worst to hear, — 
 Which is the last poor hope of them that fear.— 
 So he took his ship upon the northern seas, 
 
 And journeying to the shrine of Delphi went, 
 
 The temple of Apollo Pythian, 
 
 Where when the god he question'd if 'twas meant 
 
 That Psyche should be wed, and to what man, 
 
 The tripod shook, and o'er the vaporous well 
 
 The chanting Pythoness gave oracle. 
 
 And thus in priestly verse the sentence ran : 
 
 ( 99 ) 
 
Eros &' Tsyche 
 
 High on the topmost rock with funeral feast 
 Convey and leave the maid, nor look to find 
 A mortal husband, hut a savage beast, 
 TJie viperous scourge of gods and humankind ; 
 Who shames and vexes all, and as he flies 
 With sword and fire, Zeus trembles in the skies. 
 And groans arise from souls to hell consigned. 
 
 With which reply the King return'd full sad : 
 For though he nothing more might understand, 
 Yet in the bitter bidding that he had 
 No man made question of the plain command, 
 That he must sacrifice the tender flower 
 Of his own blood to a demonian power, 
 Upon the rocky mount with his own hand. 
 
 13 
 Some said that she to Talos was devote, 
 The metal giant, who with mile-long stride 
 Cover'd the isle, walking around by rote 
 Thrice every day at his appointed tide ; 
 Who shepherded the sea-goats on the coast, 
 And, as he past, caught up and live would roast. 
 Pressing them to his burning ribs and side ; 
 
 Whose head was made of fine gold-beaten work 
 Of silver pure his arms and gleaming chest. 
 Thence of green-bloomed bronze far as the fork, 
 Of iron weather-rusted all the rest. 
 One single vein he had, which running down 
 From head to foot was open in his crown. 
 And closed by a nail ; such was this pest. 
 
 ( 100 ) 
 
IS 
 A little while they spent in sad delay, 
 Then order'd, as the oracle had said, 
 The cold feast and funereal display 
 Wherewith the fated bridal should be sped : 
 And their black pageantry and vain despairing 
 When Psyche saw, and for herself preparing 
 The hopeless ceremonial of the dead, 
 
 i6 
 
 Then spake she to the King and said ' O Sire, 
 Why wilt thou veil those venerable eyes 
 With piteous tears, which must of me require 
 More tears again than for myself arise ? 
 Then, on the day my beauty first o'erstept 
 Its mortal place it had been well to have wept ; 
 But now the fault beyond our ruing lies. 
 
 17 
 ' As to be worship'd was my whole undoing. 
 So my submission must the forfeit pay : 
 And welcome were the morning of my wooing, 
 Tho' after it should dawn no other day. 
 Up to the mountain ! for I hear the voice 
 Of my beloved on the winds, Rejoice, 
 Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away !' 
 
 18 
 
 With such distemper'd speech, that little cheer'd 
 Her mourning house, she went to choose with care 
 The raiment for her day of wedlock weird, 
 Her body as for burial to prepare 5 
 But laved with bridal water, from the stream 
 Where Hera bathed ; for still her fate supreme 
 Was doubtful, whether Love or Death it were : 
 
 ( i°i ) 
 
Eros ^ T^syche 
 
 19 
 
 Love that is made of joy, and Death of fear : 
 Nay, but not these held Psyche in suspense ; 
 Hers was the hope that following by the bier 
 Boweth its head beneath the dark immense : 
 Her fear the dread of life that turns to hide 
 Its tragic tears, what hour the happy bride 
 Ventures for love her maiden innocence. 
 
 They set on high upon the bridal wain 
 Her bed for bier, and yet no corpse thereon ; 
 But like as when unto a warrior slain 
 And not brought home the ceremonies done 
 Are empty, for afar his body brave 
 Lies lost, deep buried by the wandering wave 
 Or 'neath the foes his fury fell upon, — 
 
 So was her hearse : and with it went afore. 
 Singing the solemn dirge that moves to tears. 
 The singers ; and behind, clad as for war. 
 The King uncrown'd among his mournful peers, 
 All 'neath their armour robed in linen white ; 
 And in their left were shields, and in their right 
 Torches they bore aloft instead of spears. 
 
 And next the virgin tribe in white forth sail'd, 
 With wreaths of dittany ; and 'midst them there 
 Went Psyche, all in lily-whiteness veil'd. 
 The white Quince-blossom chapleting her hair : 
 And last the common folk, a weeping crowd, 
 Far as the city-gates with wailings loud 
 Follow'd the sad procession in despair. 
 
 ( 102 ) 
 
23 
 
 Thus forth and up the mount they went, until 
 The funeral chariot must be left behind, 
 Since road was none for steepness of the hill ; 
 And slowly by the narrow path they wind : 
 All afternoon their white and scatter'd file 
 Toil'd on distinct, ascending many a mile 
 Over the long brown slopes and crags unkind. 
 
 24 
 
 But ere unto the snowy peak they came 
 
 Of that stormshapen pyramid so high, 
 
 'Twas evening, and with footsteps slow and lame 
 
 They gather'd up their lagging company : 
 
 And then her sire, even as Apollo bade. 
 
 Set on the topmost rock the hapless maid. 
 
 With trembling hands and melancholy cry. 
 
 25 
 
 And now the sun was sunk ; only the peak 
 
 Flash'd like a jewel in the deepening blue : 
 
 And from the shade beneath none dared to speak^ 
 
 But all look'd up, where glorified anew 
 
 Psyche sat islanded in living day. 
 
 Breathless they watcht her, till the last red ray 
 
 Fled from her lifted arm that waved adieu. 
 
 26 
 
 There left they her, turning with sad farewells 
 
 To haste their homeward course, as best they might 
 
 But night was crowding up the barren fells. 
 
 And hid full soon their rocky path from sight; 
 
 And each unto his stumbling foot to hold 
 
 His torch was fain, for o'er the moon was roU'd 
 
 A mighty cloud from heaven, to blot her light. 
 
 ( 103 ) 
 
Eros &f Tsyche 
 
 27 
 
 And thro' the darkness for long while was seen 
 That armour'd train with waving fires to thread 
 Downwards, by pass, defile, and black ravine. 
 Each leading on the way that he was led. 
 Slowly they gain'd the plain, and one by one 
 Into the shadows of the woods were gone, 
 Or in the clinging mists were quench'd and fled. 
 
 '. 28 
 
 But unto Psyche, pondering o'er her doom 
 In tearful silence on her stony chair, 
 A Zephyr straying out of heaven's wide room 
 Rush'd down, and gathering round her unaware 
 Fill'd with his breath her vesture and her veil; 
 And like a ship, that crowding all her sail 
 Leans to accompany the tranquil air, 
 
 ■: 29 
 
 She yielded, and was borne with swimming brain 
 And airy joy, along the mountain side, 
 Till, hid from earth by ridging summits twain. 
 They came upon a valley deep and wide ; 
 Where the strong Zephyr with his burden sank, 
 And laid her down upon a grassy bank, 
 'Mong thyme and violets and daisies pied. 
 
 And straight upon the touch of that sweet bed 
 Both woe and wonder melted fast away : 
 And sleep with gentle stress her sense o'erspread. 
 Gathering as darkness doth on drooping day ; 
 And nestling to the ground, she slowly drew 
 Her wearied limbs together, and, ere she knew. 
 Wrapt in forgetfulness and slumber lay. 
 
 ( i°4 ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 MAY 
 
 After long sleep when Psyche first awoke 
 
 Among the grasses 'neath the open skies, 
 
 And heard the mounting larks, whose carol spoke 
 
 Delighted invitation to arise, 
 
 She lay as one who after many a league 
 
 Hath slept off memory with his long fatigue, 
 
 And waking knows not in what place he lies : 
 
 Anon her quickening thought took up its task, 
 
 And all came back as it had happ'd o'ernight ; 
 
 The sad procession of the wedding mask. 
 
 The melancholy toiling up the height. 
 
 The solitary rock where she was left ; 
 
 And thence in dark and airy waftage reft, 
 
 How on the flowers she had been disburden'd light 
 
 3 
 Thereafter she would rise and see what place 
 That voyage had its haven in, and found 
 She stood upon a little hill, whose base 
 Shelved off into the valley all around; 
 And all round that the steep cliffs rose away. 
 Save on one side where to the break of day 
 The widening dale withdrew in falling ground. 
 
 ( i°S ) K , 
 
Eros ^ T^syche 
 
 There, out from over sea, and scarce so high 
 As she, the sun above his watery blaze 
 Upbroke the grey dome of the morning sky, 
 And struck the island with his level rays ; 
 Sifting his gold thro' lazy mists, that still 
 Climb'd on the shadowy roots of every hill, 
 And in the tree-tops breathed their silvery haze, 
 
 5 
 At hand on either side there was a wood; 
 And on the upward lawn, that sloped between, 
 Not many paces back a temple stood. 
 By even steps ascending from the green ; 
 AVith shaft and pediment of marble made. 
 It fill'd the passage of the rising glade, 
 And there withstay'd the sun in dazzling sheen. 
 
 Too fair for human art, so Psyche thought. 
 
 It might the fancy of some god rejoice ; 
 
 Like to those halls which lame Hephaestos wrought 
 
 Original, for each god to his choice, 
 
 In high Olympus ; where his matchless lyre 
 
 Apollo wakes, and the responsive choir 
 
 Of Muses sing alternate with sweet voice. 
 
 7 
 Wondering she drew anigh, and in a while 
 Went up the steps as she would entrance win, 
 And faced her shadow 'neath the peristyle 
 Upon the golden gate, whose flanges twin — 
 As there she stood, irresolute at heart 
 To try— swung to her of themselves apart ; 
 AVhereat she past between and stood within. 
 ( io6 ) 
 
May 
 
 A foursquare court it was with marble floor'd, 
 Embay'd about with pillar'd porticoes, 
 That echo'd in a somnolent accord 
 The music of a fountain, which arose 
 Sparkling in air, and splashing in its tank ; 
 Whose wanton babble, as it swell'd or sank, 
 Gave idle voice to silence and repose. 
 
 9 
 Thro' doors beneath the further colonnade, 
 Like a deep cup's reflected glooms of gold, 
 The inner rooms glow'd with inviting shade : 
 And, standing in the court, she might behold 
 Cedar, and silk, and silver ; and that all 
 The pargeting of ceiling and of wall 
 AVas fresco'd o'er with figures manifold. 
 
 Then making bold to go within, she heard 
 Murmur of gentle welcome in her ear ; 
 And seeing none that coii|i have spoken word, 
 She waited : when again 3Lal)s, lirato ncac; 
 lEntev ! was cried ; and now more voices came 
 From all the air around calling her name, 
 And bidding her rejoice and have no fear. 
 
 And one, if she would rest, would show her bed, 
 
 Pillow'd for sleep, with fragrant linen fine; 
 
 One, were she hungry, had a table spread 
 
 Like as the high gods have it when they dine : 
 
 Or, would she bathe, were those would heat the bath 
 
 The joyous cries contending in her path, 
 
 33gj!ti)c, they said, m.\)&i toilt tljou? all is t!)ine. 
 
 ( i°7 ) 
 
Eros &' Tsyche 
 
 Then Psyche would have thank'd their service true, 
 But that she fear'd her echoing words might scare 
 Those sightless tongues ; and well by dream she' knew 
 The voices of the messengers of prayer, 
 Which fly upon the gods' commandment, when 
 They answer the supreme desires of men. 
 Or for a while in pity hush their care. 
 
 13 
 'Twas fancy's consummation, and because 
 She would do joy no curious -despite, 
 She made no wonder how the wonder was ; 
 Only concern'd to take her full delight. 
 So to the bath, -^ what luxury could be 
 Better enhanced by eyeless ministry ? — 
 She follows with the voices that invite. 
 
 There being deliciously refresht, from soil 
 Of earth made pure by water, fire, and air. 
 They clad her in soft robes of Asian toil, 
 Scented, that in her queenly wardrobe were; 
 And led her forth to dine, and all around 
 Sang as they served, the while a choral sound 
 Of strings unseen and reeds the burden bare. 
 
 IS 
 P athetic strains and passionate they wove, 
 U rgent in ecstasies of heavenly sense ; 
 R esponsive rivalries, that, while they strove 
 C ombined in full harmonious suspense, 
 E ntrancing wild desire, then fell at last 
 L uU'd in soft closes, and with gay contrast 
 L aunch'd forth their fresh unwearied excellence. 
 ( 108 ) 
 
May 
 
 i6 
 
 Now Psyche, when her twofold feast was o'er, 
 Would feed her eye ; and choosing for her guide 
 A low-voiced singer, bade her come explore 
 The wondrous house ; until on every side 
 As surfeited with beauty, and seeing nought 
 But what was rich and fair beyond her thought. 
 And all her own, thus to the voice she cried : 
 
 17 
 ' Am I indeed a goddess, or is this 
 But to be dead : and through the gates of death 
 Passing unwittingly doth man not miss 
 Body nor memory nor living breath ; 
 Nor by demerits of his deeds is cast, 
 But, paid with the desire he holdeth fast, 
 Is holp with all his heart imagineth ? ' 
 
 18 
 
 But her for all reply the wandering tongue 
 
 Call'd to the chamber where her bed was laid 
 
 With flower'd broideries of linen hung : 
 
 And round the walls in painting were portray'd 
 
 Love's victories over the gods renown'd. 
 
 Ares and Aphrodite here lay bound 
 
 In the fine net that dark Hephaestus made: 
 
 Here Zeus, in likeness of a tawny bull, 
 Stoop'd on the Cretan shore his mighty knee, 
 While off his back Europa beautiful 
 Stept pale against the blue Carpathian seaj 
 And here Apollo, as he caught amazed 
 Daphne, for lo ! her hands shot forth upraised 
 In leaves, her feet were rooted like a tree : 
 
 ( 109 ) 
 
Rros ^ Psyche 
 
 Here Dionysos, springing from his car 
 
 At sight of Ariadne ; here uplept 
 
 Adonis to the chase, breaking the bar 
 
 Of Aphrodite's arm for love who wept : 
 
 He spear in hand, with leashed dogs at strain ; 
 
 A marvellous work. But Psyche soon grown fain 
 
 Of rest, betook her to her bed and slept. " 
 
 Nor long had slept, when at a sudden stir 
 
 She woke ; and one, that thro' the dark made way, 
 
 Drew near, and stood beside ; and over her 
 
 The curtain rustl'd. Trembling now she lay, 
 
 Fainting with terror : till upon her face 
 
 A kiss, and with two gentle arms' embrace, 
 
 A voice that call'd her name in loving play. 
 
 Though for the darkness she coud nothing see, 
 She wish'd not then for what the night denied : 
 This was the lover she had lack'd, and she. 
 Loving his loving, was his willing bride. 
 O'erjoy'd she slept again, o'erjoy'd awoke 
 At break of morn upon her love to look ; 
 When lo ! his empty place lay by her side. 
 
 So all that day she spent in company 
 
 Of the soft voices ; and ©f.rig]&t, they said, 
 
 art tj)ou our iLatg noto. 33c j&appilg 
 
 STJjj ftrtUal morroto bj tjg gprbantg gpeli. 
 
 But she but long'd for night, if that might bring 
 
 Her lover back ; and he on secret wing 
 
 Came with the dark, and in the darkness fled. 
 
 ( "o ) 
 
May 
 
 24 
 
 And this was all her life ; for every night 
 He came, and though his name she never learn'd, 
 Nor was his image yielded to her sight 
 At morn or eve, she neither look'd nor yearn'd 
 Beyond her happiness : and custom brought 
 An ease to pleasure ; nor would Psyche's thought 
 Have ever to her earthly home return'd, 
 
 But that one night he said ' Psyche, my soul, 
 Sad danger threatens us : thy sisters twain 
 Come to the mountain top, whence I thee stole. 
 And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain. 
 Answer them not: for it must end our love 
 If they should hear or spy thee from above.' 
 And Psyche said ' Their cry shall be in vain.' 
 
 26 
 
 But being again alone, she thought 'twas hard 
 On her own blood ; and blamed her joy as thief 
 Of theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr'd ; 
 When she their care might be their care's relief 
 All day she brooded on her father's woe, 
 And when at night her lover kisst her, lo ! 
 Her tender face was wet with tears of grief. 
 
 27 
 
 Then question'd why she wept, she all confest; 
 
 And begg'd of him she might but once go nigh 
 
 To set her sire's and sisters' fears at rest; 
 
 Till he for pity coud not but comply: 
 
 ' Only if they should ask thee of thy love 
 
 Discover nothing to their ears above.' 
 
 And Psyche said ' In vain shall be their cry.' 
 
 ( III ) 
 
Kros &f 'Psyc/ie 
 28 
 
 And yet wfth day no sooner was alone, 
 Than she for loneliness her promise rued : 
 That having so much pleasure for her own, 
 'Twas all unshared and spent in solitude. 
 And when at night her love flew to his place, 
 More than afore she shamed his fond embrace, 
 And piteously with tears her plaint renew'd. 
 
 29 
 
 The more he now denied, the more she wept ; 
 Nor would in anywise be comforted. 
 Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept, 
 Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed, 
 And see themselves the palace where she reign'd. 
 And he, by force of tears at last constrain'd. 
 Granted her wish unwillingly, and said ; 
 
 3° 
 ' Much to our peril hast thou won thy will; 
 Thy sisters' love, seeing thee honour'd so. 
 Will sour to envy, and with jealous skill 
 Will pry to learn the thing that none may know. 
 Answer not, nor inquire; for know that I 
 The day thou seest my face far hence shall fly, 
 And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.' 
 
 31 
 But Psyche said, ' Thy love is more than life ; 
 To have thee leaveth nothing to be won : 
 For should the noonday prove me to be wife 
 Even of the beauteous Eros, who is son 
 Of Cypris, I coud never love thee more.' 
 Whereat he fondly kisst her o'er and o'er. 
 And peace was 'twixt them till the night was done. 
 ( 112 ) 
 
SECOND QUARTER 
 SUMMER 
 
 psyche's sisters • SNARING HER TO DES- 
 TRUCTION • ARE THEMSELVES DESTROYED 
 
 JUNE 
 
 And truly need there was to the old King 
 
 For consolation : since the mournful day 
 
 Of Psyche's fate he took no comforting, 
 
 But only for a speedy death would pra,y ; 
 
 And on his head his hair grew silver-white. 
 
 — Such on life's topmost bough is sorrow's blight, 
 
 When the stout heart is cankering to decay. 
 
 . Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quick 
 Comfort and solace to their sire to lend. 
 But as not seldom they who nurse the sick 
 Will take the malady from them they tend. 
 So happ'd it now ; for they who fail'd to cheer 
 Grew sad themselves, and in that palace drear 
 Increased the evil that they came to mend. 
 
 ( "3 ) 
 
Eros &' T*syche 
 
 3 
 And them the unhappy father sent to seek 
 Where Psyche had been left, if they might find 
 What monster held her on the savage peak ; 
 Or if she there had died of hunger pined, 
 And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter'd bones 
 Might still be gather'd from the barren stones ; 
 Or if her fate had left no trace behind. 
 
 4 
 So just upon this time her sisters both 
 Climb'd on the cliff that hung o'er Psyche's vale ; 
 And finding there no sign, to leave were loth 
 Ere well assured she lurk'd not within hail. 
 So calling loud her name, ' Psyche ! ' they cried, 
 ' Psyche, O Psyche ! ' and when none replied 
 They sank upon the rocks to weep and wail. 
 
 5 
 But Psyche heard their voices where she sat. 
 And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleet 
 Those mourners down unto the grassy plat 
 'Midst of her garden, where she had her seat. 
 Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pair 
 Came swiftly sinking on his buoyant air. 
 And stood upon the terrace at her feet. 
 
 Upsprang she then, and kiss'd them and embraced 
 And said ' Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn. 
 I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced, 
 But blest above all days since I was born ; 
 Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and see 
 How little cause has been to grieve for me, 
 And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.' 
 
 { "4 ) 
 
yune 
 
 7 
 So entering by the golden gate, or e'er 
 The marvel of their hither flight had waned, 
 Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhere 
 Their eyes that lit on beauty were enchain'd ; 
 And Psyche's airy service, as she bade, 
 Perform'd its magic ofifice, and display'd 
 The riches of the palace where she reign'd. 
 
 And through the perfumed chambers they were led 
 
 And bathed therein ; and after, set to sup. 
 
 Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed. 
 
 And wine more precious than its golden cup. 
 
 Till seeing nothing lack'd and naught was theirs, 
 
 Their happiness fell from them unawares. 
 
 And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up. 
 
 At last one said ' Psyche, since not alone 
 
 Thou livest here in joy, as well we wot, 
 
 Who is the man who should these wonders own, 
 
 Or god, I say, and still appeareth not ? 
 
 What is his name ? What rank and guise hath he, 
 
 Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth thee 
 
 Above all others in thy blissful lot ? ' 
 
 But Psyche when that wistful speech she heard 
 Was ware of all her spouse had warn'd her of ; 
 And uttering a disingenuous word, 
 Said ' A youth yet unbearded is my love ; 
 He goeth hunting on the plains to-day. 
 And with his dogs hath wander'd far away ; 
 And not till eve can he return above.' 
 
 ( "S ) 
 
Eroi ^ Psyche 
 
 Then fearing to be nearer plied, she rose 
 
 And brought her richest jewels one by one, 
 
 Bidding them choose and take whate'er they chose ; 
 
 And beckoning the Zephyr spake anon 
 
 That he should waft her sisters to the peak ; 
 
 The which he did, and, ere they rnore coud speak, 
 
 They rose on high, and in the wind were gone. 
 
 Nor till again they came upon the road, 
 Which from the mountain shoulder o'er the plain 
 Led to the city of their sire's abode. 
 Found they their tongues, though full of high disdain 
 Their hearts were, but kept silence, till the strength 
 Of pride and envious hatred burst at length 
 In voice, and thus the elder gan complain : 
 
 ' Cruel and unjust fortune ! that of three 
 Sisters, whose being from one fountain well'd. 
 Exalts the last so high from her degree. 
 And leaves the first to be so far excel'd. 
 My husband is a poor and niggard churl 
 To him, whoe'er he be, that loves the girl. 
 Oh ! in what godlike state her house is held ! ' 
 
 ' Ay,' said the other, ' to a. gouty loon 
 Am I not wedded ? Lo ! thy hurt is mine : 
 But never call me woman more, if soon 
 I cannot lure her from her height divine. 
 Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to save 
 The wealth of which so grudgirigly she gave ; 
 Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine. 
 ( 116 ) 
 
yune 
 
 IS 
 ' She but received us out of pride, to show 
 Her state, well deeming that her happiness 
 Was little worth while there was none to know ; 
 So is our lot uninjured if none guess. 
 Reveal we nothing therefore, but the while 
 7'ogether scheme this wanton to beguile, 
 And bring her boasting godhead to distress.' 
 
 i6 
 
 So fresh disordering their dress and hair. 
 With loud lament they to their sire return, 
 Telling they found not Psyche anywhere. 
 And of her sure mischance could nothing learn : 
 And with that lie the wounded man they slew, 
 Hiding the saving truth which well they knew ; 
 Nor did his piteous grief their heart concern. 
 
 17 
 Meanwhile her unknown lover did not cease 
 To warn poor Psyche how her sisters plan'd 
 To undermine her love and joy and peace ; 
 And urged how well she might their wiles withstand, 
 By keeping them from her delight aloof : 
 For better is security than proof. 
 And malice held afar than near at hand. 
 
 ' And, dearest wife,' he said, ' since 'tis not long 
 
 Ere one will come to share thy secrecy. 
 
 And be thy babe and mine ; let nothing wrong 
 
 The happy months of thy maternity. 
 
 If thou keep trust, then shalt thou see thy child 
 
 A god ; but if to pry thou be beguiled, 
 
 The lot of both is death and misery.' 
 
 ( 117 ) 
 
Eros &' T^syche 
 
 19 
 
 Then Psyche's simple heart was fill'd with joy, 
 And counting to herself the months and days, 
 Look'd for the time, when she should bear a boy 
 To be her growing stay and godlike praise. 
 And ' O be sure,' she said, ' be sure, my pride 
 Having so rich a promise cannot slide, 
 Even if my love coud fail which thee obeys.' 
 
 And so most happily her life went by. 
 In thoughts of love dear to her new estate ; 
 Until at length the evil day drew nigh, 
 ^Vhen now her sisters, joined in jealous hate, 
 Set forth again, and plotted by the way 
 How they might best allure her to betray 
 Her secret ; with what lie their angle bait. 
 
 That night her liusband spake to her, and said 
 ' Psyche, thy sisters come : and when they climb 
 The peak they will not tarry to be sped 
 Down by the Zephyr, as that other time, 
 But winging to the wind will cast themselves 
 Out in the air, and on the rocky shelves 
 Be dasht, and pay the penalty of crime. 
 
 ' So let it be, and so shall we be saved.' 
 AVhich meditated vengeance of his fear 
 When Psyche heard, now for their life she craved. 
 Whose mere distress erewhile had toucht her near. 
 Around her lover's neck her arms she threw. 
 And pleaded for them by her faith so true. 
 Although they went on doom in judgment clear, 
 ( 118 ) 
 
7 
 
 une 
 
 23 
 
 In terror of bloodguiltiness she now 
 Forgot all other danger ; she adjured ; 
 Or using playfulness deep sobs would plow 
 Her soft entreaties, not to be endured : 
 Till he at last was fain once more to grant 
 The service of the Zephyr, to enchant 
 That wicked couple from their fate assured. 
 
 24 
 
 So ere 'twas noon were noises at the dooi 
 
 Of knocking loud and voices high in glee ; 
 
 Such as within that vale never before 
 
 Had been, and now seem'd most unmeet to be. 
 
 And Psyche blush'd, though being alone, and rose 
 
 To meet her sisters and herself unclose 
 
 The gate that made them of her palace free. 
 
 25 
 Fondly she kiss'd them, and with kindly cheer 
 Sought to amuse ; and they with outward smile 
 O'ermask'd their hate, and called her sweet and dear. 
 Finding affection easy to beguile : 
 And all was smooth, until at last one said 
 ' Tell us, I pray, to whom 'tis thou art wed ; 
 'Mong gods or men, what is his rank and style ? 
 
 26 
 
 ' Thou canst not think to hid? the truth from us, 
 
 Who knew thy peevish sorrows when a maid, 
 
 And see thee now so glad and rapturous. 
 
 As changed from what thou wert as light from shade ; 
 
 Thy jewels, too, the palace of a king, 
 
 Nor least the serviceable spiriting, 
 
 By everything thy secret is betray'd : 
 
 ( 119 ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 27 
 
 'And yet thou talkest of thy wondrous man 
 No more than if his face thou didst not know.' 
 At which incontinently she began, 
 Forgetful of her word a month ago, 
 Answering ' A merchant rich, of middle age, 
 My husband is ; and o'er his features sage 
 His temples are already touch'd with snow. 
 
 28 
 
 ' But 'gainst his wish since hither ye were brought 
 'Twere best depart.' Then her accustom'd spell 
 Sped them upon the summit quick as thought ; 
 And being alone her doing pleased her well : 
 So was she vext to find her love at night 
 More sad than ever, of her sisters' spite 
 Speaking as one that coud the end foretell. 
 
 29 
 
 'And ere long,' said he, 'they will spy again : 
 Let them be dash'd upon the rocks and die ; 
 'Tis they must come to death or thou to pain, 
 To separation, Psyche, thou and I ; 
 Nay, and our babe to ill. I therefore crave 
 Thou wilt not even once more these vipers save. 
 Nor to thy love his only boon deny.' 
 
 3° 
 But Psyche would not think her sisters' crime 
 So gross and strange, nor coud her danger see ; 
 Since 'twere so easy, if at any time 
 They show'd the venom of their hearts, that she 
 Should fan them off upon the willing gust. 
 So she refused, and claiming truer trust. 
 Would in no wise unto their death agree. 
 ( 120 ) 
 
Eros ^ Tsyche 
 
 JULY 
 
 ' What think you, sister : '' thus one envious fiend 
 
 To other spake upon their homeward route, 
 
 ' What of the story that our wit hath glean'd 
 
 Of this mysterious lover, who can shoot 
 
 In thirty days from beardless youth to prime, 
 
 ^Vith wisdom in his face before his time, 
 
 And snowy locks upon his head to boot ? 
 
 ■ Ay,' said the other, ' true, she lied not well ; 
 And thence I gather knows no more than we : 
 For surely 'tis a spirit insensible 
 To whom she is wedded, one she cannot see. 
 'Tis that I fear ; for if 'tis so, her child 
 Will be a god, and she a goddess styled, 
 Which, though I die to let it, shall not be. 
 
 3 
 
 ' Lament we thus no longer. Come, consult 
 What may be done.' And home they came at night. 
 Yet not to rest, but of their plots occult 
 Sat whispering on their beds ; and ere 'twas light 
 Resolving on the deed coud not defer ; 
 But roused the sleeping house with sudden stir, 
 And sallied forth alone to work their spite. 
 (121} 
 
Eros ^ Psyche 
 
 4 
 And with the noon were climb'd upon the peak, 
 And swam down on the Zephyr as before ; 
 But now with piercing cry and doleful shriek 
 They force their entrance through the golden door, 
 Feigning the urgency of bitter truth ; 
 Such as deforms a friendly face with ruth. 
 When kindness may not hide ill tidings more. 
 
 5 
 Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din. 
 And saw their countenances wan and worn 
 With travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin. 
 Their hair dishevel'd and their habits torn, 
 For trembling scarce coud ask what ill had hapt ; 
 And they alert with joy to see her trapt, 
 Launch'd forth amain, and on their drift were borne 
 
 ' O Psyche, happiest certainly and blest 
 
 Up to this hour,' they said, ' thou surely wert. 
 
 Being of thy fearful peril unpossest ; 
 
 Which now we would not tell but to avert. 
 
 But we in solemn truth thy spouse have found 
 
 To be the dragon of this mountain ground. 
 
 Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt. 
 
 7 
 ' As yesternight we rode upon the wind 
 He issued to pursue us from the wood ; 
 We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn'd. 
 His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl'd hood. 
 Lo, now betimes the oracle, which said 
 How to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed, 
 Is plainly for thy safety understood. 
 
 ( 122 ) 
 
July 
 
 8 
 
 'Long time hath he been known to all that dwell 
 Upon the plain ; but now his secret lair 
 Have we discover'd, which none else coud tell : 
 Though many women fallen in his snare 
 Hath he enchanted ; who, tradition saith, 
 Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel death 
 They pass in turn upon the summits bare. 
 
 9 
 ' Fly with us while thou may'st : no more delay ; 
 Renounce the spells of this accursed vale. 
 AVe come to save thee, but we dare not stay ; 
 Among these sightless spirits our senses quail. 
 Fly with us, fly ! ' Then Psyche, for her soul 
 Was soft and simple, lost her self-control, 
 And, thinking only of the horrid tale. 
 
 ' Dear sisters,' said she, and her sobbing speech 
 ■\Vas broken by her terror, ' it is true 
 That much hath hapt to stablish what ye teach ; 
 For ne'er hath it been granted me to view 
 My husband ; and, for aught I know, he may 
 Be even that cruel dragon, which ye say 
 Peer'd at you from the forest to pursue. 
 
 ' 'Tis sure that scarcely can I win his grace 
 To see you here ; and still he mischief vows 
 If ever I should ask to see his face, 
 Which, coming in the dark, he ne'er allows. 
 Therefore, if ye can help, of pity show. 
 Since doubt I must, how I may come to know 
 What kind of spirit it is that is my spouse.' 
 
 ( »23 ) 
 
Eros ^ 'Psyche 
 
 Then to her cue the younger was afore : 
 ' Hide thou a razor,' cried she, ' near thy bed ; 
 And have a lamp prepared, but whelm thereo'er 
 Some cover, that no light be from it shed. 
 And when securely in first sleep he lies. 
 Look on him well, and ere he can arise, 
 Gashing his throat, cut off his hideous head.' 
 
 13 
 Which both persuading, off they flew content, 
 Divining that whate'er she was forbid 
 Was by her lover for her safety meant. 
 Which only coud be sure while he was hid. 
 
 But Psyche, to that miserable deed 
 Being now already in her mind agreed, 
 Wander'd alone, and knew not what she did. 
 
 14 
 Now she would trust her lover, now in turn 
 Made question of his bidding as unjust ; 
 But thirsting curiosity to learn 
 His secret overcame her simple trust, 
 O'ercame her spoken troth, o'ercame her fear ; 
 And she prepared, as now the hour drew near, 
 The mean contrivances, nor felt disgust. 
 
 IS 
 She set the lamp beneath a chair, and cloked 
 Thickly its rebel lustre from the eye : 
 And laid the knife, to mortal keenness stroked. 
 Within her reach, where she was wont to lie : 
 And took her place full early ; but her heart 
 Beat fast, and stay'd her breath with sudden start, 
 Feeling her lover's arm laid fond thereby. 
 
 ( 1^4 ) 
 
July 
 
 i6 
 
 But when at last he slept, then she arose, 
 
 All faint and tremulous : and though it be 
 
 That wrong betrayeth innocence with shews 
 
 Of novelty, its guilt from shame to free. 
 
 Yet 'twas for shame her hand so strangely shook 
 
 That held the steel, and from the cloke that took 
 
 The lamp, and raised it o'er the bed to see. 
 
 She had some fear she might not well discern 
 By that small flame a monster in the gloom ; 
 When lo ! the air about her seem'd to burn, 
 And bright celestial radiance fill'd the room. 
 Too plainly O she saw, O fair to see ! 
 Eros, 'twas Eros' self, her lover, he, 
 The God of love, reveal'd in deathless bloom. 
 
 Her fainting strength forsook her ; on her knees 
 Down by the bed she sank j the shameless knife 
 Fell flashing, and her heart took thought to seize 
 Its desperate haft, and end her wicked life. 
 Yet coud she not her loving eyes withdraw 
 From her fair sleeping lover, whom she saw 
 Only to know she was no more his wife. 
 
 O treasure of all treasures, late her own ! 
 O loss above all losses, lost for aye ! 
 Since there was no repentance coud atone 
 For her dishonour, nor her fate withstay. 
 But yet 'twas joy to have her love in sight ; 
 And, to the rapture yielding while she might, 
 She gazed upon his body where he lay. 
 
 ( I2S ) 
 
Eros &' Psyche 
 
 Above all mortal beauty, as was hers, 
 
 She saw a rival ; but if passion's heart 
 
 Be rightly read by subtle questioners, 
 
 It owns a wanton and a gentler part. 
 
 And Psyche wonder'd, noting every sign 
 
 By which the immortal God, her spouse divine, 
 
 Betray'd the image of our earthly art; 
 
 His thickly curling hair, his ruddy cheeks, 
 And pouting lips, his soft and dimpl'd chin, 
 The full and cushion'd eye, that idly speaks 
 Of self-content and vanity within. 
 The forward, froward ear, and smooth to touch 
 His body sleek, but rounded overmuch 
 For dignity of mind and pride akin. 
 
 She noted that the small irradiant wings. 
 That from his shoulders lay along at rest. 
 Were yet disturb'd with airy quiverings. 
 As if some wakeful spirit his blood possest ; 
 She feared he was awaking, but they kept 
 Their sweet commotion still, and still he slept, 
 And still she gazed with never-tiring zest. 
 
 And now the colour of her pride and joy 
 
 Outflush'd the hue of Eros ; she, so cold, 
 
 To have fired the passion of the heartless boy, 
 
 Whom none in heaven or earth were found to hold ! 
 
 Psyche, the earthborn, to be prized above 
 
 The heavenly Graces by the God of love, 
 
 And worshipt by his wantonness untold ! 
 
 ( ri6 ) 
 
July 
 
 24 
 
 Nay, for that very thing she loved him more, 
 More than herself her sweet self's complement: 
 Until the sight of him again upbore 
 Her courage, and renew'd her vigour spent. 
 And looking now around, she first espied 
 Where at the bed's foot, cast in haste aside, 
 Lay his full quiver, and his bow unbent. 
 
 25 
 
 One of those darts, of which she had heard so oft, 
 
 She took to try if 'twas so very keen ; 
 
 And held its point against her finger soft 
 
 So gently, that to touch it scarce was seen; 
 
 Yet was she sharply prickt, and felt the fire 
 
 Run through her veins ; and now a strange desire 
 
 Troubl'd her heart, which ne'er before had been : 
 
 26 
 
 Straight sprang she to her lover on the bed, 
 And kisst his cheek, and was not satisfied : 
 When, O the lamp, held ill-balanced o'erhead, 
 One drop of burning oil spill'd from its side 
 On Eros' naked shoulder as he slept, 
 Who waken'd by the sudden smart uplept 
 Upon the floor, and all the mischief eyed. 
 
 27 
 
 With nervous speed he seized his bow, and past 
 Out of the guilty chamber at a bound ; 
 But Psyche, following his flight as fast. 
 Caught him, and crying threw her arms around : 
 Till coming to the court he rose in air ; 
 And she, close clinging in her last despair, 
 Was dragg'd, and then lost hold and fell to ground. 
 ( 127 ) 
 
Eros ^ 'Psyche 
 28 
 
 Wailing she fell ; but he, upon the roof 
 Staying his feet, awhile his flight delay'd : 
 And turning to her as he stood aloof 
 Beside a cypress, whose profoundest shade 
 Drank the reflections of the dreamy night 
 In its stiff pinnacle, the nimble light 
 Of million stars upon his body play'd : 
 
 29 
 
 ' O simple-hearted Psyche,' thus he spake. 
 
 And she upraised her piteous eyes and hands, 
 
 ' O simple-hearted Psyche, for thy sake 
 
 I dared to break my mother's stern commands ; 
 
 And gave thee godlike marriage in the place 
 
 Of vilest shame ; and, not to hurt thy grace, 
 
 Spared thee my arrows, which no heart withstands^ 
 
 ' But thou, for doubt I was some evil beast. 
 Hast mock'd the warnings of my love, to spy 
 Upon my secret, which concern'd thee least, 
 Seeing that thy joy was never touch'd thereby. 
 By faithless prying thou hast work'd thy fall, 
 And, even as I foretold thee, losest all 
 For looking on thy happiness too nigh ; 
 
 31 
 ' Which loss may be thine ample punishment. 
 But to those fiends, by whom thou wert misled, 
 Go tell each one in turn that I have sent 
 This message, that I love her in thy stead ; 
 And bid them by their love haste hither soon.' 
 Whereat he fled ; and Psyche in a swoon 
 Fell back upon the marble floor as dead. 
 ( 128 ) 
 
Eros ^ T'syche 
 
 AUGUST 
 
 AVhen from the lowest ebbing of her blood 
 The fluttering pulses thrill'd and swell'd again, 
 Her stricken heart recovering force to flood 
 With life the sunken conduits of her biiiin, 
 Then Psyche, where she had fallen, numb and cold 
 Arose, but scarce her quaking sense control'd. 
 Seeing the couch where she that night had lain. 
 
 The level sunbeams search'd the grassy ground 
 For diamond dewdrops. Ah ! was this the place? 
 Where was the court, her home ? she look'd around 
 And question'd with her memory for a space. 
 There was the cypress, there the well-known wood, 
 That wall'd the spot : 'twas here her palace stood, 
 As surely as 'twas vanish'd without trace. 
 
 3 
 Was all a dream ? To think that all was dreamt 
 Were now the happier thought ; but arguing o'er 
 That dream it was, she fell from her attempt, 
 Feeling the wifely burden that she bore. 
 Nay, true, 'twas true. She had had all and lost ; 
 The joy, the reckless wrong, the heavy cost 
 Were hers, the dead end now, and woe in store. 
 
 ( 129 ) I" 
 
Eros &' Tsyche 
 
 4 
 What to be done ? Fainting and shelterless 
 Upon the mountain it were death to bide : 
 And harbour knew she none, where her distress 
 Might comfort find, or love's dishonour hide ; 
 Nor felt she any dread like that of home : 
 Yet forth she must, albeit to rove and roam 
 An outcast o'er the country far and wide. 
 
 S 
 Anon she marvel'd noting from the vale 
 A path lead downward to the plain below, 
 Crossing the very site, whereon the pale 
 Of all her joy had stood few hours ago ; 
 A run of mountain beasts, that keep their track 
 Through generations, and for ages back 
 Had trod the self-same footing to and fro. 
 
 That would she try : so forth she took her way. 
 Turning her face from the dishonour'd dell, 
 Adown the broadening eastward lawns, which lay 
 In gentle slant, till suddenly they fell 
 In sheer cliff; whence the path that went around, 
 Clomb by the bluffs, or e'er it downward wound 
 Beneath that precipice impassable. 
 
 7 
 There once she turn'd, and gazing up the slope 
 She bid the scene of all her joy adieu ; 
 ' Ay, and farewell,' she cried, ' farewell to hope, 
 Since there is none will rescue me anew. 
 Who have kill'd God's perfection with a doubt.' 
 Which said, she took the path that led about. 
 And hid the upland pleasance from her view. 
 
 ( 130 ) 
 
August 
 
 But soon it left her, entering 'neath the shade 
 Of cedar old and russeted tall pine, 
 Whose mighty tops, seen from the thorny glade, 
 Belted the hills about ; and now no sign 
 Had she to guide her, save the slow descent. 
 But swiftly o'er the springy floor she went, 
 And drew the odorous air like draughts of wine. 
 
 9 
 Then next she past a forest thick and dark 
 With heavy ilexes and platanes high, 
 And came to long lush grass ; and now coud mark 
 By many a token that the plain was nigh. 
 When lo ! a river : to whose brink at last 
 Being come, upon the bank her limbs she cast. 
 And through her sad tears watch'd the stream go by. 
 
 And now the thought came o'er her that in death 
 
 There was a cure for sorrow, that before 
 
 Her eyes ran Lethe, she might take one breath 
 
 Of water and be freed for evermore. 
 
 Leaning to look into her tomb, thereon 
 
 She saw the horror of her image wan. 
 
 And up she rose at height to leap from shore. 
 
 When suddenly a mighty voice, that fell 
 With fury on her ears, their sense to scare, 
 That bounding from the tree trunks like the yell 
 Of hundred brazen trumpets, cried ' Forbear ! 
 Forbear, fond maid, that froward step to take, 
 For life can cure the ills that love may make ; 
 But for the harm of death is no repair.' 
 
 ( 131 ) 
 
E,ros ^ T^syche 
 
 Then looking up she saw an uncouth form 
 Perch'd on the further bank, whose parted lips 
 VoUey'd their friendly warning in a storm : 
 A man he might have been, but for the tips 
 Of horns appearing from his shaggy head, 
 For o'er his matted beard his face was red, 
 And all his shape was manlike to the hips. 
 
 13 
 In forehead low, keen 'eye, and nostril flat 
 He bore the human grace in mean degree. 
 But, set beneath his body squat and fat. 
 Legs like a goat's, and from the hairy knee 
 The shank fell spare ; and, though crosswise he put 
 His limbs in easeful posture, for the foot 
 The beast's divided hoof was plain to see. 
 
 14 
 Him then she knew the mighty choric God, 
 The great hill-haunting and tree-loving Pan ; 
 Whom Zeus had laught to see when first he trod 
 Olympus, neither god nor beast nor man : 
 Who every rocky peak and snowy crest 
 Of the Aspran mountains for his own possest. 
 And all their alps with bacchic rout o'erran : 
 
 IS 
 Whom, when his pipe he plays on loud and sweet. 
 And o'er the fitted reeds his moist lip flees. 
 Around in measured step with nimble feet 
 Water-nymphs dance and Hamadryades : 
 And all the woodland's airy folk, who shun 
 Man's presence, to his frolic pastime run 
 From their perennial wells and sacred trees. 
 
 ( 132 ) 
 
August 
 
 i6 
 
 Now on his knee his pipe laid by, he spoke 
 With flippant tongue, wounding unwittingly 
 The heart he sought to cheer with jest and joke. 
 ' And what hast thou to do with misery,' 
 He said, ' who hast such beauty as might gain 
 The love of Eros ? Cast away thy pain. 
 And give thy soul to mirth and jollity. 
 
 17 
 ' Thy mortal Hfe is but a brittle vase. 
 But as thee list with wine or tears to fill ; 
 For all the drops therein are Ohs and Ahs 
 Of joy or grief according to thy will ; 
 And wouldst thou learn of me my merry way, 
 I'd teach thee change thy lover every day. 
 And prize the cup that thou wert fain to spill. 
 
 ' Nay, if thou plunge thou shalt not drown nor sink 
 For I will to thee o'er the stream afloat, 
 And bear thee safe ; and O I know a drink 
 For care, that makes sweet music in the throat. 
 Come live with me, my love ; I'll cure thy chance '. 
 For I can laugh and quaff, and pipe and dance. 
 Swim like a fish, and caper like a goat.' 
 
 Speaking, his brute divinity explored 
 The secret of her silence ; and old Pan 
 Grew kind and told her of a shallow ford 
 AVhere lower down the stream o'er pebbles ran, 
 And one might pass at ease with ankles dry : 
 Whither she went, and crossing o'er thereby, 
 Her lonely wanderings through the isle began. 
 
 ( 133 ) 
 
Eros &' 'PsycAe 
 
 But none coud tell, no, nor herself had told 
 Where food she found, or shelter through the land 
 By day or night ; until by fate control'd 
 She came by steep ways to the southern strand, 
 Where, sacred to the Twins and Britomart, 
 Pent in its rocky theatre apart, 
 A little town stood on the level sand. 
 
 'Twas where her younger sister's husband reign'd ; 
 
 And Psyche to the palace gate drew near, 
 
 Helplessly still by Eros' best constrain'd, 
 
 And knocking begg'd to see her sister dear; 
 
 But when in state stepp'd down that haughty queen, 
 
 And saw the wan face spent with tears and teen. 
 
 She smiled, and said ' Psyche, what dost thou here ? ' 
 
 Then Psyche told how, having well employ'd 
 Their means, and done their bidding not amiss. 
 Looking on him her hand would have destroy'd, 
 'Twas Eros ; whom in love leaning to kiss, 
 Even as she kisst, a drop of burning oil 
 Fall'n from the lamp had served her scheme to foil, 
 Discovering her in vision of her bliss ; 
 
 23 
 
 Wherewith the god stung, like a startled bird 
 Arose in air, and she fell back in swoon ; 
 ' But ere he parted,' said she, ' he confer'd 
 On thee the irrecoverable boon 
 By prying lost to me : Go tell, he said. 
 Thy sister that I love her in thy stead, 
 And bid her by her love haste hither soon.' 
 
 ( T34) 
 
August 
 
 24 
 
 Which when that heart of malice heard, it took 
 
 The jealous fancy of her silly lust : 
 
 And pitilessly with triumphant look 
 
 She drank the flattery, and gave full trust ; 
 
 And leaving Psyche ere she more coud tell. 
 
 Ran off to bid her spouse for aye farewell, 
 
 And in his ear this ready lie she thrust : 
 
 25 
 ' My dearest sister Psyche, she whose fate 
 We mourn'd, hath reappear'd alive and hale. 
 But brings sad news ; my father dies : full late 
 These tidings come, but love may yet avail ; 
 Let me be gone.' And stealing blind consent, 
 Forth on that well-remember'd road she went, 
 And climb'd upon the peak above the dale. 
 
 26 
 
 There on the topmost rock, where Psyche first 
 Had by her weeping sire been left to die, 
 She stood a moment, in her hope accurst 
 Being happy ; and the cliffs took up her cry 
 With chuckling mockery from her tongue above, 
 Zephyr, sweet Zephyr, waft me to my love ! 
 When off she lept upon his wings to fly. 
 
 27 
 
 But as a dead stone, from a height let fall, 
 
 Silent and straight is gather'd by the force 
 
 Of earth's vast mass upon its weight so small. 
 
 In speed increasing as it nears its source 
 
 Of motion — by which law all things soe'er 
 
 Are clutch'd and dragg'd and held— so fell she there 
 
 Like a dead stone, down in her headlong course. 
 
 ( 13s ) 
 
Eros ^ Tsyche 
 
 z8 
 
 The disregardful silence heard her strike 
 Upon the solid crags ; her dismal shriek 
 Rang on the rocks and died out laughter- like 
 Along the vale in hurried trebles weak ; 
 And soon upon her, from their skiey haunt 
 Fell to their feast the great birds bald and gaunt 
 And gorged on her fair flesh with bloody beak. 
 
 29 
 
 But Psyche, when her sister was gone forth, 
 Went out again her wandering way to take : 
 And following a stream that led her north. 
 After some days she pass'd the Corian Lake, 
 Whereby Athena's temple stands, and he 
 Who traverses the isle from sea to sea 
 May by the plain his shortest journey make : 
 
 3° 
 Till on the northern coast arrived she came 
 Upon a city built about a port. 
 The which she knew, soon as she heard the name. 
 Was where her elder sister had her court ; 
 To whom, as Eros had commanded her. 
 She now in turn became the messenger 
 Of vengeful punishment, that fell not short : 
 
 31 
 For she too hearing gan her heart exalt. 
 Nor pity felt for Psyche's tears and moans. 
 But, fellow'd with that other in her fault, 
 Follow'd her to her fate upon the stones ; 
 And from the peak leaping like her below 
 The self-same way unto the self-same woe, 
 Lay dasht to death upon her sister's bones. 
 
 ( ^2>(> ) 
 
December 
 
 But he to Psyche bent his gracious speed, 
 And bidding her to mount his feather'd back 
 Bore her aloft as once young Ganymede ; 
 Nor ever made his steady flight to slack, 
 Ere that he set her down beside her goal, 
 And gave into her hands the crystal bowl 
 Unspill'd, o'erbrimming with the water black. 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 But Eros now recover'd from his hurt, 
 Felt other pangs ; for who would not relent 
 Weighing the small crime and unmatch'd desert 
 Of Psyche with her cruel punishment ? 
 And shamed he grew to be so near allied 
 To her, who by her taunts awoke his pride. 
 As his compassion by her spite unspent. 
 
 Which Aphrodite seeing, wax'd more firm 
 That he should never meet with Psyche more ; 
 And had in thought already set the term 
 To their communion with that trial sore, 
 Which sent her forth upon a quest accurst, 
 And not to be accomplisht, that of thirst . 
 She there might perish on heU's torrid shore. , 
 
 ( 169 ) G 3 
 
Eros &' 'Psjyc/ie 
 
 3 
 And now it chariced that she had called her son 
 Into her presence-chamber, to unfold 
 Psyche's destruction, that her fate might stun 
 What love remained by duty uncontrol'd ; 
 And he to hide his tears' rebellious storm 
 AVas fled ; when in his place another form 
 Rose 'neath the golden lintel ; and behold 
 
 4 
 Psyche herself, in slow and balanced strain, 
 Poising the crystal bowl with fearful heed. 
 Her eyes at watch upon the steadied plane. 
 And whole soul gather'd in the single deed. 
 Onward she came, and stooping to the floor 
 Set down the cup unspill'd and brimming o'er 
 At Aphrodite's feet, and rose up freed. 
 
 5 
 Surprise o'ercame the goddess, and she too 
 Stood like a statue, but with passion pale : 
 Till, when her victim nothing spake, she threw 
 Some kindness in her voice, and bade her hail; 
 But in the smiling judge 'twas plain to see — 
 Saying ' What water bringst thou here to me ? ' — 
 That justice over hate should not prevail. 
 
 Then Psyche said ' This is the biting flood 
 Of black Cocytus, silver'd with the gleam 
 Of souls, that guilty of another's blood 
 Are pent therein, and as they swim they scream. 
 The horned snakes of hell, upon the mount 
 Enchain'd, for ever guard the livid fount : 
 And but the Fates can grant to touch the stream.' 
 ( 170 ) 
 
yanuary 
 
 7 
 ' Wherefore,' the goddess cried, ' 'tis plain that none 
 But one I wot of coud this thing have wrought. 
 That which another doth may well be done, 
 Nor thou the nearer to my promise brought. 
 Thou buildest on a hope to be destroy'd, 
 If thou accept conditions, and avoid 
 Thy parcel, nor thyself accomplish aught. 
 
 ' Was it not kindness in me, being averse 
 
 To all thy wish, to yield me thus to grant 
 
 Thy heart's desire, — and nothing loathe I worse,- 
 
 If thou wouldst only work as well as want ? 
 
 See, now I will not yet be all denial. 
 
 But offer thee one last determining trial \ 
 
 And let it be a mutual covenant : 
 
 9 
 ' This box,' and in her hands she took a pyx 
 Square-cut, of dark obsidian's rarest green, 
 ' Take j and therewith beyond Tartarean Styx 
 Go thou, and entering Hades' house obscene, 
 Say to Persephone, If 'tis thy will 
 To shew me so tmuh favour, prithee Jill 
 This little vase with beauty for Love's queen. 
 
 ' She begs but what shall well o'erlast a day ; 
 
 For of her own was much of late out spent 
 
 In nursing of her son, hi bed who lay 
 
 Wounded by me, who for the gift am sent. 
 
 Then bring me what she gives, and with all speed ; 
 
 For truth to say I stand, thou seest, in need 
 
 Of some such charm in my disparagement. 
 
 ( 171 ) 
 
Eros &' Psyche 
 
 ' If thou return to me with that acquist, 
 
 Having thyself the journey made, I swear 
 
 That day to give thee whatsoe'er thou list, 
 
 An be it my son. Now, Psyche, wilt thou dare ? ' 
 
 And Psyche said ' If this thou truly mean, 
 
 I will go down to Tartarus obscene, 
 
 And beg of Hades' queen thy beauty there. 
 
 ' Show me the way.' But Aphrodite said; 
 
 ' That may'st thou find. Yet I will place thee whence 
 
 A way there is : mortals have on it sped ; 
 
 Ay, and return'd thereby : so let us hence.' 
 
 Then swift to earth her willing prey she bore, 
 
 And left her on the wide Laconian shore, 
 
 Alone, at midnight, in the darkness dense. 
 
 13 
 'Twas winter ; and as shivering Psyche sat 
 AVaiting for morn, she question'd in her mind 
 What place the goddess meant, arrived whereat 
 She might descend to hell, or how should find 
 The way which Gods to living men deny. 
 ' No Orpheus, nay, nor Hercules am I,' 
 Said she, ' to loosen where the great Gods bind.' 
 
 M 
 And when at length the long-delaying dawn 
 Broke on the peaks of huge Taygetus, 
 And Psyche through the skirts of dark withdrawn 
 Look'd on that promontory mountainous, 
 And saw high-crested Taleton in snow, 
 Her heart sank, and she wept with head bent low 
 The malice of her foe dispiteous. 
 
 ( 172 ) 
 
jfanuary 
 
 IS 
 And seeing near at hand an ancient tower, 
 Deserted now, but once a hold of men. 
 She came thereto, and, though 'twas all her power, 
 Mounted its steep unbroken stair again. 
 ' Surely,' she said, for now a second time 
 She thought to die — 'this little height I climb 
 Will prove my shortest road to Pluto's den. 
 
 i6 
 
 ' Hence must I come to Tartarus ; once there 
 
 Turn as I may,' and straight to death had sprung ; 
 
 When in the mossy tower the imprison'd air 
 
 ^Vas shaken, and the hoary stones gave tongue, 
 
 ' Stand firm ! Stand firm ! ' that rugged voice outcried 
 
 ' Of such as choose despondency for guide 
 
 Hast thou not heard what bitterest fate is sung ? 
 
 ' Hearken ; for I the road and means can teach 
 How thou may'st come to hell and yet escape. 
 And first must thou, that upper gate to reach. 
 Along these seagirt hills thy journey shape, 
 To where the land in sea dips furthest South 
 At Taenarus and Hades' earthly mouth. 
 Hard by Poseidon's temple at the cape. 
 
 ' Thereby may one descend : but they that make 
 
 That passage down must go provided well. 
 
 So take in either hand a honey-cake 
 
 Of pearlbd barley mix'd with hydromel ; 
 
 And in thy mouth two doits, first having bound. 
 
 The pyx beneath thy robe enwrap'd around : 
 
 Thus set thou forth ; and mark what more I tell. 
 
 ( 173 ) 
 
E^ros &^ 'Psyc/ie 
 
 'When thou hast gone alone some half thy road 
 Thou wilt o'ertake a lame outwearied ass ; 
 And one that beats him, tottering 'neath his load 
 Of loosely bundi'd wood, will cry A/as ; 
 Help me, kind friend, my faggots to adjust ! 
 But thou that silly cripple's words mistrust ; 
 'Tis planted for thy death. Note it and pass. 
 
 'And when thy road the Stygian river joins, 
 
 Where woolly Charon ferries o'er the dead, 
 
 He will demand his fare : one of thy coins 
 
 Force with thy tongue between thy teeth, thy head 
 
 Offering instead of hand to give the doit. 
 
 His fingers in this custom are adroit. 
 
 And thine must not set down the barleybread. 
 
 Then in his crazy bark as, ferrying o'er 
 
 The stream, thou sittest, one that seems to float 
 
 Rather than swim, midway 'twixt shore and shore, 
 
 Will stretch his fleshless hand upon the boat. 
 
 And beg thee of thy pity take him in. 
 
 Shut thy soft ear unto his clamour thin. 
 
 Nor for a phantom deed thyself devote. 
 
 ' Next, on the further bank when thou art stept, 
 Three wizen'd women weaving at the woof 
 ■\VilI stop, and pray thee in their art adept 
 To free their tangl'd threads. Hold thou aloof; 
 For this and other traps thy foe hath plan'd 
 To make thee drop the cakes out of thy hand, 
 Putting thy prudence to perpetual proof. 
 ( 174 ) 
 
January 
 
 23 
 
 'J-'or by one cake thou comest into Hell, 
 
 And by one cake departest ; since the hound 
 
 That guards the gate is ever pleased well 
 
 To taste man's meal, or sweeten'd grain unground. 
 
 Cast him a cake ; for that thou may'st go free 
 
 Even to the mansion of Persephonfe, 
 
 Withouten stay or peril, safe and sound. 
 
 24 
 
 ' She will receive thee kindly ; thou decline 
 Her courtesies, and make the floor thy seat ; 
 Refusing what is offer'd, food or wine; 
 Save only beg a crust of bread to eat. 
 Then tell thy mission, and her present take ; 
 Which when thou hast, set forth with pyx and cake, 
 One in each hand, while yet thou may'st retreat. 
 
 25 
 
 ' Giving thy second cake to Cerberus, 
 The coin to Charon, and that way whereby 
 Thou earnest following, thou comest thus 
 To see again the starry choir on high. 
 But guard thou well the pyx, nor once uplift 
 The lid to look on Persephassa's gift ; 
 Else 'tis in vain I bid thee now not die.' 
 
 26 
 Then Psyche thank'd the tower, and stoopt her 
 mouth 
 To kiss the stones upon his rampart hoary ; 
 And coming down his stair went hasting south. 
 Along the steep. Tagnarian promontory ; 
 And found the cave and temple by the cape, 
 And took the cakes and coins, and made escape 
 Beneath the earth, according to his story. 
 
 K T7S ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 27 
 
 And overtook the ass, but lent no ardj 
 And offer'd Charon with her teeth his fee ; 
 And pass'd the ifloating ghost, in vain who pray'd ; 
 And turned her back upon the weavers three ; 
 And threw the honey-cake to that hell-hound. 
 Three-headed Cerberus ; and safe and sound, 
 Came to the mansion of Persephonfe. 
 
 28 
 
 Kindly received, she courtesy declined : 
 
 Sat on the ground ; ate not, save where she lay, 
 
 A crust of bread ; reveal'd the goddess' mind ; 
 
 The gift took ; and return'd upon her way : 
 
 Gave Cerberus his cake, Charon his fare, 
 
 And saw through Hell's mouth to the purple air 
 
 And one by one the keen stars melt in day. 
 
 29 
 
 Awhile from so long journeying in the shades 
 Resting at T»narus she came to know 
 How, up the eastern coast some forty stades, 
 There stood a temple of her goddess foe. 
 There would she make her offering, there reclaim 
 The prize, which now 'twas happiness to name, 
 The joy that should redeem all passed woe. 
 
 3° 
 And wending by the sunny shore at noon. 
 She with her pyx, and wondering what it hid, 
 Of what kind, what the fashion of the boon 
 Coud be, that she to look on was forbid, — 
 Alas for Innocence so hard to teach ! — 
 At fancy's prick she sat her on the beach, 
 And to content desire lifted the lid. 
 
 ( 176 ) 
 
January 
 
 31 
 
 She saw within nothing : But o'er her sight 
 
 That looked on nothing gan a darkness creep. 
 
 A cloudy poison, mix'd of Stygian night, 
 
 Rapt her to deadly and infernal sleep. 
 
 Backward she fell, like one when all is o'er, 
 
 And lay outstretch'd, as lies upon the shore 
 
 A drown'd corpse cast up by the murmuring deep. 
 
 FEBRUARY 
 
 While Eros in his chamber hid his tears, 
 Mourning the loss of Psyche and her fate. 
 The rumour of her safety reacht his ears 
 And how she came to Aphrodite's gate : 
 Whereat with hope return'd his hardihood. 
 And secretly he purposed while he coud 
 Himself to save her from the goddess' hate. 
 
 Then learning what he might and guessing more, 
 His ready wit came soon to understand 
 The journey to the far Laconian shore ; 
 Whither to fly and seek his love he plan'd : 
 And making good escape in dark of night. 
 Ere the sun crost his true meridian flight 
 He by Teuthronfe struck the southern strand. 
 
 ( 177 ) 
 
Eros &' T*syche 
 
 3 
 There as it chanct he found that snowy bird 
 Of Crete, that late made mischief with his queen, 
 And now along the cliffs with wings unstir'd 
 Sail'd, and that morn had cross'd the sea between 
 Whom as he past he hail'd, and question'd thus, 
 ' O snowy gull, if thou from Tsenarus 
 Be come, say, hast thou there my Psyche seen ? ' 
 
 4 
 The gull replied ' Thy Psyche have I seen ; 
 Walking beside the sea she joy'th to bear 
 A pyx of dark obsidian's rarest green, 
 Wherein she gazeth on her features fair. 
 She is not hence by now six miles at most.' 
 Then Eros bade him speed, and down the coast 
 Held on his passage through the buoyant air. 
 
 S 
 With eager eye he search'd the salty marge, 
 Boding all mischief from his mother's glee ; 
 And wondering of her wiles, and what the charge 
 Shut in the dark obsidian pyx might be. 
 And lo ! at last, outstretch'd beside the rocks, 
 Psyche as lifeless ; and the open box 
 Laid with the weedy refuse of the sea. 
 
 He guess'd all, flew down, and beside her knelt. 
 With both his hands stroking her temples wan ; 
 And for the poison with his fingers felt. 
 And drew it gently from her ; and anon 
 She slowly from those Stygian fumes was freed ; 
 Which he with magic handling and good heed 
 Replaced in pyx, and shut the lid thereon. 
 ( 178 ) 
 
February 
 
 7 
 
 ' O Psyche,' thus, and kissing her he cried, 
 ' O simple-hearted Psyche, once again 
 Hast thou thy foolish longing gratified, 
 A second time hath prying been thy bane. 
 But lo ! I, love, am come, for I am thine : 
 Nor ever more shall any fate malign, 
 Or spite of goddess smite our love in twain. 
 
 ' Let now that I have saved thee twice outweigh 
 The once that I deserted thee ; and thou 
 Hast much obey'd for once to disobey, 
 And wilt no more my bidding disallow. 
 Take up thy pyx ; to Aphrodite go. 
 And claim the promise of thy mighty foe ; 
 Maybe that she will grant it to thee now. 
 
 9 
 ' If she should yet refuse, despair not yet ! ' 
 Then Psyche, when she felt his arms restore 
 Their old embrace, and as their bodies met. 
 Knew the great joy that grief is pardon'd for ; 
 And how it doth first ecstasy excel. 
 When love well-known, long-lost, and mournfed well 
 In long days of no hope, comes home once more. 
 
 But Eros leaping up with purpose keen 
 Into the air, as only love can fly, 
 Bore her to heaven, and setting her unseen 
 At Aphrodite's golden gate, — whereby 
 They came as night was close on twilight dim^- 
 There left, and bidding her say nought of him 
 Went onward to the house of Zeus most high. 
 ( I7Q ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 Where winning audience of the heavenly sire, 
 
 Who well disposed to him was used to be, 
 
 He told the story of his strong desire ; 
 
 And boldly begg'd that Zeus would grant his plea 
 
 That he might have sweet Psyche for his wife, 
 
 And she be dower'd with immortal life, 
 
 Since she was worthy, by his firm decree. 
 
 And great Zeus smiled ; and at the smile of Zeus 
 All heaven was glad, and on the earth below 
 Was calm and peace awhile and sorrow's truce : 
 The sun shone forth and smote the winter snow, 
 The flowers sprang, the birds gan sing and pair. 
 And mortals, as they drew the brighten'd air, 
 Marvel'd, and quite forgot their common woe. 
 
 13 
 Yet gave the Thunderer not his full consent 
 Without some words : ' At length is come the day,' 
 Thus spake he, ' when for all thy youth misspent. 
 Thy mischief-making and thy wanton play 
 Thou art upgrown to taste the sweet and sour : 
 Good shall it work upon thee : from this hour 
 Look we for better things. And this I say, 
 
 ' That since thy birth, which all we took for bliss. 
 Thou hast but mock'd us ; and no less on me 
 Hast brought disfavour and contempt, ywiss, 
 Than others that have had to do with thee : 
 Till only such as vow'd themselves aloof 
 From thee and thine were held in good approof ; 
 And few there were, who thus of shame went free. 
 ( 180 ) 
 
February 
 
 15 
 
 ' That punishment is shapen as reward 
 
 Is like thy fortune : but our good estate 
 
 We honour, while we sit to be adored : 
 
 And thus 'twas written in the book of Fate. 
 
 Not for thy. pleasure, but the general weal 
 
 Grant I the grace for which thou here dost kneel ; 
 
 And that which I determine shall not wait.' 
 
 16 
 
 So winged Hermes through the heaven he sped, . . 
 To warn the high celestials to his hall. 
 Where they should Psyche see with Eros wed, 
 And keep the day with feast ambrosial. 
 And Hermes, flying through the skiey ways 
 Of high Olympus, spread sweet Psyche's praise, 
 And bade the mighty gods obey his call. 
 
 17 
 Then all the Kronian gods and goddesses 
 Assembl'd at his cry, — and now 'twas known 
 Why Zeus had smiled, — the lesser majesties 
 Attending them before his royal throne. 
 Athena, mistress good of them that know, - 
 Came, and Apollo, warder off of woe, 
 Who had to Psyche's sire her fate foreshown ; 
 
 Demeter, giver of the golden corn. 
 Fair- Hebe, honour'd at her Attic shrine. 
 And Artemis with hunting spear and horn. 
 And Dionysos, planter of the vine, 
 With old Poseidon from the barren sea, 
 And Leto, and the lame Hephsestos, he 
 Himself who biiilt those halls with skill divine. 
 ( 181 ) 
 
Kros &' 'PsycAe 
 
 19 
 
 And ruddy Pan with many a quip and quirk 
 Air'd 'mong those lofty gods his mirth illbred, 
 Bearing a mighty bowl of Cretan work : 
 Stern Ares, with his crisp hair helmeted, 
 Came, and retired Hestia, and the god 
 Hermes, with winged cap and ribbon'd rod, 
 By whom the company was heralded. 
 
 And Hera sat by Zeus, and all around 
 
 The Muses, that of learning make their choice ; 
 
 Who, when Apollo struck his strings to sound, 
 
 Sang in alternate music with sweet voice : 
 
 And righteous- Themis, and the Graces three 
 
 Ushering the anger'd Aphrodite ; she 
 
 Alone of all were there might not rejoice 
 
 But ere they sat to feast, Zeus bade them fill 
 
 The cup ambrosial of immortal life. 
 
 And said ' If Psyche drink, — and 'tis my will, — 
 
 There is an end of this unhappy strife. 
 
 Nor can the goddess, whose mislike had birth 
 
 From too great honour paid the bride on earth. 
 
 Forbid her any more for Eros' wife.' 
 
 Then Aphrodite said ' So let it be.' 
 And Psyche was brought in, with such a flush 
 Of joy upon her face, as there to see 
 Was fairer to love's eye than beauty's blush. 
 And then she drank the eternal wine, whose draught 
 Can Terror cease ; which flesh hath never quafft, 
 Nor doth it flow from grape that mortals crush. 
 ( 182 ^ 
 
February 
 
 23 
 
 And next stood Eros forth, and took her hand, 
 
 And kisst her happy face before them all : 
 
 And Zeus proclaim'd them married, and outban'd 
 
 From heaven whoever should that word miscall. 
 
 And then all sat to feast, and one by one 
 
 Pledged Psyche ere they drank and cried Well done ! 
 
 And merry laughter rang throughout the hall. 
 
 24 
 
 So thus was Eros unto Psyche wed. 
 The heavenly bridegroom to his earthly bride. 
 Who won his love, in simple maidenhead : 
 And by her love herself she glorified. 
 And him from wanton wildness disinclined ; 
 Since in his love for her he came to find 
 A joy unknown through all Olympus wide. 
 
 And Psyche for her fall was quite forgiven. 
 Since 'gainst herself when tempted to rebel. 
 By others' malice on her ruin driven. 
 Only of sweet simplicity she fell: — 
 Wherein who fall may fall unto the skies ; — 
 And being foolish she was yet most wise, 
 And took her trials patiently and well. 
 
 26 
 
 And Aphrodite since her full defeat 
 Is kinder and less jealous than before, 
 And smiling on them both, calls Psyche sweet ; 
 But thinks her son less manly than of yore : 
 Though still she holds his arm of some renown, 
 When he goes smiting mortals up and down, 
 Piercing their marrow with his weapons sore. 
 ( 183 ) 
 
Eros ^ 'Psyche 
 
 27 
 
 So now in steadfast love and happy state 
 
 They hold for aye their mansion in the sky, 
 
 And send down heavenly peace on those who mate 
 
 In virgin love, to find their joy thereby : 
 
 Whom gently Eros shooteth, and apart 
 
 Keepeth for them from all his sheaf that dart 
 
 Which Psyche in his chamber pickt to try. 
 
 28 
 
 Now in that same month Psyche bare a child. 
 Who straight in heaven was named Hedone 
 In mortal tongues by other letters styled ; 
 Whom all to love, however named, agree : 
 Whom in our noble English JOY we call. 
 And honour them among us most of all. 
 Whose happy children are as fair as she. 
 
 29 
 ENVOY 
 
 IT IS MY PRAYER THAT SHE MAY SMILE ON AbL 
 WHO READ MY TALE AS SHE HATH SMILED ON ME. 
 
 ( 184 ) 
 
Eros &f 'Psyc/ie 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 But Aphrodite to the house of Zeus 
 
 Being bound, bade beckon out her milkwhite steeds 
 
 Four doves, that ready to her royal use 
 
 In golden cages stood and peck'd the seeds : 
 
 Best of the nimble air's high-sailing folk 
 
 That wore with pride the marking of her yoke, 
 
 And cooed in envy of her gentle needs. 
 
 These drew in turn her chariot, when in state 
 Along the heaven with all her train she fared ; 
 And oft in journeying to the skiey gate 
 Of Zeus's palace high their flight had dared, 
 Which darkest vapour and thick glooms enshroud 
 Above all else in the perpetual cloud, 
 Wherethro' to mount again they stood prepared. 
 
 Sleeking their feathers, by her shining car; 
 
 The same Hephsestos wrought for her, when he. 
 Bruised in his hideous fall from heaven afar, 
 AVas nursed by Thetis, and Eurynome, 
 The daughter of the ever-refluent main ; 
 AVith whom he dwelt till he grew sound again, 
 Down in a hollow cave beside the sea : 
 
 ( ^53 ) 
 
^ros &f Tsyche 
 
 4 
 And them for kindness done was prompt to serve, 
 Forging them brooches rich in make and mode, 
 Earrings, and supple chains of jointed curve, 
 And other trinkets, while he there abode : 
 And none of gods or men knew of his home, 
 But they two only ; and the salt sea-foam 
 To and fro past his cavern ever flow'd. 
 
 S 
 'Twas then he wrought this work within the cave, 
 Emboss'd with rich design, a moonbd car ; 
 And when return'd to heaven to Venus gave. 
 In form imagined like her crescent star; 
 Which circling nearest earth, maketh at night 
 To wakeful mortal men shadow and light 
 Alone of all the stars in heaven that are. 
 
 6 
 
 Two slender wheels it had, with fretted tires 
 Of biting adamant, to take firm hold 
 Of cloud or ether ; and their whirling fires 
 Threw off the air in halo where they roll'd : 
 And either nave that round the axle turn'd 
 A ruby was, whose steady crimson burn'd 
 Betwixt the twin speed-mingling fans of gold. 
 
 7 
 Thereon the naked goddess mounting, shook 
 The reins ; whereat the doves their wings outspread, 
 And rising high their flight to heaven they took : 
 And all the birds, that in those courts were bred, 
 Of her broad eaves the nested families. 
 Sparrows and swallows, join'd their companies 
 Awhile and twitter'd to her overhead. 
 
 ( IS4) 
 
November 
 
 But onward she with fading tracks of flame 
 Sped swiftly, till she reacht her journey's end : 
 And when within the house of Zeus she came, 
 She pray'd the Sire of Heaven that he would lend 
 Hermes, the Argus-slayer, for her hest ; 
 And he being granted her at her request. 
 She went forthwith to seek him and to send. 
 
 9 
 AVho happ'd within the palace then to wait 
 Upon the almighty pleasure ; and her tale 
 Was quickly told, and he made answer straight 
 That he would find the truant without fail ; 
 Asking the goddess by what signs her slave 
 Might best be known, and what the price she gave 
 For capture, or admitted for the bail. 
 
 All which he took his silver stile to write 
 
 In letters large upon a waxed board ; 
 
 Her age and name, her colour, face and height. 
 
 Her home, and parentage, and the reward : 
 
 And then read o'er as 'twas to be proclaim'd. 
 
 And she took oath to give the price she named, 
 
 ■\Vithout demur, when Psyche was restored. 
 
 Then on his head he closely set his cap 
 With eared wings erect, and o'er his knee 
 He cross'd each foot in turn to prove the strap 
 That bound his winged sandals, and shook free 
 His chlamys, and gat up, and in his hand 
 Taking his fair white-ribbon'd herald's wand, 
 Lept forth on air, accoutred cap-a-pe. 
 
 ^ ( ^^S ) 
 
Kros ^f T^syche 
 
 And piloting along the mid-day sky, 
 
 Held southward, till the narrow map of Crete 
 
 Lay like a fleck in azure 'neath his eye ; 
 
 When down he came, and as an eagle fleet 
 
 Drops in some combe, then checks his headlong stoop 
 
 With wide-flung wing, wheeling in level swoop 
 
 To strike the bleating quarry with his feet, 
 
 13 
 
 Thus he alighted ; and in every town 
 
 In all the isle before the close of day 
 
 Had cried the message, which he carried down. 
 
 Of Psyche, Aphrodite's runaway ; 
 
 That whosoever found the same and caught, 
 
 And by such time unto her temple brought. 
 
 To him the goddess would this guerdon pay : 
 
 14 
 Six honied kisses from her rosy mouth 
 Would Cytherea give, and one beside 
 
 To QUENCH AT HEART FOR AYE LOVE'S MORTAL DROUTH 
 
 But UNTO him that hid her. Woe betide ! 
 Which now was on all tongues, and Psyche's name 
 Herself o'erheard, or ever nigh she came 
 To Aphrodite's temple where she hied. 
 
 IS 
 When since she found her way to heaven was safe, 
 She only wisht to make it soon and sure ; 
 Nor fear'd to meet the goddess in her chafe, 
 So she her self-surrender might secure. 
 And not be given of other for the price ; 
 Nor was there need of any artifice 
 Her once resplendent beauty to obscure. 
 
 ( 156 ) 
 
Noyem^er 
 
 i6 
 
 For now so changed she was by heavy woe, 
 That for the little likeness that she bore 
 To her description she was fear'd to go 
 Within the fane ; and when she stood before 
 The priestess, scarce coud she with oath persuade 
 That she was Psyche, the renowned maid. 
 Whom men had left the temple to adore. 
 
 But when to Hermes she was shown and given, 
 He took no doubt, but eager to be quit. 
 And proud of speed, return'd with her to heaven, 
 And left her with the proclamation writ, 
 Hung at her neck, the board with letters large, 
 At Aphrodite's gate with those in charge ; 
 And up whence first he came made haste to flit. 
 
 18 
 
 But hapless Psyche fell, for so it chanced, 
 To moody Synethea's care, the one 
 Of Aphrodite's train whom she advanced 
 To try the work abandon'd by her son. 
 Who by perpetual presence made ill end 
 Of good or bad ; though she coud both amend, 
 And merit praise for work by her begun. 
 
 But she to better thought her heart had shut, 
 And proved she had a spite beyond compare : 
 Nor coud the keenest taunts her anger glut. 
 Which she when sour'd was never wont to spare : 
 And now she mock'd at Psyche's shame and grief, 
 As only she might do, and to her chief 
 Along the courtyard dragg'd her by the hair. 
 
 ( IS7 ) 
 
Eros &f T^syche 
 
 Nor now was Aphrodite kinder grown : 
 Having her hated rival in her power, 
 She laught for joy^ and in triumphant tone 
 Bade her a merry welcome to her bower : 
 ' 'Tis fit indeed daughters-in-law should wait 
 Upon their mothers ; but thou comest late, 
 Psyche ; I lookt for thee before this hour. 
 
 ' And yet,' thus gave she rein to jeer and gibe, 
 
 ' Forgive me if I held thee negligent, 
 
 Or if accustom'd vanity ascribe 
 
 An honour to myself that was not meant. 
 
 Thy lover is it, who so dearly prized 
 
 The pretty soul, then left her and despised ? 
 
 To him more like thy heavenward steps were bent : 
 
 ' Nor without reason : Zeus, I tell thee, swoon'd 
 
 To hear the story of the drop of oil. 
 
 The revelation and the ghastly wound : 
 
 My merriment is but my fear's recoil. 
 
 But if my son was unkind, thou shalt see 
 
 How kind a goddess can his mother be 
 
 To bring thy tainted honour clear of soil.' 
 
 And so, to match her promise with her mirth, 
 Two of her ministers she call'd in ken. 
 That work the melancholy of the earth \ 
 Merimna that with care perplexes, when 
 The hearts of mortals have the gods forgot. 
 And Lype, that her sorrow spares them not. 
 When mortals have forgot their fellow men. 
 
 ( 158 ) 
 
No's)ember 
 
 24 
 
 These, like twin sharks that in a fair ship's wake 
 Swim constant, showing 'hove the water blue ' 
 Their shearing fins, and hasty ravin make 
 Of overthrow or offal, so these two 
 On Aphrodite's passing follow hard ; 
 And now she offer'd to their glut's regard 
 Sweet Psyche, with command their wont to do. 
 
 But in what secret chamber their foul task 
 
 These soul-tormentors plied, or what their skill. 
 
 Pity of tender nature may not ask. 
 
 Nor poet stain his rhyme with such an ill. 
 
 But they at last themselves turn'd from their rack, 
 
 Weary of cruelty, and led her back, 
 
 Saying that further torture were to kill. 
 
 26 
 
 Then when the goddess saw her, more she mockt 
 'Art thou the woman of the earth,' she said, 
 ' That hast in sorceries mine Eros lockt. 
 And stood thyself for worship in my stead ? 
 Looking that I should pity thee, or care 
 For what illicit offspring thou may'st bear; 
 Or let thee to that god my son be wed ? 
 
 27 
 
 ' I know thy trick ; and thou art one of them 
 Who steal love's favour in the genrie way, 
 Wearing submission for a diadem. 
 Patience and suffering for thy rich array : 
 Thou wilt be modest, kind, impHcit, so 
 To rest thy wily spirit out of show 
 That it may leap the livelier into play : 
 
 ( 159 ) 
 
Eros ^ Tsyche 
 
 28 
 
 'Devout at doing nothing, if so be 
 
 The grace become thee well ; but active yet 
 
 Above all others be there none to see 
 
 Thy business, and thine eager face asweat. 
 
 Lo ! I will prove thy talent : thou may'st live, 
 
 :Vnd all that thou desirest will I give, 
 
 If thou perform the task which I shall set.' 
 
 29 
 
 She took her then aside, and bade her heed 
 A heap of grains piled high upon the floor. 
 Millet and mustard, hemp and poppy seed. 
 And fern-bloom's undistinguishable spore. 
 All kinds of pulse, of grasses, and of spice, 
 Clover and linseed, rape, and corn, and rice, 
 Dodder, and sesame, and many more. 
 
 3° 
 ' Sort me these seeds ' she said ; ' it now is night, 
 I will return at morning ; if I find 
 That thou hast separated all aright. 
 Each grain from other grain after its kind. 
 And set them in unmingl'd heaps apart, 
 Then shall thy wish be granted to thine heart. 
 Whereat she lurn'd, and closed the door behind. 
 
 ( 160) 
 
FOURTH QIJARTER 
 WINTER 
 
 psyche's trials and reception 
 into heaven 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 *V SINGLE lamp there stood beside the heap, 
 And shed thereon its mocking golden light ; 
 Such as might tempt the weary eye to sleep 
 Rather than prick the nerve of tasked sight. 
 Yet Psyche, not to fail for lack of zeal, 
 With good will sat her down to her ordeal, 
 Sorting the larger seeds as best she might. 
 
 When lo ! upon the wall, a shadow past 
 Of doubtful shape, across the chamber dim 
 Moving with speed : and seeing nought that cast 
 The shade, she bent her down the flame to trim ; 
 And there the beast itself, a little ant, 
 Climb'd up in compass of the lustre scant, 
 Upon the bowl of oil ran round the rim. 
 
 ( TflT ) G 
 
Eros &' Vsyche 
 
 3 
 Smiling to see the creature of her fear 
 So dwarf d by truth, she watcht him where he crept, 
 For mere distraction telling in his ear 
 What straits she then was in, and telling wept. 
 Whereat he stood and trim'd his horns ; but ere 
 Her tale was done resumed his manner scare, 
 Ran down, and on his way in darkness kept. 
 
 4 
 But she intent drew forth with dextrous hand 
 The larger seeds, or push'd the smaller back. 
 Or light from heavy with her breathing fan'd. 
 When suddenly she saw the floor grow black, 
 And troops of ants, flowing in noiseless train. 
 Moved to the hill of seeds, as o'er a plain 
 Armies approach a city for attack ; 
 
 S 
 And gathering on the grain, began to strive 
 With grappling horns : and each from out the heap 
 His burden drew, and all their motion live 
 Struggled and slid upon the surface steep. 
 And Psyche wonder'd, watching them, to find 
 The creatures separated kind from kind : 
 Till dizzied with the sight she fell asleep. 
 
 And when she woke 'twas with the morning sound 
 
 Of Aphrodite's anger at the door. 
 
 Whom high amaze stay'd backward, as she found 
 
 Her foe asleep with all her trouble o'er : 
 
 And round the room beheld, in order due. 
 
 The piles arranged distinct and sorted true. 
 
 Grain with grain, seed with seed, and spore with spore 
 
 ( 162 ) 
 
December 
 
 7 
 She fiercely cried ' Thou shalt not thus escape ; 
 For to this marvel dar'st thou not pretend. 
 There is but one that coud this order shape, 
 Demeter,— but I knew her not thy friend. 
 Therefore another trial will I set, 
 In which she cannot aid thee nor abet, 
 But thou thyself must bring it fair to end.' 
 
 8 
 
 Thereon she sped her to the bounds of Thrace, 
 And set her by a river deep and wide. 
 And said 'To east beyond this stream, a race 
 Of golden-fleeced sheep at pasture bide. 
 Go seek them out ; and this thy task, to pull 
 But one lock for me of their precious wool, 
 And give it in my hands at eventide : 
 
 9 
 ' This do and thou shalt have thy heart's desire.' 
 Which said, she fled and left her by the stream : 
 And Psyche then, with courage still entire, 
 Had plunged therein ; but now of great esteem 
 Her life she rated, while it lent a spell 
 Wherein she yet might hope to quit her well, 
 And in one vanning all her woes redeem. 
 
 There as she stood in doubt, a fluting voice 
 Rose from the flood, ' Psyche, be not afraid 
 To hear a reed give tongue, for 'twas of choice 
 That I from mortal flesh a plant was made. 
 My name is Syrinx ; once from mighty Pan 
 Into the drowning river as I ran, 
 A fearful prayer my steps for ever stay'd. 
 ( 163 ) 
 
Eros ^ 'Psyche 
 
 ' But by that change in many climes I live ; 
 And Pan, my lover, who to me alone 
 Is true and does me honour, I forgive — 
 Nor if I speak in sorrow is't my own : 
 Rather for thee my voice I now uplift 
 To warn thee plunge not in the river swift. 
 Nor seek the golden sheep to men unknown. 
 
 ' If thou should cross the stream, which may not be, 
 
 Thou coudst not climb upon the hanging rocks. 
 
 Nor ever, as the goddess bade thee, see 
 
 The pasture of the yellow-fleeced flocks : 
 
 Or if thou coud, their herded horns would gore 
 
 And slay thee on the crags, or thrust thee o'er 
 
 Ere thou coudst rob them of their golden locks. 
 
 'The goddess means thy death. But I can show 
 
 How thy obedience yet may thwart her will. 
 
 At noon the golden flocks descend below, 
 
 Leaving the scented herbage of the hill. 
 
 And where the shelving banks to shallows fall, 
 
 Driqk at the rippling water one and all, 
 
 Nor back return till they have drawn their fill. 
 
 ' I will command a thornbush, that it stoop 
 Over some ram that steppeth by in peace. 
 And him in all its prickles firmly coop, 
 Making thee seizure of his golden fleece ; 
 So without peril of his angry horns 
 Shalt thou be quit : for he upon the thorns 
 Must leave his ransom ere he win release.' 
 ( r64 ) 
 
December 
 
 Then Psyche thankt her for her kind befriending, 
 
 And hid among the rushes looking east ; 
 
 And when noon came she saw the flock descending 
 
 Out of the hills ; and lo ! one golden beast 
 
 Caught in a thornbush ; and the mighty brute 
 
 Struggl'd and tore it from its twisted root 
 
 Into the stream, or e'er he was releas't. 
 
 i6 
 
 And when they water'd were and gone, the breeze 
 Floated the freighted thorn where Psyche lay ; 
 Whence she unhook'd the golden wool at ease, 
 And back to heaven for passage swift gan pray. 
 And Hermes, who was sent to be her guide 
 Ifso she lived, came down at eventide. 
 And bore her thither ere the close of day. 
 
 17 
 But when the goddess saw the locks of gold 
 Held to her hands, her heart with wrath o'erran :• 
 ' Most desperate thou, and by abetting bold. 
 That dost outwit me, prove thee as I can. 
 Yet this work is not thine : there is but one 
 Of all the gods who coud the thing have done. 
 Hast thou a friend too in the lusty Pan ? 
 
 ' I'll give thee trial where he cannot aid.' 
 
 Which said, she led her to a torrid land, 
 Level and black, but not with flood or shade, 
 For nothing coud the mighty heat withstand, 
 Which aye from morn till eve the naked sun 
 Pour'd on that plain, where never foot had run, 
 Nor any herb sprung on its molten sand. 
 ( i6s ) 
 
Eros &' Tsyche 
 
 Far off a gloomy mountain rose alone ; 
 
 And Aphrodite, thither pointing, said 
 
 ' There lies thy task. Out of the topmost stone 
 
 Of yonder hill upwells a fountain head. 
 
 Take thou this goblet ; brimming must thou bring 
 
 Its cup with water from that sacred spring, 
 
 If ever to my son thou wouldst be wed.' 
 
 Saying, she gave into her hands a bowl 
 Cut of one crystal, open, broad and fair; 
 And bade her at all hazard keep it whole, 
 For heaven held nought beside so fine or rare. 
 Then was she gone ; and Psyche on the plain 
 Now doubted if she ever should regain 
 The love of Eros, strove she howsoe'er. 
 
 Yet as a helmsman, at the word to tack, 
 Swiftly without a thought puts down his helm. 
 So Psyche turn'd to tread that desert black, 
 Since was no fear that coud her heart o'erwhelm; 
 Nor knew she that she went the fount to seek 
 Of cold Cocytus, springing to the peak. 
 Secretly from his source in Pluto's realm. 
 
 All night and day she journey'd, and at last 
 Come to the rock gazed up in vain around : 
 Nothing she saw but precipices vast 
 O'er ruined scarps, with rugged ridges crown'd : 
 And creeping to a cleft to rest in shade. 
 Or e'er the desperate venture she assay'd, 
 She fell asleep upon the stony ground. 
 ( 166 ) 
 
December 
 
 A dream came to her, thus : she stood alone 
 
 Within her palace in the high ravine ; 
 
 AVhere nought but she was changed, but she to stone. 
 
 Worshippers throng'd the court, and still were seen 
 
 Folk flying from the peak, who, ever more 
 
 Flying and flying, lighted on the floor. 
 
 Hail! cried they, 'wife of Eros, adored queen ! 
 
 24 
 
 A hurtling of the battl'd air disturb'd 
 
 Her sunken sense, and waked her eyes to meet 
 
 The kingly bird of Zeus, himself that curb'd 
 
 His swooping course, alighting at her feet ; 
 
 With motion gentle, his far-darting eye 
 
 In kindness dim'd upon her, he drew nigh. 
 
 And thus in words unveil'd her foe's deceit : 
 
 25 
 ' In vain, poor Psyche, hast thou hither striven 
 Across the fiery plain toiling so well ; 
 Cruelly to destruction art thou driven 
 By her, whose hate thou canst not quit nor quell. 
 No mortal foot may scale this horrid mount, 
 And those black waters of its topmost fount 
 Are guarded by the horned snakes of hell. 
 
 26 
 
 ' Its little rill is an upleaping jet 
 Of cold Cocytus, which for ever licks 
 Earth's base, and when with Acheron 'tis met, 
 Its waters with that other cannot mix, 
 AVhich holds the elemental air dissolved ; 
 But with it in its ceaseless course revolved 
 Issues unmingl'd in the lake of Styx. 
 ( 167 ) 
 
Kros ^ T^syche 
 
 27 
 
 ' The souls of murderers, in guise of fish, 
 
 Scream as they swim therein and wail for cold, 
 
 Their times of woe determined by the wish 
 
 Of them they murder'd on the earth of old : 
 
 AVhom each five years they see, whene'er they make 
 
 'f'heir passage to the Acherusian lake. 
 
 And there release may win from pains condoled. 
 
 ' For if the pitying ear of them they slew 
 
 Be haply pierced by their voices spare. 
 
 Then are they freed from pain ; as are some few; 
 
 But, for the most, again they forward fare 
 
 To Tartarus obscene, and outcast thence 
 
 Are hurried back into the cold intense. 
 
 And with new company their torments share. 
 
 29 
 
 ' Its biting lymph may not be touch'd of man 
 Or god, unless the Fates have so ordain'd ; 
 Nor coud I in thy favour break the ban, 
 Nor pass the dragons that thereby are chain'd, 
 Didst thou not bear the sacred cup of Zeus ; 
 ^Vhich, for thy peril lent, shall turn to use, 
 And truly do the service which it feign'd.' 
 
 3° 
 Thus as he spake, his talons made he ring 
 Around the crystal bowl, and soaring high 
 Descended as from heaven upon the spring : 
 Nor dared the horned snakes of hell deny 
 The minister of Zeus, that bore his cup, 
 To fill it with their trusted water up. 
 Thence to the King of heaven therewith to flj'. 
 ( 168) 
 
THIRD QUARTER 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 psyche's wanderings 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle, 
 Westward of Drepanon, along a reach 
 Which massy Cyamum for many a mile 
 Jutting to sea delivers from the breach 
 Of North and East, — returning to embay 
 The favour'd shore — an ancient city lay, 
 Aptera, which is Wingless in our speech. 
 
 And hence the name ; that here in rocky cove, 
 Thence called Museion, was the trial waged 
 What day the Sirens with the Muses strove, 
 By jealous Hera in that war engaged : 
 Wherein the daughters of Mnemosyne 
 O'ercame the chauntresses who vex'd the sea. 
 Nor vengeance spared them by their pride enraged 
 ( 137 ) F 
 
Eros &' T^syche 
 
 3 
 For those strange creatures, who with women's words 
 And wiles made ravenous prey of passers-by, 
 Were throated with the liquid pipe of birds : 
 Of love they sang ; and none, who sail'd anigh 
 Through the grey hazes of the cyanine sea, 
 Had wit the whirlpool of that song to flee. 
 Nor fear'd the talon hook'd and feather'd thigh. 
 
 4 
 But them the singers of the gods overcame, 
 And pluck'd them of their plumage, where in fright 
 They vainly flutter'd off to hide their shame. 
 Upon two rocks that lie within the bight. 
 Under the headland, bairen and alone ; 
 'Which, being with the scatter'd feathers strewn, 
 ^Vere by the folk named Leukte, which is White. 
 
 5 
 Thereon about this time the snowy gull, 
 Minion of Aphrodite, being come, 
 Plumed himself, standing on the sea-wrack dull, 
 That drifted from the foot of Cyamum ; 
 And 'twas his thought, that had the goddess learnt 
 The tale of Psyche loved and Eros burnt. 
 She ne'er so long had kept aloof and dumb. 
 
 Wherefore that duteous gossip of Love's queen 
 
 Devised that he the messenger would be ; 
 
 And rising from the rock, he skim'd between 
 
 The chasing waves — such grace have none but he \- 
 
 Into the middle deep then down he dived. 
 
 And rowing with his glistening wings arrived 
 
 At Aphrodite's bower beneath the sea. 
 
 ( '38 ) 
 
September 
 
 7 
 The eddies from his silver pinions svvirl'd 
 The crimson, green, and yellow floss, that grew 
 About the caves, and at his passing curl'd 
 Its graceful silk, and gently waved anew : 
 Till, oaring here and there, the queen he found 
 Stray'd from her haunt unto a sandy ground, 
 Dappl'd with eye-rings in the sunlight blue. 
 
 8 
 
 She, as he came upon her from above. 
 With Hora play'd ; Hora, her herald fair, 
 That lays the soft necessity of Love 
 On maidens' eyelids, and with tender care 
 Marketh the hour, as in all works is fit : 
 And happy they in love who time outwit. 
 Fondly constrained in her season rare. 
 
 9 
 But he with garrulous and laughing tongue 
 Broke up his news ; how Eros, fallen sick, 
 Lay tossing on his bed, to frenzy stung 
 By such a burn as did but barely prick : 
 A little bleb, no bigger than a pease. 
 Upon his shoulder 'twas, that kill'd his ease, 
 Fever'd his heart, and made his breathing thick. 
 
 ' For which disaster hath he not been seen 
 
 This many a day at all in any place : 
 
 And thou, dear mistress,' piped he, ' hast not been 
 
 Thyself amongst us now a dreary space : 
 
 The pining mortals suffer from a dearth 
 
 Of love ; and for this sadness of the earth 
 
 Thy family is darken'd with disgrace. 
 
 ( 139 ) 
 
Eros ^ Psyche 
 
 ' Now on the secret paths of dale and wood, 
 Where lovers walk'd are lovers none to find : 
 And friends, besworn to equal brotherhood, 
 Forget their faith, and part with words unkind : 
 In the first moon thy honey-bond is loath'd : 
 And I coud tell even of the new-betroth'd 
 That fly o'ersea, and leave their loves behind. 
 
 ' Summer is over, but the merry pipe, 
 That wont to cheer the harvesting, is mute : 
 And in the vineyards, where the grape is ripe. 
 No voice is heard of them that take the fruit. 
 No workman singeth at eve nor maiden danceth : 
 All joy is dead, and as the year advanceth 
 The signs of woe increase on man and brute. 
 
 1-3 
 ' 'Tis plain that if thy pleasure longer pause. 
 Thy mighty rule on earth hath seen its day : 
 The race must come to perish, and no cause 
 But that thou sittest with thy nymphs at play, 
 While on a Cretan hill thy truant boy 
 Hath with his pretty mistress turn'd to toy, 
 And less for pain than love pineth away.' 
 
 14 
 ' Ha ! Mistress ! ' cried she ; ' Hath my beardless son 
 Been hunting for himself his lovely game ? 
 Some young Orestiad hath his fancy won ? 
 Some Naiad ? say ; or is a Grace his flame ? 
 Or maybe Muse, and then 'tis Erato, 
 The trifling wanton. Tell me, if thou know, 
 Woman or goddess is she? and her name.' 
 ( 140 ) 
 
September 
 
 IS 
 Then said the snowy gull, ' O heavenly queen 
 What is my knowledge, who am but a bird ? 
 Yet is she only mortal, as I ween, 
 
 And nam^d Psyche, if I rightly heard.' 
 
 But Aphrodite's look daunted his cheer, 
 
 Ascare he fled away, screaming in fear, 
 
 To see what wrath his simple tale had stirr'd. 
 
 i6 
 
 He flasht his pens, and sweeping widely round 
 
 Tower'd to air ; so swift in all his way, 
 
 That whence he dived he there again was found 
 
 As soon as if he had but dipt for prey : 
 
 And now, or e'er he join'd his wailful flock. 
 
 Once more he stood upon the Sirens' rock. 
 
 And preen'd his ruffl'd quills for fresh display. 
 
 But as ill tidings will their truth assure 
 Without more witness than their fatal sense. 
 So, since was nothing bitterer to endure, 
 The injured goddess guess'd the full offence : 
 And doubted only whether first to smite 
 Or Psyche for her new presumptuous flight, 
 Or Eros for his disobedience. 
 
 i8 
 
 But full of anger to her son she went. 
 And found him in his golden chamber laid ; 
 And with him sweet Euphrosyne, attent 
 Upon his murmur'd wants, aye as he bade 
 Shifted the pillows with each fretful whim ; 
 But scornfully his mother look'd at him, 
 And reckless of his pain gan thus upbraid : 
 ( Mr ) 
 
Eros ^ Tsyche 
 
 19 
 
 ' O worthy deeds, I say, and true to blood. 
 
 The crown and pledge of promise ! thou that wast 
 
 In estimation my perpetual bud, 
 
 Now fruiting thus untimely to my cost ; 
 
 Backsliding from commandment, ay, and worse. 
 
 With bliss to favour one I bade thee curse, 
 
 And save the life I left with thee for lost ! 
 
 ' Thou too to burn with love, and love of her 
 
 Whom I did hate ; and to thy bed to take 
 
 My rival, that my trusted officer 
 
 Might of mine enemy my daughter make ! 
 
 Dost thou then think my love for thee so fond, 
 
 And miserably doting, that the bond 
 
 By such dishonour strained will not break ? 
 
 ' Or that I cannot bear another son 
 As good as thou ; or, if I choose not bear. 
 Not beg as good a lusty boy of one 
 Of all my nymphs, — and some have boys to spare,— 
 Whom I might train, to whom thine arms made o'er 
 Should do me kinder service than before, 
 To smite my foes and keep my honour fair? 
 
 ' For thou hast ever mockt me, and beguiled 
 In amours strange my God, thy valiant sire ; 
 And having smirch'd our fame while yet a child 
 ^^'ilt further foul it now with earthly fire. 
 But I — do as thou may — have vow'd to kill 
 Thy fancied girl, whether thou love her still, 
 Or of her silly charms already tire. 
 
 { 142 ) 
 
Septeffibei- 
 
 ' Tell me but where she hides.' And Eros now, 
 Proud in his woe, boasted his happy theft : 
 Confessing he had loved her well, and how 
 By her own doing she was lost and left ; 
 And homeless in such sorrow as outwent 
 The utmost pain of other punishment, 
 Was wandering of his love and favour reft. 
 
 24 
 
 By which was Cypris gladden'd, not appeased. 
 But hid her joy and spake no more her threat : 
 And left with face like one that much displeased 
 Hath yet betray'd that he can wrong forget. 
 
 When lo ! as swiftly she came stepping down 
 From her fair house into the heavenly town 
 The Kronian sisters on the way she met; 
 
 25 
 
 Hera, the Wife of Zeus, her placid front 
 Dark with the shadow of his troubl'd reign, 
 And tall Demeter, who with men once wont. 
 Holding the high Olympians in disdain 
 For Persephassa's rape ; which now forgiven. 
 She had return'd unto the courts of Heaven, 
 And 'mong the immortals liv'd at peace again ; 
 
 26 
 
 Whose smile told Aphrodite that they knew 
 
 The meaning of her visit ; and a flush , 
 
 Of anger answer'd them, while hot she grew. 
 
 But Hera laugh'd outright : ' Why thou dost blush ! 
 
 Now see we modest manners on my life ! 
 
 And all thy little son has got a wife 
 
 Can make the crimson to thy forehead rush. 
 
 ( 143 ) 
 
Kros ^ 'Psyche 
 
 27 
 
 ' Didst think he, whom thou madest passion's prince, 
 No privy dart then for himself would poise ? 
 Nay, by the cuckoo on my sceptre, since 
 'Twas love that made thee mother of his joys. 
 Art thou the foremost to his favour bound ; 
 As thou shouldst be the last to think to sound 
 The heart, and least of all thy wanton boy's.' 
 
 28 
 
 But her Demeter, on whose stalwart arm 
 
 She lean'd, took up ; 'If thou wilt hark to me, 
 
 This Psyche,' said she, ' hath the heavenly charm, 
 
 And will become immortal. And maybe 
 
 To marry with a woman is as well 
 
 As wed a god and live below in Hell : 
 
 As 'twas my lot in child of mine to see.' 
 
 29 
 
 Which things they both said, fearing in their hearts 
 That savage Eros, if they mockt his case. 
 Would kill their peace with his revengeful darts, 
 And bring them haply to a worse disgrace : 
 But Aphrodite, saying ' Good ! my dames ; 
 Behind this smoke I see the spite that flames,' 
 Left them, and on her journey went apace. 
 
 3° 
 For having purposed she would hold no truce 
 With Psyche or her son, 'twas in her mind 
 To go forthwith unto the throne of Zeus, 
 And beg that Hermes might be sent to find 
 The wanderer ; and secure that in such quest 
 He would not fail, she ponder'd but how best 
 She might inflict her vengeance long-design'd. 
 ( 144 ) 
 
Eros &f T^syche 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Heavy meanwhile at heart, with bruised feet 
 Was Psyche wandering many nights and days 
 Upon the paths of hundred-citied Crete, 
 And chose to step the most deserted ways ; 
 Being least unhappy when she went unseen ; 
 Since else her secret sorrow had no screen 
 From the plain question of men's idle gaze. 
 
 Yet wheresoe'er she went one hope she had ; 
 Like mortal mourners, who 'gainst reason strong 
 Hope to be unexpectedly made glad 
 With sight of their dead friends, so much they long ; 
 So she for him, whom loss a thousandfold 
 Endear'd and made desired ; nor coud she hold 
 He would not turn and quite forgive her wrong. 
 
 3 
 Wherefore her eager eyes in every place 
 Lookt for her lover ; and 't^ixt hope and fear 
 She follow'd oft afar some form of grace, 
 In pain alike to lose or venture near. 
 And still this thought cheer'd her fatigue, that he. 
 Or on some hill, or by some brook or tree, 
 But waited for her coming to appear. 
 
 ( MS ) 
 
Eros &' 'Psyche 
 
 4 
 And then for comfort many an old love-crost 
 And doleful ditty would she gently sing, 
 Writ by sad poets of a lover lost, 
 Now sounding sweeter for her sorrowing : 
 Echo, sweet Echo, watching up on high. 
 Say hast thou seen to-day my love go by, 
 Or where thou sittest by thy mossy spring ? 
 
 S 
 Or say ye nymphs, that from the crystal rills. 
 When ye have bathed your limbs from 7>iorn till eve. 
 Flying at midnight to the bare-topt hills. 
 Beneath the stars your mazy dances weave. 
 Say, my deserter whom ye ivell may know 
 By his small wings, his quiver, and his bo^v. 
 Say, have ye seen my love, whose loss I grieve ? 
 
 Till climb'd one evening on a rocky steep 
 Above the plain of Cisamos, that lay, 
 Robb'd of its golden harvest, in the deep 
 Mountainous shadows of the dying day, 
 She saw a temple, whose tall columns fair 
 Recall'd her home ; and ' O if thou be there, 
 My love,' she cried, ' fly not again away.' 
 
 7 
 Swiftly she ran, and entering by the door 
 She stood alone within an empty fane 
 Of great Demeter : and, behold, the floor 
 Was litter'd with thank-offerings of grain, 
 With wheat and barley-sheaves together heapt 
 In holy harvest-home of them that reapt 
 The goddess plenteous gifts upon the plain ; 
 ( 146 ) 
 
October 
 
 And on the tithe the tackle of the tithe 
 Thrown by in such confusion, as are laid 
 Upon the swath sicklcj and hook, and scythe, 
 When midday drives the reapers to the shade. 
 And Psyche, since had come no priestess there 
 To trim the temple, in her pious care 
 Forgat herself, and lent her duteous aid. 
 
 9 
 She drew the offerings from the midst aside, 
 And piled the sheaves at every pillar's base ; 
 And sweeping therebetween a passage wide, 
 Made clear of corn and chaff the temple space : 
 As countrymen who bring their wheat to mart, 
 Set out their show along the walls apart 
 By their allotted stations, each in place ; 
 
 Thus she, and felt no weariness, — such strength 
 
 Hath duty to support our feeble frame, — 
 
 Till all was set in order, and at length 
 
 Up to the threshold of the shrine she came : 
 
 When lo ! before her face with friendly smile. 
 
 Tall as a pillar of the peristyle. 
 
 The goddess stood reveal'd, and call'd her name. 
 
 'Unhappy Psyche,' -said she, 'knov/st thou not 
 
 How Aphrodite to thy hurt is sworn ? 
 
 And thou, thy peril and her wrath forgot, 
 
 Spendest thy thought my temple to adorn. 
 
 Take better heed ! ' — And Psyche, at the voice 
 
 Even of so little comfort, gan rejoice, 
 
 And at her feet pour'd out this prayer forlorn. 
 
 ( X47 ) 
 
Eros &f TsjcAe 
 
 ' O Gracious giver of the golden grain, 
 Hide me, I pray thee, from her wrath unkind ; 
 - For who can pity as canst thou my pain, 
 Who wert thyself a wanderer, vex'd in mind 
 For loss of thy dear Core once, whenas, 
 Ravisht to hell by fierce Agesilas, 
 Thou soughtest her on earth and coudst not find. 
 
 13 
 ' How coud thy feet bear thee to western night. 
 And where swart Libyans watch the sacred tree, 
 And thrice to ford o'er Achelous bright. 
 And all the streams of beauteous Sicily ? 
 And thrice to Enna cam'st thou, thrice, they tell, 
 Satest athirst by Callichorus' well, 
 Nor tookest of the spring to comfort thee. 
 
 ' By that remember'd anguish of thine heart, 
 Lady, have pity even on me, and show 
 Where I may find my love ; and take my part 
 For peace, I pray, against my cruel foe : 
 Or if thou canst not from her anger shield. 
 Here let me lie among the sheaves conceal'd 
 Such time till forth I may in safety go.' 
 
 IS 
 Demeter answer'd, ' Nay, though thou constrain 
 My favour with thy plea, my help must still 
 Be hidden, else I work for thee in vain 
 To thwart Vny mighty sister in her will. 
 Thou must fly hence : Yet though I not oppose, 
 Less will I aid her ; and if now I close 
 My temple doors to thee, take it not ill.' 
 ( 148) 
 
October 
 
 i6 
 
 Then Psyche's hope founder'd ; as when a ship, 
 The morrow of the gale can hardly ride 
 The swollen seas, fetching a deeper dip 
 At every wave, and through her gaping side 
 And o'er her shattered bulwark ever drinks. 
 Till plunging in the watery wild she sinks, 
 To scoop her grave beneath the crushing tide : 
 
 17 
 So with each word her broken spirit drank 
 Its doom ; and overwhelm'd with deep despair 
 She turn'd away, and coming forth she sank 
 Silently weeping on the temple stair, 
 In midmost night, forspent with long turmoil : 
 But sleep, the gracious pursuivant of toil, 
 Came swiftly down, and nursed away her care. 
 
 And when the sun awaked her with his beams 
 She found new hope, that still her sorrow's cure 
 Lay with the gods, who in her morning dreams 
 Had sent her comfort in a vision sure ; 
 Wherein the Cretan-born, almightiest god. 
 Cloud-gathering Zeus himself had seem'd to nod, 
 And bid her with good heart her woes endure. 
 
 So coming that same day unto a shrine 
 Of Hera, she took courage and went in : 
 And like to one that to the cell divine 
 For favour ventures or a suit to win. 
 She drew anigh the altar, from her face 
 Wiping the tears, ere to the heavenly grace. 
 As thus she pray'd, she would her prayer begin. 
 
 ( 149 ) 
 
Eros &f T^syche 
 
 ' Most honour'd Lady, who from ancient doom 
 
 Wert made heaven's wife, and art on earth besought 
 
 AVith gracious happiness of all to whom 
 
 Thy holy wedlock hath my burden brought, 
 
 Save me from Aphrodite's fell pursuit. 
 
 And guard unto the birth Love's hapless fruit, 
 
 ^Vhich she for cruel spite would bring to nought. 
 
 ' iVs once from her thou wert not shamed to take 
 Her beauty's zone, thy beauty to enhance ; 
 For which again Zeus loved thee, to forsake 
 His warlike ire in faithful dalliance; 
 Show me what means may win my Love to me, 
 Or how that I may come, if so may be, 
 Within the favour of his countenance. 
 
 ' If there be any place for tears or prayer, 
 If there be need for succour in distress. 
 Now is the very hour of all despair. 
 Here is the heart of grief and bitterness. 
 Motherly pity, bend thy face and grant 
 One beam of ruth to thy poor suppliant, 
 Nor turn me from thine altar comfortless.' 
 
 Even as she pray'd a cloud spread through the cell, 
 
 And 'mid the wreathings of the vapour dim 
 
 The goddess grew in glory visible. 
 
 Like some barbaric queen in festal trim ; 
 
 Such the attire and ornaments she wore, 
 
 "When o'er the forged threshold of the floor 
 
 Of Zeus's house she stept to visit him. 
 
 ( ISO) 
 
October 
 
 24 
 
 From either ear, ring'd to its pierced lobe 
 A triple jewel hung, with gold enchas't ; 
 And o'er her breasts her wide ambrosial robe 
 With many a shining golden clasp was brac't ; 
 The flowering on its smooth embroider'd lawn 
 Gather'd to colour where the zone was drawn 
 In fringe of golden tassels at her waist. 
 
 25 
 
 Her curling hair with plaited braid and brail, 
 Pendant or loop'd about her head divine, 
 Lay hidden half beneath a golden veil, 
 Bright as the rippling ocean in sunshine : 
 And on the ground, flashing whene'er she stept. 
 Beneath her feet the dazzling lightnings lept 
 From the gold network of her sandals fine. 
 
 26 
 
 Thus Hera stood in royal guise bedeckt 
 Before poor Psyche on the stair that knelt, 
 "Whose new-nursed hope at that display was checkt 
 And all her happier thoughts gan fade and melt. 
 She saw no kindness in such haughty mien, 
 And venturing not to look upon the queen, 
 Bow'd down in woe to hear her sentence dealt. 
 
 27 
 
 And thus the goddess spake, ' In vain thou suest, 
 Most miserable Psyche ; though my heart 
 Be full of hate for her whose hate thou ruest. 
 And pride and pity move me to thy part : 
 Yet not till Zeus make known his will, coud I, 
 Least of the blameless gods that dwell on high. 
 Assist thee, wert thou worthier than thou art. 
 
 ( 151 ) 
 
Kros &f Psyche 
 
 ' But know if Eros love thee, that thy hopes 
 Should rest on him ; and I would bid thee go 
 AVhere in his mother's house apart he mopes 
 Grieving for loss of thee in secret woe : 
 P'or should he take thee back, there is no power 
 In earth or heaven will hurt thee from that hour, 
 Nay, not if Zeus himself should prove thy foe.' 
 
 .29 
 Thus saying she was gone, and Psyche now 
 Surprised by comfort rose and went her way. 
 Resolved in heart, and only wondering how 
 'Twas possible to come where Eros lay ; 
 Since that her feet, however she might roam, 
 Coud never travel to the heavenly home 
 Of Love, beyond the bounds of mortal day : 
 
 Yet must she come to him. And now 'twas proved 
 
 How that to Lovers, as is told in song, 
 
 Seeking the way no place is far removed ; 
 
 Nor is there any obstacle so strong. 
 
 Nor bar so fix'd that it can hinder them : 
 
 And how to reach heaven's gate by stratagem 
 
 Vex'd not the venturous heart of Psyche long. 
 
 31 
 To face her enemy might well avail : 
 AVherefore to Cypris' shrine her steps she bent, 
 Hoping the goddess in her hate might hale 
 Her body to the skies for punishment, 
 Whate'er to be ; yet now her fiercest wrath 
 Seem'd happiest fortune, seeing 'twas the path 
 ^^'hereby alone unto her love she went. 
 
 ( X52 ) 
 
The Growth of Love 
 
 € 
 
PRJl^IOUS EDITIONS 
 
 I. JCX 11^ Sonnets. Ed. Bumpus, 1S76. 
 1. LXX'IJC Sonmts. Daniel Press, 1 889. 
 
 This edition was copied in America. 
 3. Do. do. Black-letter, 1890. 
 ^. L^I^ Sonnets, Smith, Elder & Co. Fb/. /, 1898. 
 
 ( 186) 
 
THE GROWTH 
 OF LOVE 
 
 They that in play can do the thing they would, 
 Having an instinct throned in reason's place, 
 — And every perfect action hath the grace 
 . Of indolence or thoughtless hardihood— 
 These are the best : yet be there workmen good 
 Who lose in earnestness control of face, 
 Or reckon means, and rapt in effort base 
 Reach to their end by steps well understood. 
 
 Me whom thou sawest of late strive with the pains 
 Of one who spends his strength to rule his nerve, 
 —Even as a painter breathlessly who strains 
 His scarcely moving hand lest it should swerve — 
 Behold me, now that I have cast my chains, 
 Master of the art which for thy sake I serve. 
 
 ( 187 ) 
 
The Groyvth, of Loye 
 
 For thou art mine : and now I am ashamed 
 To have used means to win so pure acquist, 
 And of my trembling fear that might have misst 
 Thro' very care the gold at which I aim'd ; 
 And am as happy but to hear thee named, 
 As are those gentle souls by angels kisst 
 In pictures seen leaving their marble cist 
 To go before the throne of grace unblamed. 
 
 Nor surer am I water hath the skill 
 To quench my thirst, or that my strength is freed 
 In delicate ordination as I will, 
 Than that to be myself is all I need 
 For thee to be most mine : so I stand still, 
 And save to taste my joy no more take heed. 
 
 The whole world now is but the minister 
 
 Of thee to me : I see no other scheme 
 
 But universal love, from timeless dream 
 
 Waking to thee his joy's interpreter. 
 
 I walk around and in the fields confer 
 
 Of love at large with tree and flower and stream, 
 
 And list the lark descant upon my theme, 
 
 Heaven's musical accepted worshipper. 
 
 Thy smile outfaceth ill : and that old feud 
 'Twixt things and me is quash'd in our new truce ; 
 And nature now dearly with thee endued 
 No more in shame ponders her old excuse, 
 But quite forgets her frowns and antics rude. 
 So kindly hath she grown to her new use. 
 ( 1-88 ) 
 
The Gro'wth of Loye 
 
 4 
 
 The very names of things belov'd are dear, 
 And sounds will gather beauty from their sense, 
 As many a face thro' love's long residence 
 Groweth to fair instead of plain and sere : 
 But when I say thy name it hath no peer. 
 And I suppose fortune determined thence 
 Her dower, that such beauty's excellence 
 - Should have a perfect title for the ear. 
 
 Thus may I think the adopting Muses chose 
 Their sons by name, knowing none would be heard 
 Or writ so oft in all the world as those, — 
 Dan Chaucer, mighty Shakespeare, then for third 
 The classic Milton, and to us arose 
 Shelley with liquid music in the word. 
 
 5 
 
 The poets were good teachers, for they taught 
 
 Earth had this joy ; but that 'twould ever be 
 
 That fortune should be perfected in me, 
 
 My heart of hope dared not engage the thought. 
 
 So I stood low, and now but to be caught 
 
 By any self-styled lords of the age with thee 
 
 Vexes my modesty, lest they should see 
 
 I hold them owls and peacocks, things of nought. 
 
 And when we sit alone, and as I please 
 I taste thy love's full smile, and can enstate 
 The pleasure of my kingly heart at ease. 
 My thought swims like a ship, that with the weight 
 Of her rich burden sleeps on the infinite seas 
 Becalm'd, and cannot stir her golden freight. 
 ( i8g ) 
 
TJie Gro'wth of Loye 
 
 While yet we wait for spring, and from the dry 
 And blackening east that so embitters March, 
 Well-housed must watch grey fields and meadows parch, 
 And driven dust and withering snowflake fly ; 
 Already in glimpses of the tarnish'd sky 
 The sun is warm and beckons to the larch. 
 And where the covert hazels interarch 
 Their tassell'd twigs, fair beds of primrose lie. 
 
 Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid 
 A million buds but stay their blossoming ; 
 And trustful birds have built their nests amid 
 The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing 
 Till one soft shower from the south shall bid. 
 And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of spring. 
 
 In thee my spring of life hath bid the while 
 A rose unfold beyond the summer's best, 
 The mystery of joy made manifest 
 In love's self-answering and awakening smile ; 
 Whereby the lips in wonder reconcile 
 Passion with peace, and show desire at rest, — 
 A grace of silence by the Greek unguesst, 
 That bloom'd to immortalize the Tuscan style : 
 
 When first the angel-song that faith hath ken'd 
 Fancy pourtray'd, above recorded oath 
 Of Israel's God, or light of poem pen'd ; 
 The very countenance of plighted troth 
 'Twixt heaven and earth, where in one moment blend 
 The hope of one and happiness of both. 
 ( igo ) 
 
1 Uc Ka7~0"v9trl Or I^O'DC 
 
 For beauty being the best of all we know 
 Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims 
 Of nature, and on joys whose earthly names 
 Were never told can form and sense bestow ; 
 And man hath sped his instinct to outgo 
 The step of science ; and against her shames 
 Imagination stakes out heavenly claims, 
 Building a tower above the head of woe. 
 
 Nor is there fairer work for beauty found 
 Than that she win in nature her release 
 From all the woes that in the world abound : 
 Nay with his sorrow may his love increase, 
 If from man's greater need beauty redound, 
 And claim his tears for homage of his peace. 
 
 Thus to thy beauty doth my fond heart look, 
 That late dismay'd her faithless faith forbore ; 
 And wins again her love lost in the lore 
 Of schools and script of many a learned book : 
 For thou what ruthless death untimely took 
 Shalt now in better brotherhood restore. 
 And save my batter'd ship that far from shore 
 High on the dismal deep in tempest shook. 
 
 So in despite of sorrow lately learn'd 
 I still hold true to truth since thou art true, — ' 
 -Nor wail the woe which thou to joy hast turn'd : 
 Nor come the heavenly sun and bathing blue 
 To my life's need more splendid and unearn'd 
 Than hath thy gift outmatch'd desire and due. 
 
 { J91 ) 
 
The Groyfth of Lofe 
 
 lO 
 
 Winter was not unkind because uncouth ; 
 His prison'd time made me a closer guest, 
 And gave thy graciousness a warmer zest, 
 Biting all else with keen and angry tooth : 
 And bravelier the triumphant blood of youth 
 Mantling thy cheek its happy home possest, 
 And sterner sport by day put strength to test, 
 And custom's feast at night gave tongue to truth. 
 
 Or say hath flaunting summer a device 
 To match our midnight revelry, that rang 
 With steel and flame along the snow-girt ice ? 
 Or when we hark't to nightingales that sang 
 On dewy eves in spring, did they entice 
 To gentler love than winter's icy fang ? 
 
 1 1 
 
 There's many a would-be poet at this hour, 
 Rhymes of a love that he hath never woo'd. 
 And o'er his lamplit desk in solitude 
 Deems that he sitteth in the Muses' bower : 
 And some the flames of earthly love devour. 
 Who have taken no kiss of Nature, nor renew'd 
 In the world's wilderness with heavenly food 
 The sickly body of their perishing power. 
 
 So none of all our company, I boast. 
 But now would mock my penning, coud they see 
 How down the right it maps a jagged coast ; 
 Seeing they hold the manlier praise to be 
 Strong hand and will, and the heart best when most 
 'Tis sober, simple, true, and fancy-free. 
 ( 192 ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of Loye 
 
 12 
 
 How coud I quarrel or blame you, most dear, 
 Who all thy virtues gavest and kept back none j 
 Kindness and gentleness, truth without peer, 
 And beauty that my fancy fed upon ? 
 
 Now not my life's contrition for my fault 
 Can blot that day, nor work me recompence, 
 Tho' I might worthily thy worth exalt. 
 Making thee long amends for short offence. 
 
 For surely nowhere, love, if not in thee 
 Are grace and truth and beauty to be found ; 
 And all my praise of these can only be 
 A praise of thee, howe'er by thee disown'd : 
 
 While still thou must be mine tho' far removed^ 
 And I for one offence no more beloved. 
 
 13 
 
 Now since to me altho' by thee refused 
 The world is left, I shall find pleasure still ; 
 The art that most I have loved but little used 
 AVill yield a world of fancies at my will : 
 
 And tho' where'er thou goest it is from me, 
 I where I go thee in my heart must bear ; 
 And what thou wert that wilt thou ever be. 
 My choice, my best, my loved, and only fair. 
 
 Farewell, yet think not such farewell a change 
 From tenderness, tho' once to meet or part 
 But on short absence so coud sense derange 
 That tears have graced the greeting of my heart ; 
 
 They were proud drops and had my leave to fall. 
 Not on thy pity for my pain to call. 
 
 .( 193 ) H 
 
The Gro'S>9th of Loye 
 
 When sometimes in an ancient house where state 
 From noble ancestry is handed on, 
 AVe see but desolation thro' the gate, 
 And richest heirlooms all to ruin gone ; 
 
 Because maybe some fancied shame or fear, 
 Bred of disease or melancholy fate, 
 Hath driven the owner from his rightful sphere 
 To wander nameless save to pity or hate : 
 
 What is the wreck of all he hath in fief, 
 When he that hath is wrecking ? nought is fine 
 Unto the sick, nor doth it burden grief 
 That the house perish when the soul doth pine. 
 
 Thus I my state despise, slain by a sting . 
 So slight 'twould not have hurt a meaner thing. 
 
 15 
 
 Who builds a ship must first lay down the keel 
 Of health, whereto the ribs of mirth are wed ; 
 And knit, with beams and knees of strength, a bed 
 For decks of purity, her floor and ceil. 
 Upon her masts, Adventure, Pride, and Zeal, 
 To fortune's wind the sails of purpose spread : 
 And at the prow make figured maidenhead 
 O'erride the seas and answer to the wheel. 
 
 And let him deep in memory's hold have stor'd 
 Water of Helicon : and let him fit 
 The needle that doth true with heaven accord : 
 Then bid her crew, love, diligence and wit 
 With justice, courage, temperance come aboard, 
 And at her helm the master reason sit. 
 
 ( 194 ) 
 
The Gro'VPth of Loye 
 i6 
 
 This world is unto God a work of art, 
 Of which the unaccomplish'd heavenly plan 
 Is hid in life within the creature's heart, 
 And for perfection looketh unto man. 
 
 Ah me ! those thousand ages : with what slow 
 Pains and persistence were his idols made, 
 Destroy 'd and made, ere ever he coud know 
 The mighty mother must be so obey'd. 
 
 For lack of knowledge and thro' little skill 
 His childish mimicry outwent his aim ; 
 His effort shaped the genius of his will ; 
 Till thro' distinction and revolt he came, 
 True to his simple terms of good and ill, 
 Seeking the face of Beauty without blame. 
 
 17 
 
 Say who be these light-bearded, sunburnt faces 
 In negligent and travel-stain'd array. 
 That in the city of Dante come to-day, 
 Haughtily visiting her holy places? 
 O these be noble men that hide their graces. 
 True England's blood, her ancient glory's stay, 
 By tales of fame diverted on their way 
 Home from the rule of oriental races. 
 
 Life-trifling lions these, of gentle eyes 
 And motion delicate, but swift to fire 
 For honour, passionate where duty lies, 
 Most loved and loving : and they quickly tire 
 Of Florence, that she one day more denies 
 The embrace of wife and soti, of sister or sire. 
 
 ( 195 ) 
 
The Groypth of Loye 
 
 Where San Miniato's convent from the sun 
 At forenoon overlooks the city of flowers 
 I sat, and gazing on her domes and towers 
 Call'd up her famous children one by one : 
 And three who all the rest had far outdone, 
 Mild Giotto first, who stole the morning hours, 
 I saw, and god-like Buonarroti's powers. 
 And Dante, gravest poet, her much-wrong'd son. 
 
 Is all this glory, I said, another's praise ? 
 Are these heroic triumphs things of old, 
 And do I dead upon the living gaze ? 
 Or rather doth the mind, that can behold 
 The wondrous beauty of the works and days. 
 Create the image that her thoughts enfold ? 
 
 19 
 
 Rejoice, ye dead^ where'er your spirits dwell. 
 Rejoice that yet on earth your fame is bright ; 
 And that your riames, remember'd day and night. 
 Live on the lips of those that love you well. 
 'Tis ye that conquer'd have the powers of hell, 
 Each with the special grace of your delight : 
 Ye are the world's creators, and thro' might 
 Of everlasting love ye did excel. 
 
 Now ye are starry names, above the storm 
 And war of Time and nature's endless wrong 
 Ye flit, in pictured truth and peaceful form, 
 AVing'd with bright music and melodious song, — 
 
 The flaming flowers of heaven, making May-dance 
 In dear Imagination's rich pleasance. 
 ( 196 ) 
 
The Groynth of Lo've 
 
 20 
 
 The world still goeth about to shew and hide, 
 Befool'd of all opinion, fond of fame : 
 But he that can do well taketh no pride, 
 And see'th his error, undisturb'd by shame : 
 
 So poor 's the best that longest life can do, 
 The most so little, diligently done ; 
 So mighty is the beauty that doth woo, 
 So vast the joy that love from love hath won. 
 
 God's love to win is easy, for He lovetli 
 Desire's fair attitude, nor strictly weighs 
 The broken thing, but all alike approveth 
 ■\Vhich love hath aim'd at Him : that is heaven's praise 
 
 And if we look for any praise on earth, 
 'Tis in man's love ; all else is nothing worth. 
 
 21 
 
 O FLESH and blood, comrade to tragic pain 
 
 And clownish merriment ; whose serise could wake 
 
 Sermons in stones, and count death but an ache, 
 
 All things as vanity, yet nothing vain : 
 
 The world, set in thy heart, thy passionate strain 
 
 Eeveal'd anew; but thou for man didst make 
 
 Nature twice natural, only to shake 
 
 Her kingdom with the creatures of thy brain. 
 
 Lo, Shakespeare, since thy time nature is loth 
 To yield to art her fair supremacy ; 
 In conquering one thou hast so enriched both. 
 AVhat shall I say ? for God — whose wise decree 
 Confirmeth all He did by all He doth — 
 Doubled His whole creation making thee. 
 
 ( 197 ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of Loye 
 
 22 
 
 I WOULD be a bird, and straight on wings I arise, 
 And carry purpose up to the ends of the air : 
 In calm and storm my sails I feather, and where 
 -By freezing cliffs the unransom'd wreckage lies : 
 Or, strutting on hot meridian banks, surprise 
 The silence : over plains in the moonlight bare 
 I chase my shadow, and perch where no bird dare 
 In treetops torn by fiercest winds of the skies. 
 
 Poor simple birds, foolish birds ! then I cry, 
 Ye pretty pictures of delight, unstir'd 
 By the only joy of knowing that ye fly ; 
 Ye are n6t what ye are, but ratlier, sum'd in a word 
 The alphabet of a god's idea, and I 
 Who master it, I am the only bird. 
 
 23 
 
 WEARY pilgrims, chanting of your woe, 
 That turn your eyes to all the peaks that shine, 
 Hailing in each the citadel divine 
 
 The which ye thought to have enter'd long ago ; 
 Until at length your feeble steps and slow 
 Falter upon the threshold of the shrine, 
 And your hearts overburden'd doubt in fine 
 Whether it be Jerusalem or no : 
 
 Dishearten'd pilgrims, I am one of you ; 
 For, having worshipp'd many a barren face, 
 
 1 scarce now greet the goal I journey'd to : 
 I stand a pagan in the holy place ; 
 Beneath the lamp of truth I am found untrue. 
 And question with the God that I embrace. 
 
 ( 198 ) 
 
The Growth of Loye 
 
 24 
 
 Spring hath her own bright days of cahn and peace 
 Her melting air, at every breath we draw, 
 Floods heart with love to praise God's gracious law 
 But suddenly — so short is pleasure's lease — 
 The cold returns, the buds from growing cease, 
 And nature's conquer'd face is full of awe ; 
 As now the trait'rous north with icy flaw 
 Freezes the dew upon the sick lamb's fleece. 
 
 And 'neath the mock sun searching everywhere 
 Rattles the crisped leaves with shivering din : 
 So that the birds are silent with despair 
 Within the thickets ; nor their armour thin 
 AVill gaudy flies adventure in the air, 
 Nor any lizard sun his spotted skin. 
 
 25 
 
 Nothing is joy without thee ; I can find 
 No rapture in the first relays of spring, 
 In songs of birds, in young buds opening, 
 Nothing inspiriting and nothing kind ; 
 For lack of thee, who once wert throned behind 
 All beauty, like a strength where graces cling, — 
 The jewel and heart of light, which everything 
 AVrestled in rivalry to hold enshrined. 
 
 Ah ! since thou'rt fled, and I in each fair sight 
 The sweet occasion of my joy deplore. 
 Where shall I seek thee best, or whom invite 
 Within thy sacred temples and adore ? 
 AVho shall fill thought and truth with old delight. 
 And lead my soul in life as heretofore ? 
 
 ( 199 ) 
 
The Gro-wth of Loye 
 
 26 
 
 The work is done, and from the fingers fall 
 
 The bloodwarm tools that brought the labour thro' : 
 
 The tasking eye that overrunneth all 
 
 Rests, and afifirms there is no more to do. 
 
 Now the third joy of making, the sweet flower 
 Of blessed work, bloometh in godlike spirit ; 
 AVhich whoso plucketh holdeth for an hour 
 The shrivelling vanity of mortal merit. 
 
 And thou, my perfect work, thou'rt of to-day ; 
 To-morrow a poor and alien thing wilt be. 
 True only should the swift life stand at stay : 
 Therefore farewell, nor look to bide with me. 
 
 Go find thy friends, if there be one to love thee : 
 Casting thee forth, my child, I rise above thee. 
 
 27 
 
 The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan, 
 
 Or else what grisly beast of scaly chine 
 
 That champ'd the ocean-wrack and swash'd the brine. 
 
 Before the new and milder days of man, 
 
 Had never rib nor bray nor swindging fan 
 
 Like his iron swimmer of the Clyde or Tyne, 
 
 Late-born of golden seed to breed a line 
 
 Of offspring swifter and more huge of plan. 
 
 Straight is her going, for upon the sun 
 AVhen once she hath look'd, her path and place are plain 
 With tireless speed she smiteth one by one 
 The shuddering seas and foams along the main ; 
 And her eased breath, when her wild race is run, 
 Roars thro' her nostrils like a hurricane. 
 ( 200 ) 
 
The Grovfth of Loye 
 28 
 
 A THOUSAND times hath in my heart's behoof 
 My tongue been set his passion to impart; 
 A thousand times hath my too coward heart 
 My mouth reclosed and fix'd it to the roof; 
 Then with such cunning hath it held aloof, 
 A thousand times kept silence with such art 
 That words coud do no more : yet on thy part 
 Hath silence given a thousand times reproof 
 
 I should be bolder, seeing I commend 
 Love, that my dilatory purpose primes. 
 But fear lest with my fears my hope should end : 
 Nay, I would truth deny and burn my rhymes, 
 Renew my sorrows rather than offend, 
 A thousand times, and yet a thousand times. 
 
 29 
 
 I TRAVEL to thee with the sun's first rays, 
 That lift the dark west and unwrap the night ; 
 I dwell beside thee when he walks the height, 
 And fondly toward thee at his setting gaze. 
 I wait upon thy coming, but always — 
 Dancing to meet my thoughts if they invite — 
 Thou hast outrun their longing with delight. 
 And in my solitude dost mock my praise. 
 
 Now doth my drop of time transcend the whole : 
 I see no fame in Khufu's pyramid, 
 No history where loveless Nile doth roll. 
 ^This is eternal life, which doth forbid 
 Mortal detraction to the exalted soul. 
 And from her inward eye all fate hath hid. 
 
 ( 201 ) H 3 
 
The Gro'Wth of Loye 
 
 My lady pleases me and I please her ; 
 
 This know we both, and I besides know well 
 
 Wherefore I love her, and I love to tell 
 
 My love, as all my loving songs aver. 
 
 But what on her part could the passion stir, 
 
 Tho' 'tis more difficult for love to spell. 
 
 Yet can I dare divine how this befel. 
 
 Nor will her lips deny it if I err. 
 
 She loves me first because I love her, then 
 Loves me for knowing why she should be loved, 
 And that I love to praise her, loves again. 
 So from her beauty both our loves are moved, 
 And by her beauty are sustain'd ; nor when 
 The earth falls from the sun is this disproved. 
 
 3^ 
 
 In all things beautiful, I cannot see 
 Her sit or stand, but love is stir'd anew : 
 'Tis joy to watch the folds fall as they do, 
 And all that comes is past expectancy. 
 If she be silent, silence let it be; 
 He who would bid her speak might sit and sue 
 The deep-brow'd Phidlan Jove to be untrue 
 To his two thousand years' solemnity. 
 
 Ah, but her launched passion, when she sings, 
 Wins on the hearing like a shapen prow 
 Borne by the mastery of its urgent wings : 
 Or if she deign her wisdom, she doth show 
 She hath the intelligence of heavenly things. 
 Unsullied by man's mortal overthrow. 
 
 ( 2°^ ) 
 
The Grovpth of Loye 
 
 32 
 
 Thus to be humbled : 'tis that ranging pride 
 
 No refuge hath ; that in his castle strong 
 
 Brave reason sits beleaguer'd, who so long 
 
 Kept field, but now must starve where he doth hide; 
 
 That industry, who once the foe defied, 
 
 Lies slaughter'd in the trenches ; that the throng 
 
 Of idle fancies pipe their foolish song. 
 
 Where late the puissant captains fought and died. 
 
 Thus to be humbled : 'tis to be undone ; 
 A forest fell'd ; a city razed to ground ; 
 A cloak unsewn, unwoven and unspun 
 Till not a thread remains that can be wound. 
 And yet, O lover, thee, the ruin'd one, 
 Love who hath humbled thus hath also crown'd. 
 
 33 
 
 I CARE not if I live, tho' life and breath 
 Have never been to me so dear and sweet. 
 I care not if I die, for I coud meet — 
 Being so happy — happily my death. 
 I care not if I love ; to-day she saith 
 She loveth, and love's history is complete. 
 Nor care I if she love me ; at her feet 
 My spirit bows entranced and worshippeth. 
 
 I have no care for what was most my care, 
 But all around me see fresh beauty born, 
 And common sights grown lovelier than they were ; 
 I dream of love, and in the light of morn 
 Tremble, beholding all things very fair 
 And strong with strength that puts my strength to scorn 
 
 ( 203 ) 
 
'The Growth of Loye 
 
 34 
 
 my goddess divine sometimes I say : — 
 Now let this word for ever and all suffice ; 
 Thou art insatiable, and yet not twice 
 Can €ven thy lover give his soul away : 
 And for my acts, that at thy feet I lay ; 
 For never any other, by device 
 
 Of wisdom, love or beauty, could entice 
 My homage to the measure of this day. 
 
 I have no more to give thee ; lo, I have sold 
 My life, have emptied out my heart, and spent 
 Whate'er I had ; till like a beggar, bold 
 AVith nought to lose, I laugh and am content. 
 A beggar kisses thee ; nay, love, behold, 
 
 1 fear not : thou too art in beggarment. 
 
 35 
 
 All earthly beauty hath one cause and proof. 
 To lead the pilgrim soul to beauty above ; 
 Yet lieth the greater bliss so far aloof, 
 That few there be are wean'd from earthly love. 
 
 Joy's ladder it is, reaching from home to home 
 The best of all the work that all was good ; 
 Whereof 'twas writ the angels aye upclomb, 
 Down sped, and at the top the Lord God stood. 
 
 But I my time abuse, my eyes by day 
 Center'd on thee, by night my heart on fire — 
 Letting my number'd moments run away — 
 Nor e'en 'twixt night and day to heaven aspire : 
 
 So true it is tliat what the eye seeth not 
 But slow is loved, and loved is soon forgot. 
 ( 204) 
 
The Gro'V9tk of Lo'pe 
 
 36 
 
 O MY life's mischief, once my love's delight, 
 That drew'st a mortgage on my heart's estate, 
 Whose baneful clause is never out of date, 
 Nor can avenging time restore my right : 
 Whom first to lose sounded that note of spite, 
 ^Vhereto my doleful days were tuned by fate : 
 That art the well-loved cause of all my hate, 
 The sun whose wandering makes my hopeless night : 
 
 Thou being in all my lacking all I lack, (L^ 
 It is thy goodness turns my grace to crime, "^ — ' 
 Thy fleetness from my goal which holds me back jl. 
 Wherefore my feet go out of step with time, 
 My very grasp of life is old and slack, 
 And even my passion falters in my rhyme. 
 
 37 
 
 At times with hurried hoofs and scattering dust 
 I race by field or highway, and my horse 
 Spare not, but urge direct in headlong course 
 Unto some fair far hill that gain I must : 
 But near arrived the vision soon mistrust, 
 Rein in, and stand as one who sees the source 
 Of strong illusion, shaming thought to force 
 From off his mind the soil of passion's gust. 
 
 My brow I bare then, and with slacken'd speed 
 Can view the country pleasant on all sides. 
 And to kind salutation give good heed : 
 I ride as one who for his pleasure rides, 
 And stroke the neck of my delighted steed, 
 And seek what cheer the village inn provides. 
 
 ( 2°5). 
 
The Gro'99th of Loye 
 
 38 
 
 An idle June day on the sunny Thames, 
 Floating or rowing as our fancy led, 
 Now in the high beams basking as we sped, 
 Now in green shade gliding by mirror'd stems ; 
 By lock and weir and isle, and many a spot 
 Of memoried pleasure, glad with strength and skill, 
 Friendship, good wine, and mirth, that serve not ill 
 The heavenly Muse, tho' she requite them not : 
 
 I would have life — thou saidst — all as this day, 
 Simple enjoyment calm in its excess, 
 With not a grief to cloud, and not a ray 
 Of passion overhot my peace to oppress ; 
 With no ambition to reproach delay. 
 Nor rapture to disturb its happiness. 
 
 A MAN that sees by chance his picture, made 
 As once a child he was, handling some toy, 
 Will gaze to find his spirit within the boy, 
 Yet hath no secret with the soul pourtray'd : 
 He cannot think the simple thought which play'd 
 Upon those features then so frank and coy ; 
 'Tis his, yet oh ! not his : and o'er the joy 
 His fatherly pity bends in tears dismay'd. 
 
 Proud of his prime maybe he stand at best. 
 And lightly wear his strength, or aim it high. 
 In knowledge, skill and courage self-possest : — 
 Yet in the pictured face a charm doth lie. 
 The one thing lost more worth than all the rest. 
 Which seeing, he fears to say This child 7vas I. 
 ( 206 ) 
 
The Groypth of Loye 
 
 40 
 
 Tears of love, tears of joy and tears of care, 
 Comforting tears that fell uncomforted, 
 Tears o'er the new-born, tears beside the dead. 
 Tears of hope, pride and pity, trust and prayer, 
 'I'ears of contrition ; all tears whatsoe'er 
 Of tenderness or kindness had she shed 
 Who here is pictured, ere upon her head 
 The fine gold might be turn'd to silver there. 
 
 The smile that charm'd the father hath given place 
 Unto the furrow'd care wrought by the son ; 
 But virtue hath transforni'd all change to grace : 
 So that I praise the artist, who hath done 
 A portrait, for my worship, of the face 
 Won by the heart my father's heart that won. 
 
 41 
 
 If I coud but forget and not recall 
 So well my time of pleasure and of play, 
 When ancient nature was all new and gay, 
 Light as the fashion that doth last enthrall, — 
 Ah mighty nature, when my heart was small, 
 Nor dream'd what fearful searchings underlay 
 The flowers and leafy ecstasy of May, 
 The breathing summer sloth, the scented fall : 
 
 Coud I forget, then were the fight not hard, 
 Press'd in the mel^e of accursed things. 
 Having such help in love and such reward : 
 Bnt that 'tis I who once — 'tis this that stings — 
 Once dwelt within the gate that angels guard, 
 Where yet I'd be had I but heavenly wings. 
 
 ( 207 ) 
 
The Gro'Wfh of Loye 
 
 42 
 
 When I see childhood on the threshold seize 
 
 The prize of life from age and likelihood, 
 
 I mourn time's change that will not be withstood, 
 
 Thinking how Christ said Be like one of these. 
 
 For in the forest among many trees 
 
 Scarce one in all is found that hath made good 
 
 The virgin pattern of its slender wood. 
 
 That courtesied in joy to every breeze ; 
 
 But scath'd, but knotted trunks that raise on high 
 Tiieir arms in stiff contortion, strain'd and bare ; 
 AVhose patriarchal crowns in sorrow sigh. 
 So, little children, ye — nay nay, ye ne'er 
 From me shall learn how sure the change and nigh, 
 When ye shall share our strength and mourn to share 
 
 43 
 
 When parch'd with thirst, astray on sultry sand 
 The traveller faints, upon his closing ear 
 Steals a fantastic music : he may hear 
 The babbling fountain of his native land. 
 Before his eyes the vision seems to stand, 
 Where at its terraced brink the maids appear. 
 Who fill their deep urns at its waters clear, 
 And not refuse the help of lover's hand. 
 
 O cruel jest — he cries, as some one flings 
 The sparkling drops in sport or shew of ire — 
 O shameless, O contempt of holy things. 
 But never of their wanton play they tire, 
 As not athirst they sit beside the springs, 
 AVhile he must quench in death his lost desire. 
 ( 208 ) 
 
The Groypth of LoTpe 
 
 44 
 
 The image of thy love, rising on dark 
 And desperate days over my sullen sea, 
 AVakens again fresh hope and peace in me, 
 Gleaming above upon my groaning bark. 
 Whate'er my sorrow be, I then may hark 
 A loving voice : whate'er my terror be, 
 This heavenly comfort still I win from thee, 
 To shine my lodestar that wert once my mark. 
 
 Prodigal nature makes us but to taste 
 One perfect joy, which given she niggard grows ; 
 And lest her precious gift should run to waste. 
 Adds to its loss a thousand lesser woes : 
 So to the memory of the gift that graced 
 Her hand, her graceless hand more grace bestows. 
 
 45 
 
 In this neglected, ruin'd edifice 
 Of works unperfected and broken schemes. 
 Where is the promise of my early dreams. 
 The smile of beauty and the pearl of price ? 
 No charm is left now that could once entice 
 A\'ind-wavering fortune from her golden streams, 
 And full in flight decrepit purpose seems, 
 Trailing the banner of his old device. 
 
 Within the house a frore and numbing air 
 Has chill'd endeavour : sickly memories reign 
 In every room, and ghosts are on the stair: 
 And hope behind the dusty window-pane 
 Watches the days go by, and bow'd with care 
 Forecasts her last reproach and mortal stain. 
 ( 209 ) 
 
The Grofpth of Loye 
 
 46 
 
 Once I would say, before thy vision came, 
 My joy, my life, my love, and with some kind 
 Of knowledge speak, and think I knew my mind 
 Of heaven and hope, and each word hit its aim. 
 Whate'er their sounds be, now all mean the same, 
 Denoting each the fair that none can find; 
 Or if I say them, 'tis as one long blind 
 Forgets the sights that he was used to name. 
 
 Now if men speak of love, 'tis not my love ; 
 Nor are their hopes nor joys mine, nor their life 
 Of praise the life that I think honour of: 
 Nay tho' they turn from house and child and wife 
 And self, and in the thought of heaven above 
 Hold, as do I, all mortal things at strife. 
 
 47 
 
 Since then 'tis only pity looking back, 
 Fear looking forward, and the busy mind 
 Will in one woeful moment more upwind 
 Than lifelong years unroll of bitter or black ; 
 What is man's privilege, his hoarding knack 
 Of memory with foreboding so combined. 
 Whereby he comes to dream he hath of kind 
 The perpetuity which all things lack ? 
 
 Which but to hope is doubtful joy, to have 
 Being a continuance of what, alas. 
 We mourn, and .scarcely bear with to the grave; 
 Or something so unknown that it o'erpass 
 The thought of comfort, and the sense that gave 
 Cannot consider it thro' any glass. 
 ( 210 ) 
 
The Groypth of Loye 
 
 48 
 
 Come gentle sleep, I woo thee : come and take 
 Not now the child into thine arras, from fright 
 Composed by drowsy tune and shaded light, 
 Whom ignorant of thee thou didst nurse and make 
 Nor now the boy, who scorn'd thee for the sake 
 Of growing knowledge or mysterious night, 
 Tho' with fatigue thou didst his limbs invite. 
 And heavily weigh the eyes that would not wake ; 
 
 No, nor the man severe, who from his best 
 Failing, alert fled to thee, that his breath, 
 Blood, force and fire should come at morn redrest 
 But me, from whom thy comfort tarrieth. 
 For all my wakeful prayer sent without rest 
 To thee, O shew and shadow of my death. 
 
 49 
 
 The spirit's eager sense for sad or gay 
 Filleth with what he will our vessel full : 
 Be joy his bent, he waiteth not joy's day 
 But like a child at any toy will pull : 
 
 If sorrow, he will weep for fancy's sake, 
 And spoil heaven's plenty with forbidden care. 
 AVhat fortune most denies we slave to take ; 
 Nor can fate load us more than we can bear. 
 
 Since pleasure with the having disappeareth. 
 He who hath least in hand hath most at heart, 
 While he keep hope : as he who alway feareth 
 A grief that never comes hath yet the smart ; 
 
 And heavier far is our self-wrought distress, 
 For when God sendeth sorrow, it doth bless. 
 
 ( 2" ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of LoDe 
 
 Thk world comes not to an end ; her city-hives 
 
 Swarm with the tokens of a changeless trade, 
 
 ^Vith rolling wheel, driver and flagging jade. 
 
 Rich men and beggars, children, priests and wives. 
 
 New homes on old are set, as lives on lives ; 
 
 Invention with invention overlaid : 
 
 But still or tool or toy or book or blade 
 
 Shaped for the hand, that holds and toils and strives. 
 
 The men to-day toil as their fathers taught, 
 ^\'ith little better'd means ; for works depend 
 On works and overlap, and thought on thought : 
 And thro' all change the smiles of hope amend 
 The weariest face, the same love changed in nought ; 
 In this thing too the world comes not to an end. 
 
 51 
 
 MY uncared-for songs, wliat are ye worth, 
 That in my secret book with so much care 
 
 1 write you, this one here and that one there, 
 Marking the time and order of your birth ? 
 How, with a fancy so unkind to mirth, 
 
 A sense so hard, a style so worn and bare, 
 
 Look ye for any welcome anywhere 
 
 From any shelf or heart-home on the earth ? 
 
 Should others ask you this, say then I yearn'd 
 To write ^ou such as once, when I was young. 
 Finding I should have loved and thereto turn'd. 
 'Twere something yet to live again among 
 The gentle youth beloved, and where I learn'd 
 My art, be there remember'd for my song. 
 ( 212 ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of Loye 
 
 52 
 
 Who takes the census of the living dead, 
 Ere the day come when memory shall o'ercrowd 
 The kingdom of their fame, and for that proud 
 And airy people find no room nor stead ? 
 
 Ere hoarding Time, that ever thrusteth back 
 The fairest treasures of his ancient store, 
 Better with best confound, so he may pack 
 His greedy gatherings closer, more and more ? 
 
 Let the true Muse rewrite her sullied page, 
 And purge her story of the men of hate, 
 That they go dirgeless down to Satan's rage 
 AVith all else foul, deform'd and miscreate : 
 
 She hath full toil to keep the names of love 
 Honour'd on earth, as they are bright above. 
 
 53 
 
 I HEARD great Hector sounding war's alarms, 
 Where thro' the listless ghosts chiding he strode, 
 As tho' the Greeks besieged his last abode. 
 And he his Troy's hope still, her king-at-arms. 
 But on those gentle meads, which Lethe charms 
 With weary oblivion, his passion glow'd 
 Like the cold night-worm's candle, and only show'd 
 Such mimic flame as neither heats nor harms. 
 
 'Twas plain to read, even by those shadows quaint 
 How rude catastrophe had dim'd his day. 
 And blighted all his cheer with stern complaint : 
 To arms t to arms ! what more the voice would say 
 W'as swallow'd in the valleys, and grew faint 
 Upon the thin air, as he pass'd away. 
 
 ( 213 ) 
 
The Growth of Loye 
 
 54 
 
 Since not the enamour'd sun with glance more fond 
 
 Kisses the foliage of his sacred tree, 
 
 Than doth my waking thought arise on thee, 
 
 Loving none near thee, like thee nor beyond ; 
 
 Nay, since I am sworn thy slave, and in the bond 
 
 Is writ my promise of eternity ; 
 
 Since to such high hope thou'st encouraged me^ 
 
 That if thou look but from me I despond ; 
 
 Since thou'rt my all in all, O think of this : 
 Think of the dedication of my youth : 
 Think of my loyalty, my joy, my bliss : 
 Think of my sorrow, my despair and ruth, 
 My sheer annihilation if I miss ; 
 Think — if thou shouldst be false — think of thy truth. 
 
 55 
 
 These meagre rhymes, which a returning mood 
 Sometimes o'errateth, I as oft despise ; 
 And knowing them illnatured, stiff and rude, 
 See them as others with contemptuous eyes. 
 Nay, and I wonder less at God's respect 
 For man, a minim jot in time and space. 
 Than at the soaring faith of His elect, 
 That gift of gifts, the comfort of His grace. 
 
 O truth unsearchable, O heavenly love, 
 Most infinitely tender, so to touch 
 The work that we can meanly reckon of ; 
 Surely — I say — we are favour'd overmuch. 
 
 But of this wonder, what doth most amaze 
 Is that we know our love is held for praise. 
 
 (.^14 ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of LoJe 
 
 56 
 
 Beauty sat with me all the summer day, 
 Awaiting the sure triumph of her eye ; 
 Nor mark'd I till we parted, how, hard by, 
 Love in her train stood ready for his prey. 
 She, as too proud to join herself the fray, 
 Trusting too much to her divine ally, 
 A\'hen she saw victory tarry, chid him — ' Why 
 Dost thou not at one stroke this rebel slay ? ' 
 
 Then generous Love, who holds my heart in fee, 
 Told of our ancient truce : so from the fight 
 We straight withdrew our forces, all the three. 
 Baffled but not dishearten'd she took flight 
 Scheming new tactics ; Love came home with me, 
 And prompts my measured verses as I write. 
 
 57 
 
 In autumn moonlight, when the white air wan 
 Is fragrant in the wake of summer hence, 
 'Tis sweet to sit entranced, and muse thereon 
 In melancholy and godlike indolence : 
 
 When the proud spirit, lull'd by mortal prime 
 To fond pretence of immortality, 
 Vieweth all moments from the birth of time, 
 All things whate'er have been or yet shall be. 
 
 And like the garden, where the year is spent, 
 The ruin of old life is full of yearning, 
 Mingling poetic rapture of lament 
 ^Vith flowers and sunshine of spring's sure returning ; 
 
 Only in visions of the white air wan 
 By godlike fancy seized and dwelt upon. 
 
 ( 21S ) 
 
The Gro'V^th of Lo^e 
 58 
 
 When first I saw thee, dearest, if I say 
 
 The spells that conjure back the hour and place, 
 
 And evermore I look upon thy face, 
 
 As in the spring of years long pass'd away ; 
 
 No fading of thy beauty's rich array, 
 
 No detriment of age on thee I trace, 
 
 But time's defeat written in spoils of grace. 
 
 From rivals robb'd, whom thou didst pity and slay 
 
 So hath thy growth been, thus thy faith is true, 
 Unchanged in change, still to my growing sense. 
 To life's desire the same, and nothing new : 
 But as thou wert in dream and prescience 
 At love's arising, now thou stand'st to view 
 In the broad noon of his magnificence. 
 
 59 
 
 'TwAS on the very day winter took leave 
 Of those fair fields I love, when to the skies 
 The fragrant Earth was smilirag in surprise 
 At that her heaven-descended, quick reprieve, 
 I wander'd forth my sorrow to relieve ; 
 Yet walk'd amid sweet pleasure in such wise 
 As Adam went alone in Paradise, 
 Before God of His pity fashion'd Eve. 
 
 And out of tune with all the joy around 
 I laid me down beneath a flowering tree, 
 And o'er my senses crept a sleep profound ; 
 In which it seem'd that thou wert given to me, 
 Rending my body, where M'ith hurried sound 
 I feel my heart beat, when I think of thee. 
 ( 216 ) 
 
The Growth of Loye 
 60 
 
 Love that I know, love I am wise in, love, 
 
 My strength, my pride, my grace, my skill untaught 
 
 My faith here upon earth, my hope above. 
 
 My contemplation and perpetual thought : 
 
 The pleasure of my fancy, my heart's fire. 
 My joy, my peace, my praise, my happy theme. 
 The aim of all my doing, my desire 
 Of being, my life by day, by night my dream : 
 
 Love, my sweet melancholy, my distress, 
 My pain, my doubt, my trouble, my despair. 
 My only folly and unhappiness. 
 And in my careless moments still my care : 
 
 O love, sweet love, earthly love, love divine, 
 Say'st thou to-day, O love, that thou art mine ? 
 
 61 
 
 The dark and serious angel, who so long 
 
 Vex'd his immortal strength in charge of me. 
 
 Hath smiled for joy and fled in liberty 
 
 To take his pastime with the peerless throng. 
 
 Oft had I done his noble keeping wrong, 
 
 Wounding his heart to wonder what might be 
 
 God's purpose in a soul of such degree ; 
 
 And there he had left me but for mandate strong. 
 
 But seeing thee with me now, his task at close 
 He know'eth, and wherefore he was bid to stay. 
 And work confusion of so many foes : 
 The thanks that he doth look for, here I pay. 
 Yet fear some heavenly envy, as he goes 
 Unto what great reward I cannot say. 
 
 ( 217 ) 
 
The Gro'Wth of LoDe 
 62 
 
 I WILL be what God made me, nor protest 
 Against the bent of genius in my time, 
 That science of my friends robs all the best. 
 While I love beauty, and was born to rhyme. 
 Be they our mighty men, and let me dwell 
 In shadow among the mighty shades of old, 
 With love's forsaken palace for my cell ; 
 Whence I look forth and all the world behold, 
 
 And say, These better days, in best things worse. 
 This bastardy of time's magnificence. 
 Will mend in fashion and throw off the curse, 
 To crown new love with higher excellence. 
 
 Curs'd tho' I be to live my life alone, 
 My toil is for man's joy, his joy my own. 
 
 63 
 
 I LIVE on hope and that I think do all 
 Who come into this world, and since I see 
 Myself in swim with such good company, 
 I take my comfort whatsoe'er befall. 
 I abide and abide, as if more stout and tall 
 My spirit would grow by waiting like a tree ; 
 And, clear of others' toil, it pleaseth me 
 In dreams their quick ambition to forestall. 
 
 And if thro' careless eagerness I slide 
 To some accomplishment, I give my voice 
 Still to desire, and in desire abide. 
 I have no stake abroad ; if I rejoice 
 In what is done or doing, I confide 
 Neither to friend nor foe my secret choice. 
 ( 218 ) 
 
The Groypth of Loye 
 
 64 
 
 Ye blessed saints, that now in heaven enjoy 
 The purchase of those tears, the world's disdain, 
 Doth Love still with his war your peace annoy, 
 Or hath Death freed you from his ancient pain ? 
 Have ye no springtide, and no burst of May 
 In flowers and leafy trees, when solemn night 
 Pants with love-music, and the holy day 
 Breaks on the ear with songs of heavenly light ? 
 
 What make ye and what strive for ? keep ye thought 
 Of us, or in new excellence divine 
 Is old forgot ? or do ye count for nought 
 What the Greek did and what the Plorentine ? 
 
 We keep your memories well : O in your store 
 Live not our best joys treasured evermore ? 
 
 65 
 
 Ah heavenly joy ! But who hath ever heard, 
 AVho hath seen joy, or who shall ever find 
 Joy's language ? There is neither speech nor word ; 
 Nought but itself to teach it to mankind. 
 
 Scarce in our twenty thousand painful days 
 We may touch something : but there lives — beyond 
 The best of art, or nature's kindest phase — 
 The hope whereof our spirit is fain and fond ; 
 
 The cause of beauty given to man's desires 
 Writ in the expectancy of starry skies. 
 The faith which gloweth in our fleeting fires. 
 The aim of all the good that here we prize ; 
 
 ■\Vhich but to love, pursue and pray for well 
 Maketh earth heaven, and to forget it, hell., 
 
 ( 219 ) 
 
The Grovpth of Loye 
 66 
 
 My wearied heart, whenever, after all, 
 Its loves and yearnings shall be told complete, 
 When gentle death shall bid it cease to beat. 
 And from all dear illusions disenthrall : 
 However then thou shalt appear to call 
 My fearful heart, since down at others' feet 
 It bade me kneel so oft, I'll not retreat 
 From thee, nor fear before thy feet to fall. 
 
 And I shall say, ' Receive this loving heart 
 Which err'd in sorrow only ; and in sin 
 Took no delight ; but being forced apart 
 From thee, without thee hoping thee to win, 
 Most prized what most thou madest as thou art 
 On earth, till heaven were open to enter in.' 
 
 67 
 
 Dreary was winter, wet with changeful sting 
 Of clinging snowfall and fast-flying frost ; 
 And bitterer northwinds then withheld the spring, 
 That dallied with her promise till 'twas lost. 
 
 A sunless and half-hearted summer drown'd 
 The flowers in needful and unwelcom'd rain ; 
 And Autumn with a sad smile fled uncrown'd 
 From fruitless orchards and unripen'd grain. 
 
 But coud the skies of this most desolate year 
 In its last month learn with our love to glow. 
 Men yet should rank its cloudless atmosphere 
 Above the sunsets of five years ago : 
 
 Of my great praise too part should be its own, 
 Now reckon'd peerless for thy love alone 
 
 ( 2^° ) 
 
The Growth of Loye 
 68 
 
 Away now, lovely Muse, roam and be free : 
 Our commerce ends for aye, thy task is done : 
 Tho' to win thee I left all else unwon, 
 Thou, whom I most have won, art not for me. 
 My first desire, thou too forgone must be. 
 Thou too, O much lamented now, tho' none 
 Will turn to pity thy forsaken son, 
 Nor thy divine sisters will weep for thee. 
 
 None will weep for thee : thou return, O Muse, 
 To thy Sicilian fields : I once have been 
 On thy loved hills, and where thou first didst use 
 Thy sweetly balanced rhyme, O thankless queen. 
 Have pluck'd and wreath'd thy flowers ; but do thou choose 
 Some happier brow to wear thy garlands green. 
 
 69 
 
 Eternal Father, who didst all create. 
 In whom we live, and to whose bosom move, 
 To all men be Thy name known, which is Love, 
 Till its loud praises sound at heaven's high gate. 
 Perfect Thy kingdom in our passing state, 
 That here on earth Thou may'st as well approve 
 Our service, as Thou ownest theirs above. 
 Whose joy we echo and in pain await. 
 
 Grant body and soul each day their daily bread ; 
 And should in spite of grace fresh woe begin, 
 Even as our anger soon is past and dead 
 Be Thy remembrance mortal of our sin : 
 
 By Thee in paths of peace Thy sheep be led. 
 And in the vale of terror comforted. 
 
 ( 221 ) 
 
Shorter Poems 
 
 in Five Boohs 
 
PRf.yiOUS EDITIONS 
 
 1. Bkl- 1-iy. CUrmdon Press. Ceo. Be/l & Sons, Oct. jS^o. 
 
 Kfprinted, Nov. 1890, 1891, 1894. 
 
 2. bIi^. I-y. Pr'wuu Press of H. Daniel. Oxford, 1894. 
 
 3. Do. do. Clarendon Press. George R ell if Sons, 189^. 
 
 4. Cheaf issue of I. 1899. Heprlnled, 1899. 
 
 5. Poetical worlds of /^ B. Smith, Elder ii- Co., 1 8 99, vol. If. 
 
 ^n account of earlier issues of first four bool\t is viven in notes 
 at end of 5 . 
 
 ( 224 ) 
 
SHORTER POEMS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 DEDICATED TO H. E. ^V. 
 I 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 Clear and gentle stream ! 
 Known and loved so long, 
 That hast heard the song 
 And the idle dream 
 Of my boyish day; 
 AVhile I once again 
 Down thy margin stray, 
 In the selfsame strain 
 Still my voice is spent. 
 With my old lament 
 And my idle dream, 
 Clear and gentle stream ! 
 
 Where my old seat was 
 Here again I sit. 
 Where the long boughs knit 
 Over stream and grass 
 A translucent eaves : 
 ( 225 ) 
 
Shorter ^oems 
 
 Where back eddies play 
 Shipwreck with the leaves, 
 And the proud swans stray, 
 Sailing one by one 
 Out of stream and sun, 
 And the fish lie cool 
 In their chosen pool. 
 
 Many an afternoon 
 Of the summer day 
 Dreaming here I lay ; 
 And I know how soon. 
 Idly at its hour, 
 First the deep bell hums 
 From the minster tower, 
 And then evening comes, 
 Creeping up the glade, 
 With her lengthening shade. 
 And the tardy boon 
 Of her brightening moon. 
 
 Clear and gentle stream ! 
 Ere again I go 
 Where thou dost not flow, 
 Well does it beseem 
 Thee to hear again 
 Once my youthful song, 
 That familiar strain 
 Silent now so long : 
 Be as I content 
 With my old lament 
 And my idle dream. 
 Clear and gentle stream. 
 
 ( 226 ) 
 
Boo^I 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 The wood is bare : a rivet-mist is steeping 
 
 The trees that winter's chill of life bereaves : 
 Only their stiffened boughs break silence, weeping 
 Over their fallen leaves ; 
 
 That lie upon the dank earth brown and rotten, 
 
 Miry and matted in the soaking wet ; 
 Forgotten with the spring, that is forgotten 
 By them that can forget. 
 
 Yet it was here we walked when ferns were springing. 
 And through the mossy bank shot bud and blade : 
 Here found in summer, when the birds were singing, 
 A green and pleasant shade. 
 
 'Twas here we loved in sunnier days and greener ; 
 
 And now, in this disconsolate decay, 
 I come to see her where I most have seen her, 
 And touch the happier day. 
 
 For on this path, at every turn and corner. 
 
 The fancy of her figure on me falls : 
 Yet walks she with the slow step of a mourner. 
 Nor hears my voice that calls. 
 
 So through my heart there winds a track of feeling, 
 
 A path of memory, that is all her own : 
 Whereto her phantom beauty ever stealing 
 Haunts the sad spot alone. 
 
 About her steps the trunks are bare, the branches 
 
 Drip heavy tears upon her downcast head ; 
 And bleed from unseen wounds that no sun stanches. 
 For the year's sun is dead. 
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 And dead leaves wrap the fruits that summer planted 
 
 And birds that love the South have taken wing. 
 The wanderer, loitering o'er the scene enchanted, 
 Weeps, and despairs of spring. 
 
 3 
 Poor withered rose and dry, 
 
 Skeleton of a rose. 
 Risen to testify 
 
 To love's sad close : 
 
 Treasured for love's sweet sake, 
 
 That of joy past 
 Thou might'st again awake 
 
 Memory at last. 
 
 Yet is thy perfume sweet; 
 
 Thy petals red 
 • Yet tell of summer heat. 
 And the gay bed : 
 
 Yet, yet recall the glow 
 
 Of the gazing sun, 
 When at thy bush we two 
 
 Joined hands in one. 
 
 But, rose, thou hast not seen. 
 
 Thou hast not wept 
 The change that passed between, 
 
 Whilst thou hast slept. 
 
 To me thou seemest yet 
 
 The dead dream's thrall : 
 While I live and forget 
 
 Dream, truth and all. 
 
 Thou art more fresh than I, 
 
 Rose, sweet and red : 
 Salt on my pale cheeks lie 
 
 The tears I shed. 
 ( "8 ) 
 
Booi I 
 
 THE CLIFF-TOP 
 
 The cliff-top has a carpet 
 Of lilac, gold and green : 
 
 The blue sky bounds the ocean, 
 The white clouds scud between. 
 
 A flock of gulls are wheeling 
 And wailing round my seat ; 
 
 Above my head the heaven, 
 The sea beneath my feet. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 AVere I a cloud I'd gather 
 
 My skirts up in the air, 
 And fly I well know whither, 
 
 And rest I well know where. 
 
 As pointed the star surely. 
 
 The legend tells of old, 
 ^Vhere the wise kings might offer 
 
 Myrrh, frankincense, and gold ; 
 
 Above the house I'd hover 
 
 Where dwells my love, and wait 
 
 Till haply I might spy her 
 Throw back the garden-gate. 
 
 There in the summer evening 
 I would bedeck the moon ; 
 
 I would float down and screen her 
 From the sun's rays at noon ; 
 
 And if her flowers should languish, 
 Or wither in the drought 
 
 Upon her tall white lilies 
 
 I'd pour my heart's blood out : 
 
 ( 229 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 So if she wore one only, 
 And shook not out the rain, 
 
 AVere I a cloud, O cloudlet, 
 I had not lived in vain. 
 
 [ ^ cloud speali^t ■ 
 
 A CLOUD. 
 
 But were I thou, O ocean, 
 I would not chafe and fret 
 
 As thou, because a limit 
 To thy desires is set. 
 
 I would be blue, and gentle. 
 Patient, and calm, and see 
 
 If my smiles might not tempt her. 
 My love, to come to me, 
 
 I'd make my depths transparent, 
 And still, that she should lean 
 
 O'er the boat's edge to ponder 
 The sights that swam between. 
 
 I would command strange creatures. 
 Of bright hue and quick fin, 
 
 To stir the water near her. 
 And tempt her bare arm in. 
 
 I'd teach her spend the summer 
 With me : and I can tell, 
 
 That, were I thou, O ocean. 
 My love should love me well. 
 
 But on the mad cloud scudded. 
 The breeze it blew so stiff; 
 
 And the sad ocean bellowed, 
 And pounded at the cliff. 
 
 ( 23° ;, 
 
Booil 
 
 I HEARD a linnet courting 
 His lady in the spring : 
 His mates were idly sporting, 
 Nor stayed to hear him sing 
 His song of love. — 
 I fear my speech distorting 
 His tender love. 
 
 The phrases of his pleading 
 
 Were full of young delight ; 
 And she that gave him heeding 
 Interpreted aright 
 
 His gay, sweet notes^ — 
 So sadly marred in the reading, — 
 His tender notes. 
 
 And when he ceased, the hearer 
 
 Awaited the refrain, 
 Till swiftly perching nearer 
 He sang his song again, 
 His pretty song : — 
 Would that my verse spake clearer 
 His tender song ! 
 
 Ye happy, airy creatures ! 
 
 That in the merry spring 
 Think not of what misfeatures 
 Or cares the year may bring ; 
 But unto love 
 Resign your simple natures, 
 To tender love. 
 
 ( 231 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 Dear lady, when thou frownest, 
 
 And my true love despisest, 
 And all thy vows disownest 
 
 That sealed my venture wisest ; 
 I think thy pride's displeasure 
 Neglects a matchless treasure 
 Exceeding price and measure. 
 
 But when again thou smilest, 
 . And love for love returnest, 
 And fear with joy beguilest, 
 
 And takest truth in earnest ; 
 Then, though I sheer adore thee. 
 The sum of my love for thee 
 Seems poor, scant, and unworthy. 
 
 7 
 
 I WILL not let thee go. 
 Ends all our month-long love in this ? 
 Can it be summed up so, 
 Quit in a single kiss ? 
 I will not let thee go. 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds, 
 As the soft south can blow '' 
 
 And toss the feathered seeds. 
 Then might I let thee go. 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 Had not the great sun seen, I might ; 
 Or were he reckoned slow 
 To bring the false to light, 
 Then might I let thee go. 
 
 ( 232) 
 
Book, I- 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 The stars that crowd the summer skies 
 Have watched us so below 
 With all their million eyes, 
 I dare not let thee go. 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 Have we not chid the changeful moon, 
 Ndw rising late, and now 
 Because she set too soon, 
 And shall I let thee go ? 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 Have not the young flowers been content. 
 Plucked ere their buds could blow, 
 To seal our sacrament ? 
 I cannot let thee go. 
 
 I will not let thee go. 
 I hold thee by too many bands : 
 Thou sayest farewell, and lo ! 
 I have thee by the hands, 
 And will not let thee go. • 
 
 I FOUND to-day out walking 
 The flower my love loves best. 
 
 What, when I stooped to pluck it, 
 Could dare my hand arrest ? 
 
 Was it a snake lay curling 
 About the root's thick crown ? 
 
 Or did some hidden bramble 
 Tear my hand reaching down ? 
 
 There was no snake uncurling, 
 And no thorn wounded me ; 
 
 'Twas my heart checked me, sighing 
 She is beyond the sea. 
 ( 233 ) 
 
Shorter 'Foems 
 
 A POPPY grows upon the shore, 
 Bursts her twin cup in summer late : 
 Her leaves are glaucous-green and hoar, 
 Her petals yellow, delicate. 
 
 Oft to her cousins turns her thought, 
 In wonder if they care that she 
 Is fed with spray for dew, and caught 
 By every gale that sweeps the sea. 
 
 She has no lovers like the red. 
 That dances with the noble corn : 
 Her blossoms on the waves are shed, 
 Where she stands shivering and forlorn. 
 
 lO 
 
 Sometimes when my lady sits by me 
 
 My rapture 's so great, that I tear 
 My mind from the thought that she 's nigh me, 
 
 And strive to forget that she 's there. 
 
 And sometimes when she is away 
 Her absence so sorely does try me, 
 
 That I shut-to my eyes, and assay 
 To think she is there sitting by me. 
 
 ( 234 ) 
 
Boo^I 
 
 1 1 
 
 Long are the hours the sun is above, 
 
 But when evening comes I go home to my love. 
 
 I'm away the daylight hours and more, 
 Yet she comes not down to open the door. 
 
 She does not meet me upon the stair, — 
 
 She sits in my chamber and waits for me there. 
 
 As I enter the room she does not move : 
 I always walk straight up to my love ; 
 
 And she lets me take my wonted place 
 
 At her side, and gaze in her dear dear face. 
 
 There as I sit, from her head thrown back 
 Her hair falls straight in a shadow black. 
 
 Aching and hot as my tired eyes be, 
 She is all that I wish to see. 
 
 And in my wearied and toil-dinned ear, 
 She says all things that I wish to hear. 
 
 Dusky and duskier grows the room. 
 Yet I see her best in the darker gloom. 
 
 When the winter eves are early and cold. 
 The firelight hours are a dream of gold. 
 
 And so I sit here night by night. 
 
 In rest and enjoyment of love's delight. 
 
 But a knock at the door, a step on the stair 
 Will startle, alas, my love from her chair. 
 
 If a stranger comes she will not stay : 
 At the first alarm she is off and away. 
 
 And he wonders, my guest, usurping her throne, 
 That I sit so much by myself alone. 
 
 ( 23s ) 
 
Shorter T*oems 
 
 12 
 
 Who has not walked upon the shore, 
 And who does not the morning know, 
 The day the angry gale is o'er, 
 The hour the wind has ceased to blow ? 
 
 The horses of the strong south-west 
 Are pastured round his tropic tent, 
 Careless how long the ocean's breast 
 Sob on and sigh for passion spent. 
 
 The frightened birds, that fled inland 
 To house in rock and tower and tree. 
 Are gathering on the peaceful strand, 
 To tempt again the sunny sea ; 
 
 ^Vhereon the timid ships steal out 
 And laugh to find their foe asleep. 
 That lately scattered them about. 
 And drave them to the fold like sheep. 
 
 The snow-white clouds he northward chased 
 Break into phalanx, line, and band : 
 All one way to the south they haste. 
 The south, their pleasant fatherland. 
 
 From distant hills their shadows creep, 
 Arrive in turn and mount the lea. 
 And flit across the downs, and leap 
 Sheer off the cliff upon the sea ; 
 
 And sail and sail far out of sight. 
 But still I watch their fleecy trains. 
 That piling all the south with light, 
 Dapple in France the fertile plains. 
 
 ( 236 ) 
 
Book, I 
 
 13 
 
 I MADE another song, 
 
 In likeness of my love : 
 
 And sang it all day long, 
 
 Around, beneath, above j 
 
 I told my secret out, 
 
 That none might be in doubt. 
 
 I sang it to the sky, 
 
 That veiled his face to hear 
 
 How far her azure eye 
 
 Outdoes his splendid sphere ; 
 
 But at her eyelids' name 
 
 His white clouds fled for shame, 
 
 I told it to the trees. 
 
 And to the flowers confest. 
 
 And said not one of these 
 
 Is like my lily drest ; 
 
 Nor spathe nor petal dared 
 
 Vie with her body bared. 
 
 I shouted to the sea, 
 That set his waves a-prance ; 
 Her floating hair is free. 
 Free are her feet to dance ; 
 And for thy wrath, I swear 
 Her frown is more to fear. 
 
 And as in happy mood 
 I walked and sang alone, 
 At eve beside the wood 
 I met my love, my own : 
 And sang to her the song 
 I had sung all day long. 
 
 ( 237 ) 
 
Shorter To ems 
 
 H 
 FXEGY 
 
 ON A LADY WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER 
 BETROTHED KILLED 
 
 Assemble, all ye maidens, at the door. 
 And all ye loves, assemble ; far and wide 
 Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before 
 Has been deferred to this late eventide : 
 For on this night the bride, 
 The days of her betrothal over, 
 Leaves the parental hearth for evermore ; 
 To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover. 
 
 Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain 
 
 Yet all unvi sited, the silken gown : 
 Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain 
 Her dearer friends provided : sere and brown 
 Bring out the festal crown. 
 And set it on her forehead lightly : 
 Though it be withered, twine no wreath again; 
 This only is the crown she can wear rightly. 
 
 Cloke her in ermine, for the night is cold, 
 And wrap her warmly, for the night is long, 
 In pious hands the flaming torches hold, 
 AVhile her attendants, chosen from among 
 Her faithful virgin throng. 
 May lay her in her cedar litter. 
 Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold, 
 Roses, and lilies white that best befit her. 
 
 ( -^38 ) 
 
Booil 
 
 Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be 
 Not without music, nor with these alone ; 
 But let the viol lead the melody. 
 With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan 
 Of sinking semitone ; 
 And, all in choir, the virgin voices 
 Rest not from singing in skilled harmony 
 The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices. 
 
 Let the priests go before, arrayed in white, 
 And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow. 
 Next they that bear her, honoured on this night, 
 And then the maidens, in a double row, 
 Each singing soft and low, 
 And each on high a torch upstaying ; 
 Unto her lover lead her forth with light. 
 With music, and with singing, and with praying. 
 
 •'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, 
 yVnd found her trusty window open wide, 
 And knew the signal of the timorous flame. 
 That long the restless curtain would not hide 
 Her form that stood beside ; 
 As scarce she dared to be delighted, 
 Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame 
 To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted. 
 
 But now for many days the dewy grass 
 Has shown no markings of his feet at morn : 
 And watching she has seen no shadow pass 
 The moonht walk, and heard no music borne 
 Upon her ear forlorn. 
 In vain has she looked out to greet him ; 
 He has not come, he will not come, alas ! 
 So let us bear her out where she must meet him. 
 ( 239 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 Now to the river bank the priests are come : 
 The bark is ready to receive its freight ; 
 Let some prepare her place therein, and some 
 Embark the litter with its slender weight : 
 The rest stand by in state, 
 And sing her a safe passage over; 
 While she is oared across to her new home. 
 Into the arms of her expectant lover. 
 
 And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, 
 Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, 
 The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch 
 The sweeter moments of their broken dreams, — 
 Thou, when the torchlight gleams. 
 When thou shalt see the slow procession, 
 And when thine ears the fitful music catch, 
 Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession. 
 
 15 
 RONDEAU 
 
 His poisoned shafts, that fresh he dips 
 In juice of plants that no bee sips, 
 He takes, and with his bow renown'd 
 Goes out upon his hunting ground, 
 Hanging his quiver at his hips. 
 
 He draws them one by one, and clips 
 Their heads between his finger-tips. 
 And looses with a twanging sound 
 His poisoned shafts. 
 
 But if a maiden with her lips 
 
 Suck from the wound the blood that drips, 
 
 And drink the poison from the wound, 
 
 The simple remedy is found 
 
 That of their deadly terror strips 
 
 His poisoned shafts. 
 ( 240 ) 
 
Booil 
 
 i6 
 
 TRIOLET 
 
 When first we met we did not guess 
 That Love would prove so iiard a master ; 
 Of more than common friendliness 
 When first we met we did not guess. 
 Who could foretell this sore distress, 
 This irretrievable disaster 
 When first we met ? — We did not guess 
 That Love would prove so hard a master. 
 
 17 
 
 TRIOLET 
 
 All women born are so perverse 
 
 No man need boast their love possessing. 
 
 If nought seem better, nothing 's worse : 
 
 All women born are so perverse. 
 
 From Adam's wife, that proved a curse 
 
 Though God had made her for a blessing, 
 
 All women born are so perverse 
 
 No man need boast their love possessing. 
 
 ( 241 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 TO 
 
 THE MEMORY OF 
 
 G. M. H. 
 
 MUSE. 
 
 Will Love again awake, 
 That lies asleep so long ? 
 
 POET. 
 
 O hush ! ye tongues that shake 
 The drowsy night with ^ong. 
 
 MUSE. 
 
 It is a lady fair 
 Whom once he deigned to praise, 
 That at the door doth dare 
 Her sad complaint to raise. 
 
 POET. 
 
 She must be fair of face, 
 As bold of heart she seems, 
 If she would match her grace 
 With the delight of dreams. 
 ( 242 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 MUSE. 
 
 Her beauty would surprise 
 Gazers on Autumn eves, 
 Who watched the broad moon rise 
 Upon the scattered sheaves. 
 
 POET. 
 
 O sweet must be the voice 
 He shall descend to hear, 
 Who doth in Heaven rejoice 
 His most enchanted ear. 
 
 The smile, that rests to play 
 Upon her lip, foretells 
 What musical array 
 Tricks her sweet syllables 
 
 And yet her smiles have danced 
 In vain, if her discourse 
 Win not the soul entranced 
 In divine intercourse. 
 
 MUSE. 
 
 She will encounter all . 
 This trial without shame. 
 Her eyes men Beauty call, 
 And Wisdom is her name. 
 
 POET. 
 
 Throw back the portals then, 
 Ye guards, your watch that keep, 
 Love will awake again 
 That lay so long asleep. 
 
 ( 243 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 A PASSER-BY 
 
 Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, 
 
 Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, 
 That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding. 
 
 Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest ? 
 
 Ah ! soon, when Winter has all our vales opprest, 
 When skies are cold and misty, and hail is hurling, 
 
 AVilt thdu glide on the blue Pacific, or rest 
 In a summer haven asleep, thy white sails furling. 
 
 I there before thee, in the country that well thou knowest. 
 Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air : 
 
 I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, 
 And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, 
 Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare ; 
 
 Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow-capped, 
 grandest 
 Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair 
 
 Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. 
 
 And yet, O splendid ship, unbailed and nameless, 
 
 I know not if, aiming a fancy, I rightly divine 
 That thou hast a purpose joyful, a courage blameless. 
 
 Thy port assured in a happier land than mine. 
 
 But for all I have given thee, beauty enough is thine, 
 As thou, aslant with trim tackle and shrouding, 
 
 From the proud nostril curve of a prow's line 
 In the offing scatterest foam, thy white sails crowding. 
 
 ( 244 ) 
 
Boo^ II 
 
 LATE SPRING EVENING 
 
 I SAW the Virgin-mother clad in green, 
 Walking the sprinkled meadows at sundown ; 
 While yet the moon's cold flame was hung between 
 The day and night, above the dusky town : 
 I saw her brighter than the Western gold, 
 Whereto she faced in splendour to behold. 
 
 Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf 
 That trembled in the sunset glare aglow ; 
 Herself more delicate than is the brief, 
 Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low, 
 And more delicious than 's the earliest streak 
 The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek. 
 
 As if to match the sight that so did please, 
 A music entered, making passion fain : 
 Three nightingales sat singing in the trees. 
 And praised the Goddess for the fallen rain ; 
 AVhich yet their unseen motions did arouse. 
 Or parting Zephyrs shook out from the boughs. 
 
 And o'er the treetops, scattered in mid air, 
 The exhausted clouds laden with crimson light 
 Floated, or seemed to sleep ; and, highest there. 
 One planet broke the lingering ranks of night ; 
 Daring day's company, so he might spy 
 The Virgin-queen once with his watchful eye. 
 
 ( 245 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 And when I saw her, then I worshipped her, 
 
 And said, — O bounteous Spring, O beauteous Spring, 
 
 Mother of all my years, thou who dost stir 
 
 My heart to adore thee and my tongue to sing, 
 
 Flower of my fruit, of my heart's blood the fire. 
 
 Of all my satisfaction the desire ! 
 
 How art thou every year more beautiful, 
 Younger for all the winters thou hast cast : 
 And I, for all my love grows, grow more dull, 
 Decaying with each season overpast ! 
 In vain to teach him love must man employ thee. 
 The more he learns the less he can enjoy thee. 
 
 WOOING 
 
 I KNOW not how I came. 
 New on my knightly journey. 
 
 To win the fairest dame 
 That graced my maiden tourney. 
 
 Chivalry's lovely prize 
 With all men's gaze upon her. 
 
 Why did she free her eyes 
 On me, to do me honour ? 
 
 Ah ! ne'er had I my mind 
 With such high hope delighted, 
 
 Had she not first inclined. 
 And with her eyes invited. 
 
 But never doubt I knew, 
 Having their glance to cheer me. 
 
 Until the day joy grew 
 Too great, too sure, too near me. 
 ( 246 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 When hope a fear became, 
 And passion, grown too tender, 
 
 Now trembled at the shame 
 Of a despised surrender ; 
 
 And where my love at first 
 Saw kindness in her smiling, 
 
 I read her pride, and cursed 
 The arts of her beguiling. 
 
 Till winning less than won, 
 And liker wooed than wooing, 
 
 Too late I turned undone 
 Away from my undoing ; 
 
 And stood beside the door, 
 Whereto she followed, making 
 
 My hard leave-taking more 
 Hard by her sweet leave-taking. 
 
 Her speech would have betra) ed 
 Her thought, had mine been colder : 
 
 Her eyes' distress had made 
 A lesser lover bolder. 
 
 But no ! Fond heart, distrust. 
 Cried Wisdom, and consider : 
 
 Go free, since go thou must : — 
 And so farewell I bid her. 
 
 And brisk upon my way 
 I smote the stroke to sever, 
 
 And should have lost that day 
 My life's delight for ever : 
 
 But when I saw her start 
 And turn aside and tremble ; — 
 
 Ah ! she was true, her heart 
 I knew did not dissemble. 
 
 ( 247 ) 
 
Shorter T*oems 
 
 There is a hill beside the silver Thames, 
 Shady with birch and beech and odorous pine : 
 And brilliant underfoot with thousand gems'^ 
 Steeply the thickets to his floods decline. 
 
 Straight trees in every place 
 
 Their thick tops interlace, 
 And pendant branches trail their foliage fine 
 
 Upon his watery face. 
 
 Swift from the sweltering pasturage he flows : 
 His stream, alert to seek the pleasant shade, 
 Pictures his gentle purpose, as he goeS^ 
 Straight to the' caverned pool his toil has made. 
 
 His winter floods lay bare 
 
 The stout roots in the air : 
 His summer streams are cool, when they have played 
 
 Among their fibrous hair. 
 
 A rushy island guards the sacred bower. 
 And hides it from the meadow, where in peace 
 The lazy cows wrench many a scented flower. 
 Robbing the golden market of the bees : 
 
 And laden barges float 
 
 By banks of myosote ; 
 And scented flag and golden flower-de-lys 
 
 Delay the loitering boat. 
 
 And on this side the island, where the pool 
 Eddies away, are tangled mass on mass 
 The water-weeds, that net the fishes cool. 
 And scarce allow a narrow stream to pass ; 
 
 Where spreading crowfoot mars 
 
 The drowning nenuphars, 
 Waving the tassels of her silken grass 
 
 Below her silver stars. 
 
 ( 248 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 But in the purple pool there nothing grows, 
 Not the white water-lily spoked with gold ; 
 Though best she loves the hollows, and well knows 
 On quiet streams her broad shields to unfold: 
 
 Yet should her roots but try 
 
 Within these deeps to lie, 
 Not her long reaching stalk could ever hold 
 
 Her waxen head so high. 
 
 Sometimes an angler comes, and drops his hook 
 AVithin its hidden depths, and 'gainst a tree 
 Leaning his rod, reads in some pleasant book. 
 Forgetting soon his pride of fishery ; 
 
 And dreams, or falls asleep, 
 
 AVhile curious fishes peep 
 About his nibbled bait, or scornfully 
 
 Dart off and rise and leap. 
 
 And sometimes a slow figure 'neath the trees. 
 In ancient-fashioned smock, with tottering care 
 Upon a staff propping his weary knees. 
 May by the pathway of the forest fare : 
 
 As from a buried day 
 
 Across the mind will stray 
 Some perishing mute shadow, — and unaware 
 
 He passeth on his way. 
 
 Else, he that wishes solitude is safe, 
 Whether he bathe at morning in the stream : 
 Or lead his love there when the hot hours chafe 
 The meadows, busy with a blurring steam ; 
 
 Or watch, as fades the light, 
 
 The gibbous moon grow bright. 
 Until her magic rays dance in a dream. 
 
 And glorify the night. 
 
 ( 249 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 Where is this bower beside the silver Thames ? 
 
 O pool and flowery thickets, hear my vow ! 
 
 O trees of freshest foliage and straight stems, 
 
 No sharer of my secret I allow : 
 Lest ere I come the while 
 Strange feet your shades defile ; 
 
 Or lest the burly oarsman turn his prow 
 Within your guardian isle. 
 
 A WATER-PARTY 
 
 Let us, as by this verdant bank we float, 
 Search down the marge to find some shady pool 
 Where we may rest awhile and moor our boat. 
 And bathe our tired limbs in the waters cool. 
 
 Beneath the noonday sun. 
 
 Swiftly, O river, run ! 
 
 Here is a mirror for Narcissus, see ! 
 I cannot sound it, plumbing with my oar. 
 Lay the stern in beneath this bowering tree ! 
 Now, stepping on this stump, we are ashore. 
 
 Guard, Hamadryades, 
 
 Our clothes laid by your trees ! 
 How the birds warble in the woods ! I pick 
 The waxen lilies, diving to the root. 
 But swim not far in the stream, the weeds grow thick 
 And hot on the bare head the sunbeams shoot. 
 
 Until our sport be done, 
 
 O merry birds, sing on ! 
 
 If but to-night the sky be clear, the moon 
 Will serve us well, for she is near the full. 
 We shall row safely home ; only too soon, — 
 So pleasant 'tis, whether we float or pull. 
 To guide us through the night, 
 O summer moon, shine bright ! 
 ( 250 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 THE DOWNS 
 
 O BOLD majestic downs, smooth, fair and lonely; 
 O still solitude, only matched in the skies : 
 
 Perilous in steep places, 
 
 Soft in the level races, 
 Where sweeping in phantom silence the cloudland flies; 
 With lovely undulation of fall and rise; 
 
 Entrenched with thickets thorned. 
 By delicate miniature dainty flowers adorned ! 
 
 I climb your crown, and lo ! a sight surprising 
 Of sea in front uprising, steep and wide ; 
 
 And scattered ships ascending 
 
 To heaven, lost in the blending 
 Of distant blues, where water and sky divide. 
 Urging their engines against wind and tide. 
 
 And all so small and slow 
 They seem to be wearily pointing the way they would go. 
 
 The accumulated murmur of soft plashing. 
 
 Of waves on rocks dashing and searching the sands. 
 
 Takes my ear, in the veering 
 
 Baffled wind, as rearing 
 Upright at the cliff, to the gullies and rifts he stands; 
 And his conquering surges scour out over the lands; 
 
 While again at the foot of the downs 
 He masses his strength to recover the topmost crowns. 
 
 ( 251 ) 
 
Shorter Poems 
 
 SPRING 
 
 ODE I 
 INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY 
 
 Again with pleasant green 
 Has Spring renewed the wood, 
 And where the bare trunks stood 
 Are leafy arbours seen ; 
 And back on budding boughs 
 Come birds, to court and pair, 
 Whose rival amorous vows 
 Amaze the scented air. 
 
 The freshets are unbound, 
 And leaping from the hill, 
 Their mossy banks refill 
 With streams of light and sound : 
 And scattered down the meads, 
 From hour to hour unfold 
 A thousand buds and beads 
 In stars and cups of gold. 
 
 Now hear, and see, and note. 
 The farms are all astir, 
 And every labourer 
 Has doffed his winter coat; 
 And how with specks of white 
 They dot the brown hillside, 
 Or jaunt and sing outright 
 As by their teams they stride. 
 
 ( 252 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 They sing to feel the Sun 
 Regain his wanton strength ; 
 To know the year at length 
 Rewards their labour done ; 
 To see the rootless stake 
 They set bare in the ground, 
 Burst into leaf, and shake 
 Its grateful scent around. 
 
 Ah now an evil lot 
 Is his, who toils for gain, 
 Where crowded chimneys stain 
 The heavens his choice forgot ; 
 'Tis on the blighted trees 
 That deck his garden dim, 
 And in the tainted breeze, 
 That sweet Spring comes to him. 
 
 Far sooner I would choose 
 The life of brutes that bask, 
 Than set myself a task, 
 Which inborn powers refuse : 
 And rather far enjoy 
 The body, than invent 
 A duty, to destroy 
 The ease which nature sent ; 
 
 And country life I praise. 
 And lead, because I find 
 The philosophic mind 
 Can take no middle ways ; 
 She will not leave her love 
 To mix with men, her art 
 Is all to strive above 
 The crowd, or stand apart. 
 
 ( 253 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 Thrice happy he, the rare 
 Prometheus, who can play 
 With hidden things, and lay 
 New realms of nature bare ; 
 Whose venturous step has trod 
 Hell underfoot, and won 
 A crown from man and God 
 For all that he has done. — 
 
 That highest gift of all, 
 Since crabbfed fate did flood 
 My heart with sluggish blood, 
 I look not mine to call; 
 But, like a truant freed, 
 Fly to the woods, and claim 
 A pleasure for the deed 
 Of my inglorious name : 
 
 And am content, denied 
 The best, in choosing right ; 
 For Nature can delight 
 Fancies unoccupied 
 With ecstasies so sweet 
 As none can even guess, 
 Who walk not with the feet 
 Of joy in idleness. 
 
 Then leave your joyless ways, 
 My friend, my joys to see. 
 The day you come shall be 
 The choice of chosen days : 
 You shall be lost, and learn 
 New being, and forget 
 The world, till your return 
 Shall bring your first regret. 
 ( 254 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 9 
 SPRING 
 
 ODE II 
 REPLY 
 
 Behold ! the radiant Spring, 
 In splendour decked anew, 
 Down from her heaven of blue 
 Returns on sunlit wing : 
 The zephyrs of her train 
 In fleecy clouds disport. 
 And birds to greet her reign 
 Summon their silvan court. 
 
 And here in street and square 
 The prisoned trees contest 
 Her favour with the best, 
 To robe themselves full fair : 
 And forth their buds provoke. 
 Forgetting winter brown. 
 And all the mire and smoke 
 That wrapped the dingy town. 
 
 Now he that loves indeed 
 His pleasure must awake, 
 Lest any pleasure take 
 Its flight, and he not heed ; 
 For of his few short years 
 Another now. invites 
 His hungry soul, and cheers 
 His life with new delights. 
 
 ( 255 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 And who loves Nature more 
 Than he, whose painful art 
 Has taught and skilled his heart 
 To read her skill and lore ? 
 Whose spirit leaps more high, 
 Plucking the pale primrose. 
 Than his whose feet must fly 
 The pasture where it grows ? 
 
 One long in city pent 
 Forgets, or must complain : 
 But think not I can stain 
 My heaven with discontent : 
 Nor wallow with that sad, 
 Backsliding herd, who cry 
 That Truth must make man bad, 
 And pleasure is a lie. 
 
 Rather while Reason lives 
 To mark me from the beast, 
 I'll teach her serve at least 
 To heal the wound she gives : 
 Nor need she strain her powers 
 Beyond a common flight, 
 To make the passing hours 
 Happy from morn till night. 
 
 Since health our toil rewards, 
 And strength is labour's prize, 
 I hate not, nor despise 
 The work my lot accords ; 
 Nor fret with fears unkind 
 The tender joys, that bless 
 My hard-won peace of mind, 
 In hours of idleness. 
 
 ( 256 ) 
 
BooJi II 
 
 Then what charm company 
 Can give, know I, — if wine 
 Go round, or throats combine 
 To set dumb music free. 
 Or deep in wintertidc 
 When winds without make moan, 
 I love my own fireside 
 Not least when most alone. 
 
 Then oft I turn the page 
 In which our country's name, 
 Spoiling the Greek of fame, 
 Shall sound in every age : 
 Or some Terentian play 
 Renew, whose excellent 
 Adjusted folds betray 
 How once Menander went. 
 
 Or if grave study suit 
 The yet unwearied brain, 
 Plato can teach again. 
 And Socrates dispute ; 
 Till fancy in a dream 
 Confront their souls with mine. 
 Crowning the mind supreme. 
 And her delights divine. 
 
 While pleasure yet can be 
 Pleasant, and fancy sweet, 
 I bid all care retreat 
 From my philosophy ; 
 Which, when I come to try 
 Your simpler life, will find, 
 I doubt not, joys to vie 
 With those I leave behind. 
 
 ( 257 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 lO 
 ELEGY 
 
 AMONG THE TOMBS 
 
 Sad, sombre place, beneath whose antique yews 
 I come, unquiet sorrows to control ; 
 Amid thy silent mossgrown graves to muse 
 With my neglected solitary soul; 
 And to poetic sadness care confide, 
 Trusting sweet Melancholy for my guide : 
 
 They will not ask why in thy shades I stray, 
 
 Among the tombs finding my rare delight, 
 
 Beneath the sun at indolent noonday, 
 
 Or in the windy moon-enchanted night, 
 
 Who have once reined in their steeds at any shrine 
 
 And given them water firom the well divine. — 
 
 The orchards are all ripened, and the sun 
 Spots the deserted gleanings with decay; 
 The seeds are perfected : his work is done, 
 And Autumn lingers but to outsmile the May; 
 Bidding his tinted leaves glide, bidding clear 
 Unto clear skies the birds applaud the year. 
 
 Lo, here I sit, and to the world I call, 
 
 The world my solemn fancy leaves behind, 
 
 Come ! pass within the inviolable wall. 
 
 Come pride, come pleasure, come distracted mind; 
 
 Within the fated refuge, hither, turn, 
 
 And learn your wisdom ere 'tis late to learn. 
 
 Come with me now, and taste the fount of tears; 
 For many eyes have sanctified this spot. 
 Where griefs unbroken lineage endears 
 The charm untimely Folly injures not, 
 And slays the intruding thoughts, that overleap 
 The simple fence its holiness doth keep. 
 ( 258 ) 
 
Bool^ II 
 
 Read the worn names of the forgotten dead, 
 Their pompous legends will no smile awake ; 
 Even the vainglorious title o'er the head 
 Wins its pride pardon for its sorrow's sake ; 
 And carven Loves scorn not their dusty prize, 
 Though fallen so far from tender sympathies. 
 
 Here where a mother laid her only son. 
 
 Here where a lover left his bride, below 
 
 The treasured names their own are added on 
 
 To those whom they have followed long ago ; 
 
 Sealing the record of the tears they shed. 
 
 That ' where their treasure there their hearts are fled.' 
 
 Grandfather, father, son, and then again 
 
 Child, grandchild, and great-grandchild laid beneath 
 
 Numbered in turn among the sons of men, 
 
 And gathered each one in his turn to death : 
 
 While he that occupies their house and name 
 
 To-day, — to-morrow too their grave shall claim. 
 
 And where are all their spirits ? Ah ! could we tell 
 The manner of our being when we die. 
 And see beyond the scene we know so well 
 The country that so much obscured doth lie ! 
 With brightest visions our fond hopes repair, 
 Or crown our melancholy with despair ; 
 
 From death, still death, still would a comfort come ; 
 
 Since of this world the essential joy must fall 
 
 In all distributed, in each thing some. 
 
 In nothing all, and all complete in all ; 
 
 Till pleasure, ageing to her full increase. 
 
 Puts on perfection, and is throned in peace. 
 
 ( 259 ) 
 
Shorter 'Foems 
 
 Yea, sweetest peace, unsought-for, undesired, 
 Loathed and misnamed, 'tis thee I worship here ; 
 Though in most black habiliments attired, 
 Thou art sweet peace, and thee I cannot fear. 
 Nay, were my last hope quenched, I here would sit 
 And praise the annihilation of the pit. 
 
 Nor quickly disenchanted will my feet 
 Back to the busy town return, but yet 
 Linger, ere I my loving friends would greet. 
 Or touch their hands, or share without regret 
 The warmth of that kind hearth, whose sacred ties 
 Only shall dim with tears my dying eyes. 
 
 II 
 DEJECTION 
 
 Wherefore to-night so full of care. 
 My soul, revolving hopeless strife, 
 Pointing at hindrance, and the bare 
 Painful escapes of fitful life ? 
 
 Shaping the doom that may befall 
 By precedent of terror past : 
 By love dishonoured, and the call 
 Of friendship slighted at the last ? 
 
 By treasured names, the little store 
 That memory out of wreck could save 
 Of loving hearts, that gone before 
 Call their old comrade to the grave ? 
 
 O soul, be patient : thou shalt find 
 A little matter mend all this ; 
 Some strain of music to thy mind. 
 Some praise for skill not spent amiss. 
 ( 260 ) 
 
Book^ II 
 
 Again shall pleasure overflow 
 Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste 
 Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow 
 Half sad for sweetness run to waste. 
 
 O happy life ! I hear thee sing, 
 
 rare delight of mortal stuff! 
 
 1 praise my days for all they bring, 
 Yet are they only not enough. 
 
 12 
 
 MORNING HYMN 
 
 O GOLDEN Sun, whose ray 
 My path illumineth ; 
 Light of the circling day, 
 \Vhose night is birth and death : 
 
 That dost not stint tlie prime 
 Of wise and strong, nor stay 
 The changeful ordering time. 
 That brings their sure decay : 
 
 Though thou, the central sphere, 
 Dost seem to turn around 
 Thy creature world, and near 
 As father fond art found ; 
 
 Thereon, as from above 
 To shine, and make rejoice 
 With beauty, life, and love, 
 The garden of thy choice, 
 
 ( 261 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 To dress the jocund Spring 
 With bounteous promise gay 
 Of hotter months, that bring 
 The full perfected day; 
 
 To touch with richest gold 
 The ripe fruit, ere it fall ; 
 And smile through cloud and cold 
 On Winter's funeral. 
 
 Now with resplendent flood 
 Gladden my waking eyes. 
 And stir my slothful blood 
 To joyous enterprise. 
 
 Arise, arise, as when 
 At first God said Light be ! 
 That He might make us men 
 With eyes His light to see. 
 
 Scatter the clouds that hide 
 The face of heaven, and show 
 Where sweet Peace doth abide. 
 Where Truth and Beauty grow. 
 
 Awaken, cheer, adorn. 
 Invite, inspire, assure 
 The joys that praise thy morn, 
 The toil thy noons mature : 
 
 And soothe the eve of day. 
 That darkens back to death ; 
 O golden Sun, whose ray 
 Our path illumineth ! 
 
 ( 262 ) 
 
Booi II 
 
 I HAVE loved flowers that fade, 
 Within whose magic tents 
 Rich hues have marriage made 
 With sweet unmemoried scents : 
 A honeymoon delight, — 
 A joy of love at sight, 
 That ages in an hour : — 
 My song be like a flower ! 
 
 I have loved airs, that die 
 Before their charm is writ 
 Along a liquid sky 
 Trembling to welcome it. 
 Notes, that with pulse of fire 
 Proclaim the spirit's desire. 
 Then die, and are nowhere : — 
 My song be like an air ! 
 
 Die, song, die like a breath, 
 And wither as a bloom : 
 Fear not a flowery death, 
 Dread not an airy tomb ! 
 Fly with delight, fly hence ! 
 'Twas thine love's tender sense 
 To feast ; now on thy bier 
 Beauty shall shed a tear. 
 
 ( 263 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 BOOK 
 
 Ill 
 
 TO 
 
 
 R. W. 
 
 D. 
 
 O MY vague desires ! 
 Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires : 
 That are my soul herself in pangs sublime 
 Rising and flying to heaven before her time : 
 
 What doth tempt you forth 
 To drown in the south or shiver in the frosty north ? 
 AVhat seek ye or find ye in your random flying, 
 Ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying ? 
 
 Joy, the joy of flight ! 
 They hide in the sun, they flare and dance in the night ; 
 Gone up, gone out of sight : and ever again 
 Follow fresh tongues of fire, fresh pangs of pain. 
 
 Ah ! they burn my soul, 
 The fires, devour my soul that once was whole : 
 She is scattered in fiery phantoms day by day, 
 But whither, whither ? ay whither ? away, away ! 
 
 Could I but control 
 These vague desires, these leaping flames of the soul : 
 Could I but quench the fire ; ah ! could I stay 
 My soul that flieth, alas, and dieth away ! 
 
 ( 264 ) 
 
Booi III 
 
 LONDON SNOW 
 
 When men were all asleep the snow came flying, 
 In large white flakes falling on the city brown, 
 Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying, 
 
 Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town ; 
 Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing; 
 Lazily and incessantly floating down and down : 
 
 Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing ; 
 Hiding difference, making unevenness even, 
 Lite angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing. 
 
 All night it fell, and when full inches seven 
 It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness. 
 The clouds blew off" from a high and frosty heaven ; 
 
 And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness 
 Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare : 
 The eye marvelled — marvelled at the dazzling whiteness ; 
 
 The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air ; 
 No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling, 
 And the busy morning cries came thin and spare. 
 
 Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling. 
 They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze 
 Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing ; 
 
 Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees ; 
 Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder, 
 ' O look at the trees ! ' they cried, ' O look at the trees ! ' 
 
 With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder. 
 Following along the white deserted way, 
 A country company long dispersed asunder : 
 
 When now already the sun, in pale display 
 Standing by Paul's high dome, spread forth below 
 His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day. 
 
 ( 265 ) K 3 
 
Shorter ^oems 
 
 For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow ; 
 And trains of sombre men, past tale of number. 
 Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go : 
 
 But even for them awhile no cares encumber 
 Their minds diverted ; the daily word is unspoken. 
 The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber 
 At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm 
 they have broken. 
 
 THE VOICE OF NATURE 
 
 I STAND on the cliff and watch the veiled sun paling 
 
 A silver field afar in the mournful sea. 
 The scourge of the surf, and plaintive gulls sailing 
 
 At ease on the gale that smites the shuddering lea : 
 Whose smile severe and chaste 
 
 June never hath stirred to vanity, nor age defaced. 
 In lofty thought strive, O spirit, for ever ; 
 In courage and strength pursue thine own endeavour. 
 
 Ah ! if it were only for thee, thou restless ocean 
 
 Of waves that follow and roar, the sweep of the tides j 
 
 Wer't only for thee, impetuous wind, whose motion 
 Precipitate all o'errides, and turns, nor abides : 
 
 For you sad birds and fair. 
 Or only for thee, bleak cliff, erect in the air j 
 
 Then well could I read wisdom in every feature, 
 
 O well should I understand the voice of Nature. 
 
 But far away, I think, in the Thames valley. 
 
 The silent river glides by flowery banks : 
 And birds sing sweetly in branches that arch an alley 
 Of cloistered trees, moss-grown in their ancient ranks : 
 
 ^^'here if a light air stray, 
 'Tis laden with hum of bees and scent of may. 
 ( 266 ) 
 
Boo\ III 
 
 Love and peace be thine, O spirit, for ever : 
 Serve thy sweet desire : despise endeavour. 
 
 And if it were only for thee, entranced river, 
 That scarce dost rock the lily on her airy stem. 
 
 Or stir a wave to murmur, or a rush to quiver; 
 
 VVer't but for the woods, and summer asleep in them : 
 
 For you my bowers green, 
 My hedges of rose and woodbine, with walks between. 
 
 Then well could I read wisdom in every feature, 
 
 O well' should I understand the voice of Nature. 
 
 4 
 ON A DEAD CHILD 
 
 Perfect little body, without fault or stain on thee. 
 With promise of strength and manhood full and fair ! 
 Though cold and stark and bare. 
 The bloom and the charm of life doth awhile remain on thee. 
 
 Thy mother's treasure wert thou ;-^alas ! no longer 
 To visit her heart with wondrous joy ; to be 
 Thy father's pride ; — ah, he 
 Must gather liis faith together, and his strength make stronger. 
 
 To me, as I move thee now in the last duty. 
 Dost thou with a turn or gesture anon respond ; 
 Startling my fancy fond 
 With a chance attitude of the head, a freak of beauty. 
 
 Thy hand clasps, as 'twas wont, my finger, and holds it : 
 But the grasp is the clasp of Death, heartbreaking and stiff; 
 Yet feels to my hand as if 
 'Twas still thy will, thy pleasure and trust that enfolds it. 
 
 (267 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids dosing,— r- 
 Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed ! — 
 Propping thy wise, sad head, 
 Thy firm, pale hands across thy chest disposing. 
 
 So quiet! doth the cliange content thee? — Death, whither 
 hath he taken thee ? 
 To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this ? 
 The vision of which I niiss, 
 ^Vho weep for the body, and wish but to warm thee and 
 awaken thee ? 
 
 Ah ! little at best can all our hopes avail us 
 
 To lift this sorrow, or cheer us, when in the dark. 
 Unwilling, alone we embark. 
 And the things we have seen and have known and have 
 heard of, fail us. 
 
 5 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 Because thou canst not see, 
 Because thou canst not know 
 The black and hopeless woe 
 LThat hath encompassed me : 
 Because, should I confess 
 The thought of my despair, 
 My words would wound thee less 
 Than swords can hurt the air ; 
 
 Because with thee I seem 
 As one invited near 
 To taste the faery cheer 
 Of spirits in a dream; 
 Of whom he knoweth nought 
 Save that they vie to make 
 All motion, voice and thought 
 A pleasure for his sake : 
 ( 268 ) 
 
Booi III 
 
 Therefore more sweet and strange 
 Has been the mystery 
 Of thy long love to me, 
 That doth not quit, nor change. 
 Nor tax my solemn heart, 
 That kisseth in a gloom, 
 Knowing not who thou art 
 That givest, nor to whom. 
 
 Therefore the tender touch 
 Is more ; more dear the smile : 
 And thy light words beguile 
 My wisdom overmuch : 
 And O with swiftness fly 
 The fancies of my song 
 To happy worlds, where I 
 Still in thy love belong. 
 
 Haste on, my joys ! your treasure lies 
 
 In swift, unceasing flight. 
 O haste : for while your beauty flies 
 
 I seize your full delight. 
 .Lo ! I have seen the scented flower. 
 
 Whose tender stems I cull. 
 For her brief date and meted hour 
 
 Appear more beautiful. 
 
 O youth, O strength, O most divine 
 
 For that so short ye prove ; 
 Were but your rare gifts longer mine. 
 
 Ye scarce would win my love. 
 Nay, life itself the heart would spurn, 
 
 Did once the days restore 
 The days, that once enjoyed return, 
 
 Return — ah ! nevermore. 
 ( 269 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 INDOLENCE 
 
 We left the city when the summer day 
 
 Had verged already on its hot decline, 
 
 And charmed Indolence in languor lay 
 
 In her gay gardens, 'neath her towers divine : 
 
 ' Farewell,' we said, ' dear city of youtl) and dream ! ' 
 
 And in our boat we stepped and took the stream. 
 
 All through that idle afternoon we strayed 
 Upon our proposed travel well begun. 
 As loitering by the woodland's dreamy shade, 
 Past shallow islets floating in the sun. 
 Or searching down the banks for rarer flowers 
 We lingered out the pleasurable hours. 
 
 Till when that loveliest came, which mowers home 
 Turns from their longest labour, as we steered 
 Along a straitened channel flecked with foam, 
 ■\Ve lost our landscape wide, and slowly neared 
 An ancient bridge, that like a blind wall lay 
 Low on its buried vaults to block the way. 
 
 Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed. 
 Where with its arches three it sucked the mass 
 Of water, that in swirl thereunder flowed, 
 Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass ; 
 And pulling for the middle span, we drew 
 The tender blades aboard and floated through. 
 
 But past the bridge what change we found below ! 
 The stream, that all day long had laughed and played 
 Betwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow. 
 And with its easy flood no murmur made : 
 And weeds spread on its surface, and about 
 The stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.' 
 
 ( 270 ) 
 
Booi III 
 
 Upon the left Wgh elms, with giant wood 
 Skirting the water-meadows, interwove 
 Their slumbrous crowns, o'ershadowing where they stood 
 The floor and heavy pillars of the grove : 
 And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank, 
 A footpath led along the moated bank. 
 
 Across, all down the right, an old brick wall, 
 Above and o'er the channel, red did lean ; 
 Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall. 
 Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green ; 
 And crumbling to the flood, which at its base 
 Slid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face. 
 
 Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backs 
 All windowless, neglected and awry, 
 With tottering coigns, and crooked chimney stacks ; 
 And here and there an unused door, set higli 
 Above the fragments of its mouldering stair. 
 With rail and broken step led out on air. 
 
 Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds, 
 With empty boats and barges moored along, 
 And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds, 
 And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong. 
 No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke, 
 No voice the somnolence and silence broke. 
 
 Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose drip 
 Fell without sparkle, and I rowed no more ; 
 And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip. 
 But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore ; 
 And our trim boat let her swift motion die, 
 Between the dim reflections floating by. 
 
 ( 271 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 8 
 
 I PRAISE the tender flower, 
 That on a mournful day 
 Bloomed in my garden bower 
 And made the winter gay. 
 Its loveliness contented 
 My heart tormented. 
 
 I praise the gentle maid 
 Whose happy voice and smile 
 To confidence betrayed 
 My doleful heart awhile : 
 And gave my spirit deploring 
 Fresh wings for soaring. 
 
 The maid for very fear 
 Of love I durst not tell : 
 The rose could never hear, 
 Though I bespake her well : 
 So in my song I bind them 
 For all to find them. 
 
 A winter's night with the snow about : 
 'Twas silent within and cold without : 
 Both father and mother to bed were gone : 
 The son sat yet by the fire alone. 
 
 He gazed on the fire, and dreamed again 
 Of one that was now no more among men : 
 As still he sat and never aware 
 How close was the spirit beside his chair. 
 
 ( 272 ) 
 
Boo{ III 
 
 Nay, sad were his thoughts, for he wept and said 
 Ah, woe for the dead ! ah, woe for the dead ! 
 How heavy the earth lies now on her breast, 
 The lips that I kissed, and the hand I pressed. 
 
 The spirit he saw not, he could not hear 
 The comforting word she spake in his ear : 
 His heart in the grave with her mouldering clay 
 No welcome gave — and she fled away. 
 
 lO 
 
 My bed and pillow are cold, 
 My heart is faint with dread, 
 The air hath an odour of mould, 
 I dream I lie with the dead : 
 
 I cannot move, 
 
 O come to me, Love, 
 
 Or else I am dead. 
 
 The feet I hear on the floor 
 Tread heavily overhead : 
 O Love, come down to the door, 
 Come, Love, come, ere I be dead : 
 
 Make shine thy light, 
 
 O Love, in the night ; 
 
 Or else I am dead. 
 
 1 1 
 
 O THOU unfaithful, still as ever dearest 
 That in thy beauty to my eyes appearest 
 In fancy rising now to re-awaken 
 My love unshaken ; 
 
 All thou 'st forgotten, but no change can free thee. 
 No hate unmake thee ; as thou wert I see thee. 
 And am contented, eye from fond eye meeting 
 Its ample greeting. 
 
 ( 273 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 O thou my star of stars, among things wholly 
 Devoted, sacred, dim and melancholy. 
 The only joy of all the joys I cherished 
 That hast not perished. 
 
 Why now on others squand'rest thou the treasure, 
 That to be jealous of is still my pleasure : 
 As still I dream 'tis me whom thou invitest, 
 Me thou delightest? 
 
 But day by day my joy hath feebler being, 
 The fading picture tires my painful seeing. 
 And faery fancy leaves her habitation 
 To desolation. 
 
 Of two things open left for lovers parted 
 'Twas thine to scorn the past and go lighthearted : 
 But I would ever dream I still possess it. 
 And thus caress it. 
 
 12 
 
 Thou didst delight my eyes : 
 Yet who am I ? nor first 
 Nor last nor best, that durst 
 Once dream of thee for prize ; 
 Nor this the only time 
 Thou shalt set love to rhyme. 
 
 Thou didst delight my ear : 
 Ah ! little praise ; thy voice 
 Makes other hearts rejoice, 
 Makes all ears glad that hear ; 
 And short my joy : but yet, 
 O song, do not forget. 
 
 ( 274 ) 
 
Booi III 
 
 For what wert thou to me ? 
 How shall I say ? The moon, 
 That poured her midnight noon 
 Upon his wrecking sea; — 
 A sail, that for a day 
 Has cheered the castaway. 
 
 Joy, sweetest lifeborn joy, where dost thou dwell ? 
 Upon the formless moments of our being 
 Flitting, to mock the ear that heareth well, 
 To escape the trained eye that strains in seeing, 
 Dost thou fly with us whither we are fleeing ; 
 Or home in our creations, to withstand 
 Black-wingbd death, that slays the making hand ? 
 
 The making mind, that must untimely perish 
 Amidst its work which time may not destroy. 
 The beauteous forms which man shall love to cherish, 
 The glorious songs that combat earth's annoy ? 
 Thou dost dwell here, I know, divinest Joy : 
 But they who build thy towers fair and strong, 
 Of all that toil, feel most of care and wrong. 
 
 Sense is so tender, O and hope so high, 
 That common pleasures mock their hope and sense ; 
 And swifter than doth lightning from the sky 
 The ecstasy they pine for flashes hence, 
 Leaving the darkness and the woe immense. 
 Wherewith it seems no thread of life was woven. 
 Nor doth the track remain where once 'twas cloven. 
 
 And heaven and all the stable elements 
 That guard God's purpose mock us, though the mind 
 Be spent in searching : for his old intents 
 We see were never for our joy designed : 
 They shine as doth the bright sun on the blind, 
 
 ( 275 ) 
 
Shorter Voems 
 
 Or like his pensioned stars, that hymn above 
 His praise, but not toward us, that God is Love. 
 
 For who so well hath wooed the maiden hours 
 As quite to have won the worth of their rich show. 
 To rob the night of mystery, or the flowers 
 Of their sweet delicacy ere they go ? 
 Nay, even the dear occasion when we know, 
 We miss the joy, and on the gliding day 
 The special glories float and pass away. 
 
 Only life's common plod : still to repair 
 The body and tlie thing which perisheth : 
 The soil, the smutch, the toil and ache and wear. 
 The grinding enginry of blood and breath, 
 Pain's random darts, the heartless spade of death ; 
 All is but grief, and heavily we call 
 On the last terror for the end of all. 
 
 Then comes the happy moment : not a stir 
 In any tree, no portent in the sky : 
 The morn doth neither hasten nor defer, 
 The morrow hath no name to call it by, 
 But life and joy are one, — we know not why, — 
 As though our very blood long breathless lain 
 Had tasted of the breath of God again. 
 
 And having tasted it I speak of it, 
 And praise him thinking how I trembled then 
 When his touch strengthened me, as now I sit 
 In wonder, reaching out beyond my ken, 
 Reaching to turn the day back, and my pen 
 Urging to tell a tale which told would seem 
 The witless phantasy of them-that dream. 
 
 ( 276 ) 
 
Booi III 
 
 But O most blessed truth, for truth thou art, 
 Abide thou with me till my lite shall end. 
 Divinity hath surely touched my heart ; 
 I have possessed more joy than earth can lend ; 
 I may attain what time shall never spend. 
 Only let not my duller days destroy 
 The memory of thy witness and my joy. 
 
 H 
 The full moon from her cloudless skies 
 Turneth her face, I think, on me ; 
 And from the hour wl^en she doth rise 
 Till when she sets, none else will see. 
 One only other ray she hath, 
 That makes an angle close with mine, 
 And glancing down its happy path 
 Upon another spot doth shine. 
 
 But that ray too is sent to me, 
 
 For where it lights there dwells my heart : 
 
 And if I were where I would be, 
 
 Both rays would shine, love, where thou art. 
 
 15 
 Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake 1 
 The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break, 
 It leaps in the sky ; unrisen lustres slake 
 The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake ! 
 
 She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee j 
 Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, 
 Already they watch the path thy feet shall take : 
 Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake ! 
 
 And if thou tarry from her, — if this could be, — 
 She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee ; 
 For thee would unashamed herself forsake : 
 Awake to be loved, my heart, awake, awake 1 
 
 • ( 277 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 Awake, the land is scattered with light, and see, 
 Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree : 
 iVnd blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake ; 
 Awake, heart, to be loved, awake, awake ! 
 
 Lo all things wake and tarry and look for thee : 
 She looketh and saith, ' O sun, now bring him to me. 
 Come more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake, 
 And awake my heart to be loved : awake, awake ! ' 
 
 i6, 
 
 SONG 
 
 I LOVK my lady's eyes 
 Above the beauties rare 
 She most is wont to prize. 
 Above her sunny hair. 
 And all that face to face 
 Her glass repeats of grace. 
 
 For those are still the same 
 To her and all that see : 
 But oh ! her eyes will flame 
 A\'hen they do look on me : 
 And so above the rest 
 I love her eyes the best. 
 
 Now say, [Say, O say ! saith tlie music] 
 
 who likes my song ? — 
 I knew you by your eyes, 
 That rest on nothing lopg, 
 And have forgot surprise ; 
 And stray [Stray, O stray ! saith the music\ 
 
 as mine will stray. 
 The while my love 's away. 
 (278) ■ 
 
Book^ III 
 
 17 
 
 Since thou, O fondest and truest, 
 JIast loved nie best and longest, 
 And now with trust the strongest 
 The joy of my heart renewest ; 
 
 Since thou art dearer and dearer 
 AVhile other hearts grow colder 
 And ever, as love is older, 
 More lovingly drawest nearer : 
 
 Since now I see in the measure 
 Of all my giving and taking, 
 Thou wert my hand in the making. 
 The sense and soul of my pleasure ; 
 
 The good I have ne'er repaid thee 
 In heaven I pray be recorded, 
 And all thy love rewarded 
 By God, thy master that made thee. 
 
 18 
 
 The evening darkens over 
 After a day so bright 
 The windcapt waves discover 
 That wild will be the night. 
 There 's sound of distant thunder. 
 
 The latest sea-birds hover 
 Along the cliff's sheer height; 
 As in the memory wander 
 Last flutterings of delight, 
 ^Vhite wings lost on the white. 
 
 ( 279 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 There 's not a ship in sight ; 
 And as the sun goes under 
 Thick clouds conspire to cover 
 The moon that should rise yonder. 
 Thou art alone, fond lover. 
 
 19 
 
 O YOUTH whose hope is high, 
 \Vho dost to Truth aspire, 
 Whether thou live or die, 
 O look not back nor tire. 
 
 Thou that art bold to fly 
 Through tempest, flood and fire. 
 Nor dost not shrink to try 
 Thy heart in torments dire ; 
 
 If thou canst Death defy, 
 If thy Faith is entire, 
 Press onward, for thine eye 
 Shall see thy heart's desire. 
 
 Beauty and love are nigh, 
 And with their deathless quire 
 Soon shall thine eager cry 
 Be numbered and expire. 
 
 ( 280) 
 
BOOK IV 
 
 TO 
 
 L. B. C. L. M. 
 
 I LOVE all beauteous things, 
 
 I seek and adore them ; 
 God hath no better praise, 
 And man in his hasty days 
 Is honoured for them. 
 
 I too will something make 
 And joy in the making ; 
 
 Altho' to-morrow it seem 
 
 Like the empty words of a dream 
 Remembered on waking. 
 
 My spirit sang all day 
 
 O my joy. 
 Nothing my tongue could say, 
 
 Only My joy ! 
 
 My heart an echo caught — 
 
 O my joy — 
 And spake, Tell me thy thought. 
 
 Hide not thy joy. 
 ( 281 ) 
 
Shorter To ems 
 
 My eyes gan peer around,^ — 
 
 O my joy — 
 AVhat beauty hast thou found ? 
 
 Shew us thy joy. 
 
 My jealous ears grew whist ; — 
 
 O my joy — 
 Music from heaven is 't, 
 
 Sent for our joy ? 
 
 She also came and heard ; 
 
 O my joy, 
 What, said she, is this word ? 
 
 What is thy joy ? 
 
 And I replied, see, 
 
 O my joy, 
 'Tis thee, I cried, 'tis thee : 
 
 Thou art my joy. 
 
 The upper skies are palest blue 
 Mottled with pearl and fretted snow : 
 With tattered fleece of inky hue 
 Close overhead the storm-clouds go. 
 
 Their shadows fly along the hill 
 And o'er the crest mount one by one ; 
 The whitened planking of the mill 
 Is now in shade and now in sun. 
 
 (282) 
 
Booi IF 
 
 The clouds have left the sky, 
 The wind hath left the sea, 
 The half-moon up on high 
 Shrinketh her face of dree 
 
 She lightens on the comb 
 Of leaden waves, that roar 
 And thrust their hurried foam 
 Up on the dusky shore. 
 
 Behind the western bars 
 The shrouded day retreats, 
 And unperceived the stars 
 Steal to their sovran seats. 
 
 And whiter grows the foam. 
 The small moon lightens more ; 
 And as I turn me home, 
 My shadow walks before. 
 
 LAST WEEK OF FEBRUARY, 1890 
 
 Hark to the merry birds, hark how they sing ! 
 Although 'tis not yet spring 
 And keen the air ; 
 Hale Winter, half resigning ere he go, 
 Doth to his heiress shew 
 His kingdom fair. 
 
 In patient russet is his forest spread. 
 All bright with bramble red, 
 With beechen moss 
 And holly sheen : the oak silver and stark 
 Sunneth his aged bark 
 And wrinkled boss. 
 
 ( 283 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 But neath the ruin of the withered brake 
 Primroses now awake 
 From nursing shades : 
 The crumpled carpet of the dry leaves brown 
 Avails not to keep down 
 The hyacinth blades. 
 
 The hazel hath put forth his tassels ruffed ; 
 The willow's flossy tuft 
 Hath slipped him free : 
 The rose amid her ransacked orange hips 
 Braggeth the tender tips 
 Of bowers to be. 
 
 A black rook stirs the branches here and there, 
 Foraging to repair 
 His broken home : 
 And hark, on the ash-boughs ! Never thrush did sing 
 Louder in praise of spring, 
 When spring is come. 
 
 APRIL, 1885 
 
 Wanton with long delay the gay spring leaping cometh ; 
 The blackthorn starreth now his bough on the eve of May 
 All day in the sweet box-tree the bee for pleasure hummeth 
 The cuckoo sends afloat his note on the air all day. 
 
 Now dewy nights again and rain in gentle shower 
 At root of tree and flower have quenched the winter's drouth 
 On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower 
 In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzling south. 
 
 ( 284 ) 
 
Booi IV 
 
 Gay R6bin is seen no more : 
 
 He is gone with the snow, 
 
 For winter is o'er 
 
 And Robin will go. 
 In need he was fed, and now he is fled 
 
 Away to his secret nest. 
 
 No more will he stand 
 
 Begging for crumbs, 
 
 No longer he comes 
 
 Beseeching our hand 
 
 And showing his breast 
 
 At window and door : — 
 Gay Robin is seen no more. 
 
 Blithe Robin is heard no more : 
 
 He gave us his song 
 
 When summer was o'er 
 
 And winter was long : 
 He sang for his bread and now he is fled 
 
 Away to his secret nest. 
 
 And there in the green 
 
 Early and late 
 
 Alone to his mate 
 
 He pipeth unseen 
 
 And swelleth his breast ; 
 
 For us it is o'er : — 
 Blithe Robin is heard no more. 
 
 ( 28s ) 
 
Shorter Voems 
 
 Spring goeth all in white, 
 Crowned with milk-white may : 
 In fleecy flocks of light 
 O'er heaven the white clouds stray ; 
 
 White butterflies in the air ; 
 White daisies prank the ground : 
 The cherry and hoary pear 
 Scatter their snow around. 
 
 My eyes for beauty pine, 
 My soul for Goddes grace : 
 No other care nor hope is mine ; 
 To heaven I turn my face. 
 
 One splendour thence is shed 
 From all the stars above : 
 'Tis named when God's name is said, 
 'Tis Love, 'tis heavenly Love. 
 
 And every gentle heart, 
 That burns with true desire. 
 Is lit from eyes that mirror part 
 Of that celestial fire. 
 
 lO 
 
 O Love, my muse, how was 't for me 
 
 Among the best to dare, 
 In thy high courts that bowed the knee 
 
 With sacrifice and prayer ? 
 ( 286 ) 
 
Booi IF 
 
 Their mighty offerings at thy shrine 
 Shamed me, who nothing bore 
 
 Their suits were mockeries of mine, 
 I sued for so much more. 
 
 Full many I met that crowned with bay 
 In triumph home returned, 
 
 And many a master on the way 
 Proud of the prize I scorned. 
 
 I wished no garland on my head 
 
 Nor treasure in my hand ; 
 My gift the longing that me led. 
 
 My prayer thy high command, 
 
 My love, my muse ; and when I spake 
 Thou mad'st me thine that day, 
 
 And more than hundred hearts could take 
 Gav'st me to bear away. 
 
 1 1 
 
 Lovp: on my heart from heaven fell, 
 Soft as the dew on flowers of spring, 
 Sweet as the hidden drops that swell 
 Their honey-throated chalicing. 
 
 Now never from him do I part, 
 Hosanna evermore I cry ; 
 I taste his savour in my heart. 
 And bid all praise him as do I. 
 
 Without him noughtsoever is, 
 Nor was afore, nor e'er shall be : 
 Nor any other joy than his 
 Wish I for mine to comfort me. 
 
 { 287 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 12 
 
 The hill pines were sighing, 
 O'ercast'and chill was the day : 
 A mist in the valley lying 
 Blotted the pleasant May. 
 
 But deep in the glen's bosom 
 Summer slept in the fire 
 Of the odorous gorse-blossom 
 And the hot scent of the brier. 
 
 A ribald cuckoo clamoured, 
 And out of the copse the stroke 
 Of the iron axe that hammered 
 The iron heart of the oak. 
 
 Anon a sound appalling, 
 As a hundred years of pride 
 Crashed, in the silence falling : 
 And the shadowy pine-trees sighed. 
 
 13 
 THE WINDMILL 
 
 The green corn waving in the dale, 
 The ripe grass waving on the hill : 
 I lean across the paddock pale 
 And gaze upon the giddy mill. 
 
 Its hurtling sails a mighty sweep 
 Cut thro' the air : with rushing sound 
 Each strikes in fury down the steep, 
 Rattles, and whirls in chase around. 
 ( 288 ) 
 
Booi IV 
 
 Beside his sacks the miller stands 
 On high within the open door : 
 A book and pencil in his hands, 
 His grist and meal he reckoneth o'er. 
 
 His tireless merry slave the wind 
 
 Is busy with his work to-day ; 
 
 From whencesoe'er, he comes to grind ; 
 
 He hath a will and knows the way. 
 
 He gives the creaking sails a spin, 
 The circling millstones faster flee, 
 The shuddering timbers groan within, 
 And down the shoot the meal runs free. 
 
 The miller giveth him no thanks. 
 And doth not much his work o'erlook : 
 He stands beside the sacks, and ranks 
 The figures in his dusty book. 
 
 H 
 
 When June is come, then all the day 
 
 I'll sit with my love in the scented hay : 
 
 And watch the sunshot palaces high, 
 
 That the white clouds build in the breezy sky. 
 
 She singeth, and I do make her a song. 
 And read sweet poems the whole day long : 
 Unseen as we lie in our haybuilt home. 
 O life is dehght when June is come. 
 
 The pinks along my garden walks 
 Have all shot forth their summer stalks, 
 Thronging their buds 'mong tulips hot. 
 And blue forget-me-not. 
 
 ( 289 ) L 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 Their dazzling snows forth-bursting soon 
 Will lade the idle breath of June : 
 And waken thro' the fragrant night 
 
 To steal the pale moonlight. 
 
 The nightingale at end of May 
 Lingers each year for their display ; 
 Till when he sees their blossoms blown, 
 He knows the spring is flown. 
 
 June's birth they greet, and when their bloom 
 Dislustres, withering on his tomb, 
 Then_ summer hath a shortening day; 
 And steps slow to decay. 
 
 i6 
 
 Fire of heaven, whose starry arrow 
 Pierces the veil of timeless night : 
 Molten spheres, whose tempests narrow 
 Their floods to a beam of gentle light, 
 To charm with a moon-ray quenched from fire 
 The land of delight, the land of desire ! 
 
 Smile of love, a flower planted, 
 Sprung in the garden of joy that art : 
 Eyes that shine with a glow enchanted, 
 Whose spreading fires encircle my heart. 
 And warm with a noon-ray drenched in fire 
 My land of delight, my land of desire ! 
 
 The idle life I lead 
 Is like a pleasant sleep, 
 Wherejn I rest and heed 
 The dreams that by me sweep. 
 ( 290 ) 
 
Booi IF 
 
 And still of all my dreams 
 In turn so swiftly past, 
 Each in its fancy seems 
 A nobler than the last. 
 
 And every eve I say, 
 Noting my step in bliss, 
 That I have known no day 
 In all my life like this. 
 
 i8 
 
 Angel spirits of sleep, 
 White-robed, with silver hair. 
 In your meadows fair, 
 Where the willows weep, 
 And the sad moonbeam 
 On the gliding stream 
 Writes her scattered dream : 
 
 Angel spirits of sleep, 
 Dancing to the weir 
 In the hollow roar 
 Of its waters deep ; 
 Know ye how men say 
 That ye haunt no more 
 Isle and grassy shore 
 With your moonlit play ; 
 That ye dance not here, 
 White-robed spirits of sleep, 
 All the summer night 
 Threading dances light ? 
 
 ( 291 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 ANNIVERSARY 
 
 What is sweeter than new-mown hay, 
 Fresher than winds o'er-sea that blow, 
 Innocent above children's play, 
 Fairer and purer than winter snow, 
 Frolic as are the morns of May ? 
 — If it should be what best I know ! 
 
 What is richer than thoughts that stray 
 From reading of poems that smoothly flow ? 
 AVhat is solemn like the delay 
 Of concords linked in a music slow 
 Dying thro' vaulted aisles away ? 
 —If it should be what best I know ! 
 
 What gives faith to me when I pray, 
 Setteth my heart with joy aglow, 
 Filleth my song with fancies gay, 
 Maketh the heaven to which I go. 
 The gladness of earth that lasteth for aye ? 
 — If it should be what best I know ! 
 
 But tell me thou — 'twas on this day 
 That first we loved five years ago — 
 If 'tis a thing that I can say, 
 Though it must be what best we know. 
 
 20 
 
 The summer trees are tempest-torn, 
 The hills are wrapped in a mantle wide 
 Of folding rain by the mad wind borne 
 Across the country side. 
 
 ( 292 ) 
 
Boo\^ IF 
 
 His scourge of fury is lashing down 
 The delicate-ranked golden corn, 
 That never more shall rear its crown 
 And curtsey to the morn. 
 
 There shews no care in heaven to save 
 Man's pitiful patience, or provide 
 A season for the season's slave, 
 
 Whose trust hath toiled and died. 
 So my proud spirit in me is sad, 
 A wreck of fairer fields to mourn, 
 The ruin of golden hopes she had, 
 
 My delicate-rankfed corn. 
 
 21 
 
 The birds that sing on autumn eves 
 Among the golden-tinted leaves, 
 Are but the few that true remain 
 Of budding May's rejoicing train. 
 Like autumn flowers that brave the frost, 
 And make their show when hope is lost. 
 These 'mong the fruits and mellow scent 
 Mourn not the high-sunned summer spent. 
 Their notes thro' all the jocund spring 
 Were mixed in merry musicking : 
 They sang for love the whole day long. 
 But now their love is all for song. 
 Now each hath perfected his lay 
 To praise the year that hastes away : 
 They sit on boughs apart, and vie 
 In single songs and rich reply : 
 
 And oft as in the copse I hear 
 These anthems of the dying year, 
 The passions, once her peace that stole, 
 With flattering love my heart console. 
 
 ( 293 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 22 
 
 When my love was away, 
 Full three days were not sped, 
 I caught my fancy astray 
 Thinking if she were dead, 
 
 And I alone, alone : 
 It seemed in my misery 
 In all the world was none 
 Ever so lone as I. 
 
 I wept ; but it did not shame 
 Nor comfort my heart : away 
 I rode as I might, and came 
 To my love at close of day. 
 
 The sight of her stilled my fears. 
 My fairest-hearted love : 
 And yet in her eyes were tears : 
 Which when I questioned of, 
 
 now thou art come, she cried, 
 'Tis fled : but I thought to-day 
 
 1 never could here abide, 
 If thou wert longer away. 
 
 23 
 The storm is over, the land hushes to rest : 
 The tyrannous wind, its strength fordone. 
 Is fallen back in the west 
 To couch with the sinking sun. 
 The last clouds fare 
 
 With fainting speed, and their thin streamers fly 
 In melting drifts of the sky. 
 Already the birds in the air 
 
 ( 294 ) 
 
Booi IF 
 
 Appear again ; the rooks return to their haunt, 
 And one by one, 
 Proclaiming aloud their care, 
 Renew their peaceful chant. 
 
 Torn and shattered the trees their branches again reset. 
 
 They trim afresh the fair 
 
 Few green and golden leaves withheld from the storm. 
 
 And awhile will be handsome yet. 
 
 To-morrow's sun shall caress 
 
 Their remnant of loveliness : 
 
 In quiet days for a time 
 
 Sad Autumn lingering warm 
 
 Shall humour their faded prime. 
 
 But ah ! the leaves of summer that lie on the ground ! 
 
 What havoc ! The laughing timbrels of June, 
 
 That curtained the birds' cradles, and screened their song 
 
 That sheltered the cooing doves at noon, 
 
 Of airy fans the delicate throng, — 
 
 Torn and scattered around : 
 
 Far out afield they lie. 
 
 In the watery furrows die. 
 
 In grassy pools of the flood they sink and drown, 
 
 Green-golden, orange, vermilion, golden and brown. 
 
 The high year's flaunting crown 
 
 Shattered and trampled down. 
 
 The day is done : the tired land looks for night : 
 She prays to the night to keep 
 In peace her nerves of delight : 
 While silver mist upstealeth silently. 
 And the broad cloud-driving moon in the clear sky 
 Lifts o'er the firs her shining shield. 
 And in her tranquil light 
 Sleep falls on forest and field. 
 See ! sleep hath fallen : the trees are asleep : 
 The night is come. The land is wrapt in sleep. 
 ( 29s ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 24 
 
 Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains, 
 
 Ye anthems of plaintive woe, 
 My spirit was sad when I was young ; 
 
 Ah sorrowful long-ago ! 
 But since I have found the beauty of joy 
 
 I have done with proud dismay : 
 For howsoe'er man hug his care 
 
 The best of his art is gay. 
 
 And yet if voices of fancy's choir 
 
 Again in mine ear awake 
 Your old lament, 'tis dear to me still. 
 
 Nor all for memory's sake : 
 'Tis like the dirge of sorrow dead. 
 
 Whose tears are wiped away ; 
 Or drops of the shower when rain is o'er. 
 
 That jewel the brightened day. 
 
 25 
 Say who is this with silvered hair. 
 
 So pale and worn and thin. 
 Who passeth here, and passeth there. 
 
 And looketh out and in ? 
 
 That useth not our garb nor tongue 
 And knoweth things untold : 
 
 Who teacheth pleasure to the young, 
 And wisdom to the old ? 
 
 No toil he maketh his by day, 
 
 No home his own by night ; 
 But wheresoe'er he take his way. 
 
 He killeth our delight. 
 
 ( 296 ) 
 
Boo^ IV 
 
 Since he is come there 's nothing wise 
 
 Nor fair in man or child, 
 Unless his deep divining eyes 
 
 Have looked on it and smiled. 
 
 Whence came he hither all alone 
 
 Among our folk to spy ? 
 There 's nought that we can call our own, 
 
 Till he shall hap to die. 
 
 And I would dig his grave full deep 
 Beneath the churchyard yew, 
 
 Lest thence his wizard eyes might peep 
 To mark the things we do. 
 
 26 
 
 Crown Winter with green. 
 And give him good drink 
 To physic his spleen 
 Or ever he think. 
 
 His mouth to the bowl, 
 His feet to the fire ; 
 And let him, good soul, 
 No comfort desire. 
 
 So merry he be, 
 I bid him abide : 
 And merry be we 
 This good Yuletide. 
 
 ( 297 ) L 3 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 27 
 
 The snow lies sprinkled on the beach, 
 And whitens all the marshy lea : 
 The sad gulls wail adown the gale, 
 The day is dark and black the sea. 
 
 Shorn of their crests the blighted waves 
 With driven foam the offing fleck : 
 The ebb is low and barely laves 
 The red rust of the giant wreck. 
 
 On such a stony, breaking beach 
 My childhood chanced and chose to be : 
 'Twas here I played, and musing made 
 My friend the melancholy sea. 
 
 He from his dim enchanted caves 
 With shuddering roar and onrush wild 
 Fell down in sacrificial waves 
 At feet of his exulting child. 
 
 Unto a spirit too light for fear 
 His wrath was mirth, his wail was glee : — 
 My heart is now too fixed to bow 
 Tho' all his tempests howl at me : 
 
 For to the gain life's summer saves. 
 My solemn joy's increasing store, 
 The tossing of his mournful waves 
 Makes sweetest music evermore. 
 
 28 
 
 My spirit kisseth thine, 
 My spirit embraceth thee : 
 I feel thy being twine 
 Her graces over me, 
 ( 298 ) 
 
Booi 1^ 
 
 In the life-kindling fold 
 Of God's breath ; where on high, 
 In furthest space untold 
 Like a lost world I lie : 
 
 And o'er my dreaming plains 
 Lightens, most pale and fair, 
 A moon that never wanes ; 
 Or more, if I compare. 
 
 Like what the shepherd sees 
 On late mid-winter dawns. 
 When thro' the branched trees, 
 O'er the white-frosted lawns, 
 
 The huge unclouded sun. 
 Surprising the world whist. 
 Is all uprisen thereon. 
 Golden with melting mist. 
 
 29 
 
 Ariel, O, — my angel, my own, — 
 Whither away then art thou flown 
 
 Beyond my spirit's dominion ? 
 That makest my heart run over with rhyme, 
 Renewing at will my youth for a time, 
 
 My servant, my pretty minion. 
 
 Now indeed I have cause to mourn, 
 Now thou returnest scorn for scorn : 
 
 Leave me not to my folly : 
 For when thou art with me is none so gay 
 As I, and none when thou'rt away 
 
 Was ever so melancholy. 
 { 299 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 30 
 
 LAUS DEO 
 
 Let praise devote thy work, and skill employ 
 Thy whole mind, and thy heart be lost in joy. 
 Well-doing bringeth pride, this constant thought 
 Humility, that thy best done is nought. 
 Man doeth riothing well, be it great or small. 
 Save to praise God ; but that hath saved all : 
 For God requires no more than thou hast done, 
 And takes thy work to bless it for his own. 
 
 ( 300 ) 
 
BOOK V 
 
 DEDICATED TO M. G. K. 
 I 
 
 THE WINNOWERS 
 
 Betwixt two billows of the downs 
 
 The little hamlet lies, 
 And nothing sees but the bald crowns 
 
 Of the hills, and the blue skies. 
 
 Clustering beneath the long descent 
 And grey slopes of the wold, 
 
 The red roofs nestle, oversprent 
 With lichen yellow as gold. 
 
 We found it in the mid-day sun 
 
 Basking, what time of year 
 The thrush his singing has begun, 
 
 Ere the first leaves appear. 
 
 High from his load a woodman pitched 
 
 His faggots on the stack : 
 Knee-deep in straw the cattle twitched 
 
 Sweet hay from crib and rack : 
 
 And from the barn hard by was borne 
 
 A steady muffled din. 
 By which we knew that threshed corn 
 
 Was winnowing, and went in. 
 
 ( 301 ) 
 
Shorter 'Poems 
 
 The sunbeams on the motey air 
 Streamed through the open door, 
 
 And on the brown arms moving bare, 
 And the grain upon the floor. 
 
 One turns the crank, one stoops to feed 
 
 The hopper, lest it lack, 
 One in the bushel scoops the seed, 
 
 One stands to hold the sack. 
 
 We watched the good grain rattle down, 
 And the awns fly in the draught; 
 
 To see us both so pensive grown 
 The honest labourers laughed : 
 
 Merry they were, because the wheat 
 Was clean and plump and good. 
 
 Pleasant to hand and eye, and meet 
 For market and for food. 
 
 It chanced we from the city were, 
 
 And had not gat us free 
 In .spirit from the store and stir 
 
 Of its immensity : 
 
 But here we found ourselves again. 
 
 Where humble harvests bring 
 After much toil but little grain, 
 
 'Tis merry winnowing. 
 
 2 
 
 THE AFFLICTION OF RICHARD 
 
 Love not too much. But how, 
 When thou hast made me such. 
 And dost thy gifts bestow, 
 How can I love too much ? 
 
 ( 302 ) 
 
BooiV 
 
 Though I must fear to lose, 
 And drown my joy in care, 
 With all its thorns I choose 
 The path of love and prayer. 
 
 Though thou, I know not why. 
 Didst kill my childish trust, 
 That breach with toil did I 
 Repair, because I must : 
 
 And spite of frighting schemes. 
 With which the fiends of Hell 
 Blaspheme thee in my dreams, 
 So far I have hoped well. 
 
 But what the heavenly key, 
 What marvel in me wrought 
 Shall quite exculpate thee, 
 I have no shadow of thought. 
 
 What am I that complain ? 
 The love, from which began 
 My question sad and vain. 
 Justifies thee to man. 
 
 Since to be loved endures, 
 
 To love is wise : 
 Earth hath no good but yours. 
 
 Brave, joyful eyes : 
 
 Earth hath no sin but thine, 
 
 Dull eye of scorn : 
 O'er thee the sun doth pine 
 
 And angels mourn. 
 
 ( 303 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 4 
 
 THE GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 Now thin mists temper the slow-ripening beams 
 Of the September sun : his golden gleams 
 On gaudy flowers shine, that prank the rows 
 Of high-grown hollyhocks, and all tall shows 
 That Autumn flaunteth in his bushy bowers ; 
 Where tomtits, hanging from the drooping heads 
 Of giant sunflowers, peck the nutty seeds ; 
 And in the feathery aster bees on wing 
 Seize and set free the honied flowers, 
 Till thousand stars leap with their visiting : 
 While ever across the path mazily flit, 
 Unpiloted in the sun, 
 The dreamy butterflies 
 
 With dazzling colours powdered and soft glooms, 
 White, black and crimson stripes, and peacock eyes, 
 Or on chance flowers sit, 
 With idle effort plundering one by one 
 The nectaries of deepest-throated blooms. 
 
 With gentle flaws the western breeze 
 Into the garden saileth. 
 Scarce here and there stirring the single trees, 
 For his sharpness he vaileth : 
 So long a comrade of the bearded corn, 
 Now from the stubbles whence the shocks are borne 
 O'er dewy lawns he turns to stray, 
 As mindful of the kisses and soft play 
 Wherewith he enamoured the light-hearted May, 
 Ere he deserted her ; 
 Lover of fragrance, and too late repents ; 
 Nor more of heavy hyacinth now may drink, 
 Nor spicy pink, 
 
 ( 304 ) 
 
BooiV 
 
 Nor summer's rose, nor garnered lavender, 
 But the few lingering scents 
 Of streakbd pea, and gillyflower, and stocks 
 Of courtly purple, and aromatic phlox. 
 
 And at all times to hear are drowsy tones 
 Of dizzy flies, and humming drones. 
 With sudden flap of pigeon wings in the sky. 
 Or the wild cry 
 
 Of thirsty rooks, that scour ascare 
 The distant blue, to watering as they fare 
 With creaking pinions, or — on business bent. 
 If aught their ancient polity displease,— 
 Come gathering to their colony, and there 
 Settling in ragged parliament. 
 Some stormy council hold in the high trees. 
 
 So sweet love seemed that April morn. 
 When first we kissed beside the thorn. 
 So strangely sweet, it was not strange 
 We thought that love could never change. 
 
 But I can tell — let truth be told — 
 That love will change in growing old ; 
 Though day by day is nought to see, 
 So delicate his motions be. 
 
 And in the end 'twill come to pass 
 Quite to forget what once he was, 
 Nor even in fancy to recall 
 The pleasure that was all in all. 
 
 His little spring, that sweet we found, 
 So deep in summer floods is drowned, 
 I wonder, bathed in joy complete. 
 How love so young could be so sweet. 
 
 ( 305 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 LARKS 
 
 What voice of gladness, hark ! 
 
 In heaven is ringing ? 
 From the sad fields the lark 
 
 Is upward winging. 
 
 High through the mournful mist that blots our day 
 Their songs betray them soaring in the grey. 
 
 See them ! Nay, they 
 In sunlight swim ; above the furthest stain 
 Of cloud attain ; their hearts in music rain 
 
 Upon the plain. 
 
 Sweet birds, far out of sight 
 
 Your songs of pleasure 
 Dome us with joy as bright 
 
 As heaven's best azure. 
 
 7 
 
 THE PALM WILLOW 
 
 See, whirling snow sprinkles the starved fields, 
 
 The birds have stayed to sing ; 
 No covert yet their fairy harbour yields. 
 
 When Cometh Spring ? 
 Ah ! in their tiny throats what songs unborn 
 
 Are quenched each morn. 
 
 The lenten lilies, through the frost that push, 
 
 Their yellow heads withhold : 
 The woodland willow stands a lonely bush 
 
 Of nebulous gold ; 
 There the Spring-goddess cowers in faint attire 
 
 Of frightened fire. 
 
 ( 3°6 ) 
 
BooiV 
 
 ASIAN BIRDS 
 
 In this May-month, by grace 
 of heaven, things shoot apace. 
 
 The waiting multitude 
 
 of fair boughs in the wood, 
 
 How few days have arrayed 
 their beauty in green shade. 
 
 What have I seen or heard ? 
 
 it was the yellow bird 
 Sang in the tree : he flew 
 
 a flame against the blue ; 
 Upward he flashed. Again, 
 
 hark ! 'tis his heavenly strain. 
 
 Another ! Hush ! Behold, 
 
 many, like boats of gold, 
 From waving branch to branch 
 
 their airy bodies launch. 
 What music is like this, 
 
 where each note is a kiss ? 
 
 The golden willows lift 
 
 their boughs the sun to sift : 
 
 Their sprays they droop to screen 
 the sky with veils of green, 
 
 A floating cage of song, 
 
 where feathered lovers throng. 
 
 How the delicious notes 
 
 come bubbling from their throats 1 
 Full and sweet how they are shed 
 
 like round pearls from a thread ! 
 The motions of their flight 
 
 are wishes of delight. 
 
 ( 307 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 Hearing their song I trace 
 the secret of their grace. 
 
 Ah, could I this fair time 
 so fashion into rhyme, 
 
 The poem that I sing 
 would be the voice of spring. 
 
 9 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 Cold is the winter day, misty and dark : 
 The sunless sky with faded gleams is rent : 
 
 And patches of thin snow outlying, mark 
 The landscape with a drear disfigurement. 
 
 The trees their mournful branches lift aloft : 
 The oak with knotty twigs is full of trust. 
 
 With bud-thronged bough the cherry in the croft; 
 The chestnut holds her gluey knops upthrust. 
 
 No birds sing, but the starling chaps his bill 
 And chatters mockingly ; the newborn lambs 
 
 Within their strawbuilt fold beneath the hill 
 Answer with plaintive cry their bleating dams. 
 
 Their voices melt in welcome dreams of spring, 
 Green grass 'and leafy trees and sunny skies : 
 
 My fency decks the woods, the thrushes sing. 
 Meadows are gay, bees hum and scents arise. 
 
 And God the Maker doth my heart grow bold 
 To praise for wintry works not understood. 
 
 Who all the worlds and ages doth behold, 
 Evil and good as one, and all as. good. 
 
 ( 308 ) 
 
BooiF 
 
 lO 
 
 A ROBIN 
 
 Flame-throated robin on the topmost bough 
 Of the leafless oak, what singest thou ? 
 
 Hark ! he telleth how — ■ 
 ' Spring is coming now ; Spring is coming now. 
 
 Now ruddy are the elm-tops against the blue sky, 
 The pale larch donneth her jewelry ; 
 
 Red fir and black fir sigh, 
 And I am lamenting the year gone by. 
 
 The bushes where I nested are all cut down. 
 They are felling the tall trees one by one, 
 
 And my mate is dead and gone, 
 In the winter she died and left me lone. 
 
 She lay in the thicket where I fear to go ; 
 For when the March-winds after the snow 
 
 The leaves away did blow, 
 She was not there, and my heart is woe ; 
 
 And sad is my song, when I begin to sing. 
 As I sit in the sunshine this merry spring : 
 
 Like a withered leaf I cling 
 To the white oak-bough, while the wood doth ring 
 
 Spring is coming now, the sun again is gay ; 
 Each day like a last spring's happy day.' — 
 
 Thus sang he ; then from his spray 
 He saw me listening and flew away. 
 
 II 
 
 I NEVER shall love the snow again 
 
 Since Maurice died : 
 With corniced drift it blocked the lane 
 And sheeted in p. desolate plain 
 
 The country side. 
 
 ( 309 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 T'he trees with silvery rime bedight 
 
 Their branches bare. 
 By day no sun appeared ; by night 
 The hidden moon shed thievish light 
 
 In the misty air. 
 
 We fed the birds that flew around 
 
 In flocks to be fed : 
 No shelter in holly or brake they found. 
 The speckled thrush on the frozen ground 
 
 Lay frozen and dead. 
 
 We skated on stream and pond \ we cut 
 
 The crinching snow 
 To Doric temple or Arctic hut ; 
 We laughed and sang at nightfall, shut 
 
 By the fireside glow. 
 
 Yet grudged we our keen delights before 
 
 Maurice should come. 
 We said, In-door or out-of-door 
 We shall love life for a month or more. 
 
 When he is home. 
 
 They brought him home ; 'twas two days late 
 
 For Christmas day : 
 Wrapped in white, in solemn state, 
 A flower in his hand, all still and straight 
 
 Our Maurice lay. 
 
 And two days ere the year outgave 
 
 We laid him low. 
 The best of us truly were not brave. 
 When we laid Maurice down in his grave 
 
 Under the snow. 
 
 ( 310) 
 
BooiV 
 
 12 
 
 NIGHTINGALES 
 
 Beautiful must be the mountains whence ye come, 
 And bright in the fruitful valleys the streams, wherefrom 
 
 Ye learn your song : 
 Where are those starry woods ? O might I wander there. 
 Among the flowers, which in that heavenly air 
 
 Bloom the year long ! 
 
 Nay, barren are those mountains and spent the streams : 
 Our song is the voice of desire, that haunts our dreams, 
 
 A throe of the heart. 
 Whose pining visions dim, forbidden hopes profound, 
 No dying cadence nor long sigh can sound. 
 
 For all our art. 
 
 Alone, aloud in the raptured ear of men 
 We pour our dark nocturnal secret ; and then, 
 As night is withdrawn 
 From these sweet-springing meads and bursting boughs of 
 May, 
 Dream, while the innumerable choir of day 
 Welcome the dawn. 
 
 13 
 
 A SONG of my heart, as the sun peered o'er the sea, 
 
 Was born at morning to me : 
 And out of my treasure-house it chose 
 
 A melody, that arose 
 
 Of all fair sounds that I love, remembered together 
 In one ; and I knew not whether 
 
 From waves of rustling wheat it was, 
 Recoveringly that pass : 
 
 ( 311 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime 
 
 Or a descant in pairing time 
 Of warbling birds : or watery bells 
 
 Of rivulets in the hills ; 
 
 Or whether on blazing downs a high lark's hymn 
 
 Alone in the azure dim : 
 Or a sough of pines, when the midnight wold 
 
 Is solitary and cold ; 
 
 Or a lapping river-ripple all day chiding 
 
 The bow of my wherry gliding 
 Down Thames, between his flowery shores 
 
 Re-echoing to the oars ; 
 
 Or anthem notes, wherever in arched quires 
 
 The unheeded music twires, 
 And, centuries by, to the stony shade 
 
 Flies following and to fade : 
 
 Or a homely prattle of children's voices gay 
 
 'Mong garden joys at play : 
 Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks : 
 
 Or memory of my books. 
 
 Which hold the words that poets in many a tongue 
 To the irksome world have sung : 
 
 Or the voice, my happy lover, of thee 
 Now separated from me. 
 
 A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brain 
 
 Long hid my thought had lain. 
 Forgotten dreams of a thousand days 
 
 Ingathering to its rays, 
 
 The light of life in darkness tempering long ; 
 
 Till now a perfect song, 
 A jewel of jewels it leapt above 
 
 To the coronal of my love. 
 
 ( 312 ) 
 
Booi V 
 
 14 
 
 FOUNDER'S DAY. A SECULAR ODE 
 
 ON THE NINTH JUBILEE OF 
 
 ETON COLLEGE 
 
 Christ and his Mother, heavenly maid, 
 Mary, in whose fair name was laid 
 Eton's corner, bless our youth 
 With truth, and purity, mother of truth ! 
 
 O ye, 'neath breezy skies of June, 
 By silver Thames's lulling tune. 
 In shade of willow or oak, who try 
 The golden gates of poesy ; 
 
 Or on the tabled sward all day 
 Match your strength in England's play. 
 Scholars of Henry, giving grace 
 To toil and force in game or race ; 
 
 Exceed the prayer and keep the fame 
 Of him, the sorrowful king, who came 
 Here in his realm a realm to found. 
 Where he might stand for ever crowned. 
 
 Or whether with naked bodies flashing 
 Ye plunge in the lashing weir ; or dashing 
 The oars of cedar skiffs, ye strain 
 Round the rushes and home again ; — 
 
 Or what pursuit soe'er it be 
 That makes your mingled presence free, 
 When by the schoolgate 'neath the limes 
 Ye muster waiting the lazy chimes ; 
 
 ( 313 ) 
 
Shorter 'poems 
 
 May Peace, that conquereth sin and death, 
 Temper for you her sword of faith,; 
 Crown with honour the loving eyes. 
 And touch with mirth the mouth of the wise. 
 
 Here is eternal spring : for you 
 The very stars of heaven are new ; 
 And aged Fame again is born. 
 Fresh as a peeping flower of morn. 
 
 For you shall Shakespeare's scene unroll, 
 Mozart shall steal your ravished soul, 
 Homer his bardic hymn rehearse, 
 Virgil recite his maiden verse. 
 
 Now learn, love, have, do, be the best ; 
 Each in one thing excel the rest : 
 Strive ; and hold fast this truth of heaven- 
 To him that hath shall more be given. 
 
 Slow on your dial the shadows creep. 
 So many hours for food and sleep, 
 So many hours till study tire, 
 So many hours for heart's desire. 
 
 These suns and moons shall memory save. 
 Mirrors bright for her magic cave ; 
 Wherein may steadfast eyes behold 
 A self that groweth never old. 
 
 O in such prime enjoy your lot. 
 And when ye leave regret it not ; 
 With wishing gifts in festal state 
 Pass ye the angel-sworded gate. 
 
 ( 314) 
 
BooiF 
 
 Then to the world let shine yOur light, 
 Children in play be lions in fight, 
 And match with red immortal deeds 
 The victory that made ring the meads : 
 
 Or by firm wisdom save your land 
 From giddy head and grasping hand : 
 Improve the best ; so shall your sons 
 Better what ye have bettered once. 
 
 Send them here to the court of grace 
 Bearing your name to fill your place : 
 Ye in their time shall live again 
 The happy dream of Henry's reign : 
 
 And on his day your steps be bent 
 Where, saint and king, crowned with content, 
 He biddeth a prayer to bless his youth 
 With truth, and purity, mother of truth. 
 
 The north wind came up yesternight 
 
 ^Vith the new year's full moon, 
 And rising as she gained her height, 
 
 Grew to a tempest soon. 
 Yet found he not on heaven's face 
 
 A task of cloud to clear ; 
 There was no speck that he might chase 
 
 Off the blue hemisphere, 
 Nor vapour from the land to drive ; 
 
 The frost-bound country held 
 Nought motionable or alive. 
 
 That 'gainst his wrath rebelled. 
 There scarce was hanging in the wood 
 
 A shrivelled leaf to reave ; 
 
 ( 31S ) 
 
Shorter ^oems 
 
 No bud had burst its swathing hood 
 That he could rend or grieve : 
 
 Only the tall tree-skeletons, 
 Where they were shadowed all, 
 
 AVavered a little on the stones, 
 And on the white church-wall. 
 
 — Like as an artist in his mood, 
 
 Who reckons all as nought. 
 So he may quickly paint his nude, 
 
 Unutterable thought : 
 So Nature in a frenzied hour 
 
 By day or night will show 
 Dim indications of the power 
 
 That doometh man to woe. 
 Ah, many have my visions been, 
 
 And some I know full well : 
 I would that all that I have seen 
 
 Were fit for speech to tell. — 
 
 And by the churchyard as I came. 
 
 It seemed my spirit passed 
 Into a land that hath no name. 
 
 Grey, melancholy and vast ; 
 Where nothing comes : but Memory, 
 
 The widowed queen of Death, 
 Reigns, and with fixed, sepulchral eye 
 
 All slumber banisheth. 
 Each grain of writhen dust, that drapes 
 
 That sickly, staring shore. 
 Its old chaotic change of shapes 
 
 Remembers evermore. 
 And ghosts of cities long decayed 
 
 And ruined shrines of Fate 
 Gather the paths, that Time hath made 
 
 Foolish and desolate. 
 ( 316 ) 
 
BooI^V 
 
 Nor winter there hath hope of spring, 
 
 Nor the pale night of day, 
 Since the old king with scorpion sting 
 
 Hath done himself away. 
 * * 
 
 The morn was calm ; the wind's last breath 
 
 Had fal'n : in solemn hush 
 The golden moon went down beneath 
 
 The dawning's crimson flush. 
 
 i6 
 
 NORTH WIND IN OCTOBER 
 
 In the golden glade the chestnuts are fallen all ; 
 
 From the sered boughs of the oak the acorns fall : 
 
 The beech scatters her ruddy fire ; 
 
 The lime hath stripped to the cold. 
 
 And standeth naked above her yellow attire : 
 
 The larch thinneth her spire 
 
 To lay the ways of the wood with cloth of gold. 
 
 Out of the golden-green and white 
 Of the brake the fir-trees stand upright 
 In the forest of flame, and wave aloft 
 To the blue of heaven their blue-green tuftings soft, 
 
 But swiftly in shuddering gloom the splendours fail, 
 
 As the harrying North-wind beareth 
 
 A cloud of skirmishing hail 
 
 The grievfed woodland to smite : 
 
 In a hurricane through the trees he teareth, 
 
 Raking the boughs and the leaves rending, 
 
 And whistleth to the descending 
 
 Blows of his icy flail. 
 
 Gold and snow he mixetn in spite. 
 
 And whirleth afar ; as away on his winnowing flight 
 
 He passeth, and all again for awhile is bright. 
 
 ( 317 ) 
 
Shorter Toems 
 
 FIRST SPRING MORNING 
 
 A child's poem. 
 
 Look ! Look ! the spring is come : 
 
 O feel the gentle air, 
 That wanders thro' the boughs to burst 
 
 The thick buds everywhere ! 
 
 The birds are glad to see 
 
 The high unclouded sun : 
 Winter is fled away, they sing. 
 
 The gay time is begun. 
 
 Adown the meadows green 
 Let us go dance and play, 
 
 And look for violets in the lane, 
 And ramble far away 
 To gather primroses. 
 That in the woodland grow. 
 
 And hunt for oxlips, or if yet 
 
 The blades of bluebells show : 
 
 There the old woodman gruff 
 Hath half the coppice cut, 
 
 And weaves the hurdles all day long 
 Beside his willow hut. 
 We'll steal on him, and then 
 Startle him, all with glee 
 
 Singing our song of winter fled 
 And summer soon to be. 
 
 (318 ) 
 
BooiV 
 
 i8 
 
 A VILLAGER 
 
 There was no lad handsomer than Willie was 
 The day that he came to father's house : 
 There was none had an eye as soft an' blue 
 As Willie's was, when he came to woo. 
 
 To a labouring life though bound thee be, 
 An' I on my father's ground live free, 
 I'll take thee, I said, for thy manly grace, 
 Thy gentle voice an' thy loving face. 
 
 'Tis forty years now since we were wed : 
 We are ailing an' grey needs not to be said : 
 But Willie's eye is as blue an' soft 
 As the day when he wooed me in father's croft. 
 
 Yet changed am I in body an' mind, 
 For Willie to me has ne'er been kind : 
 Merrily drinking an' singing with the men 
 He 'ud come home late six nights o' the se'n. 
 
 An' since the children be grown an' gone 
 He 'as shunned the house an' left me lone : 
 An' less an' less he brings me in 
 Of the little he now has strength to win. 
 
 The roof lets through the wind an' the wet, 
 An' master won't mend it with us in 's debt : 
 An' all looks every day more worn. 
 An' the best of my gowns be shabby an' torn. 
 
 No wonder if words hav' a-grown to blows ; 
 That matters not while nobody knows : 
 For love him I shall to the end of life, 
 An' be, as I swore, his own true wife. 
 
 ( 319 ) 
 
Shorter T^oems 
 
 An' when I am gone, he'll turn, an' see 
 His folly an' wrong, an' be sorry for me : 
 An' come to me there in the land o' bliss 
 To give me the love I looked for in this. 
 
 19 
 
 Wekp not to-day : why should this sadness be ? 
 Learn in present fears 
 To o'ermaster those tears 
 That unhindered conquer thee. 
 
 Think on thy past valour, thy future praise : 
 Up, sad heart, nor faint 
 In ungracious complaint, 
 Or a prayer for better days. 
 
 Daily thy life shortens, the grave's dark peace 
 Draweth surely nigh. 
 When good-night is good-bye ; 
 For the sleeping shall not cease. 
 
 Fight, to be found fighting : nor far away 
 Deem, nor strange thy doom. 
 Like this sorrow 'twill come, 
 And the day will be to-day. 
 
 ( 32° ) 
 
New PoEi^ 
 
 MS 
 
 € 
 
PJ^EVIOUS EDITION 
 
 Collected for the first time ml^i)<). Smith, Elder & Co. Vol. 1 1 
 See notes at end of that •volume. 
 
 ( 322 ) 
 
NEW POEMS 
 
 ECLOGUE I 
 THE MONTHS 
 
 BASIL AND EDWARD 
 
 Man hath with man on earth no holier bond 
 'Than that the Muse weaves with her dreamy thread ; 
 Nor e'er was such transcendent love more fond 
 Than that which Edward unto Basil led, 
 Wandering alone across the woody shires 
 To hear the living voice of that wide heart, 
 To see the eyes that read the world's desires, 
 And touch the hand that wrote the roving rhyme. 
 Diverse their lots as distant were their homes, 
 And since that early meeting, jealous Time 
 Knitting their loves had held their Uves apart. 
 
 But now again were these fine lovers met 
 And sat together on a rocky hill 
 Looking upon the vales of Somerset, 
 Where the far sea gleam'd o'er the bosky combes, 
 Satisfying their spirits the livelong day 
 With various mirth and revelation due 
 And delicate intimacy of delight. 
 As there in happy indolence they lay 
 And drank the sun, while round the breezy height 
 Beneath their feet rabbit and listless ewe 
 Nibbled the Scented herb and grass at will. 
 
 ( 323 ) 
 
Ne-w T^oems 
 
 Much talked they at their ease ; and at the last 
 Spoke Edward thus, ' 'Twas on this very hill 
 This time of the year, — but now twelve years are past. 
 That you provoked in verse my younger skill 
 To praise the months against your rival song ; 
 And ere the sun had westered ten degrees 
 Our rhyme had brought him thro' the Zodiac. 
 Have you remembered ? ' — Basil answer'd back, 
 ' Guest of my solace, how could I forget ? 
 Years fly as months that seem'd in youth so long. 
 The precious life that, like indifferent gold. 
 Is disregarded in its worth to hold 
 Some jewel of love that God therein would set, 
 It passeth and is gone.' — 'And yet not all,' 
 Edward replied : ' The passion as I please 
 Of that past day I can to-day recall ; 
 And if but you, as I, remember yet 
 Your part thereof, and will again rehearse. 
 For half an hour we may old Time outwit.' 
 And Basil said, ' Alas for my poor verse 1 
 What happy memory of it still endures 
 Will thank your love : I have forgotten it. 
 Speak you my stanzas, I will ransom yours. 
 Begin you then as I that day began. 
 And I will follow as your answers ran.' 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 Ed. The moon that mounts the sun's deserted way. 
 Turns the long winter night to a silver day ; 
 But setteth golden in face of the solemn sight 
 Of her lord arising upon a world of white. 
 
 FEBRUARY 
 
 Ba. I have in my heart a vision of spring begun 
 In a sheltering wood, that feels the kiss of the sun : 
 And a thrush adoreth the melting day that dies 
 In clouds of purple afloat upon saffron skies. 
 ( 324 ) 
 
MARCH 
 
 Ed. Now carol the birds at dawn, and some new lay 
 Announceth a homecome voyager every day. 
 Beneath the tufted sallows the streamlet thrills 
 With the leaping trout and the gleam of the daffodils. 
 
 APRIL 
 
 Ba. Then laugheth the year; with flowers the meads, are 
 bright ; 
 The bursting branches are tipped with flames of light : 
 The landscape is light ; the dark clouds flee above, 
 And the shades of the land are a blue that is deep as love. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Ed. But if you have seen a village all red and old 
 In cherry-orchards a-sprinkle with white and gold, 
 By a hawthorn seated, or a witch-elm flowering high, 
 A gay breeze making riot in the waving rye ! 
 
 JUNE 
 
 Ba. Then night retires from heaven ; the high winds go 
 A-sailing in cloud-pavihons of cavern'd snow. 
 O June, sweet Philomel sang thy cradle-lay ; 
 In rosy revel thy spirit shall pass away. 
 
 JULY 
 
 Ed. Heavy is the green of the fields, heavy the frees 
 With foliage hang, drowsy the hum of bees 
 In the thund'rous air : the crowded scents lie low : 
 Thro' tangle of weeds the river runneth slow. 
 
 august 
 
 Ba. A reaper with dusty shoon and hat of straw 
 On the yellow field, his scythe in his armes braw : 
 Beneath the tall grey trees resting at noon 
 From sweat and swink with scythe and dusty shoon. 
 
 ( 325 ) 
 
Nevv 'Poems 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 Ed. Earth's flaunting flower of passion fadeth fair 
 To ripening fruit in sunlit veils of the air, 
 As the art of man makes wisdom to glorify 
 The beauty and love of life born else to die. 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Ba. On frosty morns with the woods aflame, down, down 
 The golden spoils fall thick from the chestnut crown. 
 May Autumn in tranquil glory her riches spend, 
 With mellow apples her orchard-brariches bend. 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 Ed. Sad mists have hid the sun, the land is forlorn : 
 The plough is afield, the hunter windeth his horn. 
 Dame Prudence looketh well to her winter stores. 
 And many a wise man finds his pleasure indoors. 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 Ba, I pray thee don thy jerkin of olden time, 
 Bring us good ice, and silver the trees with rime ; 
 And I will good cheer, good music and wine bestow, 
 AVhen the Christmas guest comes galloping over the snow. 
 
 Thus they in verse alternate sang the year 
 For rabbit shy and listless ewe to hear. 
 Among the grey rocks on the mountain green 
 Beneath the sky in fair and pastoral scene, 
 Like those Sicilian swains, whose doric tongue 
 After two thousand years is ever young, — 
 Sweet the pine's murmur, and, shepherd, sweet thy pipe, — 
 Or that which gentle Virgil, yet unripe. 
 Of Tityrus sang under the spreading beech 
 And gave to rustic clowns immortal speech, 
 By rocky fountain or on flowery mead 
 ( 326 ) 
 
Neyy T^oems 
 
 Bidding their idle flocks at will to feed, 
 AVhile they, retreated to some bosky glade. 
 Together told their loves, and as they played 
 Sang what sweet thing soe'er the poet feigned : 
 
 But these were men when good Victoria reigned, 
 Poets themselves, who without shepherd gear 
 Each of his native fancy sang the year. 
 
 ECLOGUE II 
 
 GIOVANNI DUPRE 
 
 LAWRENCE AND RICHARD 
 
 Lawrence 
 Look down the river — against the western sky- 
 The Ponte Santa Trinita — what throng 
 Slowly trails o'er with waving banners high, 
 With foot and horse ! Surely they bear along 
 The spoil of one whom Florence honoureth : 
 And hark ! the drum, the trumpeting dismay. 
 The wail of the triumphal march of death. 
 
 Richard 
 'Twill be the funeral of Giovann Duprfe 
 Wending to Santa Croce. Let us go 
 And see what relic of old splendour cheers 
 The dying ritual. 
 
 Lavs^rence 
 They esteem him well 
 To lay his bones with Michael Angelo. 
 Who might he be ? 
 
 Richard 
 
 He too a sculptor, one 
 Who left a work long to resist the years. 
 
 Lawrence 
 You make me question further. 
 
 ( 327 ) 
 
Ne'w 'Poems 
 
 Richard 
 
 I can tell 
 All as we walk. A poor woodcarver's son, 
 Prenticed to cut his father's rude designs 
 (We have it from himself), maker of shrines. 
 In his mean workshop in Siena dreamed ; 
 And saw as gods the artists of the earth, 
 And long'd to stand on their immortal shore, 
 And be as they, who in his vision gleam'd, 
 Dowering the world with grace for evermore. 
 So, taxing rest and leisure to one aim, 
 The boy of single will and inbred skill 
 Rose step by step to academic fame. 
 
 Lawrence 
 Do I not know him then ? His figures fill 
 The tympana o'er Santa Croce's gate ; 
 In the museum too, his Cain, that stands 
 A left-handed discobolos 
 
 Richard 
 
 So great 
 His vogue, that elder art of classic worth 
 Went to the wall to give his statues room ; 
 And last — his country's praise could do no more- 
 He cut the stone that honoured good Cavour. 
 
 Lawrence 
 I have seen the things. 
 
 Richard 
 He, finding in his hands 
 His life-desire possest, fell not in gloom. 
 Nor froth'd in vanity : his Sabbath earn'd 
 He look'd to spend in meditative rest : 
 So laying chisel by, he took a pen 
 To tell his story to his countrymen. 
 And prove (he did it) that the flower of all, 
 Rarest to attain, is in the power of all. 
 ( 328 ) 
 
New 'Poems 
 
 Lawrence 
 Yet nought he ever made, that I have learn'd, 
 In wood or stone deserved, nay not his best. 
 The Greek or Tuscan name for beautiful. 
 'Tvi^as level with its praise, had force to pull 
 Favour from fashion. 
 
 Richard 
 
 Yet he made one thing 
 Worthy of the lily city in her spring ; 
 For while in vain the forms of beauty he aped, 
 A perfect spirit in himself he shaped ; 
 And all his hfetime doing less than well 
 Where he profess'd nor doubted to excel. 
 Now, where he had no scholarship, but drew 
 His art from love, 'twas better than he knew : 
 And when he sat to write, lo ! by him stood 
 The heavenly Muse, who smiles on all things good ; 
 And for his truth's sake, for his stainless mind, 
 His homely love and faith, she now grew kind, 
 And changed the crown, that from the folk he got, 
 For her green laurel, and he knew it not. 
 
 Lawrence 
 Ah ! Love of Beauty ! This man then mistook 
 Ambition for her ? 
 
 Richard 
 
 In simplicity 
 Erring he kept his truth ; and in his book 
 The statue of his grace is fair to see. 
 
 Lawrence 
 Then buried with their great he well may be. 
 
 Richard- 
 And number'd with the saints, not among them 
 Who painted saints. Join we his requiem. 
 
 ( 329 ) ^ 
 
Ne^ 'Poems 
 
 ECLOGUE III 
 
 FOURTH OF JUNE AT ETON 
 
 RICHARD AND GODFREY ' 
 Richard 
 
 Beneath the wattled bank the eddies swarm 
 In wandering dimples o'er the shady pool : 
 The same their chase as when I was at school ; 
 The same the music, where in shallows warm 
 The current, sunder'd by the bushy isles, 
 Returns to join the main, and struggles free 
 Above the willows, gurgling thro' the piles : 
 Nothing is changed, and yet how changed are we ! 
 — AVhat can bring Godfrey to the Muses' bower ? 
 
 Godfrey 
 What but brings you ? The festal day of the year ; 
 To live in boyish memories for an hour ; 
 See and be seen ; tho' you come seldom here. 
 
 Richard 
 
 Dread of the pang it was, fear to behold 
 What once was all myself, that kept me away. 
 
 Godfrey 
 You miss new pleasures coveting the old. 
 
 Richard 
 
 They need have prudence, who in courage lack ; 
 'Twas that I might go on I looked not back. 
 
 Godfrey 
 Of all our company he, who, we say. 
 Fruited the laughing flower of liberty ! 
 
 ( 33° ) 
 
Neyn l?oems 
 
 Richard 
 1 ! had I my desirej so should it be. 
 
 Godfrey 
 ly, but I know this melancholy mood ; 
 was your poetic fancy when a boy. 
 
 Richard 
 
 ir Fancy cannot live on real food : 
 youth she will despise familiar joy 
 ) dwell in mournful shades ; as they grow real, 
 len buildeth she of joy her far ideal. 
 
 Godfrey 
 
 id so perverteth all. This stream to me 
 
 ngs, and in sunny ripples lingeringly 
 
 le water saith ' Ah me ! where have I lept ? 
 
 to what garden of life ? what banks are these, 
 
 hat secret lawns, what ancient towers and trees ? 
 
 here the young sons of heav'n, with shouts of play 
 
 : low delighted speech, welcome the day, 
 
 > if the poetry of the earth had slept 
 
 J wake in ecstasy, O stay me ! alas ! 
 
 ay me, ye happy isles, ere that I pass 
 
 ithout a memory on my sullen course 
 
 1 the black city to the tossing seas ! ' 
 
 Richard 
 
 I might this old oak say ' My heart is sere ; 
 
 ith greater effort every year I force 
 
 y stubborn leafage : soon my branch will crack, 
 
 id I shall fall or perish in the wrack : 
 
 id here another tree its crown will rear, 
 
 id see for centuries the boys at play : 
 
 id 'neath its boughs, on some fine holiday, 
 
 d men shall prate as these.' Come see the game. 
 
 ( 331 ) 
 
Nev9 'Poems 
 
 Godfrey 
 Yes, if you will. 'Tis all one picture fair. 
 
 Richard 
 Made in a mirror, and who looketh there 
 Must see himself Is not a dream the same ? 
 
 Godfrey 
 Life is a dream. 
 
 Richard 
 And you, who say it, seem 
 Dreaming to speak to a phantom in a dream. 
 
 4 
 ELEGY 
 
 THE SUMMER-HOUSE "ON THE MOUND 
 
 How well my eyes remember the dim path ! 
 My homing heart no happier playground hath. 
 I need not close my lids but it appears 
 Through the bewilderment of forty years 
 To tempt my feet, my childish feet, between 
 Its leafy walls, beneath its arching green ; 
 Fairer than dream of sleep, than Hope more fair 
 Leading to dreamless sleep her sister Care. 
 
 There grew two fellow limes, two rising trees, 
 Shadowing the lawn, the summer haunt of bees, 
 ■\Vhose stems, engraved with many a russet scar 
 From the spear-hurlings of our mimic war, _ 
 Pillar'd the portico to that wide: walk, 
 A mossy terrace of the native chalk 
 Fashion'd, that led thro' the dark shades around 
 Straight to the wooden temple on the mound. 
 There live the memories of my early days. 
 There still' with childish heart my spirit plays ; 
 ( 332 ) 
 
Yea, terror-stricken by the fiend despair 
 
 When she hath fled me, I have found her there ; 
 
 And there 'tis ever noon, and glad suns bring 
 
 Alternate days of summer and of spring, 
 
 With childish thought, and childish faces bright, 
 
 And all unknown save but the hour's delight. 
 
 High on the mound the ivied arbour stood, a 
 A dome of straw upheld on rustic wood : 
 Hidden in fern the steps of the ascent. 
 Whereby unto the southern front we went. 
 And from the dark plantation climbing free, ^ 
 Over a valley look'd out on the sea. 
 
 That sea is ever bright and blue, the sky 
 Serene and blue, and ever white ships lie 
 High on the horizon steadfast in full sail, 
 Or nearer in the roads pass within hail. 
 Of naked brigs and barques that windbound ride 
 At their taut cables heading to the tide. 
 
 There many an hour I have sat to watch ; nay, now 
 The brazen disk is cold against my brow. 
 And in my sight a circle of the sea 
 Enlarged to swiftness, where the salt waves flee. 
 And ships in stately motion pass so near 
 That what I see is speaking to my ear ; 
 I hear the waves dash and the tackle strain, 
 The canvas flap, the rattle of the chain 
 That runs out thro' the hawse, the clank of the winch 
 Winding the rusty cable inch by inch, 
 Till half I wonder if they have no care, 
 Those sailors, that my glass is brought to bear 
 On all their doings, if I vex them not 
 On every petty task of their rough lot 
 Prying and spying, searching every craft 
 Fronj painted truck to gunnel, fore and aft, — 
 
 ( 333 ) 
 
Ne'W Voems 
 
 Thro' idle Sundays as I have watch'd them lean 
 Long hours upon the rail, or neath its screen 
 Prone on the deck to lie outstretch'd at length, 
 Sunk in renewal of their wearied strength. 
 
 But what a feast of joy to me, if some 
 Fast-sailing frigate to the Channel come 
 Back'd here her topsail, or brought gently up 
 Let from her bow the splashing anchor drop. 
 By faint contrary wind stay'd in her cruise, 
 
 /'The Phaethon or dancing Arethuse, 
 
 \ Or some immense three-decker of the line, 
 
 1 Romantic as the tale of Troy divine ; 
 
 i Ere yet our iron age had doom'd to fall 
 The towering freeboard of the wooden wall, 
 
 ' And for the engines of a mightier Mars 
 Clipp'd their wide wings, and dock'd their soaring spars 
 The gale that in their tackle sang, the wave 
 That neath their gilded galleries dasht so brave 
 Lost then their merriment, nor look to play 
 With the heavy-hearted monsters of to-day. 
 
 One noon in March upon that anchoring ground 
 Came Napier's fleet unto the Baltic bound : 
 Cloudless the sky and calm and blue the sea, 
 As round Saint Margaret's cliff mysteriously, 
 Those murderous queens walking in Sabbath sleep 
 Glided in line upon the windless deep : 
 For in those days was first seen low and black 
 Beside the fuU-rigg'd mast the strange smoke-stack. 
 And neath their stern revolv'd the twisted fan. 
 Many I knew as soon as I might scan. 
 The heavy Royal George, the Acre bright, 
 The Hague and Ajax, and could name aright 
 Others that I remember now no more ; 
 But chief, her blue flag flying at the fore, 
 
 ( 334 ) 
 
Ne'^ Toems 
 
 With fighting guns a hundred thirty and one, 
 
 The Admiral ship The Duke of Wellington, 
 
 Whereon sail'd George, who in her gig had flown 
 
 The silken ensign by our sisters sewn. 
 
 The iron Duke himself, — whose soldier fame 
 
 To England's proudest ship had given her name. 
 
 And whose white hairs in this my earliest scene 
 
 Had scarce more honour'd than accustom'd been, — 
 
 Was two years since to his last haven past : 
 
 I had seen his castle-flag to fall half-mast 
 
 One morn as I sat looking on the sea, 
 
 When thus all England's grief came first to me, 
 
 Who hold my childhood favour'd that I knew 
 
 So well the face that won at Waterloo. 
 
 But now 'tis other wars, and other men ; — 
 The year that Napier sail'd, my years were ten- 
 Yea, and new homes and loves my heart hath found 
 A priest has there usurped the ivied mound. 
 The bell that call'd to horse calls now to prayers, 
 And silent nuns tread the familiar stairs. 
 Within the peach-clad walls that old outlaw, 
 The Roman wolf, scratches with privy paw. 
 
 O Love, I complain, 
 Complain of thee often, 
 Because thou dost soften 
 My being to pain : 
 
 Thou makest me fear 
 The mind that createth, 
 That loves not nor hateth 
 
 In justice austere ; 
 
 ( 335 ) 
 
Ne'V9 T^oems 
 
 Who, ere he make one, 
 With millions toyeth, 
 And lightly destroyeth 
 
 Whate'er is begun. 
 
 An' wer't not for thee, 
 My glorious passion, 
 My heart I could fashion 
 
 To sternness, as he. 
 
 But thee, Love, he made 
 Lest man should defy him, 
 Connive and outvie him, 
 
 And not be afraid : 
 
 Nay, thee, Love, he gave 
 His terrors to cover. 
 And turn to a lover 
 
 His insolent slave. 
 
 THE SOUTH WIND 
 
 The south wind rose at dusk of the winter day, 
 The warm breath of the western sea ^ 
 Circling wrapp'd the isle with his cloke of cloud, 
 And it now reach'd even to me, at dusk of the day, 
 And moan'd in the branches aloud : 
 While here and there, in patches of dark space, 
 A star shone forth from its heavenly place. 
 As a spark that is borne in the smoky chase ; 
 And, looking up, there fell on my face — 
 Could it be drops of rain 
 Soft as the wind, that fell on my face ? 
 Gossamers light as threads of the summer dawn, 
 
 ( 336 ) 
 
Neyv 'Poems 
 
 Suck'd by the sun from midmost calms of the main, 
 
 From groves of coral islands secretly drawn, 
 
 O'er half the round of earth to be driven, 
 
 Now to fall on my face 
 
 In silky skeins spun from the mists of heaven. 
 
 Who art thou, in wind and darkness and soft' rain 
 Thyself that robest, that bendest in sighing pines 
 To whisper thy truth ? that usest for signs 
 A hurried glimpse of the moon, the glance of a star 
 In the rifted sky ? 
 Who art thou, that with thee I 
 Woo and am wooed ? 
 
 That robing thyself in darkness and soft rain 
 Choosest my chosen solitude. 
 Coming so far 
 To tell thy secret again, 
 As a mother her child, in her folding arm 
 Of a winter night by a flickering fire, 
 Telleth the same tale o'er and o'er 
 With gentle voice, and I never tire, 
 So imperceptibly changeth the charm, 
 As Love on buried ecstasy buildeth his tower, 
 — Like as the stem that beareth the flower 
 By trembling is knit to power ;— 
 Ah ! long ago 
 
 In thy first rapture I renounced my lot, 
 The vanity, the despondency and the woe, 
 And seeking thee to know 
 Well was 't for me, and evermore 
 I am thine, I know not what. 
 
 For me thou seekest ever, me wondering a day 
 In the eternal alternations, me 
 Free for a stolen moment of chance 
 To dream a beautiful dream 
 
 ( 337 ) 
 
Ne'99 T*oems 
 
 In the everlasting dance 
 
 Of speechless worlds, the unsearchable scheme, 
 
 To me thou findest the way, 
 
 Me and whomsoe'er 
 
 I have found my dream to share 
 
 Still with thy charm encircling ; even to-night 
 
 To me and my love in darkness and soft rain 
 
 Under the sighing pines thou comest again, 
 
 And staying our speech with mystery of delight. 
 
 Of the kiss that I give a wonder thou makest. 
 
 And the kiss that I take thou takest. 
 
 7 
 
 I CLIMB the mossy bank of the glade : 
 My love awaiteth me in the shade. 
 
 She holdeth a book that she never heedeth : 
 In Goddes work her spirit readeth. 
 
 She is all to me, and I to her : 
 When we embrace, the stars confer. 
 
 O my love, from beyond the sky 
 I am calling thy heart, and who but I ? 
 
 Fresh as love is the breeze of June, 
 In the dappled shade of the summer noon. 
 
 Catullus, throwing his heart away, 
 Gave fewer kisses every day. 
 
 Heracleitus, spending his youth 
 In search of wisdom, had less of truth. 
 
 Flame of fire was the poet's desire : 
 The thinker found that life was fire. 
 
 O my love ! my song is done : 
 My kiss hath both their fires in one. 
 
 ( 338 ) 
 
TV^W T^oems 
 
 To my love I whisper, and say 
 Knowest thou why I love thee? — Nay: 
 Nay, she saith; O tell me again. — 
 
 When in her ear the secret I tell. 
 She smileth with joy incredible — 
 
 Ha ! she is vain — O nay — 
 Then tell us ! — Nay, O nay. 
 
 But this is in my heart. 
 That Love is Nature's perfect art. 
 And man hath got his fancy hence. 
 To clothe his thought in forms of sense, 
 
 Fair are thy works, O man, and fair 
 Thy dreams of soul in garments rare, 
 
 Beautiful past compare, 
 Yea, godlike when thou hast the skill 
 To steal a stir of the heavenly thrill : 
 
 But O, have care, have care ! 
 'Tis envious even to dare : 
 And many a fiend is watching well 
 To flush thy reed with the fire of hell. 
 
 9 
 
 My delight and thy delight 
 Walking, like two angels white, 
 In the gardens of the night : 
 
 My desire and thy desire 
 Twining to a tongue of fire, 
 Leaping live, and laughing higher ; 
 
 ( 339 ) 
 
Ne'99 T^oems 
 
 Thro' the everlasting strife 
 In the mystery of life. 
 
 Love, from whom the world begun, 
 Hath the secret of the sun. 
 
 Love can tell, and love alone, 
 Whence the million stars were strewn. 
 Why each atom knows its own, 
 How, in spite of woe and death. 
 Gay is life, and sweet is breath : 
 
 This he taught us, this we knew, 
 Happy in his science true, 
 Hand in hand as we stood 
 Neath the shadows of the wood, 
 Heart to heart as we lay 
 In the dawning of the day. 
 
 lO 
 SEPTUAGESIMA 
 
 Now all the windows with frost are blinded, 
 As punctual day with greedy smile 
 
 Lifts like a Cyclops evil-minded 
 His ruddy eyeball over the isle. 
 
 In an hour 'tis paled, in an hour ascended 
 A dazzling light in the cloudless grey. 
 
 Steel is the ice ; the snow unblended 
 Is trod to' dust on the white highway. 
 
 The lambkins frisk J the shepherd is melting 
 Drink for the ewes with a fire of straw : 
 
 The red flames leap at the wild air pelting 
 Bitterly thro' the leafless shaw. 
 ( 340 ) 
 
Ne'W ^oems 
 
 Around, from many a village steeple 
 The sabbath-bells hum over the snow : 
 
 I give a blessing to parson and people 
 Across the fields as away I go. 
 
 Over the hills and over the meadows 
 Gay is my way till day be done : 
 
 Blue as the heaven are all the shadows, 
 And every light is gold in the sun. 
 
 1 1 
 
 The sea keeps not the Sabbath day, 
 His waves come rolling evermore ; 
 His noisy toil grindeth the shore. 
 And all the cliff is drencht with spray. 
 
 Here as we sit, my love and I, 
 Under the pine upon the hill. 
 The sadness of the clouded sky. 
 The bitter wind, the gloomy roar. 
 The seamew's melancholy cry 
 With loving fancy suit but ill. 
 
 \Ve talk of moons and cooling suns. 
 Of geologic time and tide, 
 The eternal sluggards that abide 
 While our fair love so swiftly runs. 
 
 Of nature that doth half consent 
 That man should guess her dreary scheme 
 Lest he should live too well content 
 In his fair house of mirth and dream 4 
 
 AVhose labour irks his ageing heart. 
 His heart that wearies of desire. 
 Being so fugitive a part 
 Of what so slowly must expire. 
 ( 341 ) 
 
iV^w Toems 
 
 She in her agelong toil and care 
 Persistent, wearies not nor stays, 
 Mocking alike hope and despair. 
 
 — Ah, but she too can mock our praise, 
 Enchanted on her brighter days, 
 
 Days, that the thought of grief refuse, 
 Days that are one with human art, 
 Worthy of the Virgilian muse. 
 Fit for the gaiety of Mozart. 
 
 12 
 
 Riding adown the country lanes 
 
 One day in spring, 
 Heavy at heart with all the pains 
 Of man's imagining : — 
 
 The mist was not yet melted quite 
 
 Into the sky : 
 The small round sun was dazzling white, 
 The merry larks sang high : 
 
 The grassy northern slopes were laid 
 
 In sparkling dew, 
 Out of the slow-retreating shade 
 Turning from sleep anew : 
 
 Deep in the sunny vale a burn 
 
 Ran with the lane, 
 O'erhung with ivy, moss and fern 
 It laughed in joyful strain : 
 
 And primroses shot long and lush 
 
 Their cluster'd cream j 
 Robin and wren and amorous thrush 
 Carol'd above the stream : 
 
 ( 342 ) 
 
The stillness of the lenten air 
 
 Call'd into sound 
 The motions of all life that were 
 In field and farm around : 
 
 So fair it was, so sweet and bright, 
 
 The jocund Spring 
 Awoke in me the old delight 
 Of man's imagining, 
 
 Riding adown the country lanes : 
 The larks sang high. — 
 
 heart ! for all thy griefs and pains 
 Thou shall be loth to die. 
 
 PATER FILIO 
 
 Sense with keenest edge unused, 
 Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire ; 
 
 Lovely feet as yet unbruised 
 On the ways of dark desire ; 
 
 Sweetest hope that lookest smiling 
 
 O'er the wilderness defiling ! 
 
 Why such beauty, to be blighted 
 By the swarm of foul destruction ? 
 
 Why such innocence delighted. 
 When sin stalks to thy seduction ? 
 
 All the litanies e'er chaunted 
 
 Shall not keep thy faith undaunted. 
 
 1 have pray'd the sainted Morning 
 To unclasp her hands to hold thee ; 
 
 From resignful Eve's adorning 
 
 Stol'n a robe of peace to enfold thee ; 
 With all charms of man's contriving 
 Arm'd thee for thy lonely striving. 
 
 ( 343 ) 
 
Me too once unthinking Nature, 
 
 — Whence Love's timeless mockery took me,- 
 Fashion'd so divine a creature, 
 
 Yea, and like a beast forsook me. 
 I forgave, but tell the measure 
 Of her crime in thee, my treasure. 
 
 14 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 The lonely season in lonely lands, when fled 
 Are half the birds, and mists lie low, and the sun 
 Is rarely seen, nor strayeth far from his bed ; 
 The short days pass unwelcomed one by one. 
 
 Out by the ricks the mantled engine stands 
 Crestfallen, deserted, — for now all hands 
 Are told to the plough, — and ere it is dawn appear 
 The teams following and crossing far and near, 
 As hour by hour they broaden the brown bands 
 Of the striped fields ; and behind them firk and prance 
 The heavy rooks, and daws grey-pated dance : 
 As awhile, surmounting a crest, in sharp outline 
 (A miniature of toil, a gem's design,) 
 They are pictured, horses and men, or now near by 
 Above the. lane they shout lifting the share,. 
 By the trim hedgerow bloom'd with purple air ; 
 Where, under the thorns, dead leaves in huddle lie 
 Packed by the gales of Autumn, and in and out 
 The small wrens glide 
 ^Vith a happy note of cheer. 
 And yellow amorets flutter above and about. 
 Gay, familiar in fear. 
 
 ( 344 ) 
 
Ne'V9 T^oems 
 
 And now, if the night shall be cold, across the sky 
 Linnets and twites, in small flocks helter-skelter. 
 All the afternoon to the gardens fly. 
 From thistle-pastures hurrying to gain the shelter 
 Of American rhododendron or cherry-laurel : 
 And here and there, near chilly setting of sun. 
 In an isolated tree a congregation 
 Of starlings chatter and chide. 
 Thickset as summer leaves, in garrulous quarrel : 
 Suddenly they hush as one, — 
 The tree top springs, — 
 And off", with a whirr of wings, 
 They fly by the score 
 
 To the holly-thicket, and there with myriads more 
 Dispute for the roosts ; and from the unseen nation 
 A babel of tongues, like running water unceasing, 
 Makes live the wood, the flocking cries increasing, 
 Wrangling discordantly, incessantly, 
 ■\Vhile falls the night on them self-occupied ; 
 The long dark night, that lengthens slow. 
 Deepening with Winter to starve grass and tree. 
 And soon to bury in snow 
 The Earth, that, sleeping 'neath her frozen stole. 
 Shall dream a dream crept from the sunless pole 
 Of how her end shall be. 
 
 15 
 WINTER NIGHTFALL 
 
 The day begins to droop, — 
 
 Its course is done : 
 But nothing tells the place 
 
 Of the setting sun. 
 
 ( 345 ) 
 
Neva T^oems 
 
 The hazy darkness deepens, 
 
 And up the lane 
 You may hear, but cannot see, 
 
 The homing wain. 
 
 An engine pants and hums 
 
 In the farm hard by : 
 Its lowering smoke is lost 
 
 In the lowering sky. 
 
 The soaking branches drip, 
 
 And all night through 
 The dropping will not cease 
 
 In the avenue. 
 
 A tall man there in the house 
 
 Must keep his chair : 
 He knows he will never again 
 
 Breathe the spring air : 
 
 His heart is worn with work ; 
 
 He is giddy and sick 
 If he rise to go as far 
 
 As the nearest rick : 
 
 He thinks of his morn of life, 
 
 His hale, strong years ; 
 And braves as he may the night 
 
 Of darkness and tears. 
 
 i6 
 
 Since we loved, — (the earth that shook 
 As we kissed, fresh beauty took) — 
 Love hath been as poets paint, 
 Life as heaven is to a saint ; 
 
 All my joys my hope excel, 
 All my work hath prosper'd well, 
 All my songs have happy been, 
 O my love, my life, my queen. 
 ( 346 ) 
 
Nev9 Toems 
 17 
 
 When Death to either shall come, — 
 I pray it be first to me, — 
 
 Be happy as ever at home, 
 If so, as I wish, it be. 
 
 Possess thy heart, my own ; 
 
 And sing to the child on thy knee, 
 Or read to thyself alone 
 
 The songs that I made for thee. 
 
 WISHES 
 I wish'd to sing thy grace, but nought 
 Found upon earth that could compare ; 
 Some day, maybe, in heaven, I thought,- 
 If I should win the welcome there, — 
 
 There might I make thee many a song : 
 But now it is enough to say 
 I ne'er have done our life the wrong 
 Of wishing for a happier day. 
 
 A LOVE LYRIC 
 Why art thou sad, my dearest ? 
 What terror is it thou fearest. 
 Braver who art than I 
 The fiend to defy? 
 
 Why art thou sad, my dearest ? 
 And why in tears appearest. 
 Closer than I that wert 
 At hiding thy hurt? 
 
 ( 347 ) 
 
Why art thou sad, my dearest, 
 Since now my voice thou hearest ? 
 Who with a kiss restore 
 Thy valour of yore. 
 
 20 
 EPilS 
 
 Why hast thou nothing in thy face ? 
 Thou idol of the human race, 
 Thou tyrant of the human heart, 
 The flower of lovely youth that art ; 
 Yea, and that standest in thy youth 
 An image of eternal Truth, 
 With thy exuberant flesh so fair. 
 That only Pheidias might compare, 
 Ere from his chaste marmoreal form 
 Time had decayed the colours warm ; 
 Like to his gods in thy proud dress. 
 Thy starry sheen of nakedness. 
 
 Surely thy body is thy mind, 
 For in thy face is nought to find, 
 Only thy soft unchristen'd smile, 
 That shadows neither love nor guile, 
 But shameless will and power immense. 
 In secret sensuous innocence. 
 
 O king of joy, what is thy thought ? 
 I dream thou knowest it is nought. 
 And wouldst in darkness come, but thou 
 Makest the light where'er thou go. 
 Ah yet no victim of thy grace. 
 None who e'er long'd for thy embrace, 
 Hath cared to look upon thy face. 
 ( 348 ) 
 
TV^W 'Poems 
 
 21 
 
 THE FAIR BRASS 
 
 An effigy of brass 
 Trodden by careless feet 
 Of worshippers that pass, 
 Beautiful and complete, 
 
 Lieth in the sombre aisle 
 Of this old church unwreckt. 
 And still from modern style 
 Shielded by kind neglect. 
 
 It shows a warrior arm'd : 
 Across his iron breast 
 His hands by death are charm'd 
 To leave his sword at rest, 
 
 Wherewith he led his men 
 O'ersea, and smote to hell 
 The astonisht Saracen, 
 Nor doubted he did well. 
 
 Would we could teach our sons 
 Hip trust in face of doom. 
 Or give our bravest ones 
 A comparable tomb : 
 
 Such as to look on shrives 
 The heart of half its care ; 
 So in each line survives 
 The spirit that made it fair ; 
 
 So fair the characters, 
 With which the dusty scroll. 
 That tells his title, stirs 
 A requiem for his soul. 
 
 ( 349 ) 
 
Ne'V9 'Poems 
 
 Yet dearer far to me, 
 And brave as he are they, 
 Who fight by land and sea 
 For England at this day; 
 
 Whose vile memorials, 
 In mournful marbles gilt. 
 Deface the beauteous walls 
 By growing glory built : 
 
 Heirs of our antique shrines, 
 Sires of our future fame, 
 Whose starry honour shines 
 In many a noble name 
 
 Across the deathful days, 
 Link'd in the brotherhood 
 That loves our country's praise, 
 And lives for heavenly good. 
 
 22 
 
 THE DUTEOUS HEART 
 
 Spirit of grace and beauty, 
 Whom men so much miscall : 
 Maidenly, modest duty, 
 I cry thee fair befall ! 
 
 Pity for them that shun thee, 
 Sorrow for them that hate. 
 Glory, hath any won thee 
 To dwell in high estate ! 
 
 But rather thou delightest 
 To walk in humble ways. 
 Keeping thy favour brightest 
 Uncrown'd by foolish praise ; 
 
 ( 35° ) 
 
Ne'V9 'Poems 
 
 In such retirement dwelling, 
 Where, hath the worldling been. 
 He straight returneth telling 
 Of sights that he hath seen, 
 
 Of simple men and truest 
 Faces of girl and boy ; 
 The souls whom thou enduest 
 With gentle peace and joy. 
 
 Fair from my song befall thee, 
 Spirit of beauty and grace ! 
 Men that so much miscall thee 
 Have never seen thy face. 
 
 23 
 THE IDLE FLOWERS 
 
 I HAVE sown upon the fields 
 Eyebright and Pimpernel, 
 And Pansy and Poppy-seed 
 Ripen'd and scatter'd well. 
 
 And silver Lady-smock 
 The meads with light to fill. 
 Cowslip and Buttercup, 
 Daisy and Daffodil ; 
 
 King-cup and Fleur-de-lys 
 Upon the marsh to meet 
 With Comfrey, Watermint, 
 Loose-strife and Meadowsweet ; 
 
 And all along the stream 
 My care hath not forgot 
 Crowfoot's white galaxy 
 And love's Forget-me-not : 
 
 ( 3Sr ) 
 
Ne'99 'Poems 
 
 And where high grasses wave 
 Shall great Moon-daisies blink, 
 With Rattle and Sorrel sharp 
 And Robin's ragged pink. 
 
 Thick on the woodland floor 
 Gay company shall be, 
 Primrose and Hyacinth 
 And frail Anemone, 
 
 Perennial Strawberry-bloom, 
 Woodsorrel's pencilled veil, 
 Dishevel'd Willow-weed 
 And Orchis purple and pale. 
 
 Bugle, that blushes blue. 
 And Woodruff's snowy gem, 
 Proud Foxglove's finger-bells 
 And Spurge with milky stem. 
 
 High on the downs so bare. 
 Where thou dost love to climb. 
 Pink Thrift and Milkwort are, 
 Lotus and scented Thyme; 
 
 And in the shady lanes 
 Bold Arum's hood of green. 
 Herb Robert, Violet, 
 Starwort and Celandine; 
 
 And by the dusty road 
 Bedstraw and Mullein tall. 
 With red Valerian 
 And Toadflax on the wall, 
 
 Yarrow and Chicory, 
 That hath for hue no like, 
 Silene and Mallow mild 
 And Agrimony's spike, 
 ( 352 ) 
 
Blue-eyed Veronicas 
 And grey-faced Scabious 
 And downy Silverweed 
 And striped Convolvulus : 
 
 Harebell shall haunt the banks, 
 And thro' the hedgerow peer 
 Withwind and Snapdragon 
 And Nightshade's flower of fear. 
 
 And where men never sow, 
 Have I my Thistles set. 
 Ragwort and stifif Wormwood 
 And straggling Mignonette, 
 
 Bugloss and Burdock rank 
 And prickly Teasel high, 
 With Umbels yellow and white. 
 That come to kexes dry. 
 
 Pale Chlora shalt thou find. 
 Sun-loving Centaury, 
 Cranesbill and Sinjunwort, 
 Cinquefoil and Betony : 
 
 Shock-headed Dandelion, 
 That drank the fire of the sun : 
 Hawk weed and Marigold, 
 Cornflower and Campion. 
 
 Let Oak and Ash grow strong. 
 Let Beech her branches spread; 
 Let Grass and Barley throng 
 And waving Wheat for bread; 
 
 Be share and sickle bright 
 To labour at all hours ; 
 For thee and thy delight 
 I have made the idle flowers. 
 
 ( 353 ) 
 
Nei!9 'Poems 
 
 But now 'tis Winter, child, 
 And bitter northwinds blow, 
 The ways are wet and wild, 
 The land is laid in snow. 
 
 24 
 
 DUNSTONE HILL 
 
 A COTTAGE built of native stone 
 Stands on the mountain-moor alone. 
 High from man's dwelling on the wide 
 And solitary mountain-side, 
 
 The purple mountain-side, where all 
 The dewy night the meteors fall, 
 And the pale stars musically set 
 To the watery bells of the rivulet, 
 
 And all day long, purple and dun. 
 The vast moors stretch beneath the sun, 
 The wide wind passeth fresh and hale, 
 And whirring grouse and blackcock sail. 
 
 Ah, heavenly Peace, where dost thou dwell ? 
 Surely 'twas here thou hadst a cell, 
 Till flaming Love, wandering astray 
 "With fury and blood, drove thee away. — 
 
 Far down across the valley deep 
 The town is hid in smoky sleep, 
 At moonless nightfall wakening slow 
 Upon the dark with lurid glow : 
 
 Beyond, afar the widening view 
 Merges into the soften'd blue. 
 Cornfield and forest, hill and stream, 
 Fair England in her pastoral dream. 
 
 ( 354 ) 
 
JSTeyn Toems 
 
 To one who looketh from this hill 
 Life seems asleep, all is so still : 
 Nought passeth save the travelling shade 
 Of clouds on high that float and fade : 
 
 Nor since this landscape saw the sun 
 Might other motion o'er it run, 
 Till to man's scheming heart it came 
 To make a steed of steel and flame. 
 
 Him may you mark in every vale 
 Moving beneath his fleecy trail, 
 And tell whene'er the motions die 
 Where every town and hamlet lie. 
 
 He gives the distance life to-day, 
 Rushing upon his level'd way 
 From man's abode to man's abode, 
 And mocks the Roman's vaunted road. 
 
 Which o'er the moor purple and dun 
 Still wanders white beneath the sun. 
 Deserted now of men and lone 
 Save for this cot of native stone 
 
 There ever by the whiten'd wall 
 Standeth a maiden fair and tall. 
 And all day long in vacant dream 
 Watcheth afar the flying steam. 
 
 25 
 
 SCREAMING TARN 
 
 The saddest place that e'er I saw 
 Is the deep tarn above the inn 
 
 1 hat crowns the mountain-road, whereby 
 One southward bound his way must win. 
 
 ( 355 ) 
 
Sunk on the table of the ridge 
 
 From its deep shores is nought to see : 
 
 The unresting wind lashes and chills 
 Its shivering ripples ceaselessly. 
 
 Three sides 'tis banked with stones aslant, 
 And down the fourth the rushes grow, 
 
 And yellow sedge fringing the edge 
 ^Vith lengthen'd image all arow. 
 
 'Tis square and black, and on its face 
 When noon is still, the mirror'd sky 
 
 Looks dark and further from the earth 
 Than when you gaze at it on high. 
 
 At mid of night, if one be there, 
 — So say the people of the hill — 
 
 A fearful shriek of death is heard. 
 
 One sudden scream both loud and shrill. 
 
 And some have seen on stilly nights, 
 
 And when the moon was clear and round, 
 
 Bubbles which to the surface swam 
 And burst as if they held the sound. — 
 
 'Twas in the days ere hapless Charles 
 Losing his crown had lost his head, 
 
 This tale is told of him who kept 
 The inn upon the watershed : 
 
 He was a lowbred ruin'd man 
 
 Whom lawless times set free from fear: 
 One evening to his house there rode 
 
 A young and gentle cavalier. 
 
 With curling hair and linen fair 
 And jewel-hilted sword he went ; 
 
 The horse he rode he had ridden far. 
 And he was with his journey spent. 
 
 ( 356 ) 
 
Ney? Toems 
 
 He asked a lodging for the night, 
 His valise from his steed unbound, 
 
 He let none bear it but himself 
 And set it by him on the ground. 
 
 ' Here 's gold or jewels,' thought the host, 
 ' That 's carrying south to find the king.' 
 
 He chattered many a loyal word, 
 And scraps of royal airs gan sing. 
 
 His guest thereat grew more at ease 
 And o'er his wine he gave a toast, 
 
 But little ate, and to his room 
 Carried his sack behind the host. 
 
 ' Now rest you well,' the host he said. 
 But of his wish the word fell wide ; 
 
 Nor did he now forget his son 
 
 Who fell in fight by Cromwell's side. 
 
 Revenge and poverty have brought 
 Full gentler heart than his to crime ; 
 
 And he was one by nature rude, 
 Born to foul deeds at any time. 
 
 With unshod feet at dead of night 
 In stealth he to the guest-room crept, 
 
 Lantern and dagger in his hand, 
 
 And stabbed his victim while he slept. 
 
 But as he struck a scream there came, 
 A fearful scream so loud and shrill : 
 
 He whelm'd the face with pillows o'er, 
 And lean'd till all had long been still. 
 
 Then to the face the flame he held 
 To see there should no life remain : — 
 
 When lo ! his brutal heart was quell'd : 
 'Twas a fair woman he had slain. 
 
 ( 357 ) 
 
The tan upon her face was paint, 
 
 The manly hair was torn away, 
 Soft was the breast that he had pierced ; 
 
 Beautiful in her death she lay. 
 
 His was no heart to faint at crime, 
 Tho' half he wished the deed undone. 
 
 He pulled the valise from the bed 
 To find what booty he had won. 
 
 He cut the straps, and pushed within 
 His murderous fingers to their theft. 
 
 A deathly sweat came o'er his brow, 
 He had no sense nor meaning left. 
 
 He touched not gold, it was not cold, 
 It was not hard, it felt like flesh. 
 
 He drew out by the curling hair 
 A young man's head, and murder'd fresh ; 
 
 A young man's head, cut by the neck. 
 
 But what was dreader still to see, 
 Her whom he had slain he saw again. 
 
 The twain were like as like can be. 
 
 Brother and sister if they were, 
 
 Both in one shroud they now were wound,- 
 Across his back and down the stair, 
 
 Out of the house without a sound. 
 
 He made his way unto the tarn. 
 The night was dark and still and dank ; 
 
 The ripple chuckling neath the boat 
 Laughed ls he drew it to the bank. 
 
 Upon the bottom of the boat 
 He laid his burden flat and low, 
 
 And on them laid the square sandstones 
 That round about the margin go. 
 
 (358 ) 
 
Ne"^ T*oems 
 
 Stone upon stone he weighed them down, 
 Until the bo^t would hold no more ; 
 
 The freeboard now was scarce an inch : 
 
 He stripp'd his clothes and push'd froni shore. 
 
 All naked to the middle pool 
 
 He swam behind in the dark night ; 
 
 And there he let the water in 
 And sank his terror out of sight. 
 
 He swam ashore, and donn'd his dress. 
 And scraped his bloody fingers clean ; 
 
 Ran home and on his victim's steed 
 Mounted, and never more was seen. 
 
 But to a comrade ere he died 
 
 He told his story guess'd of none : 
 So from his lips the crime returned 
 
 To haunt the spot where it was done. 
 
 26 
 
 THE ISLE OF ACHILLES 
 
 (from the greek) 
 
 Tov (fyiXraTov a-oi naiS' ipioi r', 'A;(iXX6a 
 S'^ei Sofiovs vaiovTa vr)<Titt>TlKOvs 
 AevKfjv KaT aKTrjv ivTos Ev^elvov TTopov. 
 
 Eur, And. 1250 
 
 Voyaging northwards by the western strand 
 Of the Euxine sea we came to where the land 
 Sinks low in salt morass and wooded plain ; 
 Here mighty Ister pushes to the main, 
 Forking his turbid flood in channels three 
 To plough the sands wherewith he chokes the sea. 
 
 ( 359 ) 
 
Ne'99 'Poetns 
 
 Against his middle arm, not many a mile 
 In the offing of black water is the isle 
 Named of Achilles, or as Leuke known, 
 ^Vhich tender Thetis, counselling alone 
 AVith her wise sire beneath the ocean-wave 
 Unto her child's departed spirit gave, 
 AVhere he might still his love and fame enjoy. 
 Through the vain Danaan cause fordone at Troy. 
 Thither Achilles passed, and long fulfiU'd 
 His earthly lot, as the high gods had will'd, 
 Far from the rivalries of men, from strife, 
 From arms, from woman's love and toil of life. 
 Now of his lone abode I will unfold 
 AVhat there I saw, or was by others told. 
 
 There is in truth a temple on the isle; 
 Therein a wooden statue of rude style 
 And workmanship antique with helm of lead : 
 Else all is desert, uninhabited ; 
 Only a few goats browse the wind-swept rocks, 
 And oft the stragglers of their starving flocks 
 Are caught and sacrificed by whomsoe'er, 
 Whoever of chance or purpose hither fare : 
 About the fence lie strewn their bleaching bones. 
 
 But in the temple jewels and precious stones, 
 Upheapt with golden rings and vials lie, 
 Thankofferings to Achilles, and thereby, 
 Written or scratch'd upon the walls in view, 
 Inscriptions, with the givers' names thereto, 
 Some in Romaic character, some Greek, 
 As each man in the tongue that he might speak 
 Wrote verse of praise, or prayer for good to come, 
 To Achilles most, but to Patroclus some ; 
 For those who strongly would Achilles move 
 Approach him by the pathway of his love. 
 ( 360 ) 
 
Neyy Toems 
 
 Thousands of birds frequent the sheltering shrine, 
 The dippers and the swimnaers of the brine^ 
 Sea-mew and gull and diving cormorant, 
 Fishers that on the high cliff make their haunt 
 Sheer inaccessible, and sun themselves 
 Huddled arow upon the narrow shelves : — 
 And surely no like wonder e'er hath been 
 As that such birds should keep the temple clean ; 
 But thus they do : at earliest dawn of day 
 They flock to sea and in .the waters play, 
 And when they well have wet their plumage light. 
 Back to the sanctuary they take flight 
 Splashing the walls and columns with fresh brine, 
 Till all the stone doth fairly drip and shine, 
 When off again they skim asea for more 
 And soon returning sprinkle steps and floor. 
 And sweep all cleanly with their wide-spread wings. 
 
 From other men I have learnt further things. 
 If any of free purpose, thus they tell, 
 Sail'd hither to consult the oracle, — 
 For oracle there was, — they sacrificed 
 Such victims as they brought, if such sufficed. 
 And some they slew, some to the god set free : 
 But they who driven from their course at sea 
 Chanced on the isle, took of the goats thereon 
 And pray'd Achilles to accept his own. 
 Then made they a gift, and when they had offer'd once, 
 If to their question there was no response, 
 They added to the gift and asked again ; 
 Yea twice and more, until the god should deign 
 Answer to give, their offering they renew'd ; 
 AVhereby great riches to the shrine ensued. 
 And when both sacrifice and gifts were made 
 They worship'd at the shrine, and as they pray'd 
 
 ( 361 ) N 3 
 
Sailors aver that often hath been seen 
 
 A man like to a god, of warrior mien, 
 
 A beauteous form of figure swift and strong ; 
 
 Down on his shoulders his light hair hung long 
 
 And his full armour was enchast with gold ; 
 
 While some, who with their eyes might nought behold. 
 
 Say that with music strange the air was stir'd ; 
 
 And some there are, who have both seen and heard : 
 
 And if a man wish to be favour'd more, 
 
 He need but spend one night upon the shore ; 
 
 To him in sleep Achilles will appear 
 
 And lead him to his tent, and with good cheer 
 
 Show him all friendliness that men desire ; 
 
 Patroclus pours the wine, and he his lyre 
 
 Takes from the pole and plays the strains thereon 
 
 Which Cheiron taught him first on Pelion. 
 
 These things I tell as they were told to me, 
 Nor do I question but it well may be : 
 For sure I am that, if man ever was, 
 Achilles was a hero, both because 
 Of his high birth and beauty, his country's call, 
 His valour of soul, his early death withal. 
 For Homer's praise, the crown of human art ; 
 And that above all praise he had at heart 
 A gentler passion in her sovran sway. 
 And when his love died threw his life away. 
 
 ( 362 ) 
 
Neyj T^oems 
 
 27 
 
 AN ANNIVERSARY 
 
 HE 
 
 Bright, my beloved, be thy day, 
 This eve of Summer's fall : 
 
 And Autumn mass his flowers gay 
 To crown thy festival 1 
 
 SHE 
 
 I care not if the morn be bright, 
 
 Living in thy love-rays : 
 No flower I need for my delight, 
 
 Being crowned with thy praise. 
 
 HE 
 
 O many years and joyfully 
 
 This sun to thee return ; 
 Ever all men speak well of thee, 
 
 Nor any angel mourn ! 
 
 SHE 
 
 For length of life I would not pray, 
 
 If thy life were to seek ; 
 Nor ask what men and angels say 
 
 But when of thee they speak. 
 
 HE 
 
 Arise ! The sky hath heard my song, 
 The flowers o'erhear thy praise ; 
 
 And little loves are waking long 
 To wish thee happy days. 
 
 ( 363 ) 
 
Ne'W 7oems 
 
 28 
 REGINA CARA 
 
 JUBILEE-SONG, FOR MUSIC, l8g7 
 
 Hark ! The world is full of thy praise, 
 England's Queen of many days ; 
 Who, knowing how to rule the free, 
 Hast given a crown to monarchy. 
 
 Honour, Truth and growing Peace 
 Follow Britannia's wide increase. 
 And Nature yield her strength unknown 
 To the wisdom born beneath thy throne ! 
 
 In wisdom and love firm is thy fame: 
 Enemies bow to revere thy name : 
 The world shall never tire to tell 
 Praise of the queen that reignfed well. 
 
 o felix anima, domina praeclara, 
 Amore semper coronabere 
 Regina cara. 
 
 ( 364 ) 
 
Later Poems 
 
 OCCASIONAL ODES GJ'c, 
 
 € 
 
PJ^EriOUS PUBLICATIONS 
 
 1. Monthly ^evieiv. February, 1903. 
 
 2. Country Life. 1906. 
 
 3. ' Volunteer f/averiack^' 1902. 
 
 4. Daniel Press. Poems by A. Buckfon. 
 
 1 90 1. 
 
 5. 6. Saturday Hpjiew. 
 
 7. ' The Sheaf June, 1901. 
 
 8. English Review. March, 19 1 1. 
 
 9. Academy, ytpril \, 1 90 J. 
 
 lOj It. Monthly Review. June, 1 904. 
 
 1 3 . Sfeakfr. 
 
 14. Monthly I{eview. March, 1901. 
 
 15. ' Wayfarer's Love.' 1904. 
 
 16. Saturday I{evieiv. ^pril 13, 1907. 
 
 jBoo\ 0/ t/je Oxford Pageant. July, 
 1907. 
 
 17. 18, 19. Published with the Music by 
 
 Novella, Eiver &■ Co. 
 
 ( 366 ) 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 I 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLITUDE 
 
 An Elegy 
 
 Ended are many days, and now but few 
 Remain ; since therefore it is happy and true 
 That memoried joys keep ever their delight, 
 Lil^e steadfast stars in the blue vault of night. 
 While hours of pain (among those heavenly spheres 
 Like falling meteors, the martyr's tears) 
 Dart their long trails at random, and anon. 
 Ere we exclaim, pass, and for aye are gone ; 
 Therefore my heedy thought will oft restore 
 The long light-hearted days that are no more. 
 Save where in her memorial crypt they shine 
 Spangling the silent past with joy divine. 
 
 But why in dream of this enchanted mood 
 Should all my boyhood seem a solitude ? 
 Good reason know I, when I wander there, 
 In that transmuted scene, why all is fair ; 
 The woods as when in holiday of spring 
 Million buds burst, and flowers are blossoming ; 
 The meadows deep in grass, the fields unshorn 
 In beauty of the multitudinous corn. 
 Where the strait alleys hide me, wall'd between 
 High bloomy stalks and rustling banners green ; 
 The gardens, too, in dazzling hues full-blown. 
 With wafted scent and blazing petals strewn ; 
 The orchards reddening thro' the patient hours. 
 While idle autumn in his mossy bowers 
 ( 367 ) 
 
Later Toems 
 
 Inviteth meditation to endear 
 
 The sanctuaries of the mellowing year; 
 
 And every spot wherein I loved to stray 
 
 Hath borrowed radiance of eternal day; 
 
 But why am I ever alone, alone ? 
 
 Here in the corner of a field my throne, 
 
 Now in the branching chair of some tall tree 
 
 Drinking the gale in bird-like liberty; 
 
 Or to the seashore wandered in the sun 
 
 To watch the fateful waves break one by one ; 
 
 Or if on basking downs supine I lie 
 
 Bathing my spirit in blue calms of the sky ; 
 
 Or to the river bank am stolen by night 
 
 Hearkening unto the moonlit ripple bright 
 
 That warbles o'er the shallows of smooth stone ; 
 
 Why should my memory find me all alone, 
 
 When I had such companions every day 
 
 Jocund and dear ? 'Twixt glimpses of their play 
 
 'Tis a vast solitude, wherein I see 
 
 Only myself and what I came to be. 
 
 Yet never think, dear spirits, if now ye may 
 Remember aught of that brief earthly day, 
 Ere ye the mournful Stygian river crost, 
 From our familiar home too early lost, — 
 O never think that I your tears forget, 
 Or that I loved not well, or love not yet. 
 
 Nor ye who held my heart in passion's chain,— 
 As kings and queens succeed in glorious reign — 
 When, as a man, I made you to outvie 
 God's work, and, as a god, then set you by 
 Among the sainted throng in holiest shrine 
 Of mythic creed and poetry divine; 
 True was my faith, and still your loves endure, 
 The jewels of my fancy, bright and pure. 
 ( 368 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 Nor only in fair places do I see 
 The picture fair now it has ceased to be : 
 For fate once led me, and myself some days 
 Did I devote, to dull laborious ways. 
 By soaring thought detained to tread full low, — 
 Yea might I say unbeauteous paths of woe 
 And dreary abodes, had not my youthful sprite 
 Hallow'd each nook with legends of delight. 
 
 Ah ! o'er that smoky town who looketh now 
 By winter sunset from the dark hill-brow, 
 Under the dying trees exultantly 
 Nursing the sting of human tragedy ? 
 Or in that little room upstair'd so high, 
 Where London's roofs in thickest huddle lie. 
 Who now returns at evening to entice 
 To his fireside the joys of Paradise ? 
 Once sacred was that hearth, and bright the air ; 
 The flame of man's redemption flickered there. 
 In worship of those spirits, whose deathless fames 
 Have thrilled the stars of heaven to hear their names 
 They that excell'd in wisdom to create 
 Beauty, with mortal passion conquering fate ; 
 And, mid the sovran powers of elder time. 
 The loveliness of music and new rhyme. 
 The masters young that first enthralled me ; 
 Of whom if I should name, whom then but thee. 
 Sweet Shelley, or the boy whose book was found 
 Thrust in thy bosom on thy body drowned ? 
 
 O mighty Muse, wooer of virgin thought. 
 Beside thy charm all else counteth as nought ; 
 The revelation of thy smile doth make 
 Him whom thou lovest reckless for thy sake ; 
 Earthborn of suffering, that knowest well 
 To call thine own, and with enamouring spell 
 
 ( 369 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 Feedest the stolen powers of godlike youth 
 
 On dear imagination's only truth, 
 
 Building with song a temple of desire ; 
 
 And with the yearning music of thy quire, 
 
 In nuptial sacrament of thought and sense 
 
 Hallowest for toil the hours of indolence : 
 
 Thou in thy melancholic beauty drest, 
 
 Subduest ill to serve thy fair behest. 
 
 With tragic tears, and sevenfold purified 
 
 Silver of mirth; and with extremest pride. 
 
 With secret doctrine and unfathomed lore 
 
 Remainest yet a child for evermore. 
 
 The only enchantress of the earth that art 
 
 To cheer his day and staunch man's bleeding heart. 
 
 O heavenly Muse, for heavenly thee we call 
 Who in the fire of love refinest all, 
 Accurst is he who heark'neth not thy voice ; 
 But happy he who, numbered of thy choice, 
 Walketh aloof from nature's clouded plan : 
 For all God's world is but the thought of man ; 
 Wherein hast thou re-formed a world apart, 
 The mutual mirror of his better heart. 
 There is no foulness, misery, nor sin, 
 But he who loves finds his desire therein, 
 And there with thee in lonely commerce lives : 
 Nay, all that nature gave or fortune gives, 
 Joys that his spirit is most jealous of. 
 His only-embraced and best-deserving love, 
 Who walketh in the noon of heavenly praise, 
 The troubled godhead of his children's gaze, 
 Wear thine eternity, and are loved best 
 By thee transfigured and in thee possest ; 
 Who madest beauty, and from thy boundless store 
 Of beauty shalt create for evermore. 
 
 1900 
 ( 37° ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 Gay Marigold is frolic, 
 
 She laughs till summer is done ; 
 She hears the Grillie chirping 
 
 All day i' the blazing sun.' 
 
 But when the pale moon rises, 
 She fain her face would hide ; 
 
 For the high Queen of sorrows 
 Disdains her empty pride. 
 
 Fair Primrose haunts the shadow 
 With children of the Spring, 
 
 Till in the bloomy woodland 
 The nightingale will sing. 
 
 And when he lauds the May-night 
 And spirits throng the grove, 
 
 The moon shines thro' the branches 
 And floods her heart with love. 
 
 MATRES DOLOROSAE 
 
 Ye Spartan mothers, gentle ones, 
 Of lion-hearted, loving sons, 
 Fal'n, the flower of English youth. 
 To a barbarous foe in a land uncouth :- 
 
 O what a delicate sacrifice ! 
 Unequal the stake and costly the price 
 As when the queen of Love deplor'd 
 Her darling by the wild-beast gor'd. 
 
 ( 371 ) 
 
Later Voems 
 
 They rode to war as if to the hunt, 
 But ye at home, ye bore the brunt. 
 Bore the siege of torturing fears, 
 Fed your hope on the bread of tears. 
 
 Proud and spotless warriors they 
 
 With love or sword to lead^the way; 
 
 For ye had cradled heart and hand, 
 
 The commander hearken'd to your command. 
 
 Ah, weeping mothers, now all is o'er. 
 Ye know your honour and mourn no more ; 
 Nor ask ye a name in England's story. 
 Who gave your dearest for her glory. 
 
 May 20, 1902. 
 
 A VIGNETTE 
 
 Among the meadows 
 
 lightly going. 
 With worship and joy 
 
 my heart o'erflowing. 
 
 Far from town 
 and toil of living, 
 
 To a holy day 
 
 my spirit giving, . . . 
 
 Thou tender flower, 
 I kneel beside thee 
 
 Wondering why God 
 so beautified thee.— 
 
 ( 372 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 An answering thought 
 within me springeth, 
 
 A bloom of the mind 
 her vision bringeth. 
 
 Between the dim hill's 
 
 distant azure 
 And flowery foreground 
 
 of sparkling pleasure 
 
 I see the company 
 
 of figures sainted, 
 For whom the picture 
 
 of earth was painted. 
 
 Those robed seers 
 who made man's story 
 
 The crown of Nature, 
 Her cause his glory. 
 
 They walk in the city 
 which they have builded, 
 
 The city of God 
 from eyil shielded : 
 
 To them for canopy 
 the vault of heaven, 
 
 The flowery earth 
 for carpet is given ; 
 
 Whereon I wander 
 
 not unknowing, 
 ■\Vith worship and joy 
 
 my heart o'erflowing. 
 
 ^ 373 ) 
 
 1 90 1. 
 
Later Toems 
 
 MILLICENT 
 
 Thou dimpled Millicent, of merry guesses, 
 Strong-limb'd and tall, tossing thy wayward tresses. 
 What mystery of the heart can so surprise 
 The mirth and music of thy brimming eyes ? 
 
 Pale-brow, thou knowest not and diest to learn 
 The mortal secret that doth in thee burn ; 
 With look imploring ' If you love me, tell. 
 What is it in me that you love so well ? ' 
 
 And suddenly thou stakest all thy charms, 
 And leapest on me ; and in thy circling arms 
 When almost stifled with their wild embrace, 
 I feel thy hot tears sheltering on my face. 
 
 190: 
 
 VIVAMUS 
 
 When thou didst give thy love to me, 
 Asking no more of gods or men 
 
 I vow'd I would contented be, 
 
 If Fate should grant us summers ten. 
 
 But now that twice the term is sped, 
 And ever young my heart and gay, 
 
 I fear the words that then I said. 
 And turn my face from Fate away. 
 
 To bid thee happily good-bye 
 I have no hope that I can see. 
 
 No way that I shall bravely die. 
 Unless I give my life for thee. 
 
 ( 374 ) 
 
 190: 
 
Later ^oems 
 
 One grief of thine 
 if truth be confest 
 
 Was joy to me ; 
 
 for it drave to my breast 
 
 Thee, to my heart 
 to find thy rest. 
 
 How long it was 
 I never shall know : 
 
 I watcht the earth 
 so stately and slow, 
 
 And the ancient things 
 that waste and grow. 
 
 But now for me 
 what speed devours 
 
 Our heavenly life, 
 our brilliant hours ! 
 
 How fast they fly, 
 the stars and flowers ! 
 
 In still midsummer night 
 
 When the moon is late 
 And the stars all watery and white 
 
 For her coming wait, 
 
 A spirit, whose eyes are possest 
 
 By wonder new, 
 Passeth — her arms upon her breast 
 
 Enwrapt from the dew 
 
 ( 375 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 In a raiment of azure fold 
 
 With diaper 
 Of flower'd embroidery of gold 
 
 Bestarr'd with silver. 
 
 The daisy folk are awake 
 
 Their carpet to spread, 
 And the thron'd stars gazing on her make 
 
 Fresh crowns for her head, 
 
 Netted in her floating hair 
 
 As she drifteth free 
 Between the starriness of the air 
 
 And the starry lea. 
 
 From the silent-shadow'd vale 
 
 By the west wind drawn 
 Aloft to melt into the pale 
 
 Moonrise of dawn. 
 
 1910. 
 
 MELANCHOLIA 
 
 The sickness of desire, that in dark days 
 Looks on the imagination of despair, 
 Forgetteth man, and stinteth God his praise; 
 Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care. 
 
 Incertainty that once gave scope to dream 
 Of laughing enterprise and glory untold. 
 Is now a blackness that no stars redeem, 
 A wall of terror in a night of cold. 
 
 Fool ! thou that hast impossibly desired 
 And now impatiently despairest, see 
 How nought is changed : Joy's wisdom is attired 
 Splendid for others' eyes if not for thee ; 
 
 Not love or beauty or youth from earth is fied: 
 
 If they delite thee not, 'tis thou art dead. 
 
 ' \ 1904. 
 
 ( 376 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 lO 
 
 TO THE PRESIDENT OF MAGDALEN 
 COLLEGE, OXFORD 
 
 Since now from woodland mist and flooded clay 
 I am fled beside the steep Devonian shore, 
 Nor stand for welcome at your gothic door, 
 'Neath the fair tower of Magdalen and May, 
 Such tribute, Warren, as fond poets pay 
 For generous esteem, I write, not more 
 Enhearten'd than my need is, reckoning o'er 
 My life-long wanderings on the heavenly way : 
 
 But well-befriended we become good friends, 
 Well-honour'd honourable ; and all attain 
 Somewhat by fathering what fortune sends. 
 I bid your presidency a long reign, 
 True friend ; and may your praise to greater ends 
 Aid better men than I, nor me in vain. 
 
 1 1 
 
 TO JOSEPH JOACHIM 
 
 Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear 
 ^Vho hid her spirit of rapture from the Greek, 
 Whereby our art excelleth the antique. 
 Perfecting formal beauty to the ear; 
 Thou that hast been in England many a year 
 The interpreter who left us nought to seek, 
 Making Beethoven's inmost passion speak, 
 Bringing the soul of great Sebastian near ; 
 
 ( 377 ) 
 
Later T*oems 
 
 Their music liveth ever, and 'tis just 
 That thou, good Joachim, so high thy skill. 
 Rank (as thou shalt upon the heavenly hill) 
 Laurel'd with them, for thy ennobling trust 
 Remember'd when thy loving hand is still 
 And every ear that heard thee stopt with dust. 
 
 12 
 
 TO THOS. FLOYD 
 
 How fares it, friend, since I by Fate annoy'd 
 
 Left the old home in need of livelier play 
 
 For body and mind ? How fare, this many a day. 
 
 The stubborn thews and ageless heart of Floyd ? 
 
 If not too well with country sport employ'd, 
 
 Visit my flock, the breezy hill that they 
 
 Choose for their fold ; and see, for thence you may, 
 
 From rising walls all roofless yet and void. 
 
 The lovely city, thronging tower and spire. 
 The mind of the wide landscape, dreaming deep. 
 Grey-silvery in the vale ; a shrine where keep 
 Memorial hopes their pale celestial fire : 
 Like man's immortal conscience of desire, 
 The spirit that watcheth in me ev'n in my sleep. 
 
 1906 
 
 ( 378 ) 
 
Later Toems 
 
 13 
 
 LA GLOIRE DE VOLTAIRE 
 
 A Dialogue in Verse. 
 
 A. 
 
 Je donnerais pour revivre a vingt ans 
 
 Uor de Rothschild, la gloire de Voltaire. 
 
 I like that : Beranger in his printems, 
 
 Voltaire and Rothschild : what three graces there 
 
 Foot it together ! But of old Voltaire, 
 
 I'd ask what Beranger found so sublime 
 
 In that man's glory to adorn his rhyme. 
 
 Was it mere fame ? 
 
 B. 
 Nay : for as wide a fame 
 Was won by the gold-garnering millionaire, 
 Who in the poet's verse might read his name 
 And what is that ? when so much froth and scum 
 Float down the stream of Time (as Bacon saith), 
 AVhat is that for deliverance from the death ? 
 Could any sober man be proud to hold 
 A lease of common talk, or die consoled 
 For thinking that on lips of fools to come 
 He'll live with Pontius Pilate and Tom Thumb ? 
 That were more like eternal punishment, 
 The true fool's Paradise by all consent. 
 Beranger thought to set a crown on merit. 
 
 A. 
 
 Man's merit ! and to crown it in Voltaire ? 
 The modest eye, the gentle, fearless heart, 
 The mouth of peace and truth, the angelic spirit ! 
 Why Arouet was souffle \^\\h. the leaven, 
 
 ( 379 ) 
 
Later T*oems 
 
 Of which the little flock was bid beware : 
 
 His very ambition was to play a part ; 
 
 Indifferent whether he did wrong or right, 
 
 So he won credit ; eager to deny 
 
 A lie that failed, by adding lie to lie; 
 
 Repaying evil unto seven-times-seven; 
 
 A fount of slander, flattery and spite; 
 
 Vain, irritable ; true but to his face 
 
 Of mockery and mischievous grimace, 
 
 A monkey of the schools, the saints' despair ! 
 
 B. 
 
 Yet for his voice half Europe stood at pause 
 To hear, and when he spoke rang with applaiise. 
 
 Granted he was a wonder of his kind. 
 There is a devilish mockery in things 
 Which only a born devil can enjoy. 
 True banter is of melancholy mind, 
 Akin to madness ; thus must Shakespeare toy 
 With Hamlet's reason, ere his fine art dare 
 Push his relentless humour to the quick; 
 And so his mortal thrusts pierce not the skin. 
 But for the superficial bickerings 
 That poison life and never seem to prick. 
 The reasonable educated grin, 
 Truly no wag is equal to Voltaire ; 
 His never-dying ripple, wide and light, 
 Has nigh the force of Nature : to compare, 
 'Tis like the ocean when the sky is bright. 
 And the cold north-wind tickles with surprise 
 .The briny levels of the infinite sea. 
 — Shall we conclude his merit was his wit. 
 His magic art and versatility ? 
 ( 380 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 B. 
 
 And think of those foredoom'd in Dante's pit, 
 Who, sunk at bottom of the loathly slough, 
 Made the black mud up-bubble with their sighs; 
 And all because they were unkind to Mirth, 
 And went with smoky heart and gloomy brow 
 The while they lived upon the pleasant earth 
 In the sweet air that rallies to the sun, 
 And ne'er so much as smiled or gave God thanks: 
 Surely a sparkle of the Frenchman's fun 
 Had rescued all their souls. 
 
 A. 
 
 I think I see 
 The Deity who in this Heaven abides, 
 Le bon Dieu, holding both his aching sides, 
 With radiant face of Pan, ruddy and hairy : 
 Give him his famous whistles and goat-shanks, 
 And then present him to Alighieri. 
 
 B. 
 
 Nay, 'twixt the Frenchman and the Florentine 
 I ask no truce, grave Dante weaving well 
 His dark-eyed thought into a song divine. 
 Drawing high poetry from heaven and hell — 
 And him who lightly mockt at all in turn. 
 
 It follow'd from his mundane thought of art 
 That he contemn'd religion : his concern 
 Was comfort, taste, and wit : he had no heart 
 For man's attempt to build and beautify 
 His home in Nature ; so he set all by 
 That wisdom had evolved with purpose kind ; 
 ( 381 ) 
 
Later Voems 
 
 Stamped it as folly, or as fraud attacked; 
 Never discerning how his callow zest 
 Was impiously defiUng his own nest; 
 Whereas the least philosophy may find 
 The truths are the ideas; the sole fact 
 Is the long story of man's growing mind. 
 
 B. 
 
 Upon your thistle now I see my fig — 
 Beranger thought of Voltaire as a seer, 
 A latter-day John Baptist in a wig; 
 A herald of that furious gospel-storm 
 Of words and blood, that made the nations fear; 
 When sickening France adulterously sinn'd 
 With Virtue, and went mad conceiving wind. 
 He ranks him with those captains of reform, 
 Luther and Calvin ; who, whate'er they taught, 
 Led folk from superstition to free thought. 
 
 A. 
 
 They did. But whence or whither led Voltaire ? 
 The steward with fifty talents given in charge, 
 Who spent them on himself, and liv'd at large ; 
 His only virtue that he did not hide 
 The pounds, but squander'd them to serve his pride ; 
 His praise that, cunning in his generation. 
 He of the heavenly treasure did not spare 
 To win himself an earthly habitation. 
 
 B. 
 
 Deny him not this laurel, nor to France 
 The apostolate of modern tolerance : 
 Their Theseus he, who slew the Minotaur, 
 The Dragon Persecution, in which war 
 He tipp'd the shafts that made the devil bleed ; 
 ( 382 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 And won a victory that hath overcome 
 Many misdoings in a well-done deed; 
 And more, I think, the mind of Christ revealing, 
 Yea, more of common-sense and human feeling 
 Than all the Creeds and Bulls of Christendom. 
 
 A. 
 
 Yet was he only one of them that slew : 
 The fiend had taken a deadly wound from Bayle; 
 And did he ' roar to see his kingdom fail ' 
 'Neath Robespierre, or raise his head anew ? 
 Nay, Voltaire's teaching never cured the heart; 
 The lack of human feeling blots his art. 
 When most his phrase with indignation burns, 
 Still to the gallery his face he turns. 
 
 B. 
 
 You bear him hard. Men are of common stuff. 
 
 Each hath some fault, and he had faults enough : 
 
 But of all slanderers that ever were 
 
 A virtuous critic is the most unfair. 
 
 In greatness ever is some good to see ; 
 
 And what is character, unless it be 
 
 The colour of persistent quaHties, 
 
 That, like a ground in painting, balances 
 
 All hues and forms, combining with one tone 
 
 Whatever lights or shades are on it thrown ? 
 
 Now Voltaire had of Nature a rich ground, 
 
 Two virtues rarely in conjunction found : 
 
 Industry, which no pedant could excel. 
 
 He matched with gaiety inexhaustible ; 
 
 And with heroic courage held these fast, 
 
 As sailors nail their colours to the mast. 
 
 With ruling excellence atoning all. 
 
 Though, for the rest, he still for praise may call ; 
 
 ( 383 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 Prudent to gain, as generous to share 
 
 Le superflu, chose si ne'cessaire ; 
 
 To most a rare companion above scorn, 
 
 To not a few a kind, devoted friend 
 
 Through his long batthng life, which in the end 
 
 He strove with good works richly to adorn. 
 
 I have admired, and why should I abuse 
 
 A man who can so long and well amuse ? 
 
 A. 
 
 To some Parisian art there's this objection, 
 'Tis mediocrity pushed to perfection. 
 
 B. 
 
 ' Judge not,' say I, ' and ye shall not be judged ! ' 
 
 Let me say, ' praise men, if ye would be praised : ' 
 Let your unwholesome flattery flow ungrudged, 
 And with ungrudging measure shall men pour 
 Their stifling homage back till ye be crazed, 
 And sane men humour you as fools past cure. 
 But these wise maxims deal not with the dead, 
 'Tis by example that the young are led. 
 And judgement owes its kindness but to them; 
 Nor will I praise, call you me hard or nice, 
 One that degraded art, and varnished vice. 
 They that praise ill thereby themselves condemn. 
 
 B. 
 Beranger could not praise. 
 
 Few are who can ; 
 Not he ; if ever he assay'd to impart 
 A title loftier than his own renown, 
 
 ( 384 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 Native irreverence defied his art, 
 His fingers soil'd the lustre of his crown. 
 Here he adored what he was envious of, 
 The vogue and dazzling fashion of the man. 
 But man's true praise, the poet's praise, is love. 
 
 B. 
 
 And that, perhaps, was hardly his affair . . . 
 Pray, now, what set you talking of Voltaire? 
 
 A. 
 This only, that in weeding out my shelves. 
 In fatherly regard for babes upgrown. 
 Until they learn to garden for themselves. 
 Much as I like to keep my sets entire, 
 \Vhen I came out to you I had just thrown 
 Three of his precious works behind the fire. 
 
 TO ROBERT BURNS 
 
 AN EPISTLE ON INSTINCT 
 
 I 
 
 Thou art a poet, Robbie Burns, 
 Master of words and witty turns, 
 Of lilting songs and merry yarns, 
 
 Drinking and kissing : 
 There 's much in all thy small concerns, 
 
 But more that's missing. 
 
 2 
 
 The wisdom of thy common sense. 
 Thy honest hate of vain pretence, 
 Thy love and wide benevolence 
 
 Full often lead thee 
 Where feeling is its own defence; 
 
 Yet while I read thee, 
 
 ( 38s ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 3 
 It seems but chance that all our race 
 Trod not the path of thy disgrace, 
 And, living freely to embrace 
 
 The moment's pleasure, 
 Snatch'd not a kiss of Nature's face 
 
 For all her treasure. 
 
 4 
 The feelings soft, the spirits gay 
 Entice on such a flowery way, 
 And sovran youth in high heyday 
 
 Hath such a fashion 
 To glorify the bragging sway 
 
 Of sensual passion. 
 
 S 
 But rakel Chance and Fortune blind 
 Had not the power ; — Eternal Mind 
 Led man upon a way design'd. 
 
 By strait selection 
 Of pleasurable ways, to find 
 
 Severe perfection. 
 6 
 For Nature did not idly spend 
 Pleasure : she ruled it should attend 
 On every act that doth amend 
 
 Our life's condition : 
 'Tis therefore not well-being's end, 
 
 But its fruition. 
 
 7 
 Beasts that inherited delight 
 In what promoted health or might, 
 Survived their cousins in the fight : 
 
 If some — like Adam — 
 Prefer'd the wrong tree to the right, 
 The devil had 'em. 
 ( 386 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 So when man's Reason took the reins, 
 She found that she was saved her pains ; 
 She had but to approve the gains 
 
 Of agelong inscience, 
 And spin it fresh into her brains 
 
 As moral conscience. 
 
 9 
 
 But Instinct in the beasts that live 
 Is of three kinds ; (Nature did give 
 To man three shakings in her sieve) — 
 
 The first is Racial, 
 The second Self-preservative, 
 
 The third is Social, 
 lo 
 Without the first no race could be, 
 So 'tis the strongest of the three ; 
 Nay, of such forceful tyranny 
 
 'Tis hard to attune it. 
 Because 'twas never made to agree 
 
 To serve the unit : 
 1 1 
 Art will not picture it, its name 
 In common talk is utter shame : 
 And yet hath Reason learn'd to tame 
 
 Its conflagration 
 Into a sacramental flame 
 
 Of consecration. 
 
 12 
 
 Those hundred thousand years, ah me ! 
 Of budding soul ! What slow degree, 
 With aim so dim, so true ! We see. 
 
 Now that we know them. 
 Our humble cave-folk ancestry. 
 
 How much we owe them : 
 ( 387 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 13 
 
 While with the savage beasts around 
 They fought at odds, yet underground 
 Their miserable life was sound ; 
 
 Their loves and quarrels 
 Did well th' ideal bases found 
 
 Of art and morals : 
 
 14 
 One prime distinction, Good and 111, 
 Was all their notion, all their skill ; — 
 But Unity stands next to Nil ; — 
 
 Want of analysis 
 Saved them from doubts that wreck the Will 
 
 \Vith pale paralysis. 
 
 IS 
 In vain philosophers dispute 
 ' Is Good or Pleasure our pursuit ? ' — 
 The fruit likes man, not man the fruit ; 
 
 The good that likes him. 
 The good man's pleasure 'tis to do 't ; 
 
 That 's how it strikes him. 
 16 
 The' Science hide beneath her feet 
 The point where moral reasonings meet. 
 The vicious circle is complete ; 
 
 There is no lodgement 
 Save Aristotle's own retreat. 
 
 The just man's judgement. 
 
 17 
 And if thou wert not that just man. 
 Wild Robin, born to crown his plan, 
 We shall not for that matter ban 
 
 Thy petty treason, 
 Nor closely thy defection scan 
 From highest Reason. 
 ( 388 ) 
 
Later Toems 
 
 Thou might'st have Hved like Robin Hood 
 Waylaying Abbots in the wood, 
 Doing whate'er thee-seemfed good, 
 
 The law defying, 
 And 'mong the people's heroes stood 
 
 Living and dying : 
 
 19 
 
 Yet better bow than his thou bendest, 
 And well the poor man thou befriendest. 
 And oftentime an ill amendest ; 
 
 When, if truth touch thee. 
 Sharply the arrow home thou sendest ; 
 
 There 's none can match thee. 
 
 So pity it is thou knew'st the teen 
 Of sad remorse : the Might-have-been 
 Shall not o'ercloud thy merry scene 
 
 With vain repentance. 
 Nor forfeit from thy spirit keen 
 
 My friendly sentence. 
 
 15 
 THE PORTRAIT OF A GRANDFATHER 
 
 With mild eyes agaze, and lips ready to speak, 
 
 Whereon the yearning of love, the warning of wisdom plays, 
 
 One portrait ever charms me and teaches me when I seek : 
 
 It is of him whom I, remembering my young days, 
 Imagine fathering my father ; when he, in sonship afore, 
 Liv'd honouring and obeying the eyes now pictur'd agaze, 
 
 The lips ready to speak, that promise but speak no more. 
 
 ( 389 ) 
 
Later ^oems 
 
 O high parental claim, that were not but for the knowing, 
 O fateful bond of duty, O more than body that bore, 
 The smile that guides me to right, the gaze that follows 
 my going, 
 How had I stray'd without thee ! and yet how few will seek 
 The spirit-hands, that heaven, in tender-free bestowing, 
 Holds to her children, to guide the wandering and aid 
 the weak. 
 
 And Thee ! ah what of thee, thou lover of men ? if truly 
 A painter had stell'd thee there, with thy lips ready to speak. 
 
 In all-fathering passion to souls enchanted newly, 
 — Tenderer call than of sire to son, or of lover to maiden, — 
 Ever ready to speak to us, if we will hearken duly, 
 
 ' Come, O come unto me, ye weary and heavy-laden ! ' 
 
 [i88o.J 
 
 16 
 
 AN INVITATION TO THE OXFORD 
 PAGEANT, JULY 1907 
 
 Fair lady of learning, playfellow of spring, 
 
 ^Vho to thy towery hospice in the vale 
 Invitest all, with queenly claim to bring 
 
 Scholars from every land within thy pale ; 
 
 If aught our pageantry may now avail 
 To paint thine antique story to the eye. 
 Inspire the scene, and bid thy herald cry 
 
 ^Velcorae to all, and to all comers hail ! 
 
 Come hither, then he crieth, and hail to all . 
 
 Bow each his heart a pilgrim at her shrine, 
 ^Vhatever chance hath led you to my call, 
 
 Ye that love pomp, and yc that seek a sign, 
 
 ( 393 ) 
 
Odes 
 
 Or on the low earth look for things divine ; 
 Nor ye, whom reverend Camus near-allied, 
 Writes in the roll of his ennobled pride. 
 
 Refrain your praise and love to mix with mine. 
 
 Praise her, the mother of celestial moods, 
 
 "Who o'er the saints' inviolate array 
 Hath starr'd her robe of fair beatitudes 
 
 With jewels worn by Hellas, on the day 
 
 She grew from girlhood into wisdom gay ; 
 And hath laid by her crozier, evermore 
 With both hands gathering to enrich her store, 
 
 And make her courts with music ring alway. 
 
 Love her, for that the world is in her heart, 
 Man's rude antiquity and doubtful goal. 
 
 The heaven-enthralling luxury of art. 
 
 The burden'd pleading of his clay-bound soul, 
 The mutual office of delight and dole. 
 
 The merry laugh of youth, the joy of life 
 
 Older than thought, and the unamending strife 
 'Twixt liberty and pohtic control. 
 
 There is none holier, not the lilied town 
 
 By Arno, whither the spirit of Athens fled, 
 Escap't from Hades to a less renown, 
 
 Yet joyful to be risen from the dead ; 
 
 Nor she whose wide imperious arms were spread 
 To spoil mankind, until the avenger came 
 In darkening storm, and left a ruin'd name, 
 
 A triple crown upon a vanquish'! head. 
 
 What love in myriad hearts in every clime 
 The vision of her beauty calls to pray'r : 
 
 Where at his feet Himalaya sublime 
 
 Holds up aslope the iVrabian floods, or where 
 
 ( 391 ) 
 
Later IPoems 
 
 Patriarchal Nile rears at his watery stair; 
 In the broad islands of the Antipodes, 
 By Esperanza, or in the coral seas 
 
 Where Buddha's vain pagodas throng the air j 
 
 Or where the chivalry of Nipon smote 
 
 The wily Muscovite, intent to creep 
 Around the world with half his pride afloat, 
 
 And sent his battle to the soundless deep; 
 
 Or with our pilgrim-kin, and them that reap 
 The prairie-corn beyond cold Labrador 
 To California and the Alaskan shore, 
 
 Her exiled sons their pious memory keep : 
 
 Bright memories of young poetic pleasure 
 In free companionship, the loving stress 
 
 Of all life-beauty lull'd in studious leisure, 
 When every Muse was jocund with excess 
 Of fine delight and tremulous happiness; 
 
 The breath of an indolent unbridled June, 
 
 ^Vhen delicate thought fell from the dreamy moon : 
 But now strange care, sorrow, and grief oppress. 
 
 ' Ah t fewer tears shall be, — 'tis thus they dream, — 
 Ah, fenier, softer tears, when we lie low : 
 
 On younger brows shall brighter laurel gleam : 
 Lovelier and earlier shall the rosebuds blow^ 
 For in this hope she nurs'd them, and to know 
 
 That Truth, while men regard a tetter'd page. 
 
 Leaps on the mountains, and from age to age 
 Reveals the dayspring's inexhausted glow. 
 
 Yet all their joy is mingled with regret: 
 
 As the lone scholar on a neighbouring height, 
 
 Brooding disconsolate with eyelids wet 
 
 Ere o'er the unkind world he took his flight, 
 
 ( 392 ) 
 
Thousands of birds frequent the sheltering shrine, 
 The dippers and the swimmers of the brine, 
 Sea-mew and gull and diving cormorant, 
 Fishers that on the high cliff make their haunt 
 Sheer inaccessible, and sun themselves 
 Huddled arow upon the narrow shelves : — 
 And surely no like wonder e'er hath been 
 As that such birds should keep the temple clean; 
 But thus they do : at earliest dawn of day 
 They flock to sea and in the waters play, 
 And when they well have wet their plumage light,. 
 Back to the sanctuary they take flight 
 Splashing the walls and columns with fresh brine, 
 Till all the stone doth fairly drip and shine, 
 When off again they skim asea for more 
 And soon returning sprinkle steps and floor. 
 And sweep all cleanly with their wide-spread wings. 
 
 From other men I have learnt further things. 
 If any of free purpose, thus they tell, 
 Sail'd hither to consult the oracle, — 
 For oracle there was, — they sacrificed 
 Such victims as they brought, if such sufficed, 
 And some they slew, some to the god set free : 
 But they who driven from their course at sea 
 Chanced on the isle, took of the goats thereon 
 And pray'd Achilles to accept his own. 
 Then made they a gift, and when they had offer'd once, 
 If to their question there was no response, 
 They added to the gift and asked again ; 
 Yea twice and more, until the god should deign 
 Answer to give, their offering they renew'd ; 
 Whereby great riches to the shrine ensued. 
 And when both sacrifice and gifts were made 
 They worship'd at the shrine, and as they pray'd 
 
 ( 361 ) N 3 
 
iV^W 'Poems 
 
 Sailors aver that often hath been seen 
 
 A man like to a god, of warrior mien, 
 
 A beauteous form of figure swift and strong ; 
 
 Down on his shoulders his light hair hung long 
 
 And his full armour was enchast with gold : 
 
 While some, who with their eyes might nought behold, 
 
 Say that with music strange the air was stir'd ; 
 
 And some there are, who have both seen and heard : 
 
 And if a man wish to be favour'd more, 
 
 He need but spend one night upon the shore ; 
 
 To him in sleep Achilles will appear 
 
 And lead him to his tent, and with good cheer 
 
 Show him all friendliness that men desire ; 
 
 Patroclus pours the wine, and he his lyre 
 
 Takes from the pole and plays the strains thereon 
 
 Which Cheiron taught him first on Pelion. 
 
 These things I tell as they were told to me, 
 Nor do I question but it well may be : 
 For sure I am that, if man ever was, 
 Achilles was a hero, both because 
 Of his high birth and beauty, his country's call, 
 His valour of soul, his early death withal. 
 For Homer's praise, the crown of human art ; 
 And that above all praise he had at heart 
 A gentler passion in her sovran sway. 
 And when his love died threw his life away. 
 
 ( 362 ) 
 
Neyn Toems 
 
 27 
 
 AN ANNIVERSARY 
 
 HE 
 
 Bright, my beloved, be thy day, 
 This eve of Summer's fall : 
 
 And Autumn mass his flowers gay 
 To crown thy festival ! 
 
 SHE 
 
 I care not if the morn be bright, 
 
 Living in thy love-rays : 
 No fiower I need for my delight, 
 
 Being crownfed with thy praise. 
 
 HE 
 
 O many years and joyfully 
 
 This sun to thee return ; 
 Ever all men speak well of thee, 
 
 Nor any angel mourn ! 
 
 SHE 
 
 For length of life I would not pray, 
 
 If thy life were to seek ; 
 Nor ask what men and angels say 
 
 But when of thee they speak. 
 
 HE 
 
 Arise ! The sky hath heard my song, 
 The flowers o'erhear thy praise ; 
 
 And little loves are waking long 
 To wish thee happy days. 
 
 ( 363 ) 
 
Neirp Toems 
 28 
 
 REGINA CARA 
 
 JUBILEE-SONG, FOR MUSIC, 1 897 
 
 Hark ! The world is full of thy praise, 
 England's Queen of many days ; 
 Who, knowing how to rule the free. 
 Hast given a crown to monarchy. 
 
 Honour, Truth and growing Peace 
 Follow Britannia's wide increase, 
 And Nature yield her strength unknown 
 To the wisdom born beneath thy throne ! 
 
 In wisdom and love firm is thy fame : 
 Enemies bow to revere thy name : 
 The world shall never tire to tell 
 Praise of the queen that reigned well. 
 
 felix anima, domina praeclara, 
 Amore semper coronabere* 
 Regina cara. 
 
 ( 364) 
 
Later Poems 
 
 OCCASIONAL ODES & c. 
 
 i 
 
Pl{_EriOUS PUBLICATIONS 
 
 1. Monthly 'He-view. February, 1 903. 
 
 2. Country Life. 1906. 
 
 3. ' l^olunteer ffaversach^' 1902. 
 
 4. Daniel Press. Poems by -A. Buck^on. 
 
 1 90 1. 
 
 5. 6. Saturday l^ieiv, 
 
 7. ' The Sheaf.' June, 1902. 
 
 8. English l^evieiv. March, 1911. 
 
 9. Academy, ^pril i, 1 90 J. 
 
 Io_, I r. Monthly Review. June, 1904. 
 
 1 3 . Speahfr. 
 
 14. Monthly I^iew. March, 1 902. 
 
 15. ^ JVayfarers Love.' 1 904. 
 
 16. Saturday J{evietv. .yifril 13, I907. 
 
 5oo\ oj^ jfce Oxford Pageant. July, 
 1907. 
 
 17. 185 19. Published with the Music by 
 
 Novello, Elver ejf Co. 
 
 ( 366 ) 
 
LATER POEMS 
 
 I 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLITUDE 
 
 An Elegy 
 Ended are many days, and now but few 
 Remain ; since therefore it is happy and true 
 That memoried joys keep ever their deh'ght, 
 Like steadfast stars in the blue vault of night, 
 While hours of pain (among those heavenly spheres 
 Like falling meteors, the martyr's tears) 
 Dart their long trails at random, and anon, 
 Ere we exclaim, pass, and for aye are gone ; 
 Therefore my heedy thought will oft restore 
 The long light-hearted days that are no more. 
 Save where in her memorial crypt they shine 
 Spangling the silent past with joy divine. 
 
 But why in dream of this enchanted mood 
 Should all my boyhood seem a solitude ? 
 Good reason know I, when I wander there, 
 In that transmuted scene, why all is fair ; 
 The woods as when in holiday of spring 
 Million buds burst, and flowers are blossoming ; 
 The meadows deep in grass, the fields unshorn 
 In beauty of the multitudinous corn, 
 Where the strait alleys hide me, wall'd between 
 High bloomy stalks and rustling banners green ; 
 The gardens,, too, in dazzling hues full-blown. 
 With wafted scent and blazing petals strewn ; 
 The orchards reddening thro' the patient hours. 
 While idle autumn in his mossy bowers 
 { 367 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 Inviteth meditation to endear 
 
 The sanctuaries of the mellowing year; 
 
 And every spot wherein I loved to stray 
 
 Hath borrowed radiance of eternal day; 
 
 But why am I ever alone, alone ? 
 
 Here in the comer of a field my throne, 
 
 Now in the branching chair of some tall tree 
 
 Drinking the gale in bird-like liberty; 
 
 Or to the seashore wandered in the sun 
 
 To watch the fateful waves break one by one ; 
 
 Or if on basking downs supine I lie 
 
 Bathing my spirit in blue calms of the sky ; 
 
 Or to the river bank am stolen by night 
 
 Hearkening unto the moonht ripple bright 
 
 That warbles o'er the shallows of smooth stone ; 
 
 Why should my memory find me all alone, 
 
 When I had such companions every day 
 
 Jocund and dear? 'Twixt glimpses of their play 
 
 'Tis a vast solitude, wherein I see 
 
 Only myself and what I came to be. 
 
 Yet never think, dear spirits, if now ye may 
 Remember aught of that brief earthly day, 
 Ere ye the mournful Stygian river crost, 
 From our familiar home too early lost, — 
 O never think that I your tears forget, 
 Or that I loved not well, or love not yet. 
 
 Nor ye who held my heart in passion's chain,— 
 As kings and queens succeed in glorious reign — 
 When, as a man, I made you to outvie 
 God's work, and, as a god, then set you by 
 Among the sainted throng in holiest shrine 
 Of mythic creed and poetry divine; 
 True was my faith, and still your loves endure, 
 The jewels of my fancy, bright and pure. 
 ( 368 ) 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 Nor only in fair places do I see 
 The picture fair now it has ceased to be : 
 For fate once led me, and myself some days 
 Did I devote, to dull laborious ways. 
 By soaring thought detained to tread full low, — 
 Yea might I say unbeauteous paths of woe 
 And dreary abodes, had not my youthful sprite 
 Hallow'd each nook with legends of delight. 
 
 Ah ! o'er that smoky town who looketh now 
 By winter sunset from the dark hill-brow, 
 Under the dying trees exultantly 
 Nursing the sting of human tragedy ? 
 Or in that little room upstair'd so high. 
 Where London's roofs in thickest huddle lie. 
 Who now returns at evening to entice 
 To his fireside the joys of Paradise ? 
 Once sacred was that hearth, and bright the air ; 
 The flame of man's redemption flickered there, 
 In worship of those spirits, whose deathless fames 
 Have thrilled the stars of heaven to hear their names 
 They that excell'd in wisdom to create 
 Beauty, with mortal passion conquering fate ; 
 And, mid the sovran powers of elder time, 
 The loveliness of music and new rhyme. 
 The masters young that first enthralled me ; 
 Of whom if I should name, whom then but thee. 
 Sweet Shelley, or the boy whose book was found 
 Thrust in thy bosom on thy body drowned ? 
 
 O mighty Muse, wooer of virgin thought, 
 Beside thy charm all else counteth as nought ; 
 The revelation of thy smile doth make 
 Him whom thou lovest reckless for thy sake ; 
 Earthborn of suffering, that knowest well 
 To call thine own, and with enamouring spell 
 
 ( 369 ) 
 
Later T*oems 
 
 Feedest the stolen powers of godlike youth 
 
 On dear imagination's only truth, 
 
 Building with song a temple of desire ; 
 
 And with the yearning music of thy quire, 
 
 In nuptial sacrament of thought and sense 
 
 Hallowest for toil the hours of indolence : 
 
 Thou in thy melancholic beauty drest, 
 
 Subduest ill to serve thy fair behest, 
 
 With tragic tears, and sevenfold purified 
 
 Silver of mirth; and with extremest pride. 
 
 With secret doctrine and unfathomed lore 
 
 Remainest yet a child for evermore, 
 
 The only enchantress of the earth that art 
 
 To cheer his day and staunch man's bleeding heart. 
 
 O heavenly Muse, for heavenly thee we call 
 Who in the fire of. love refinest all. 
 Accurst is he who heark'neth not thy voice ; 
 But happy he who, numbered of thy choice, 
 Walketh aloof from nature's clouded plan : 
 For all God's world is but the thought of man ; 
 Wherein hast thou re-formed a world apart, 
 The mutual mirror of his better heart. 
 There is no foulness, misery, nor sin. 
 But he who loves finds his desire therein, 
 And there with thee in lonely commerce lives : 
 Nay, all that nature gave or fortune gives, 
 Joys that his spirit is most jealous of. 
 His only-embraced and best-deserving love. 
 Who walketh in the noon of heavenly praise, 
 The troubled godhead of his children's gaze, 
 Wear thine eternity, and are loved best 
 By thee transfigured and in thee possest ; 
 Who madest beauty, and from thy boundless store 
 Of beauty shalt create for evermore. 
 
 1900 
 ( 370 ) 
 
L,ater- T*oems 
 
 Gay Marigold is frolic, 
 
 She laughs till summer is done ; 
 She hears the Grillie chirping 
 
 All day i' the blazing sun. 
 
 But when the pale moon rises, 
 She fain her face would hide ; 
 
 For the high Queen of sorrows 
 Disdains her empty pride. 
 
 Fair Primrose haunts the shadow 
 With children of the Spring, 
 
 Till in the bloomy woodland 
 The nightingale will sing. 
 
 And when he lauds the May-night 
 And spirits throng the grove, 
 
 The moon shines thro' the branches 
 And floods her heart with love. 
 
 MATRES DOLOROSAE 
 
 Ye Spartan mothers, gentle ones, 
 Of lion-hearted, loving sons, 
 Fal'n, the flower of English youth. 
 To a barbarous foe in a land uncouth :- 
 
 O what a delicate sacrifice ! 
 Unequal the stake and costly the price 
 As when the queen of Love deplor'd 
 Her darling by the wild-beast gor'd. 
 
 ( 371 ) 
 
Later T*oems 
 
 They rode to war as if to the hunt, 
 But ye at home, ye bore the brunt, 
 Bore the siege of torturing fears, 
 Fed your hope on the bread of tears. 
 
 Proud and spotless warriors they 
 
 With love or sword to lead the way; 
 
 For ye had cradled heart and hand, 
 
 The commander hearken'd to your command. 
 
 Ah, weeping mothers, now all is o'er. 
 Ye know your honour and mourn no more : 
 Nor ask ye a name in England's story. 
 Who gave your dearest for her glory. 
 
 May 20, 1902. 
 
 A VIGNETTE 
 
 Among the meadows 
 
 lightly going. 
 With worship and joy 
 
 my heart o'erflowing. 
 
 Far from town 
 and toil of living. 
 
 To a holy day 
 
 my spirit giving, . . . 
 
 Thou tender flower, 
 I kneel beside thee 
 
 Wondering wfiy God 
 so beautified thee. — 
 ( 372 ) 
 
Later 'Poems 
 
 An answering thought 
 within me springeth, 
 
 A bloom of the mind 
 her vision bringeth. 
 
 Between the dim hill's 
 
 distant azure 
 And flowery foreground 
 
 of sparkling pleasure 
 
 I see the company 
 
 of figures sainted, 
 For whom the picture 
 
 of earth was painted. 
 
 Those robed seers 
 who made man's story 
 
 The crown of Nature, 
 Her cause his glory. 
 
 They walk in the city 
 which they have builded, 
 
 The city of God 
 from evil shielded : 
 
 To them for canopy 
 the vault of heaven. 
 
 The flowery earth 
 for carpet is given ; 
 
 Whereon I wander 
 
 not unknowing, 
 ^Vith worship and joy 
 
 my heart o'erflowing. 
 
 K 373 
 
 1901. 
 
Later T^oems 
 
 MILLICENT 
 
 Thou dimpled Millicent, of merry guesses, - 
 Strong-limb'd and tall, tossing thy wayward tresses^ 
 What mystery of the heart can so surprise 
 The mirth and music of thy brimming eyes ? 
 
 Pale-brow, thou knowest not and diest to learn 
 The mortal secret that doth in thee burn ; 
 With look imploring ' If you love me, tell. 
 What is it in me that you love so well ? ' 
 
 And suddenly thou stakest all thy charms, 
 And leapest on me ; and in thy circling arms 
 When almost stifled with their wild embrace, 
 I feel thy hot tears sheltering on my face. 
 
 190 
 
 VIVAMUS 
 
 When thou didst give thy love to me, 
 Asking no more of gods or men 
 
 I vow'd I would contented be, 
 
 If Fate should grant us summers ten. 
 
 But now that twice the term is sped. 
 And ever young my heart and gay, 
 
 I fear the words that then I said. 
 And turn my face from Fate away. 
 
 To bid thee happily good-bye 
 I have no hope that I can see. 
 
 No way that I shall bravely die, 
 Unless I give my life for thee. 
 
 ( 374 ) 
 
 190 
 
Later Toems 
 
 One grief of thine 
 if truth be confest 
 
 Was joy to me ; 
 
 for it drave to my breast 
 
 Thee, to my heart 
 to find thy rest 
 
 How long it was 
 I never shall know : 
 
 I watcht the earth 
 so stately and slow, 
 
 And the ancient things 
 that waste and grow. 
 
 But now for me 
 what speed devours 
 
 Our heavenly life, 
 our brilliant hours ! 
 
 How fast they fly, 
 the stars and flowers ! 
 
 In still midsummer night 
 
 When the moon is late 
 And the stars all watery and white 
 
 For her coming wait, 
 
 A spirit, whose eyes are possest 
 
 By wonder new, 
 Passeth — her arms upon her breast 
 
 Enwrapt from the dew 
 
 ( 375 ) 
 
Later 'Foems 
 
 In a raiment of azure fold 
 
 With diaper 
 Of flower'd embroidery of gold 
 
 Bestarr'd with silver. 
 
 The daisy folk are awake 
 
 Their carpet to spread, 
 And the thron'd stars gazing on her make 
 
 Fresh crowns for her head, 
 
 Netted in her floating hair 
 
 As she drifteth free 
 Between the starriness of the air 
 
 And the starry lea. 
 
 From the silent-shadow'd vale 
 
 By the west wind drawn 
 Aloft to melt into the pale 
 
 Moonrise of dawn. 
 
 1910. 
 
 9 
 
 MELANCHOLIA 
 
 The sickness of desire, that in dark days 
 Looks on the imagination of despair, 
 Forgetteth man, and stinteth God his praise; 
 Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care. 
 
 Incertainty that once gave scope to dream 
 Of laughing enterprise and glory untold. 
 Is now a blackness that no stars redeem, 
 A wall of terror in a night of cold. 
 
 Fool ! thou that hast impossibly desired 
 And now impatiently despairest, see 
 How nought is changed : Joy's wisdom is attired 
 Splendid for others' eyes if not for thee : 
 
 Not love or beauty or youth from earth is fled : 
 
 If they delite thee not, 'tis thou art dead. 
 
 ■' 1904. 
 
 ( 376) 
 
POE 
 
 MS 
 
 IN 
 
 Classical Prosody 
 
 € 
 
 PliEVIOUS PUBLICATIONS 
 
 Ef. I. Vankl Press, 1 903. 
 „ //. Monthly Hfvleiv. July, 1903, jp(V/; 
 
 an abstract oj Stone's Prosody, as 
 
 there used. 
 No. 3. Printed by C. H. Daniel. 1903. 
 „ 8. In ' Pelican,' C.C.C, Oxford. 
 „ 9. English I{eviem. March, 1912. 
 J, II. Neiv Quarterly. Jan. l^og, ivith 
 
 an essay on the Virgilian Hex.xme- 
 
 ter, i&c. 
 
These experiments in qiiantitive verse were made in fulfilment of 
 a promise to William Johnson Stone that I would some day test his 
 theory. His premature death converted my consent into a serious 
 obligation. This personal explanation is due to myself for two reasons : 
 because I might otherwise appear firstly as an advocate of the system, 
 secondly as responsible for Stone's determination of the lengths of 
 English syllables. Before writing quantitive verse it is necessary to 
 learn to think in quantities. This is no light task, and a beginner requires 
 fixed rules. Except for a few minor details, which I had disputed witir 
 Mr. Stone, I was bound to take his rules as he had elaborated them ; and 
 it was not until I had made some progress and could think fairly well 
 in his prosody that I seriously criticized it. The two chief errors that 
 I find in it are that he relied too much on the quality of a vowel in 
 determining its syllabic length, and that he regarded the h as always 
 consonantal in quality. His valuation of the er sound is doubtful, but 
 defensible and convenient, and I have never discarded it. My earlier 
 experiments contain therefore a good many ' false quantities ', and these, 
 where they could not be very easily (though inconsistently) amended, I 
 have left, and marked most of them in the text : a few false quantities do 
 not make a poem less readable. Thus a long mark over a syllable 
 means that Stone reckoned it as long, and that the verse requires it to be 
 so pronounced, but that I regard it as short, or at least as doubtful. 
 For example on p. 414 Rfdn is thus written. Of all accented long 
 vowels in ' open ' ]30sition the long ti seems perhaps to retain its 
 quantity best, but there is evidence that Tennyson held it to be shortened, 
 and I do not know whether it might be an exception or go with theory, 
 piety, poetry, &c. Again, where a final syllable should be lengthened or 
 not shortened by position, but lacks its consonantal support, I have put 
 a " in the gap: these weak places are chiefly due to my accepting Stone's 
 unchanging valuation of h. My emancipation from Stone's rules was 
 gradual, so that I have not been able to distinguish definitely my earlier 
 experiments from the later, in which the quantities are such as I have 
 now come to approve of: but my line-for-line paraphrase of Virgil is 
 such a later experiment. It was accompanied in the New Quarterly by 
 a long examination of the Virgilian hexameter, to which I would refer 
 any one who is interested in the subject. In these English hexameters 
 I have used and advocate the use of Miltonic elision. The mark ' in the 
 text shows where I have purposely allowed a short syllable to sustain 
 a long place. Though the difficulty of adapting our English syllables 
 to the Greek rules is very great, and even deterrent — for I cannot pretend 
 to have attained to an absolutely consistent scheme — yet the experiments 
 that I have made reveal a vast unexplored field of delicate and expressive 
 rhythms hitlierto unknown in our poetry ; and this amply rewarded me 
 for my friendly undertaking. 
 
 ( 410 ) 
 
I 
 EPISTLE I 
 
 TO L. M. 
 
 WINTRY DELIGHTS 
 
 Now in wintry delights, and long fireside meditation, 
 'Twixt studies and routine paying due court to the Muses, 
 My solace in soHtude, when broken roads barricade me 
 Mudbound, unvisited for months with my merry children, 
 Grateful t'ward Providence, and heeding a slander against me 
 Less than a rheum, think of me to-day, dear Lionel, and take 
 This letter as some account of Will Stone's versification. 
 
 We, whose first memories reach half of a century backward, 
 May praise our fortune to have outliv'd so many dangers, — 
 Faultiness of Nature's unruly machinery or man's — ; lo 
 
 For, once born, whatever 'tis worth, life is to be held to, 
 Its mere persistence esteem'd as real attainment, 
 Its crown of silver reverenc'd as one promise of youth 
 Fruiting, of existence one needful purpose accomplish'd : 
 And 'twere worth the living, howe'er unkindly bereft of 
 Those joys and comforts, throu' which we chiefly regard it; 
 Nay, — set aside the pleasant unhinder'd order of our life. 
 Our happy enchantments of Fortune, easy surroundings. 
 Courteous acquaintanoe, dwelling in fair homes, the delight of 
 Long-plann'd excursions, the romance of journeying in lands 
 Historic, of seeing their glory, the famous adornments 21 
 Giv'n to memorial Earth by man, decorator of all-time, 
 ( — As we saw with virginal eyes travelling to behold them, — ) 
 Her gorgeous palaces,^her tow'rs and stately cathedrals ; 
 Where the turrets and domes of pictured Tuscany slumber, 
 
 ( 411 ) 
 
^oems in 
 
 Or the havoc'd splendours of Rome imperial, or where 
 Glare the fretted minarets and mosks of trespassing Islam, 
 And old Nilus, amid the mummied suzerainty of Egypt, 
 Glideth, a godly presence, consciously regardless of all things. 
 Save his unending toil and eternal recollections : — 30 
 
 Set these out of account, and with them too put away art, 
 Those ravishings of mind, those sensuous intelligences. 
 By whose grace the elect enjoy their sacred aloofness 
 From Life's meagre affairs, in beauty's regenerate youth 
 Reading immortality's sublime revelation, adoring 
 Their own heav'nly desire ; nor alone in worship assist they. 
 But take, call'd of God, part and pleasure in creation 
 Of that beauty, the first of His first purposes extoll'd : — 
 
 Yea, setaside with these all Nature's beauty, the wildwood's 
 Flow'ry domain, the flushing, softcrowding loveliness of 
 
 Spring, 40 
 
 Lazy Summer's burning dial, the serenely solemn spells 
 Of Sibylline Autumn, with gay-wing'd Plenty departing; 
 All fair change, whether of seasons or bright recurrent day. 
 Morning or eve; the divine night's wonderous empyrean; 
 High noon's melting azure, his thin cloud-country, the 
 
 landscape 
 Mountainous or maritime, blue calms of midsummer Ocean, 
 Broad corn-grown champaign goldwaving in invisible wind, 
 Wide-water'd pasture, with shade of whispering aspen ; 
 All whereby Nature winneth our love, fondly appearing 
 As to caress her children, or all that in exaltation 50 
 
 Lifteth aloft our hearts to an unseen glory beyond her : — 
 
 Put these out of account ; yea, more I say, banish also 
 From the credit sitm of enjoyment those simple affection;;, 
 Whose common exercise informs our natural instinct ; 
 That, set in our animal flesh-fabric, of our very lifeblood 
 Draw their subsistence, and even in ungenerous hearts 
 ( 412 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 Root, like plants in stony deserts and 'neath pitiless snows. 
 Yea, put away all Love, the blessings and pieties of^home, 
 All delicate heart-bonds, vital tendernesses untold, 
 Joys that fear to be named, feelings too holy to gaze on ; 60 
 And with his inviolate peace-triumph his passionate war 
 Be forgone, his mighty desire, thrilling ecstasies, ardours 
 Of mystic reverence, his fierce flame-eager emotions. 
 Idolatrous service, blind faith and ritual of fire. 
 
 If from us all these things were taken away, (that is all art 
 And all beauty whate'er, and all love's varied affection,) 
 Yet would enough subsist in other concerns to suffice u.s, 
 And feed intelligence, and make life's justification. 
 ^Vhat this is, if you should ask me, beyond or above the 
 
 rejoicing 
 In vegetant or brute existence, answer is easy; fo 
 
 'Tis the reflective effort of mind that, conscious of itself, 
 Fares forth exploring nature for principle and cause. 
 Keenly with all the cunning pleasure and instinct of a hunter, 
 ^Vho, in craft fashioning weapon and sly snare, tracketh after 
 His prey flying afield, and that which his arm killeth eateth. 
 
 History and science our playthings are : what an untold 
 Wealth of inexhaustive treasure is stored up for amusement ! 
 Shall the amass'd Earth-structure appeal to me less than in 
 
 early 
 Childhood an old fives-ball, whose wraps I wondering 
 
 unwound. 
 Untwining the ravel'd worsted, that mere rubbish and waste 
 Of leather and shavings had bound and moulded elastic Si 
 Into a perfect sphere ? Shall not the celestial earth-ball 
 liqually entertain a mature enquiry, reward our 
 Examination of its contexture, conglomerated 
 Of layer'd debris, the erosion of infinite ages? 
 Tho' I lack the wizard Darwin's scientific insight 
 On the barren sea-beaches of East Patagonia gazing, 
 
 ( 413 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 I must wond'ring attend, nay learn myself to decipher 
 Time's rich hieroglyph, with vast elemental pencil 
 Scor'd upon Earth's rocky crust, — minute shells slowly 
 collecting So 
 
 Press'd to a stone, uprais'd to a mountain, again to a fine sand 
 Worn, burying the remains of an alien organic epoch. 
 In the flat accretions of new sedimentary strata; 
 All to be crush'd, crumpled, confused, contorted, abandon'd. 
 Broke, as a child's puzzle is, to be recompos'd with attention ; 
 Nature's history-book, which she hath torn as asham'd of; 
 And lest those pictures on^her fragmentary pages 
 Should too lightly reveal frustrate Antiquity, hath laid 
 Ruin upon rflin, revolution upon revolution : 
 Yet no single atom, no least insignificant grain loo 
 
 But, having order alike of fate, and faulty disorder, 
 Holds a record of Time, very vestiges of the Creation ; 
 \Vhich who will not attend scorns blindly the only com- 
 mandments 
 By God's finger of old inscribed on table of earth-stone. 
 
 This for me wer' enough : yet confin'd Geology's field 
 Counts not in all Science more than the planet to the Cosmos ; 
 Where our central Sun, almighty material author. 
 And sustainer, appears as a half-consumed vanishing spark. 
 Bearing along with it, entangled in immensity's onward 
 Spiral eddies, the blacken'd dust-motes whirl'd off from 
 around it. no 
 
 But tho' man's microscopical functions measure all things 
 By his small footprints, finger-spans and ticking of clocks, 
 And thereby conceive the immense — such multiple extent 
 As to defy Ideas of imperative cerebration, — 
 None the less observing, measuring, patiently recording, 
 He mappeth out the utter wilderness of unlimited space; 
 Carefully weigheth a weight to the sun, reckoneth for it its 
 
 path 
 Of trackless travelling, the precise momentary places 
 ( 414 ) 
 
Classical Prosody 
 
 Of the planets and their satellites, their annual orbits, 
 Times, perturbations of times, and orbit of orbit. 120 
 
 What was Alexander's subduing of Asia, or that 
 Sheep-worry of Europe, when pigmy Napoleon enter'd 
 Her sovereign chambers, and her kings with terror eclips'd ? 
 His footsore soldiers inciting across the ravag'd plains. 
 Thro' bloody fields of death tramping to an ugly disaster ? 
 Shows any crown, set above the promise (so rudely accom- 
 
 plisht) 
 Of their fair godlike young faces, a glory to compare 
 With the immortal olive that circles bold Galileo's 
 Brows, the laurel'd halo^of Newton's unwithering fame? 125 
 Or what a child's surmise, how trifling a journey Columbus 
 Adventur'd, to a land like that which he sail'd from arriving, 
 If compar'd to Bessel's magic divination, awarding 
 Magnificent Sirius^his dark and invisible bride ; 
 Or when Adams by Cam, (more nearly Leverrier in France,) 
 From the minutely measur'd vacillation of Uranus, augur'd 
 AVhere his mighty brother Neptune went wandering unnamed, 
 And thro' those thousand-million league-darknesses of space 
 Drew him slowly whene'er he pass'd, and slowly released 
 
 him ! 
 Nil admirari ! 'Tis surely a most shabby thinker 139 
 
 Who, looking on Nature, finds not the reflection appalling 
 
 And if these wonders we must with wonder abandon. 
 Astronomy's Cosmos, the Immense, and those physical laws 
 That link mind to matter, laws mutual in revelation. 
 Which measure and analyse Nature's primordial orgasm, 
 Lifegiving omnipotential Light, its speed to determine, 
 Untwist its rainbow of various earthcoloring rays. 
 Counting strictly to each its own millionth-millimetred 
 Wave-length, and mapping out on fray'd diffraction of ether 
 All the adust elements and furnaced alchemy of^heav'n ; 
 Laws which atone the disorder of infinit observation 150 
 With tyrannous numbers and abstract" theory, closing 
 
 ( 41S ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Protean Nature with nets of principle exact ; 
 
 Her metamorphoses transmuting by correlation, 
 
 All heat, all chemical concourse or electrical action, 
 
 All force and all motion of all matter, or subtle or gross : — 
 
 If we these wonders, I say, with wonder abandon. 
 Nor can for mental heaviness their high study pursue. 
 Yet no story of adventures or fabulous exploit 
 Of famous'd heroes hath so romantic a discourse. 
 As these growing annals of long heav'n-scaling achievement 
 And far discoveries, which he whoWdly neglecteth i6i 
 
 Is but a boor as truly ridiculous as the village clown, 
 In whose thought the pleasant sun-ball performeth a circuit 
 Daily above mother earth, and resteth nightly beneath her. 
 
 Nor will a man, whose mind respects its own operations. 
 Lightly resign himself to remain in darkness uninform'd, 
 While any true science of fact lies easy within reach 
 Concerning Nature's eternal essential object, 
 Self-matter, embodying substratum of ev'ry relation 
 Both of Time and Space, at once the machinery and stuff 
 Of those Ideas ; carrier, giver, only receiver 171 
 
 Of such perceptions as arise in sensible organs. 
 
 Now whether each element is a coherency of equal 
 Strictly symmetric atoms, or among themselves the atoms are 
 Like animals in a herd, having each an identity distinct, 
 — So that atoms of gold compar'd with sulphur or iron 
 Are but as ancient Greeks compar'd with Chinamen and 
 
 Turks ; - 
 Nor whether all elements are untransmutable offspring 
 From one kind or more thro' endless eternity changing, 
 Or whether invisibles claim rightly the name of immortals, 
 I make no^'enquiry; matter minutely divided 181 
 
 Showing a like paradox, with ever-continuous extent. 
 And, as Adam, the atom will pose as a naked assumption ; — 
 But since all the knowledge which man was born to attain to 
 Hath these only channels, (which must limit and qualify^it,) 
 { 416 ) 
 
Classical T*rosody 
 
 We shall con the grammar, the material alphabet of life, 
 Yea, ev'n more from error to preserve our inquisitive mind, 
 Than to secure well-being against adversity and ill. 
 Surely if all is a flux, 'tis well to look into the fluid. 
 Inspect and question the apparent, shifty behaviour, 190 
 Wherein lurketh alone our witness of all physical law. 
 As we read the habits unchanging of invisible things, 
 Their timeless chronicles, the unintelligent ethic of dust : 
 In which dense labyrinth he who was guiding avised me. 
 With caution saying ' Were this globe's area of land 
 'Wholly cover'd from sight, pack'd close to the watery 
 
 margins 
 ' With mere empty vessels, I could myself put in each one 
 ' Some different substance, and write its formula thereon.' 
 
 Thus would speak the chemist ; and Nature's superabun- 
 dance. 
 Her vast infinitude of waste variety untold, 200 
 
 As'^her immense extent and inconceivable object. 
 Squandering activities throughout eternity, dwarfeth 
 Man's little aim and hour, his doubtful fancy : what are we? 
 Our petty selfseekings, our speedily passing affections ? 
 Life having existed so extravagantly before us; 
 Earth bearing so slight a regard or care for us; and all 
 After us imconcern'd to remain, strange, beautiful as now. 
 May not an idle echo^of an antique poetry haunt me, 
 ' Friendship is all feigning, yea^all loving is folly only ' ? 
 — Yet doth not very mention of antique poetry and love 210 
 Quickly recall to better motions my dispirited faith ? 
 And I see man's discontent as witness asserting 
 His moral ideal, that, born of Nature, is heir to 
 Her children's titles, which nought may cancel or impugn; 
 Not wer' of all her works man least, but ranking among them 
 Highly or ev'n as best, he wrongs himself to imagine 
 His soul foe to her aim, or from''her sanction an outlaw. 
 
 ( 417 ) P 
 
'Poems in 
 
 Nay, but just as man should appear more fully accordant 
 With things not himself, would they rank with^him as equals: 
 Judging other creatures he sets them wholly beneath him; 
 His disquiet among manifold and alien objects 221 
 
 Being sure evidence, the effect of an understanding, 
 And perception allow'd by Nature solely to himself. 
 
 Highly then is to be prais'd the resourceful wisdom of 
 our time, 
 That spunged out the written science and theories of life. 
 And, laying foundation of its knowledge in physical law, 
 Gave it preeminence o'er all enquiry, erecting 
 Superstructive of all, bringing ev'ry research to the object. 
 Boldly a new science of MAN, from dreamy scholastic 
 Imprisoning set free, and inveterate divination, 230 
 
 Into the light of truth, to the touch of history and fact. 
 Since ' the proper study of mankind is man ', — nor afore- 
 time 
 Was the proverb esteem'd as a truism less than it is now, — 
 'Tis strange that the method lay out of sight unaccomplisht, 
 And that we, so late to arrive, should first set a value 
 On the delusive efforts of human babyhood; and so 
 Witnessing impatiently the rear of their disappearance, 
 Upgathering the relics and vestiges of primitive man, 
 Should ratify^instinct for science, look to the darkness 
 For light, find a knowledge where 'twas most groping or un- 
 known : 240 
 While civilization's advances mutely regarding 
 Talk we of old scapegoats, discuss bloodrites, immolations, 
 Worship of ancestors ; explain complexities involved 
 Of tribal marriages, derivation of early religions. 
 Priestly taboos, totems, archaic mysteries of trees, 
 All the devils and dreams abhorr'd of barbarous ages. 
 
 And 'tis a far escape from wires, wheels and penny papers 
 And the worried congestion of our Victorian era, 
 ( 418 ) 
 
Classical IProsody 
 
 Whose many inventions of world-wide luxury have changed 
 Life's very face :— but enough we hear of progress, enough 
 have 250 
 
 Our conscious science and comforts trumpeted ; altho' 
 Hardly can I, who so many years eagerly frequented 
 Bartholomew's fountain, not speak of things to awaken 
 Kind old Hippocrates, howe'er he slumbereth, entomb'd 
 'Neath the shatter'd winejars and ruined factories of Cos, 
 Or where he wander'd in Thessalian Larissa: 
 For when his doctrine, which Rome had wisely adopted. 
 Sank lost with the treasures of^her deep-foundering empire, 
 No^art or science grew so contemptible, order'd 259 
 
 So by mere folly, windy caprice, superstition and chance, 
 As boastful Medicine, with humours fit for a madhouse. 
 Save when some Sydenham, like Samson among the Philis- 
 tines, 
 Strode bond-bursting along with a smile of genial instinct. 
 Nor when herd and there some ray, in darkness arising. 
 Hopefully seem'd to herald the coming dawn, (as when a 
 
 Laennec 
 Or Jenner invented his meed of worthy remembrance,) 
 Did one mind foresee, one seer foretell the appearance 
 Of that unexpected daylight that arose upon our time. 
 
 Who dream'd that living air poison'd our surgery, coating 
 All our sheeny weapons with germs of an invisible death, 2fo 
 Till he saw the sterile steel work with immunity, and save 
 Quickly as its warring scimitars of victory had slain ? 
 Saw what school-tradition for nature's kind method admir'd, 
 — In those lifedraining slow cures and bedridden agues, — 
 Forgotten, or condemn'd as want of care in a surgeon ? 
 
 Tho' Medicine makes not so plain an appeal to the vulgar, 
 Yet she lags not a whit : her pregnant theory touches 
 Deeper discoveries,^her more complete revolution 
 Gives promise of wider benefits in larger abundance. 
 
 Where she nam'd the disease she now separates the 
 bacillus; 280 
 
 ( 419 ) 
 
Toems in 
 
 Sets the atoms of offence, those blind and sickly bloodeaters, 
 'Neath lens and daylight, forcing their foul propagations, 
 Which had ever prosper'd in dark impunity unguest, 
 Now to behave in sight, deliver their poisonous extract 
 And their strange self-brew'd, self-slaying juice to be handled, 
 Experimented upon, set aside and stor'd to oppose them. 
 
 So novel and obscure a research, such hard revelations 
 Of Nature's cabinet, — tho' with fact amply accordant, 
 And by hypothesis much dark difficulty resolving, 
 Are not quickly receiv'd nor approv'd, and sensitive idlers. 
 Venturing in the profound terrible penetralia of life, 291 
 Are shock'd by^a method that shuns not contamination 
 With cruel Nature's most secret processes unmaskt. 
 And yet in all mankind's disappointed history, now first 
 Have^his scouts push'd surely within^his foul enemies' lines. 
 And his sharpshooters descried their insidious foe, 
 Those swarming parasites, that barely within the detection 
 Of manifold search-light, have _bred, swimming unsuspected 
 Thro' man's brain and limbs, slaying with loathly pollution 
 His beauty's children, ^his sweet scions of affection, 300 
 
 In fev'rous torment and tears, his home desolating 
 Of their fair innocence, breaking^his proud passionate heart. 
 And his kindly belief in God's good justice arraigning. 
 
 With what wildly directed attack, what an armory illjudged, 
 Has he, (alas, poor man,) with what cumbrous machination 
 Sought to defend himself from their Lilliputian onslaught; 
 Aye discharging around him, in obscure night, at a venture, 
 Ev'ry missile which^his despair confus'dly imagin'd ; 
 His simples, compounds, specifics, chemical therapeutics. 
 Juice of plants, whatever was nam'd in lordly Salerno's 310 
 Herbaries and gardens, vipers, snails, all animal filth. 
 Incredible quackeries, the pretentious jugglery of knaves. 
 Green electricities, saints' bones and priestly anointings. 
 Fools ! that oppose his one scientific intelligent hope ! 
 Grant us an hundred years, and man shall hold in abeyance 
 These foul distempers, and with this world's benefactors 
 ( 420 ) 
 
Classical T^rosocly 
 
 Shall Pasteur obtain the reward of saintly devotion, 
 His crown heroic, who fought not destiny in vain. 
 
 'Tis success that attracts : 'twas therefore so many workers 
 Ran pellmell to the schools of Nature in our generation, 320 
 While other employments have lack'd their genius and pined. 
 Our fathers' likings we thought semibarbarous, our art 
 Self-consciously sickens in qualms of an aesthetic aura. 
 Noisily in the shallows splashing and disporting uninspir'd. 
 Our famed vulgarities whether in speech, taste or amusement, 
 Are not amended : Is it foolish, hoping for a rescue, 
 First to appeal to the strong, for health to the healthy 
 
 amongst us ? 
 — For the Sophists' doctrine that Grace is dying of old age 
 I hold in derision, their inkpot theories of man. 
 Of his cradle of art, his deathbed of algebra ; — and see 330 
 How Science has wrought, since we went idling at Eton, 
 One thing above surmise : — An' if I may dare to remind you 
 How Vergil praises your lov'd Lucretius, (of whom 
 My matter and metre^'have set you thinking, as I fear,) 
 In that glory which ends ' et inexorabile fatum 
 Subjecit pedibus strepitumque Acherontis avari': 
 Sounded not most empty to us such boast of a pagan. 
 Strangely to us tutor'd to believe, with faith mediaeval. 
 Torture everlasting to be justly the portion of all souls. 
 Nor but by the elects' secret predestiny escaped? 340 
 
 If you think to reply, — making this question in answer, — 
 ' Did the belief disturb for a moment our pleasure in life ? ' 
 No.— And men gather in harvest on slopes of an active 
 Volcano : natheless the terror's enormity was there ; 
 Now 'tis away : Science has pierced man's cloudy common- 
 sense, 
 Dow'rd his homely vision with more expansive an embrace, 
 And the rotten foundation of old superstition exposed. 
 That trouble of Pascal, those vain paradoxes of Austin, 
 Those Semitic parables of Paul, those tomes of Aquinas, 
 (4" ) 
 
^oems in 
 
 All are thrown to the limbo of antediluvian idols, 35° 
 
 Only because we learn mankind's true history, and know 
 That not at all from a high perfection sinfully man fell. 
 But from baseness arose : We have with sympathy enter'd 
 Those dark caves, his joyless abodes, where with ravening 
 
 brutes. 
 Bear or filthy hyena, he once disputed a shelter: — 
 That was his Paradise, his garden of Eden, — abandon'd 
 Ages since to the drift and drip, the cementing accretions 
 Whence we now separate his bones buried in the stalagma. 
 His household makeshifts, his hunting tools, his adornments, 
 From the scatter'd skeletons of a lost prehistoric order, 360 
 Its mammoth and woolly rhinoceros, the machairodos, and 
 
 beasts 
 Whose unnamed pastures the immense Atlantic inundates. 
 
 In what corner of earth lie not dispersed the familiar 
 Flinty relics of his old primitive stone-cutlery ? what child 
 Kens not now the design, the adapted structure of each one 
 Of those hand-labor'd chert-flakes, whether axe, chisel, or 
 
 knife, 
 Spearhead, barb of arrow, rough plane or rudely serrate saw ? 
 Stones that in our grandsires' time told no sermon, (awaiting 
 Indestructible, unnumber'd, on chary attention,) 
 From their preadamite pulpits now cry Revelation. 370 
 
 Not to a Greek his chanted epic had mortal allurement. 
 Conjuring old-world fancies of Ilium and of Olympus, 
 As this story to me, this tale primaeval of unsung, 
 Unwritten, ancestral fate and adversity, this siege 
 Of courage and happiness protracted so many thousand 
 Thousand years in a slow persistent victory of brain 
 And right hand o'er all the venom'd stings, sharpnesses of 
 
 fang 
 And dread fury whate'er Nature, tirelessly devising, 
 Could develop with tooth, claw, tusk, or horn to oppose them. 
 See now Herakles, who strangled snakes when an infant 380 
 In^his cradle alone ; and nought but those petty stonechips 
 ( 422 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 For the battle : 'twas wonder above wonders his achievement ; 
 
 Yea, and since he thought as a child 'twas natural in''him, 
 
 Meeting in existence with purposes antagonistic, 
 
 Circumstances oppos'd to desire, vast activities, which 
 
 Thwarted effort, to assume All-might as spiteful against him. 
 
 Nay, as an artist born, impell'd to devise a religion, — 
 
 So to relate himself ideally with the immortal, — 
 
 This quarrel of reason with what displeas'd his affections 
 
 Was not amiss. The desire and love of beauty possess man : 
 
 Art is of all that beauty the best outwardly presented; 391 
 
 Truth to the soul is merely the best that mind can imagine. 
 
 No lover eternal will hold to an older opinioh 
 
 If but lovelier ideas, with Nature agreeing, 
 
 Are to his understanding offer'd...But enough : 'tis an unsolv'd 
 
 Mystery. — Yet man dreams to flatter^his deity saying 
 
 ' Beautiful is Nature ! ' rather 'tis various, endless, 
 
 And her efforts fertile in error tho' grand in attainment. 
 
 If we, while praising^her scheme and infinite order. 
 
 Are compell'd to select, our choice condemns the remainder; 
 
 Nor can wisdom honour those loathly polluting offences, 401 
 
 Whose very names to the Muse are either accursed or 
 
 unknown. 
 Nay, if such foul things thou deemest worthy, the fault was 
 Making us, O Nature, thy judge and tearful accuser. 
 Turn our thought for awhile to the symphonies of 
 
 Beethoven, 
 Or the rever'd preludes of mighty Sebastian ; Is there 
 One work of Nature's contrivance beautiful as these ? 
 Judg'd by beauty alone man wins, as sensuous artist ; 
 And for other qualities, the spirit's differentia, Nature 
 Scarce observes them at all : that keen unfaltering insight, 410 
 Whereby^earthly desire's roaming wildernesses are changed 
 Into a garden a-bloom ; its wandering impossible ways 
 Into pillar'd avenues, alleys and fair-flow'ry terrac'd walks, 
 (Where God talks with man, as once 'twas fancied of Eden ;) 
 That transcendental supreme interpreting of sense, 
 ( 423 ) 
 
'Poems in 
 
 Rendering intelligence passionate with mystery, linking 
 Sympathy with grandeur, the reserve of dignity with play ; 
 Those soul-formalities, the balance held 'twixt the denial 
 And the betrayal of intention, whose masteries invite. 
 Entice, welcome ever, meet, and with kindliness embrace; 420 
 Those guarded floodgates of boundless, lovely resources. 
 Whence nothing ill issues, no distraction nor abortion 
 Hindering enjoyment, but in easy security flow forth 
 Ecstasies of fitness, raptures and harmonies of heav'n. 
 Surely before such work of man, so kindly attemper'd. 
 Nature must be asham'd, had she not this ready answer, 
 ' Fool, and who made thee ? ' — 
 
 I shall not seem a deserter, 
 Where in an idle essay my verse to a fancy abandon'd 
 Praiseth others : rather while art and beauty delight us, 
 While hope, faith and love are warm and lively in our hearts, 
 Sweet our earthly desire and dear our human affection, 431 
 We may, joyfully despising the pedantries of old age. 
 Hold to the time, nor lose the delight of mortal attainment; 
 Keenly rejoicing in all that wisdom approves, nor allowing 
 Ourselves at the challenge of younger craft to be outsailed ; 
 But trimming our old canvas in all change of weather and 
 
 wind, 
 Freely without fear urge o'erseas our good vessel onward. 
 Piloting into the far, unmapp'd futurity. — Farewell. 
 
 ( 424 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 EPISTLE II 
 TO A SOCIALIST IN LONDON 
 
 No^ethical system, no contemplation or action, 
 No reason'd attitude of mind nor principle of faith, 
 Neither Socratical wisdom nor saintly devotion, 
 Buildeth a fortress against heart-ache e^ compassionate grief. 
 Nor responds to desire, nor with true mastery yieldeth 
 Easy repose to the mind ; And since all our study endeth 
 Emptily in full doubt, — fathoming the divine intention 
 In this one thing alone, that, howsSe'er it affect us, 
 'Twas never intended for mortal fancy to compass, — 
 I^have concluded that from first purposes unknown lo 
 
 None should seek to deduce ideal laws to be liv'd by; 
 And, loving art, am true to the Muse, cs^ poetry extol : 
 Therefore 'twas that afore I prais'd &= heartily enjoy'd 
 Your human verses, Eraser, when nobody bought them, 
 More than again I praise those serious exhortations. 
 Wherewith you vvu'd amend the degraded people about you. 
 Nay tho' like a prophet with heav'n-sent dignity inspir'd, 
 With ready convincement and stern example assuring, 
 Mightily you proclaim your love-messag' in the assembly, 
 Exhibiting panaceas of ancient ill, propagating 20 
 
 Out of a Scotch cerebrum the reforming zeal of a Tolstoi, 
 I listen all unmov'd, as a sceptic among the believers. 
 Yet what a charm has an earnest soul, whom sympathy 
 
 uncheckt 
 For human suffering has strengthen'd and deditfeted 
 Bravely to serve his kind, to renounce his natural instinct. 
 And liv' apart, indulging in acts of mercy, delighted 
 In wisdom's rock-hewn citadel^her law to illustrate. 
 Embodying the pattern of self-integrity complete. 
 
 ( 425 ) P 3 
 
'Poems in 
 
 Yea, what a charm pervades discourse, that loftily reason'd 
 Points the narrow pathway throu' this world's ugly disorder; 
 How very fair wil appear any gate of cleanliness, open 30 
 From the city's tumult, its rank impurity, its dread 
 Vulgarity's triumph : Nay sure is" bounteous as Truth, 
 Beautiful in confusion appeareth Simplicity's way. 
 — ' Simple it is, (y6u say) God is good,— Nature is ample,— 
 ' Earth yields plenty for all,— and all might share in abun- 
 dance, 
 ' Were profit and labour but fairly divided among them. 
 ' Scarce any laws are needed in our Utopia but these, — 
 ' No fruitless labour to provide mere useless adornment, 
 ' No money encouraging man's sloth Ss" slavery, no rents 40 
 ' Of titeld landlords, no pamper'd luxury breeding 
 ' Fleshly disease, worst fiend &" foe of mind body and soul ; 
 ' All should work, and only produce life's only requirements : 
 ' So with days all halfholidays, toil healthfully enjoy'd, 
 ' Each might, throu' leisure hours of amusement piety and 
 
 peace, 
 ' In the domestic joys iSr* holy community partake. — ' 
 — This wer' a downleveling, my friend ; you need, to assure 
 
 me, 
 Fix a limit to the folk ; else, as their number is increas't. 
 Their happiness may dwindle away, 6^ what was at outset 
 Goal &= prize, the provoker of all your wise revolution, 50 
 Will by subdivision disappear in course of atainment. 
 When goods are''increas'd, mouths are^increas'd to devour 
 
 them ". 
 If the famine be reliev'd this season in India, next dearth 
 Will be a worse. You know how one day Herschel acosted 
 Such a philanthropical Save-all, who claimed to acomplish 
 Some greatest happiness for a greatest number j ' Attend, 
 
 man; 
 (Said-he) Resdlve me anon one query : Suppose Adam and 
 
 Eve 
 First created on Earth but twice ten centuries ere Christ, 
 ( 426 ) 
 
Classical Trosody 
 
 That they gat four children in all, who liv'd, getting also 
 Four to the pair : Had thus mankind ever equaly increast 60 
 By moderate families but doubling in each generation, 
 How many souls would now be alive to revise the contin- 
 
 drum 
 Of greatest happiness ? No^answer ? Well, 'tis a long sum. 
 Say if on earth such a crowd could stand. No ? Pray then 
 
 imagine 
 All earth's land as a plain, 61^ all this company thereon, 
 Piled together like peas in a pintpot ; How many layers ? 
 No guess ? Then how high the column ? How far wu'd it 
 
 extend 
 Into the sky ? — To the moon ? — Further — To the sun ?— To 
 
 the sun ! Pshaw ! 
 That column of happy men would reach up, as I fathom its 
 
 height, 
 Million diameters of Neptune's infinit' orbit.' 7° 
 
 My ^ objection annoys your kindly philanthropy ? — ' It 
 proves 
 'Too much.' — Yes nature shows in that scrutiny bankrupt; 
 Mere matter in deposit gives out. Y6u wish to determine 
 No limit of future polities : your actual object 
 Is to relieve suffering, to repeal injustice acruing 
 From monied inheritance, which makes a nonentity potent 
 For public mischief, who might, if usefully harness'd 
 In common employment, have assisted social order. 
 Why should Law give fifty talents where Nature alloys one ? 
 For money is the talent of supreme empery : Gold, Gold 80 
 Envieth all, getteth all, absorbeth, mastereth all things : 
 It pusheth out &• thrusteth away pitilessly the weak ones. 
 Those ill-fated, opprest, unfortun'd needy : Beneath them 
 Yawns the abyss. Down down they fall, as a stream on a 
 
 mountain, 
 With ceaseless cataract. None hearkeneth ; only the silent 
 Grave, that darkly devours their cry of desperate anguish. 
 Spare me the story ; believe more feel this grief than avow it ; 
 ( 427 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 'Tis put aside from thought with death's incurable evil; 
 Left for them, that assume mankind as cause, to lament it. 
 And what if all Nature ratify this merciless outrage? 9° 
 
 If her wonder of arch-wonders, her fair animal life. 
 Her generate creatures, her motion'd warmblooded offspring. 
 Haunters of the forest df royal country, her antler'd 
 Mild-gazers, that keep silvan sabbath idly without end ; 
 Her herded galopers, sleeksided stately careerers 
 Of trembling nostril ; her coy unapproachable estrays. 
 Stealthy treaders, climbers; her leapers furry, lissom-limb'd; 
 Her timorous burrowers, and grangers thrifty, the sandy 
 Playmates of the warren ; her clumsy-footed, shaggy roamers ; 
 Her soarers, the feather'd fast-fliers, loftily floating loo 
 
 Sky-sailers, exiles of high solitudinous eyries ; 
 Her, perching carolers, twitterers, er° sweetly singing birds ; 
 All ocean's finny clans, mute-mouthers, watery breathers, 
 Furtive arrow-darters, and fan-tail'd easy balancers, 
 Silvery-scale, gilt-head, thorn-back, frill'd harlequinading 
 Globe and slimy ribbon : Shell-builders of many-chamber'd 
 Pearly dwellings, soft shapes mosslike or starry, adorning 
 With rich floral fancy the gay rock-garden of ebb-tide : 
 All life, from the massive-bulkt, ivory-tusht, elephantine 
 Centenarian, acknowledging with crouching obeisance no 
 Man's will, ev'n to the least petty whiffling ephemeral insect. 
 Which in a hot sunbeam engend'ring, wh.en summer is high, 
 Vaunteth an hour his speck of tinsely gaudiness and dies : 
 Ah ! what if all &> each of Nature's favorite offspring, 
 'Mong many distinctions, have this portentous agreement, 
 Mouth, Stomach, Intestine ? Question that brute appa- 
 ratus, 
 So manifoldly devis'd, set alert with furious instinct : 
 What doth it interpret but this, that Life Liveth on Life? 
 That the select creatures, who'^inherit earth's domination, 
 Whose happy existence is Nature's intelligent smile, 120 
 Are bloody survivors of a mortal combat, a-tweenwhiles 
 Chanting a brief psean for victory on the battlefield? 
 ( 42S ) 
 
Classical Trosody 
 
 Since that of all their kinds most owe their prosperous estate 
 Unto the art, whereby they more successfully destroy'd 
 Their weaker brethren, more insatiably devour'd them ; 
 And all fine qualities, their forms pictorial, admired. 
 Their symmetries, their grace, df beauty, the loveliness of 
 
 them, 
 Were by Murder evolv'd, to 'scape from it or to effect it. 
 ' Surely again (you say) too much is proven, it argues 
 ' Mere horror &= despair; unless persuasion avail us 130 
 ' That the moral virtues are man's idea, awaken'd 
 ' By the spirit's motions ; 6^ therefore not to be conceiv'd 
 ' In Nature's outward 6^ mainly material aspect, 
 ' As that is understood. You, since you hold that opinion, 
 ' Run your own ship aground invoking Nature against me.' — 
 Then withdraw the appeal, my friend, to her active aliance ; 
 Be pessimist Nature with a pitchfork manfully expell'd. 
 Not to return. Yet soul in hand, with brutal alegiance. 
 Hunters &> warriors do not forget the comandment. 
 See how lively the old animal continueth in them : 140 
 
 Of what trifling account they hold life, yet what a practis'd 
 Art pursue to preserve it : if I should rightly define sport 
 Slaughter with danger, what were more serious and brave? 
 Their love of air, of strength, of wildness, afford us an inkling 
 Of the delight of beasts, with whom they might innocently 
 Boast a fellow-feeling, summoning them forth to the combat. 
 Nay dream not so quickly to see her ladyship expell'd. 
 Those prowling Lions of stony Kabylia, whose roar 
 Frights from sleep the huddled herdsmen, soon as the sudden 
 
 night 
 Falls on Mount Atlas, those grave uxorious outlaws 150 
 
 Wandering in the Somali desert or waste Kalahari, 
 Sound a challenge that amid summer-idling London is 
 
 answer'd 
 Haply in Old Bond Street, where some fashionably attired 
 
 youth 
 Daintily stands poising the weapon foredoom'd to appaythem: 
 
 ( 429 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Ofh& mentally sighteth a tiger of India, that low- 
 Crouches among the river jungles, or hunts desolating 
 Grassy Tar&i, 'neath lofty Himalya, or far southward 
 Outacamund, Mysore's residency, the Nilgherry mountains 
 By Malabar ; yea, and era-long shall sight him in earnest. 
 Stalked as a deer, surprised where he lay slumbering at noon 
 Under a rock full-gorged, or deep in reedy covert hid i6o 
 By the trackers disturbed : Two grand eyes shall for a moment 
 Glare upon either side the muzzle. Woe then to the hunter, 
 If he blench ! That fury beclouded in invisible speed 
 What marksman could arrest ? what mortal abide his arrache- 
 
 ment ? 
 Standing above the immense carcase he gratefully praiseth 
 God for a man-eater so fine, so worthy the slaying. 
 
 See him again ; 'tis war : one hill-rock strongly defended 
 Checks advance, to be stormed at cost of half the assailants. 
 Gaily away they go, Highlanders, English, or Irish, 170 
 
 Or swart Ghoorkas against the leaden hail, climbing, ascend- 
 ing, 
 Lost in a smoke, scattering, creeping, here there, ever 
 
 upwards : 
 Till some change cometh o'er confusion. Who winneth? 
 
 ah ! see ! 
 Ours have arrived, and he who led their bravery is there. 
 None that heard will ever forget that far-echoing cheer : 
 Such heard Nelson, above the crashings &= thundering of 
 
 guns: 
 At Marathon 'twas heard and all time's story remembers. 
 
 See him again, when at home visiting'^his episcopal uncle : 
 That good priest contrast with this good captain, assay them : 
 Find a common-measure equating their rival emotions ; 180 
 Evaporate the rubbish, the degrading pestiferous fuss 
 Of stuck-up importance, the palatial coterie, weigh out 
 Then the solids : whose life would claim the award of an 
 
 umpire 
 For greatest happiness ? High-priest or soldier ? Adjudge it 
 ( 430 ) 
 
Classical T*rosody 
 
 By their books : Let a child give sentence. Ev'n as a magnet 
 Turns and points to the north, so children's obstinate insight 
 Flies to the tale of war, hairbreadth scapes, daring achieve- 
 ments, 
 Discoveries, conquests, the romance of history : these things 
 Win them away from play to devour with greedy attention 
 Till they long to be men ; while all that clerkly palaver 190 
 Tastes like wormwood. — ' Avast I (I hear you calling) Avast 
 
 there ! 
 ' I forbid the appeal.' — Well, style my humour atrocious ; 
 Granted a child cannot understand ; yet see what a huge 
 
 growth 
 Stands to be extermin'd, ere you can set dibble in ground. 
 Nay, more yetj that mighty forest, whose wildness offends 
 
 you. 
 And silences appal, where earth-life self-suffocating 
 Seethes, lavish as sun-life in a red star's fi'ry corona; 
 That waste magnificence, and vain fecundity, breeding 
 Giants &= parasites embrac'd in flowery tangle. 
 Interwoven alive and dead, where one tyrannous tree 200 
 Blights desolating around it a swamp of rank vegetation ; 
 Where Reason yet dreams unawakt, &= throu' the solemn day 
 Only the monkey chatters, &= discordant the parrot screams : 
 All this is in man's heart with dateless sympathy worshipt. 
 With filial reverence, &■ awful pieties involv'd; 
 While that other picture, your formal fancy, the garden 
 Of your stingy promise, must that not quench his imagin'd 
 Ideals of beauty, his angel hope of attainment ? 
 What to him are the level'd borders, the symmetric allot- 
 ments. 
 Where nothing exceedeth, nothing encroachetb, nor assaileth ; 
 Where Reason now drudgeth a sad monomaniac, all day 2 1 1 
 Watering &" weeding, digging &>' diligently manuring 
 Her label'd families, starch-makers, nitrogen-extract- 
 Purveyors, classified potherbs &• empty pretenders 
 Of medical virtues ; nay ev'n and their little impulse 
 ( 431 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Tward liberal fruiting disallow'd by stern regulation ; 
 So many beans to a pod, with so many pods to a beanstalk j 
 Prun'd, pincht, economiz'd miserly til' all is abortion, 
 Save in such specimens as, but for an extravagant care, 
 Had miserably perish'd. What madness works to delude. 
 
 you, 2 20 
 
 Being a man, that you see not mankind's predilection 
 Is for Magnificence, Force, Freedom, Bounty ; his inborn 
 Love for Beauty, his aim to possess, his pride to devise it : 
 And from everlasting his heart is fixt with affections 
 Preengag'd to a few sovranly determinate objects. 
 Toys of an eternal distraction. Beautiful is Gold, 
 Clear as a trumpet-call, stirring where'er it appeareth 
 All high pow'rs to battle; with magisterial ardour 
 Glowing among the metals, elemental drops of a fire-god's 
 Life-blood of old outpour'd in Chaos : Magical also 230 
 
 Ev'ry recondite jewel of Earth, with their seraphim-names. 
 Ruby, Jacynth, Emerald, Amethyst, Sapphire; amaran- 
 thine 
 Starry essences, elect emblems of purity, heirlooms 
 Of deathless glories, most like to divine imanences. 
 Then that heart-gladdening highpriz'd ambrosia, blending 
 Their dissolute purples 6^ golds with sparkling aroma. 
 That ruddy juice exprest from favour'd vintages, infus'd 
 With cosmic laughter, when upon some secular epact 
 Blandly the sun's old heart is stirr'd to a septennial smile, 
 Causing strangefortun'd comfort to melancholy mortals : 240 
 Friend to the fl^sh, if mind be fatigued ; rallying to the sound 
 
 mind. 
 When succour is needed 'gainst fainting weariness of flesh; 
 Shall Wine not be belov'd ? Or now let Aristotle answer 
 What goods are, — Time leaves the scholar's inventory un- 
 
 chang'd;— 
 All Virtues &= Pow'rs, Honour is' Pleasure, all that in our life 
 Makes us self-sufficient, Friends, Riches, Comeliness, and 
 Strength ; 
 
 ( 432 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 They that^have these things in plenty desire to retain them, 
 And win more ; while they that lack are pleas'd to desire 
 
 them. 
 Nay and since possession will leave the desire unappeased, 
 Save in mere appetites that vary, with our physical state, 250 
 Surely delight in goods is an ecstasy rather attendant 
 On their mental image, than on experienc'd operation. 
 So the shepherd envies the monarch, the monarch the 
 
 shepherd's lot, — 
 ' O what a life were this, How sweet, how lovely ! ' the 
 
 king cries. 
 Whence, I say, as a man feels brave who reads of Achilles, 
 One looking on riches may learn some kindred elation, 
 And whatever notions of fortune, luxury, comfort, 
 Qenius or virtue, are shown to him, only as aspects 
 Of possible being, 'tis so much gain to desire them; 
 Learning Magnificence in mean obscurity, tasting 260 
 
 Something of all those goods which Fate outwardly denies 
 
 him. 
 But say none shall again be king or prosperous or great,— •- 
 Arguing ' all eminence is unequal, unequal is unjust ', — 
 Should that once come about, then alas for this merry England, 
 Sunk in a grey monotone of drudgery, dreamily poring 
 O'er her illumin'd page of history, fain to regretful 
 Worship of ancestors, with nought now left to delight her. 
 Nought to attain, save one nurst hope, one ambition only 
 Red Revolution, a wild Reawakening, &' a Renaissance. 
 
 Impatiently enough yofi hear me, longing to refute me, 2;^° 
 While I^in privileg'd pulpit my period expand. 
 Who could allow such a list of strange miscellaneous items, 
 So-call'd goods. Strength, Riches, Honour, Gold, Genius, 
 
 and Wine? 
 Is not Wisdom above Rubies ? more than Coral or Pearl ? 
 Yours is a scheme deep-laid on true distinctive asortment. 
 Parting use or good from useless or evil asunder ; 
 Dismissing accessories, while half my heathenish invoice 
 
 ( 433 ) 
 
'Poems in 
 
 Are Vanity's vanities. Well; truly, as old Solomon said, 
 So they be: What is excepted ? What scapes his araignment? 
 Is 't Pleasure or Wisdom ? Nay ask Theologia : Good- 
 works, 280 
 Saith-she, offend her nostril. If I distinguish, asserting, 
 Say, that if I^enjoyed my neighbour's excessive income 
 I would hire me a string-quartett not an automaton car, 
 You blame equally both our tastes for luxury, indeed 
 His shows more of a use. If man's propensity is vain. 
 Vulgar, inane, unworthy ; 'tis also vain to bewail it : 
 Think you to change his skin? 'Twere scale by scale to 
 
 regraft it 
 With purer traditions ; and who shall amend the amenders ? 
 Nay let be the bubbles, till man grow more solid in mind. 
 Condemn not the follies : My neighbour's foolery were worse. 
 Sat he agape listening to Mozart, intently desiring 29 1 
 
 All that time to be rattling al6ng on a furious engine 
 In caoutchouc carapace, with a trail of damnable oilstench. 
 Yea, blame not the pleasures; they are not enough; 
 
 pleasure only 
 Makes this life liveable : nor scout that doctrine as unsound: 
 Consider if mankind from puling birth to bitter death 
 Knew nought but the sorrows, endured unrespited always 
 Those agonizing assaults which no flesh wholly can escape; 
 Were his hunger a pang like his starvation, alievement 
 Thereof a worse torture, like that which full many die with; 
 Did love burn his soul as fire his skin ; did affections 300 
 Rend his will, as Turks rend men with horses asunder; 
 Were his labour a breathless effort ; his slumber occasion 
 For visiting P'uries to repair his temple of anguish; 
 Were thoughts all mockeries; slow intelligence a deception; 
 His mind's far ventures, her voyages into the unseen 
 But horror 6^ terrified nightmare; None then had ever heard 
 Praise of a Creator, nor seen any Deity worshipped. 
 'Twas for heav'nly Pleasure that God did first fashion all 
 thing, 
 
 ( 434 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 Nor with other benefit would holy Religion attract us 310 
 Picturing of Paradise. Consult our Lady's Evangel, 
 Where Saint Luke, — colouring (was it unconsciously, suppose 
 
 you?) 
 Fact and fable alike, — contrasts a beggar with a rich man. 
 And from holding a fool's happiness too greatly in esteem 
 Makes pleasure eternal the balance of temporal evil. 
 And the reverse ; nor shrinks, ascribing thus. to the next world 
 Vaster inequalities, harsher perversity than this. 
 You have a soul's paradise, its entry the loop of a needle. 
 Come hither of prithy tell me what I must do to be saved, 
 I, that feeding on Ideals in temperat' estate 320 
 
 Seem so wealthy to poor Lazarus, so needy to Dives : 
 What from my heav'n-bound schooner's dispensable outfit 
 Has to be cast o'erboard ? What see you here that offends 
 
 you? 
 These myriad volumes, these tons of music : — allow them 
 Or disallow? Fiddle and trichord? — Must all be relin- 
 quished ? 
 Such toys have not a place in your society ; you say 
 Nobody shall make them, nor made may justly acquire them. 
 Yet, should a plea be alleged for life's most gracious adorn- 
 ment, 
 For contemplative art's last transcendental achievement. 
 Griefs almighty solace, frolicking Mirth's Purification, 330 
 For Man's unparagon'd High-poetess, inseparate Muse 
 Companion, the belov'd most dearly among her sisters, 
 Revivifier of age, fairest instructor of all grace. 
 His peacemaker alert with varied sympathy, whose speech 
 Not to arede and love is wholly to miss the celestial 
 Consolatries, the divine interpreting of physical life, — 
 You wince? make exception? allow things musical? admit 
 So many faked viols, penny trumpets, and amateurish 
 Performers ? Nay, nay ! stand firm, for concession is vain. 
 Music is outmeasurably a barefaced luxury, her plea 340 
 Will cover art, ( — almost to atone art's vile imitations — ); 
 
 ( 435 ) 
 
Toems in 
 
 My Japanese paintings, my fair blue Cheney, Hellenic 
 Statues and Caroline silver, my beautiful Aldines, 
 Prized more highly because so few, so fondly familiar, 
 Need no tongue to defend them against rude hands, that 
 
 assail them 
 Only because their name is Rarity ; hands insensate, 
 Rending away pitilessly the fair embroideries of life. 
 That close-clust'ring man, his comfort pared to the outskirts 
 Of'^his discomfort, may share in meanness unenvied 
 But what if I^unveil the figure that closely beside you 350 
 Half hides his Hell-charred skeleton with mysteries obscene. 
 That foul one, that Moloch of all Utopias, ancient 
 Poisoner &f destroyer-elect of innumerous unborn ? 
 
 Know you the story of our hive-bees, the yellow honey- 
 makers. 
 Whose images from of old have haunted Poetry, settling 
 On the blossoms of man's dream-garden, as on the summer- 
 
 flow'rs. 
 Pictures of happy toil, sunny glances, gendering always 
 Such sweet thoughts, as be by slumbrous music awaken'd ? 
 How all their outward happiness, — that fairy demeanour 
 Of busy contentment, singing at their work, — is an inborn 360 
 Empty habit, the relics of a time when considerate joy 
 Truly possest their tiny bodies ; when golden abundance 
 Was not a State-kept hoard; when feasts were plentiful 
 
 indulg'd 
 With wine well-fermented, or old-stored spicy metheglin : 
 For they died not then miserably within the second moon 
 Forgotten, unrespected of all ; but slept many winters, 
 Saw many springs, liv'd, lov'd like men, consciously rejoicing 
 In Nature's promises, with hke hopes and recollections. 
 Intelligence had brought them Science, Genius enter'd; 
 Seers and sages arose, great Bees, perfecting among them 370 
 Copious inventions, with man's art worthily compared. 
 Then was a time when that, which haps not in ages of ages, 
 Strangely befel : they stole from Nature's secresy one key, 
 ( 436 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 Found the hidden motive which works to variety of kind ; 
 And thus came wondrously possest of pow'r to determine 
 Their children's qualities, habitudes, yea their specialized 
 
 form 
 Masculine or feminine to produce, or asexual offspring 
 Redow'rd and differenced with such alternative organs 
 As they chose, to whate'er preferential function adapted. 
 Wax-pocket or honey-bag, with an instinct rightly acordant. 
 We know well the result, but not what causes effected 38 1 
 Their decision to prefer so blindly the race to the unit, 
 As to renounce happiness for a problem, a vain abstraction; 
 Making home and kingdom a vast egg-factory, wherein 
 Food and life are stor'd up alike, and strictly proportion'd 
 In loveless labour with mean anxiety. Wondrous 
 Their reason'd motive, their altruistic obedience 
 Unto a self-impos'd life-sentence of prison or toil. 
 AVonder wisely ! then ask if these ingenious insects, 
 (Who made Natur' against her will their activ' acomplice. 
 And, methodizing anew her heartless system, averted 391 
 From their house the torrent of whelming natural increase,) 
 Are blood-guiltless among their own-born pr6geny : What 
 
 skill 
 Keeps their peace, or what price buys it? Alack! 'tis 
 
 murder, 
 Murder again. No worst Oriental despot, assuring 
 'Gainst birthright or faction or envy his ill-gotten empire. 
 So decimates his kin, as do these rown-bodied egg-queens 
 Surprise competitors, and stab their slumbering infants. 
 Into the wax-cradles replunging their double-edged stings. 
 Or what a deed of blood some high-day, when the summer^ 
 hath 400 
 
 Their clammy cells o'erbrim'd, and already ripening orchards 
 And late flow'rs proclaim that starving winter approacheth, 
 Nor will again any queen lead forth her swarm, dispeopling 
 Their strawbuilt citadel ; then watch how these busy workers 
 Cease for awhile from toil ; how crowding upon the devoted 
 
 ( 437 ) 
 
'Poems in 
 
 Drones they fall ; those easy fellows gave some provocation; 
 Yet 'tis a foul massacre, cold murder of unsuspecting 
 Life-long companions; and done bloodthirstily : — is not 
 Exercise of pow'r a delight ? have y6u not a doctrine 
 That calls duty pleasure ? What an if they make merry, saying 
 ' Lazy-livers, runagates, evil beasts, greedy devourers, 4 1 1 
 ' Too happy and too long ye've liv'd, unashamed to have 
 
 outliv'd 
 ' Your breeders, feeders, warmers and toiling attendants ; 
 ' Had-ye ever been worthy a public good to accomplish, 
 ' Each had nobly perish'd long-ago. Unneeded, obese ones, 
 ' Impious encumbrance, whose hope of service is over, 
 ' Who did not, now can not, assist the community. Ye die ! ' 
 My parable may serve. What wisdom man hath attain'd to 
 Came to him of Nature's goodwill throu' tardy selection : 
 Should her teaching accuse herself and her method impugn, 
 I may share with her the reproach of approving as artist 421 
 Far other ideals than what seem needful in action. 
 This difficulty besets our time. If you have an answer, 
 Write me it, as you keep your salt in savour ; or if toil 
 Grant you an indulgence, here lies fair country, direct then 
 Your Sabbath excursion westward, and spend a summer-day 
 Preaching among the lilies what you''have preached to the 
 chimneys. 
 
 ( 438 ) 
 
Classical Prosody 
 
 3 
 PEACE ODE 
 
 ON CONCLUSION OF THE BOER WAR, JUNE Ig02 
 
 Now joy in all hearts with happy auguries, 
 And praise on all lips : for sunny June cometh 
 Chasing the thick warcloud, that outspread 
 Sulfurous and sullen over England. 
 
 Full thirty moons since unwilling enmity, 
 Since daily suspense for hideous peril 
 Of brethren unrescued, beleaguer'd 
 Plague-stricken in cities unprovided, 
 
 Had quencht accustom'd gaiety, from the day 
 When first the Dutchman's implacable folly, 
 The country of Shakspeare defying, 
 
 Thought with a curse to appal the nation : sy 
 
 Whose threat to quell their kinsmen in Africa 
 Anger'd awhile our easy democracy ; 
 That, reckless and patient of insult, 
 Will not abide arrogant defiance : 
 
 They called to arms ; and war began evilly. " 
 From slily forestor'd, well-hidden armouries, - 
 And early advantage, the despot 
 
 Stood for a time prevalent against us : 
 
 Till from the coil of slow-gathering battie 
 He rancorous, with full moneybags hurried. 
 Peddling to European envy 
 
 His traffic of pennyworthy slander. 
 
 ( 439 ) 
 
^oems in 
 
 For since the first keel launch'd upon Ocean 
 Ne'er had before so mighty an armament 
 O'errun the realm of dark Poseidon, ^ 
 So resolutely measur'd the waters, 
 
 As soon from our ports in diligent passage 
 O'er half the round world plow'd hither &' thither 
 The pathless Atlantic, revengeful 
 Soldiery pouring on Esperanza: 
 
 Nor shows the Argive story of Ilium, 
 With tale of ancient auxiliar cities, 
 So vast a roll of wide alliance 
 
 As, rallying to the aid of England, 
 
 Came from the swarming counties accoutering. 
 And misty highlands of Caledonia, 
 
 With Cambria's half-Celtic offspring. 
 And the ever-merry fighting Irish : / 
 
 Came too the new world's hardy Canadians, 
 And from remote Australia champions 
 
 Like huntsmen, and from those twin islands 
 Lying off antipodal beyond her. 
 
 Under the old flag sailing across the sea: 
 For mighty is blood's empery, where honour 
 And freedom ancestral have upbuilt 
 Inheritance to a lovely glory. 
 
 Thee, France, love I, fair lawgiver and scholar; 
 Thy lively grace, thy temper illustrious; 
 And thee, in all wisdom Diviner, 
 Germany, deep melodist immortal ; 
 
 Nor less have envied soft Italy's spirit, 
 In marble unveil'd and eloquent colour: 
 But best love I England, wer' I not 
 Born to her aery should envy also. 
 
 { 44° ) 
 
Classical Prosody 
 
 Wherefore to-day one gift above every gift 
 Let us beseech, that God will accord to her 
 Always a right judgement in all things; 
 Ev'n to celestial excellencies ; 
 
 And grant us in long peace to accumulate 
 Joy, and to stablish friendliness and commerce, 
 And barter in markets for unpriced 
 Beauty, the pearl of unending empire. 
 
 May, 1902. 
 
 4 
 EVENING 
 
 From Wm. Blake' 
 
 Come, rosy angel, thy coronet donning 
 Of starry jewels, smile upon ev'ry bed, 
 And grant what each day-weary mortal, 
 Labourer or lover, asketh of thee. 
 
 Smile thou on our loves, enveloping the land 
 With dusky curtain : consider each blossom 
 That timely upcloseth, that opens 
 Her treasure of heavy-laden odours. 
 
 Now, while the west-wind slumbereth on the lake, 
 Silently dost thou with delicate shimmer 
 O'erbloom the frowning front of awful 
 Night to a glance of unearthly silver. 
 
 No hungry wild beast rangeth in our forest. 
 No tiger or wolf prowleth around the fold : 
 Keep thou from our sheepcotes the tainting 
 Invisible peril of the darkness. 
 
 1 There is another alcaic translation from Blake on p. 71 in 'Demeter'- 
 The Ode on p. 72 is iambic, and the Chorus on pp. 53, 54 is in 
 choriambics. 
 
 ( 441 ) 
 
'Poems in 
 
 5 
 
 POVRE AME AMOUREUSE 
 
 From Louise Labe, 1555 
 
 {Sapphics) 
 
 When to my lone soft bed at eve returning 
 Sweet desir'd sleep already stealeth o'er me, 
 My spirit flieth to the fairy-land of 
 her tyrannous love. 
 
 Him then I think fondly to kiss, to hold him 
 Frankly then to my bosom ; I that all day 
 Have looked for^him suffering, repining, 
 yea many long days. 
 
 O blessed sleep, with flatteries beguile me ; 
 So,^if I ne'er may^of a surety have^him, 
 J Grant to my poor soul amorous the dark gift 
 of this illusion. 
 
 THE FOURTH DIMENSION 
 
 {Hendecasyllables) 
 
 Truest-hearted of early friends, that Eton 
 Long since gave to me, — Ah ! 'tis all a life-time, - 
 With my faithfully festive auspication 
 Of Christmas merriment, this idle item. 
 
 Plato truly believ'd his archetypal 
 Ideas to possess the fourth dimension: 
 For since our solid is triple, but always 
 Its shade only double, solids as umbrae 
 Must lack equally one dimension also. 
 Could Plato^have avoided or denied it ? 
 ( 442 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 So Saint Paul, when in argument opposing 
 To our earthly bodies bodies celestial, 
 Meant just those pretty Greek aforesaid abstracts 
 Of four Platonical divine dimensions. 
 
 If this be not a holy consolation 
 More than plumpudding and a turkey roasted, 
 Whereto you but address a third dimension, 
 Try it, pray, as a pill to aid digestion : 
 I can't find anything better to send you. 
 
 7 
 JOHANNES MILTON, Senex 
 
 Scazons 
 Since I believe in God the Father Almighty, 
 Man's Maker and Judge, Overruler of Fortune, 
 'Twere strange should I praise anything and refuse Him 
 
 praise. 
 Should love the creature forgetting the Creator, 
 Nor unto Him^in suff'ring and sorrow turn me : 
 Nay how coud I withdraw me from^His embracing ? 
 
 But since that I have seen not, and cannot know Him, 
 Nor in my earthly temple apprehend rightly 
 His wisdom and the heav'nly purpose eternal ; 
 Therefore will I be bound to no studied system 
 Nor argument, nor with delusion enslave me. 
 Nor seek to please Him in any foolish invention, 
 Which my spirit within me, that loveth beauty 
 And hateth evil, hath reprov'd as unworthy : 
 
 But I cherish my freedom in loving service, 
 Gratefully adoring for delight beyond asking 
 Or thinking, and in hours of anguish and darkness 
 Confiding always on^His excellent greatness. 
 
 ( 443 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 8 
 PYTHAGORAS 
 
 Scazons 
 
 Thou vainly, O Man, self-deceiver, exaltest 
 Thyself the king and only thinker of this world, 
 Where life aboundeth infinite to destroy thee. 
 
 Well-guided are thy forces and govern'd bravely, 
 But like a tyrant cruel or savage monster 
 Thou disregardest ignorantly all being 
 Save only thine own insubordinate ruling: 
 
 As if the flower held not a happy pact with Springj 
 As if the brutes lack'd reason and sorrow's torment; 
 Or ev'n.divine love from the small atoms grew not, 
 Their grave affection unto thy passion mingling. 
 
 An truly were it nobler and better wisdom 
 
 To fear the blind thing blindly, lest it espy thee; 
 
 And scrupulously do^honour to dumb creatures. 
 
 No one offending impiously, nor forcing 
 To service of vile uses ; ordering rather 
 Thy slave to beauty, compelling lovingkindness. 
 
 So should desire, the only priestess of Nature 
 Divinely inspir'd, like a good monarch rule thee. 
 And lead thee onward in the consummate motion 
 Of life eternal unto heav'nly perfection. 
 
 ( 444 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 Elegiacs 
 
 9 
 
 AMIEL 
 
 Why, O Maker of all, madest thou man with affections 
 
 Tender above thyself, scrupulous and passionate ? 
 Nay, if compassionate thou art, why, thou lover of men, 
 
 Hidest thou thy face so pitilessly from us ? 
 If thou in priesthoods and altar-glory delitest. 
 
 In torment and tears of trouble and suffering, 
 Then wert thou displeas'd looking on soft human emotion. 
 
 Thou must scorn the devout love of a sire to a son. 
 'Twas but vainly of old, Man, making Faith to approach thee. 
 
 Held an imagin'd scheme of providence in honour ; 
 And, to redeem thy praise, judg'd himself cause, took upon 
 him 
 
 Humbly the impossible burden of all misery. 
 Now casteth he away his books and logical idols 
 
 Leaveth again his cell of terrified penitence; 
 And that stony goddess, his first-born fancy, dethroning. 
 
 Hath made after his own homelier art another; 
 Made sweet Hope, the modest unportion'd daughter of 
 anguish. 
 
 Whose brimming eye sees but dimly what it looketh on ; 
 Dreaming a day when fully, without curse or horrible cross. 
 
 Thou wilt deign to reveal her vision of happiness. 
 
 lO 
 Ah, what a change ! Thou, who didst emptily thy happiness 
 seek 
 In pleasure, art finding thy pleasure in happiness. 
 ; Slave to the soul, whom thou heldest in slavery, art thou? 
 Thou, that wert but a vain idol, adored a goddess? 
 ( 445 ) 
 
T*oems in 
 
 II 
 
 WALKING HOME 
 
 From the Chinese 
 
 Thousand threads of rain and fine white wreathing of air- 
 mist 
 
 Hide frona us earth's greenness, hide the enarching azure. 
 Yet will a breath of Spring homeward convoying attend us, 
 
 And the mellow flutings of passionate Philomel. 
 
 12 
 
 THE RUIN 
 
 From the Chinese 
 
 These grey stones have rung with mirth and lordly carousel ; 
 
 Here proud kings mingled poetry and ruddy wine. 
 All hath pass'd long ago ; nought but this ruin abideth, 
 
 Sadly in eyeless trance gazing upon the river. 
 Wouldst thou know who here visiteth, dwelleth and singeth 
 also. 
 
 Ask the swallows flying from sunny-wall'd Italy. 
 
 13 
 REVENANTS 
 
 From the French 
 
 At dead of unseen night ghosts of the departed assembling 
 Flit to the graves, where each in body had burial. 
 
 Ah, then revisiting my sad heart their desolate tomb 
 Troop the desires and loves vainly buried long ago. 
 
 ( 446 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 From the Greek 
 
 Mortal though I be, yea ephemeral, if but a moment 
 I gaze up to the night's starry domain of heaven, 
 
 Then no longer on earth I stand ; I touch the Creator, 
 And my lively spirit drinketh immortality. 
 
 ANNIVERSARY 
 
 See, Love, a year is pass'd : in harvest our summer endeth : 
 
 Praising thee the solemn festival I celebrate. 
 Unto us all our days are love's anniversaries, each one 
 
 In turn hath ripen'd something of our happiness. 
 So, lest heart-contented adown life easily floating. 
 
 We note not the passage while living in the delight, 
 I have honour'd always the attentive vigil of Autumn, 
 
 And thy day set apart holy to fair Memory. 
 
 16 
 
 COMMUNION OF SAINTS 
 From Andre Chenier 
 
 What happy bonds together unite you, ye living and dead, 
 Your fadeless love-bloom, your manifold memories. 
 
 EPITAPHS 
 
 17 
 
 Fight well, my comrades, and prove your bravery. Me too 
 God call'd out, but crown'd early before the battle. 
 ( 447 ) 
 
'Poems in 
 i8 
 
 I DIED in very flow'r : yet call me not unhappy therefore, 
 Ye that against sweet life once a lament have utter'd. 
 
 19 
 When thou, my beloved, diedst, I saw heaven open. 
 And all earthly delight inhabiting Paradise. 
 
 20 
 
 Where thou art better I too were, dearest, anywhere, than 
 Wanting thy well-lov'd lovely presence anywhere. 
 
 21 
 
 IBANT OBSCURI 
 
 A line for line paraphrase of a part of 
 Virgil's ^neid, Bk. VI. 
 
 They war' amid the shadows by night in loneliness obscure 
 Walking forth i' the void and vasty dominyon of Ades; 
 As by an uncertain moonray secretly illumin'd 270 
 
 One goeth in the forest, when heav'n is gloomily clouded. 
 And black night hath robb'd the colours and beauty from all 
 things. 
 Here in Hell's very jaws, the threshold of darkening Orcus, 
 Have the avenging Cares laid their sleepless habitation. 
 Wailing Grief, pallid Infections, & heart-stricken Old-age, 
 Dismal Fear, unholy Famine, with low-groveling Want, 
 Forms of spectral horror, gaunt Toil and Death the devourer, 
 And Death's drowsy brother. Torpor ; with whom, an inane- 
 rout, 278 
 All the Pleasures of Sin; there also the Furies in ambusht 
 ( 448 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 Chamber of iron, afore whose bars wild Wzx bloodyhanded 
 Raged, and mad Discord high brandisht her venomous locks. 
 
 Midway of all this tract, with secular arms an immense elm 
 Reareth a crowd of branches, aneath whose leafy protection 
 Vain dreams thickly nestle, clinging unto the foliage on high : 
 And many strange creatures of monstrous form and features 
 Stable about th' entrance. Centaur and Scylla's abortion. 
 And hundred-handed Briareus, and Lerna the wildbeast 
 Roaring amain, and clothed in frightful flame the Chimera, 
 Gorgons and Harpies, ' and Pluto's three-bodied ogre. 
 
 In terror ^Eneas upheld his sword to defend him, 290 
 "With ready naked point confronting their dreaded onset : 
 And had not the Sibyl warn'd how these lively spirits were 
 All incorporeal, flitting in thin maskery of form, 
 He had assail'd their host, and wounded vainly the void air. 
 
 Hence is a road that led them a-down to the Tartarean 
 streams, 
 AVhere Acheron's whirlpool impetuous, into the reeky 
 Deep of Cokytos disgorgeth, with muddy burden. 
 These floods one ferryman serveth, most awful of aspect, 
 Of squalor infernal, Charon : all filthily unkempt 
 That woolly white cheek-fleece, and fiery the blood-shotten 
 eyeballs : 300 
 
 On one shoulder a cloak knotted-up his nudity vaunteth. 
 He himself plieth oar or pole, manageth tiller and sheet, 
 And the relics of men in his ash-grey barge ferries over ; 
 Already old, but green to a god and hearty will age be. 
 
 Now hitherward to the bank much folk were crowding, 
 a medley 
 Of men and matrons ; nor did death's injury conceal 
 Bravespirited heroes, young maidens beauteous unwed, 
 And boys borne to the grave in sight of their sorrowing sires. 
 
 Countless as in the forest, at a first white frosting of autumn 
 Sere leaves fall to the ground ; or like whenas over the ocean 
 Myriad birds come thickly flocking, -when wintry December 31 c 
 Drives them afar southward for shelter upon sunnier shoresj 
 
 ( 449 ) Q 
 
Voems in 
 
 So throng'd they ; and each his watery journey demanded, 
 All to the further bank stretching-odt their arms impatient: 
 But the sullen boatman took now one now other at will, 
 While some from the river forbade he', an' drave to a distance. 
 
 ^neas in wonder alike and deep pity then spake. 
 'Telbme,' said he, ' my guide, why flock these crowds to the 
 
 water ? 
 Or what seek the spirits ? or by what prejudice are these 
 Rudely denied, while those may upon the solemn river em- 
 bark?' 320 
 T'whom * then briefly again the Avernian priestess in answer. 
 ' O Son of Anchises, heavn's true-born glorious offspring, 
 Deep Cokytos it is thou s^st & Hell's Stygian flood, 
 Whose dread sanction alone Jove's oath from falsehood 
 
 assureth. 
 These whom thou pitiedst, th' outcast and unburied are they; 
 That ferryman Charon ; those whom his bark carries over 
 Are the buried ; nor ever may mortal across the livid lake 
 Journey, or e'er upon Earth his bones lie peacefully entomb'd : 
 Haunting a hundred years this mournful plain they wander 
 Doom'd for a term, which term expired they win to 
 deliv'rance.' 330 
 
 Then he that harken'd stood agaze, his journey arrested, 
 Grieving at heart and much pitying their unmerited lot. 
 There miserably fellow'd in death's indignity saw he 
 Leucaspis with his old Lycian seachieften Orontes, 
 Whom together from Troy in home-coming over the waters 
 Wild weather o'ermaster'd, engulphing both shipping and 
 
 men. 
 And lo ! his helmsman, Palinurus, in eager emotion. 
 Who on th' Afric course, in bright star-light, with a fair wind. 
 Fell by slumber opprest unheedfully into the wide sea : 
 AVhom i' the gloom when hardly he knew, now changed in 
 affliction, ^,0 
 
 * Line 321. ' T'whom ' is from Milton, in imitation of Virgil's admired 
 Olli. It is not admitted in the ordinary i^roaody. 
 
 ( 45° ) 
 
Classical Prosody 
 
 First he addrest. ' What God, tell-me O Pahnurus, of all 
 
 gods 
 Pluckt you away and drown'd i' the swift wake-water aban- 
 
 don'd ? 
 For never erst nor in else hath kind responsive Apollo 
 Led-me astray, but alone in this thing wholly deluded, 
 ^Vhen he aver'd that you, to remote Ausonia steering, 
 Safe would arrive. Where now his truth? Is this the 
 
 promis'd faith ? ' 
 But he, ' Neither again did Phcebus wrongly bespeak thee, 
 My general, nor yet did a god in his enmity drown me : 
 For the tiller, wherewith I led thy fleet's navigation, 
 And still clung to, was in my struggling hold of it unshipt, 350 
 And came with"me' o'erboard. Ah ! then, by ev'ry accurst 
 
 sea, 
 Tho' in utter despair, far less mine own peril awed me 
 Than my thought o' the ship, what harm might hap to her, 
 
 yawing 
 In the billows helmless, with a high wind and threatening 
 
 gale. 
 Two nights and one day buffeted held I to the good spar 
 ^Vindborne, with the current far-drifting, an' on the second 
 
 morn 
 Saw, when a great wave raised me aloft, the Italyan highlands ; 
 And swimming-on with effort got ashore, nay already was 
 
 saved. 
 Had not there the wrecking savages, who spied-me defence- 
 less, 
 Scarce clinging outwearied to a rock, half-drowned & speech- 
 less, 360 
 Beat me to death for hope of an unfound booty upon me. 
 Now to the wind and tidewash a sport my poor body rolleth. 
 Wherefore thee, by heav'n's sweet light & airness, I pray. 
 By thy Sire's memories, thy hope of youthful lulus, 
 Rescue-me from these ills, brave master ; Go to Velija, 
 O'er my mortality's spoil cast thou th' all-hallowing dust : 
 
 (451 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Or better, if so be the goddess, heav'n's lady-Creatress, 
 Show-thee the way, — nor surely without high favoring impulse 
 Mak'st thou ventur' across these floods & black Ereban lake, — 
 Give thy hand-to-me', an' o'er their watery boundary bring 
 me 37° 
 
 Unto the haven of all, death's home of quiet abiding.' 
 Thus-he lamented, anon spake sternly the maid of Avernus. 
 ' ^Vhence can such unruly desire, Palinurus, assail thee ? 
 Wilt thou th' Eumenidan waters visit unburied ? o'erpass 
 Hell's Stygian barrier ? Charon's boat unbidden enter ? 
 Cease to believe that fate can bd by prayer averted. 
 Let my sooth a litel thy cruel destiny comfort 
 Surely the people of all thy new-found country, determin'd 
 By heav'n-sent omens will achieve thy purification, 3;-g 
 
 Build thee a tomb of honour with yearly solemnity ordain'd, 
 And dedicate for ever thy storied name to the headland.' 
 
 These words lighten awhile his fear, his sadness allaying, 
 Nor vain was the promise his name should eternally survive. 
 
 They forthwith their journey renew, tending to the water; 
 Whom when th' old boatman descried silently .emerging 
 Out o' the leafy shadows, advancing t'ward the river-shore, 
 Angrily gave"he challenge, imperious in salutation. 
 ' Whosoever thou be, that approachest my river all-arm'd, 
 Stand to announce thyself, nor further make footing onward. 
 Here 'tis a place of ghosts, of night & drowsy delusion; 390 
 Forbidden unto living mortals is my Stygian keel; 
 Truly not Alkides embarkt I cheerfully, nor took 
 Of Theseus or Pirithous glad custody, nay though 
 God-sprung were they both, warriors invincible in might; 
 He 'twas would sportively the guard of Tartarus enchain. 
 Yea and from the palace with gay contumely dragged him : 
 They to ravish Hell s Queen from Pluto's chamber attempted.' 
 
 Then thus th' Amphrysian prophetess spake briefly in 
 answer. 
 ' No such doughty designs are ours, Cease thou to be moved 1 
 Nor these sheeny weapons intend force. Cerberus unvext 
 
 ( 452 ) 
 
Classical Prosody 
 
 Surely for us may affray the spirits with 'howling eternal, 40 r 
 
 And chaste Persephone enjoy her queenly seclusion. 
 
 Troian ^neas, bravest and gentlest-hearted, 
 
 Hath left earth to behold his father in out-lying Ades. 
 
 If the image ' of a so great virtue doth not affect thee. 
 
 Yet this bough' — glittering she reveal'd its golden 
 
 avouchment — 
 'Thou mayst know.' Forthwith his bluster of heart was 
 
 appeased : 
 Nor word gave-he, but admiring the celestial omen, 
 That bright sprigg of weird for so long period unseen. 
 Quickly he-turneth about his boat, to the margin ap- 
 proaching, 410 
 And the spirits, that along the gun'al benchways sat in order, 
 Drave he ashore, offering readyroom : but when thevessel took 
 Ponderous ^neas, her timbers crankily straining 
 Creak'd, an' a brown water came trickling through the upper 
 
 seams. 
 Natheless both Sibyl and Hero, slow wafted across stream. 
 Safe on th' ooze & slime's hideous desolation alighted. 
 
 Hence the triple-throated bellowings of Cerberus invade 
 All Hell, where opposite the arrival he lies in a vast den. 
 But the Sibyl, who mark'd his necklaces of stiffening snakes. 
 Cast him a cake, poppy-drench'd with drowsiness and honey- 
 sweeten'd. 420 
 
 He, rabid and distending a-hungry' his triply-cavern'd jaws, 
 Gulp'd the proffer'd morsel ; when slow he-relaxt his immense 
 
 bulk. 
 And helplessly diffused fell out-sprawl'd over the whole cave, 
 ^neas fled by, and left full boldly the streamway. 
 That biddeth all men across but alloweth ne'er a returning. 
 
 Already now i' the air were voices heard, lamentation. 
 And shrilly crying of infant souls by th' entry of Ades. 
 Babes, whom unportion'd of sweet life, unblossoming buds. 
 One black day carried off and chokt in dusty corruption. — 
 Next are they who falsely accused were wrongfully condemn'd 
 
 ( 453 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Unto the death : but here their lot by justice is order'd. 431 
 Inquisitor Minos, with his urn, summoning to assembly 
 His silent council, their deed or slander arraigneth. — 
 Next the sullen-hearted, who rashly with else-innocent hand 
 Their own life did-away, for hate or weariness of light. 
 Imperiling their souls. How gladly, if only in Earth's air, 
 Would-they again their toil, discomfort, and pities endure ! 
 Fate obstructs : deep sadness now, unloveliness awful 
 Rings them about, & Styx with ninefold circle enarmeth. — 
 Not far hence they come to a land extensive on all sides; 440 
 Weeping Plain 'tis call'd: — such name such country 
 
 deserveth. 
 Here the lovers, whom fiery passion hath cruelly consumed, 
 Hide in leafy alleys ' and pathways bow'ry, sequester'd 
 By woodland myrtle, nor hath Death their sorrow ended. 
 Here was Phzedra to see, Procris ' and sad Eriphyle, 
 She of her unfilial deathdoing wound not ashamed, 
 Evadne, ' and Pasiphae ' and Laodamia, 
 And epicene Keneus, a woman to a man metamorphos'd, 
 Now by Fate converted again to her old feminine form. 
 
 'Mong these shades, her wound yet smarting ruefully, Dido 
 Wander'd throu' the forest-obscurity; and ^neas 4J1 
 
 Standing anigh knew surely t'le dim form, though i' the 
 
 darkness 
 Veil'd, — as when one seeth a young moon on the horizon. 
 Or thinketh to 'have seen i' the gloaming her delicate horn; 
 Tearfully in oncelov'd accents he-lovingly addrest her. 
 ' Unhappy ! ah ! too true 'twas told me ' O unhappy Dido, 
 Dead thou wert ; to the fell extreme didst thy passion ensue. 
 And was it I that slewthee? Alas! Smite falsity, ye 
 
 heav'ns ! 
 And Hell-fury attest-me', if here any sanctity reigneth. 
 Unwilling, O my Queen, my step thy kingdom abandon'd. 460 
 Me the command of a god, who here my journey determines 
 Through Ereban darkness, through fields sown with 
 
 desolation, 
 
 ( 454 ) 
 
Classical T^rosociy 
 
 Drave-me to wrong my heart. Nay tho' deep-pain'd to 
 
 desert thee 
 I ne'er thought to provoke thy pain of mourning eternal. 
 Stay yet awhile, ev'n here unlook'd-for again look upon me : 
 Fly-me not ere the supreme words that Fate granteth us are 
 
 said.' 
 Thus he : but the spirit was raging, fiercely defiant, 
 Whom he approach'd with words to appease, with tears for 
 
 atonement. 
 She to the ground downcast her ' eyes in fixity averted ; 
 Nor were her features more by his pleading affected, 470 
 Than wer' a face of flint, or of ensculptur'd alabaster. 
 At length she started disdainful, an' angrily withdrew 
 Into a shady thicket : where her grief kindly Sychffius 
 Sooth'd with other memories, first love and virginal embrace. 
 And ever Mn&as, to remorse by deep pity soften'd, 
 With brimming eyes pursued her queenly figure disappearing. 
 Thence the Sibyl to the plain's extremest boundary led him, 
 Where world-fam'd warriors, a lionlike company, haunted. 
 Here great Tydeus saw he eclips'd, & here the benighted 
 Phantom of Adrastus, ' of stalwart Parthenopseus. 480 
 
 Here long mourn'd upon earth went all that prowess of Ilium 
 Fallen in arms j whom, when he-beheld them, so many and 
 
 great, 
 Much he-bewail'd. By Thersilochus his mighty brothers 
 
 stood. 
 Children of Antenor ; here Demetrian Polyphates, 
 And Idseus, in old chariot-pose dreamily stalking. 
 Right and left the spirits flocking on stood crowding around 
 
 him ; 
 Nor their eyes have enough ; they touch, find joy unwonted 
 Marching in equal step, and eager of his coming enquire. 
 But th' Argive leaders, and they that obey'd Agamemnon 
 When they saw that Trojan in arms come striding among 
 
 them, 49° 
 
 Old terror invaded their ranks : some fled stricken, as once 
 
 ( 4SS ) 
 
Toems in 
 
 They to the ships had fled for shelter ; others the alarm raise, 
 But their thin utterance mock'd vainly the lips wide parted. 
 Here too Deiphobus he espied, his fair body mangled, 
 Cruelly dismember'd, disfeatur'd cruelly his face, 
 Face and hands ; and lo ! shorn closely from either temple. 
 Gone wer' his ears, and maim'd each nostril in impious 
 
 outrage. 
 Barely he-knew him again cow'ring shamefastly' an' hiding 
 His dire plight, & thus he 'his old companyon accosted. 
 ' Noblest Deiphobus, great Teucer's intrepid offspring, 500 
 Who was it, inhuman, coveted so cruel a vengeance ? 
 Who can hav' adventur'd on th^e ? That last terrible night 
 Thou wert said to hav' exceeded thy bravery, an' only 
 On thy fain enemies wert fain by weariness o'ercome. 
 Wherefor' upon the belov'd sea-shore thine empty sepulchral 
 Mound I erected, aloud on thy ghost tearfully calling. 
 Name and shield keep for-thee the place ; but thy body, dear 
 
 friend, 
 Found I not, to commit to the land ere sadly ' I left it.' 
 Then the son of Priam ' ' I thought not, friend, to reproach 
 thee : 
 Thou didst all to the full, ev'n my shade's service, accom- 
 plish. 501 
 'Twas that uninterdicted adultress from Lacedsemon 
 Drave-me to doom, & planted in hell, her trophy triumphant. 
 On that night, — how vain a security and merrymaking 
 Then sullied us thou know'st, yea must too keenly re- 
 member, — 
 When the ill-omened horse o'erleapt Troy's lofty defences, 
 Dragg'd in amidst our town pregnant with a burden of arm'd 
 
 men. 
 She then, her Phrygian women in feign'd phrenzy collecting, 
 All with torches aflame, in wild Bacchic orgy paraded. 
 Flaring a signal aloft to her ambusht confederate Greeks. 
 I from a world of care had fled with weariful eyelids 520 
 
 Unto my unhappy chamber ', an' lay fast lockt in oblivyon, 
 ( 4S6 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 Sunk to the depth of rest as a child that nought will awaken. 
 Meanwhile that paragon helpmate had robb'd me of all arms, 
 E'en from aneath the pillow my blade of trust purloining ; — 
 Then to the gate ; wide flings she it op'n an' calls Menelaus. 
 Would not a so great service attach her faithful adorer? 
 Might not it extinguish the repute of her earlier illdeeds ? 
 Brief"be the tale. Menelaus arrives : in company there came 
 His crime-counsellor bolides. . So, and more also 
 Ddal-ye ', O Gods, to the Greeks ! an' if I call justly upon 
 
 you.— 530 
 
 But thou ; what fortune hitherward, in turn prithy tell me, 
 Sent"thee alive, whether erring upon the bewildering Ocean, 
 Or high-prompted of heav'n, or by Fate wearily hunted, 
 That to the sunless abodes and dusky demesnes thou 
 
 approachest ? ' 
 Ev'n as awhile they thus converse it is already mid-day 
 Unperceiv'd, but aloft earth's star had turn'd to declining. 
 And haply ' Mne&% his time in parley had outgone, 
 Had not then the Sibyl with word of warning avized him. 
 ' Night hieth, .(Eneas ; in tears our journey delayeth. 
 See our road, that it here in twain disparteth asunder ; 540 
 This to the right, skirting by th' high city-fortresses of Dis, 
 Endeth in Elysium, our path ; but that to the leftward 
 Only receives their feet who wend to eternal affliction.' 
 Deiphobus then again, ' Speak not, great priestess, in anger ; 
 I will away to refill my number among th' unfortun'd. 
 Thou, my champyon, adieu I Go where thy glory awaits 
 
 thee ! ' 
 When these words he 'had spok'n, he-turn'd and hastily was 
 
 fled. 
 .(Eneas then look'd where leftward, under a mountain, 
 Outspread a wide city lay, threefold with fortresses engirt, 
 Lickt by a Tartarean river of live fire, the torrential .sso 
 Red Phlegethon, and huge boulders his roundy bubbles be : 
 Right i' the front stareth the columnar gate adamantine, 
 Such that no battering warfare of m^n or immortals 
 
 ( 457 ) Q 3 
 
Poems in 
 
 E'er might shake; blank-faced to the cloud its bastion 
 
 upstands. 
 Tisiphone thereby in a bloodspotty robe sitteth alway 
 Night and day guarding sleeplessly the desperat entrance, 
 Wherefrom an awestirring groan-cry and fierce clamour 
 
 outburst, 
 Sharp lashes, insane yells, dragg'd chains and clanking of 
 
 iron, 
 ^neas drew back, his heart by' his hearing affrighted : 
 ' What manner of criminals, my guide, now telbme,' hc 
 
 question'd, 56° 
 
 ' Or what their penalties ? what this great wail that ariseth ? ' 
 Answering him the divine priestess, ' Brave hero of Ihum, 
 O'er that guilty threshold no breath of purity may come : 
 But Hecate, who gave-me to rule i' the groves of Avernus, 
 Herself led me around, & taught heav'n's high retribution. 
 Here Cretan Rhadamanthus in unblest empery reigneth, 
 Secret crime to punish, — full surely he'wringeth avowal 
 Even of all that on earth, by vain impunity harden'd. 
 Men sinning have put away from thought till^impenitent 
 
 death. 
 On those convicted tremblers then leapeth avenging 570 
 Tisiphone with keen flesh-whips and vipery scourges, 
 And of her implacable sisters inviteth attendance.' 
 —Now sudden on screeching hinges that portal accursed 
 Flung wide its barriers. — ' In what dire custody, mark thou. 
 Is the threshold ! guarded by how grim sentry the doorway ! 
 More terrible than they the ravin'd insatiable Hydra 
 That sitteth angry within. Know too that Tartarus itself 
 Dives sheer gaping aneath in gloomy profundity downward 
 Twice that height that a man looketh-up t'ward airy 
 
 Olympus. 
 Lowest there those children of Earth, Titanian elders, 580 
 In the abyss, where once they fell hurl'd, yet wallowing lie. 
 There the Aloldje saw I, th' ungainly rebel twins 
 Primeval, that assay'd to devastate th' Empyrxan 
 ( 458 ) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 With huge hands, and rob from Jove his kingdom immortal. 
 And there Salmoneus I saw, rend'ring heavy payment, 
 For that he idly' had mockt heav'n's fire and thunder 
 
 electric ; 
 With chariot many-yoked and torches brandishing on high 
 Driving among 'his Graian folk in Olympian Elis ; 
 Exultant as a God he rode in blasphemy worshipt. 589 
 
 Fool, who th' unreckoning tempest and deadly dreaded bolt 
 Thought to mimic with brass and confus'd trample of horses ! 
 But 'him th' Omnipotent, from amidst his cloudy pavilyon, 
 Blasted, an' eke his rattling car and smoky pretences 
 Extinguish'd at a stroke, scattering ' his dust to the whirlwind. 
 There too huge Tityos, whom Earth that gendereth all 
 
 things 
 Once foster'd, spreadeth-out o'er nine full roods his immense 
 
 limbs. 
 On him a wild vulture with hook-beak greedily gorgeth 
 His liver upsprouting quick as that Hell-chicken eateth. 
 Shd diggeth and dwelleth under the vast ribs, her bloody 
 
 bare neck 
 Lifting anon : ne'er loathes'she the food, ne'er fails the re- 
 newal. 600 
 Where wer' an end their names to relate, their crimes and 
 
 torments ? 
 Some o'er whom a hanging black rock, slipping at very 
 
 point of 
 Falling, ever threateneth : Couches luxurious invite 
 Softly-cushion'd to repose : Tables for banqueting outlaid 
 Tempt them ever-famishing : hard by them a Fury regardeth. 
 And should they but a hand uplift, trembling to the dainties. 
 She with live firebrand and direful yell springeth on them. 
 Their crimes, — not to' hav lov'd a brother while love was 
 
 allow'd them; 
 Or to' hav struck their father, or inveigled a dependant; 609 
 Or who chancing alone on wealth prey'd lustfully thereon. 
 Nor made share with others, no greater company than they : 
 ( 459 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 Some for adultery slain ; some their bright swords had 
 
 offended 
 Drawn i' the wrong: or a master's trust with perfidy had met : 
 Dungeon'd their penalties they await. Look not to be 
 
 answer'd 
 What that doom, nor th' end of these men think to deter- 
 mine. 
 Some aye roll heavy rocks, some whirl dizzy on the revolving 
 Spokes of a pendant wheel : sitteth and to eternity shall sit 
 Unfortun'd Theseusj while sad Phlegias saddeneth hell 
 With vain oyez to ' all loud crying a tardy repentance, 
 "Walk, O man, i' the fear of G6d, and learn to be righteous 1" 
 Here another, who sold for gold his country, promoting 621 
 Her tyrant ; or annull'd for a base bribe th' inviolate law. 
 This one had unfather'd his blood with bestial incest : 
 All some fearful crime had dared & vaunted achievement. 
 What mind could harbour the offence of such recollection. 
 Or lend welcoming ear to the tale of iniquity and shame. 
 And to the pains wherewith such deeds are justly requited ? 
 Ev'n when thus she' had spok'n, the priestess dear to 
 Apollo, 
 ' But, ready, come let us 6n, perform^we the order appointed ! 
 Hast'n-we (saith-she), the wall forged on Cyclopian anvils 
 Now I see, an' th' archway in Etna's furnace attemper'd, 631 
 Where my lore biddeth us to depose our high-privileg'd 
 gift.' 
 Then together they trace i' the drooping dimness a foot- 
 path, 
 Whereby, faring across, they arrive at th' arches of iron, 
 ^neas stept into the porch, and duly besprinkling 
 His body with dear water affixt his bough to the lintel; 
 And, having all perform'd at length with ritual exact. 
 They came out on a lovely pleasance, that dream'd-of oasis, 
 Fortunate isle, the abode o' the blest, their fair Happy 
 
 Woodland. 
 Here is an ampler sky, those meads ar' azur'd by a gentler 
 ( 460) 
 
Classical 'Prosody 
 
 Sun than th' Earth, an' a new starworld their darkness 
 adorneth. g,, 
 
 Some were matching afoot their speed on a grassy arena, 
 In playful combat some wrestling upon the yellow sand, 
 Part in a dance-rhythm or poetry's fine phantasy engage; 
 While full-toga'd anear their high-priest musical Orpheus 
 Bade his prime sev'n tones in varied harmony discourse. 
 Now with finger, anon sounding with an ivory plectrum. 
 And here ^neas met Teucer's fortunate offspring. 
 High-spirited heroes, fair-favor'd sons o' the morning, 
 Assarac and Ilos ' and Dardan founder of Ilium : 650 
 
 Their radiant chariots he' espied rank't empty afar off, 
 Their spears planted afield, their horses wandering at large. 
 Grazing around:— as on earth their joy had been, whether 
 
 armour 
 Or chariot had charmed them, or if 'twer' good manage and 
 
 care 
 Of the gallant warhorse, the delight liv'd here unabated; 
 Lo ! then others, that about the meadow sat feasting in 
 
 idless. 
 And chanting for joy a familyar psean of old earth. 
 By fragrant laurel o'ercanopied, where 'twixt enamel'd banks 
 Bountiful Eridanus glides throu' their bosky retirement. 
 Here were men who bled for honour, their country defend- 
 ing; 660 
 Priests, whose lives wer' a flame of chastity on God's altar; 
 Holy poets, content to await their crown of Apollo; 
 Discoverers, whose labour had aided life or ennobled; 
 Or who fair memories had left though kindly deserving. 
 On their brow a fillet pearl-white distinguisheth all these : 
 Whom the Sibyl, for they drew round, in question accosted, 
 And most Musseus, who tower'd noble among them. 
 Center of all that sea of bright faces looking upward. 
 ' Tell, happy souls, and thou poet and high mystic illustrious, 
 Where dwelleth Anchises ? what home hath he ? for 'tis in 
 his quest 670 
 (461 ) 
 
T^oems in 
 
 We hither have made journey across Hell's watery marches. 
 Thertd with brief parley rejoin'd that mystic of old-time. 
 ' In no certain abode we-remain : by turn the forest glade 
 Haunt-we, lilied stream-bank, sunny mead; and o'er valley 
 
 and rock 
 At will rove-we: but if ye aright your purpose arede me, 
 Mounfye the hill: myself will prove how easy the pathway.' 
 Speaking he Idd : and come to the upland, sheweth a fair 
 
 plain 
 Gleaming aneath; and they, with grateful adieu, the descent 
 
 made. 
 Now Lord Anchises was down i' the green valley musing, 
 Where the spirits confin'd that await mortal resurrection 680 
 While diligently he'mark'd, his thought had turn'd to his 
 
 own kin, 
 Whose numbers he-reckon'd, an' of all their progeny foretold 
 Their fate and fortune, their ripen'd temper an' action. 
 He then, when he' espied ^neas t'ward him approaching 
 O'er the meadow, both hands uprals'd and ran to receive him. 
 Tears in his eyes, while thus his voice in high passion outbrake. 
 ' Ah, thou'rt come, thou'rt come ! at length thy dearly 
 
 belov'd grace 
 Conquering all hath won-thee the way. 'Tis allow'd to 
 
 behold thee, 
 O my son, — yea again the familyar raptur' of our speech. 
 Nay, I look't for 't thus, counting patiently the moments, 690 
 And ever expected ; nor did fond fancy betray me. 
 From what lands, my son, from what life-dangering ocean 
 Art-thou arrived? full mighty perils thy path hav' oppos'ed: 
 And how nearly the dark Libyan thy destiny o'erthrew ! ' 
 Then 'he, ' Thy spirit, O my sire, 'twas thy spirit often 
 Sadly appearing aroused-me to seek thy fair habitation. . 
 My fleet moors i' the blue Tyrrhene : all with-me goeth well. 
 Grant-me to touch thy hand as of old, and thy body embrace.' 
 Speaking, awhile in tears his feeling mutinied, and when 
 For the longing contact of mortal affection, he out-held 700 
 ( 462 ) 
 
Classical T^rosody 
 
 His strong arms, the figure sustain'd them not : 'twas as 
 
 empty 
 E'en as a windworn cloud, or a phantom of irrelevant sleep. 
 
 On the level bosom of this vale more thickly the tall trees 
 Grow, an' aneath quivering poplars and whispering alders 
 Lethe's dreamy river throu' peaceful scenery windeth. 
 Whereby now flitted in vast swarms many people of all lands. 
 As when in early summer 'honey-bees on a flowery pasture 
 Pill the blossoms, hurrying to' an' fro, — innumerous are they. 
 Revisiting the ravish'd lily cups, while all the meadow hums. 
 
 Mntas was turn'd to the sight, and marvelling inquired, 710 
 ' Say, sir, what the river that there i' the vale-bottom I see ? 
 And who they that thickly along its bank have assembled ? ' 
 
 Then Lord Anchises, ' The Spirits for whom a second life 
 And body are destined ar' arriving thirsty to Lethe, 
 And here drink th' unmindful draught from wells of oblivyon. 
 My heart greatly desired of this very thing to acquaint thee. 
 Yea, and show-thee the men to-be-born, our glory her'after. 
 So to gladden thine heart where now thy voyaging endeth.' 
 ' Must it then be'believ'd, my sire, that a soul which attaineth 
 Elysium will again submit to her old body-burden? 720 
 
 Is this well ? what hap can awake such dire longing in them ?' 
 ' I will tell thee', O son, nor keep thy wonder awaiting,' 
 Answereth Anchises, and all expoundeth in order. 
 ' Know first that the heavens, and th' Earth, and space fluid 
 
 or void, 
 Night's pallid orb, day's Sun, and all his starry coaevals, 
 Are by one spirit inly quickened, and, mingling in each part, 
 Mind informs the matter, nature's complexity ruling. 
 Thence the living creatures, man, brute, and ev'ry feather'd 
 
 fowl. 
 And what breedeth in Ocean aneath her surface of argent : 
 Their seed knoweth a fiery vigour, 'tis of airy divine birth, 730 
 In so far as unimpeded by an ahen evil. 
 Nor duU'd by the body's framework condemn'd to corruption. 
 Hence the desires and vain tremblings that assail them, unable 
 ( 463 ) 
 
'Poems in Classical Prosody 
 
 Darkly prison'd to arise to celestial exaltation ; 
 
 Nor when death summoneth them anon earth-life to 
 
 relinquish, 
 Can they in all discard their stain, nor wholly away with 
 Mortality's plaguespots. It musfbe that, O, many wild graffs 
 Deeply at 'heart engrain'd have rooted strangely upon them : 
 Wherefore must suffering purge them, yea. Justice atone them 
 With penalties heavy as their guilt : some purify exposed 740 
 Hung to the viewless winds, or others long watery searchings 
 Low i' the deep wash clean, some bathe in fiery renewal : 
 Each Cometh unto his own retribution, — if after in ample 
 Elysium we attain, but a few, to the fair Happy Woodland, 
 Yet slow time still worketh on us to remove the defilement. 
 Till it hath eaten away the acquir'd dross, leaving again free 
 That first fiery vigour, the celestial virtue of our life. 
 All whom here thou seest, hav' accomplished purification: 
 Unto the stream of Lethe a god their company calleth. 
 That forgetful of old failure, pain &= disappointment, 5-50 
 They may again into' earthly bodies with glad courage enter.' 
 
 Twin be the gates o' the house of sleep : as fable opineth 893 
 One is of horn, and thence for a true dream outlet is easy: 
 Fair the other, shining perfected of ivory carven ; 
 But false are the visions that thereby find passage upward. 
 Soon then as Anchises had spok'n, he-led the Sibyl forth 
 And his son, and both dismisst from th' ivory portal. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 ( 464 ) 
 
INDEX 
 
 ( 4'''S ) 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A cottage built of native stone . . 
 A coy inquisitive spirit 
 After long sleep when Psyche first awoke 
 ^ Again with pleasant green 
 Ah heavenly joy 
 Ah, what a change 
 All earthly beauty hath one cause 
 All women born 
 A man that sees by chance 
 Among the meadows . 
 And truly need there was 
 An effigy of brass 
 Angel spirits of sleep . 
 An idle June day 
 A poppy grows upon the shore 
 Ariel, O, — my angel, my own 
 A single lamp there stood . 
 A song of my heart . 
 Assemble, all ye maidens . 
 At dead of unseen night 
 A thousand times hath in my heart's behoof 
 At times with hurried hoofs 
 Awake, my heart, to be loved . 
 Away now, lovely Muse .... 
 A winter's night with the snow about 
 
 Beautiful must be the mountains 
 Beauty sat with me .... 
 Because thou canst not see 
 Behold ! the radiant Spring 
 Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear 
 Beneath the wattled bank . 
 Betwixt two billows of the downs 
 Bright day succeedeth unto day 
 Bright, my beloved, be thy day . 
 
 ( 466 ) 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 • 354 
 
 
 • 27 
 
 
 . 105 
 
 
 
 253 
 
 
 
 . 219 
 
 
 
 445 
 
 
 
 . 204 
 
 
 
 • 241 
 
 
 
 206 
 
 
 37a 
 
 
 . 113 
 
 
 
 349 
 
 
 
 291 
 
 
 
 zoBf 
 
 
 
 234 
 
 
 
 29s 
 
 
 i6t 
 
 
 311 
 
 
 
 236 
 
 
 
 446 
 
 
 
 20 L 
 
 
 
 20= 
 
 
 27: 
 
 
 221 
 
 
 
 27' 
 
 
 
 3H 
 
 
 
 21; 
 
 
 
 26i 
 
 
 
 25; 
 
 
 
 ■ 3r. 
 
 
 
 ■ 33< 
 
 
 
 301 
 
 . 
 
 
 . 61 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 . 36; 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 But Aplirodite to the house of Zeus . 
 But Eros now recover'd from his hurt 
 But fairest Psyche still in favour rose 
 
 Christ and his Mother 
 
 Clear and gentle stream 
 
 Close up, bright flow'rs 
 
 Cold is the winter day 
 
 Come gentle sleep, I woo thee . 
 
 Come, rosy angel, thy coronet donning 
 
 Crown Winter with green 
 
 Dear lady, when thou frownest 
 Dreary was winter .... 
 
 Ended arc many days 
 
 Eternal Father, who didst all create . 
 
 Fair lady of learning . 
 
 Fight well, my comrades . 
 
 Fire of heaven, whose starry ari'ow . 
 
 Flame-throated robin .... 
 
 For beauty being the best of all we l<now 
 
 For thou art mine .... 
 
 Gay and lovely is earth 
 Gay Marigold is frolic 
 Gay Robin is seen no more 
 Gird on thy sword, O man 
 Gloom and the night are thine . 
 
 Hark ! the world is full of thy praise. 
 Hark to the merry birds . 
 Hark ! what spirit doth entreat . 
 Haste on, my joys .... 
 Heavy meanwhile at lieart 
 His poisoned shafts .... 
 How coud I quarrel or blame you 
 How fares it, friend, since I 
 How well my eyes remember . 
 
 I cai-e not if I live 
 
 I climb the mossy bank 
 
 I died in very flow'r . 
 
 If I coud but forget and not recall 
 
 I found to-day out walking 
 
 ( 467 ) 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 I have loved flowers that fade 
 
 I have sown upon the fields 
 
 I heard a linnet courting 
 
 I heard great Hector . 
 
 I know not how I came 
 
 I live on hope .... 
 
 I love all beauteous things 
 
 I love my lady's eyes 
 
 I made another song . 
 
 In all things beautiful 
 
 In autumn moonlight 
 
 I never shall love the snow again 
 
 In midmost length of hundred-citied Crete 
 
 In still midsummer night . 
 
 In the golden glade . 
 
 In thee my spring of life . 
 
 In this May-month 
 
 In this neglected, ruin'd edifice . 
 
 In ways of beauty and peace 
 
 I praise the tender flower . 
 
 I saw the Virgin-mother 
 
 I stand on the cliff 
 
 I travel to thee with the sun's first rays 
 
 I will be what God made me 
 
 I will not let thee go . 
 
 I wish'd to sing thy grace . 
 
 I would be a bird 
 
 Je donnerais pour revivre a vingi ans 
 Joy, sweetest lifeborn joy . 
 
 Let praise devote thy w^ork 
 
 Let us, as by this verdant bank . 
 
 Long are the hours the sun is above 
 
 Look down the river . 
 
 Look I Look ! the spring is come 
 
 Love not too much 
 
 Love on my heart from heaven fell 
 
 Love that I know 
 
 Love to Love calleth . 
 
 Lo where the virgin veiled in airy beams 
 
 Man, born of desire 
 
 Man, born to toil .... 
 
 ( 468 ) 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 Man hath with man . 
 
 Mortal though I be, yea ephemeral 
 
 My bed and pillow are cold 
 
 My delight and thy delight 
 
 My eyes for beauty pine 
 
 My lady pleases me and I please her 
 
 Myriad-voiced Queen 
 
 My soul is drunk with joy . 
 
 My spirit kisseth thine 
 
 My spirit sang all day 
 
 My Afearied heart 
 
 No ethical system, no contemplation 
 
 Nothing is joy without thee 
 
 Now all the windows 
 
 Now in wintry delights 
 
 Now joy in all hearts 
 
 Now since to me altho' by thee refused 
 
 Now thin mists temper 
 
 bold majestic downs 
 
 O flesh and blood, comrade to tragic pain , 
 
 O golden Sun, whose ray . 
 
 O heavenly fire, life's life 
 
 O Love, I complain .... 
 
 O Love, my muse 
 
 O miserable man 
 
 O my goddess divine 
 
 O my life's mischief . 
 
 O my uncared-for songs 
 
 O my vague desires . 
 
 Once I would say 
 
 One grief of thine 
 
 On the Hellenic board of Crete's fair isle 
 
 Open for me the gates of delight 
 
 O that the earth, or only this fair isle 
 
 O thou unfaithful 
 
 O weary pilgrims 
 
 .0 youth whose hope is high 
 
 Perfect little body 
 
 Poor withered rose . 
 
 Power eternal, power unknown 
 
 Rejoice, ye dead 
 
 ( 469 ) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 447 
 373 
 339 
 286 
 202 
 
 394 
 46 
 298 
 281 
 220 
 
 425 
 199 
 
 340 
 411 
 
 439 
 193 
 304 
 
 . 251 
 
 • 197 
 . 261 
 
 40 
 
 • 335 
 . 286 
 
 • 37 
 204 
 
 ■ 205 
 
 . 212 
 
 46, 264 
 
 210 
 
 • 375 
 
 • 137 
 401 
 
 72 
 
 • 273 
 . 198 
 . 280 
 
 267 
 
 . 228 
 
 403 
 
 196, 401 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 Resound ! Resound ! To jubilant music ring 
 Riding adown Ihe country lanes 
 
 Sad, sonibi'e place 
 
 Say wlio be tliese 
 
 Say wlio is this with silvered hair 
 
 See, Love, a year is pass'd 
 
 See, whirling snow . 
 
 Sense with keenest edge unused 
 
 Since I believe in God 
 
 Since not the enamour'd sun 
 
 Since now from woodland mist 
 
 Since then 'tis only pity looljing back 
 
 Since thou, O fondest and truest 
 
 Since to be loved endures 
 
 Since we loved .... 
 
 Sometimes when my lady sits by me 
 
 .So sweet love seemed 
 
 Spirit of grace and beauty 
 
 Spring goeth all in white . 
 
 Spring hath her own bright days 
 
 Sweet compassionate tears 
 
 Tears of love, tears of joy 
 
 The birds that sing on autumn eves 
 
 The cliff-top has a carpet . 
 
 The clouds have left the sky 
 
 The dark and serious angel 
 
 The day begins to droop . 
 
 Thee fair Poetry oft hath sought 
 
 The evening darkens over . 
 
 The fabled sea-snake, old Leviathan 
 
 The full moon from her cloudless skies 
 
 The green corn waving in the dale 
 
 The hill pines were sighing 
 
 The idle life I lead 
 
 The image of thy love 
 
 The lonely season in lonely lands 
 
 The north wind came up . 
 
 The pinks along my garden walks 
 
 The poets were good teachers . 
 
 There is a hill .... 
 
 There 's many a would-be poet 
 
 ( 47° ) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 393 
 
 342 
 
Index of Fh'st Lines 
 
 There was no lad handsomer . 
 
 The saddest place ..... 
 
 The sea keeps not the Sabbath day . 
 
 The sea with melancholy war . 
 
 These grey stones have rung with mirth . 
 
 These meagre rhymes .... 
 
 The sickness of desire .... 
 
 The snow lies sprinkled on the beach 
 
 The south wind rose at dusk 
 
 The spirit's eager sense .... 
 
 The storm is over ..... 
 
 The summer trees are tempest-torn . 
 
 J'he upper skies are palest blue 
 
 The very names of things belov'd 
 
 The whole world now is but the minister 
 
 The wood is bare ..... 
 
 The work is done 
 
 The world comes not to an end . 
 
 The world still goeth about to shew and hide 
 
 They that in play can do the thing they would 
 
 They wer' amid the shadows 
 
 This world is unto God a work of art 
 
 Thou art a poet, Robbie Burns . 
 
 Thou didst deligiit my eyes 
 
 Thou dimpled Millicent .... 
 
 Thousand threads of rain .... 
 
 Thou vainly, O Man, self-deceiver 
 
 Thus to be humbled ..... 
 
 Thus to thy beauty ..... 
 
 To me, to me, fair hearted Goddess, come 
 
 To my love I whisper .... 
 
 To us, O Queen of sinleSs grace 
 
 Truest-hearted of early friends . 
 
 Turn, O return 
 
 'Twas on the very day winter took leave . 
 
 Voyaging northwards 
 
 Wanton with long delay .... 
 Weep not to-day ..... 
 We left the city when the summer day 
 What happy bonds together unite you 
 What is sweeter than new-mown hay 
 
 ( 471 ) 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 ' What think you, sister' . 
 
 What voice of gladness 
 
 When Death to cither shall come 
 
 When first I saw thee, dearest . 
 
 When iirst we met . 
 
 When from the lowest ebbing . 
 
 When I see childhood 
 
 When June is come . 
 
 When men were all asleep 
 
 When my love was away 
 
 When parch'd with thirst . 
 
 When sometimes in an ancient house 
 
 When thou didst give thy love to me 
 
 When thou, my beloved, diedst 
 
 When to my lone soft bed 
 
 Wherefore to-night so full of care 
 
 Where San Miniato's convent 
 
 Where thou art better I too were 
 
 Wliile Eros in his chamber hid his tears 
 
 While yet we wait for spring 
 
 Whither, O splendid ship . 
 
 Who builds a ship 
 
 Who has not walked upon the shore 
 
 Who takes the census of the living dead 
 
 Why art thou sad 
 
 Why hast thou nothing 
 
 Why, O Maker of all 
 
 Will Love again awake 
 
 Winter was not unkind 
 
 With mild eyes agaze' 
 
 Ye blessed saints 
 Ye Spartan mothers . 
 Ye thrilled me once . 
 
 (473 )