PR A- i'??szi,. The date shows when this volume vifis taken. HOME USE RULES. Books not: needed for instruction or re- search are returnable iwittain 4 weeks. Volumes of periodi- cals and of pamphlets are held in the library as much as possible. For special purposes they are given out for a limited time. Borrowers should not use their library privileges for the bene- fit of other perfons. Books not needed during recess periods should be returned to the library^r arrange- ments made for their return during borrow- er's absence, if wanted. Books needed by more thaii one person are held on the reserve list. Books of special value and ^ft books, when the giver wishes it,' are not allowed to circulate. Cornell University Library PR 5059.M424T5 Through the postern; poems. 3 1924 013 527 514 Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013527514 THROUGH THE POSTERN. PUBLISHED BV JAMES MACLEHOSE AND SONS, GLASGOW, ^ixblxshexs to the Embcrsitg. MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON AND NEW YORK. London^ . . Simpkin^ Marshall^ Hantiltan, Kent, aiui Co., Limited. Cambridge^ . . J/acmiilan aiid Bmues. Edinburgh, . . Douglas aiid Foulis. MDCCCXCT. THROUGH THE POSTERN POEMS BY WALTER MORISON D.D GLASGOW JAMES MACLEHOSE & SONS ^ttblxs\xexs to the SniUtirsitB 1891 D C0 JHj) buss ^Jf« h»* hsJH it Poatern-gate, 'iEhfoxtsIt tDhich, at tnrning of th' infrcijacnt htg ®t Irisure, i hatie 0txil«n to iPotaj), aahwf, ths floor twmth tatth roac-Ifabcs, she has sat* irt htbiifn arbour: on her simple state Jfair things attending, hright-igel) rtberenttj. JIotB at her feet stcetcheb reatfitl, then for me "SThe knotktng tDort& at mj) ioor might toait. I mnscft in th' iblesst of the noon-tiie air, glnli if somf faitcg rose on jetofllcli toings, i prickeb it flntteriitg to the tablets there, Jfor thx sottl's *ahin*t of pretious things. ^otd brail) I forth that to Suhieh hapis rltngs SUtm'xp, of ^atnr< '«tts*b totth frxnu of irager. CDNTENTS. ^ (3romm0tt Jifs: reminiscences and reflec- tions, iSottttfts— OUR UNKNOWN POETS, . MY BUSINESS FRIEND, . Page ss 56 58 59 THE YELLOW-STEMMED PINE, ^7 THE PAST, . . . . A "NEW THING" THE NAMELESS LOCH, 6q A SPRING FANCY, 6 1 THE SNOW-PATCH, . . 62 INFL UENCE OF EARLY MEMORIES, g^ THE RETURN, ... . 64 TO DR. W. B. ROBERTSON OF IRVINE, 6$ TO THE LATE PROFESSOR GRAHAM, 66 69 7o viii CONTENTS. ^onitcfs — Continued. Page " WHITE LONDON," 67 COUNTRY AND TOWN, . 68 THE FOREST-BL UE, AFTER A STORM: MORNING, .... BUT A .SANDHILL, . . -71 THE IDEAL DA Y, 72 A SCENE IN MIDSUMMER, . . 73 THE MYSTERY OF THE SUFFERING CHILD, 74 EVENING WORSHIP, 76 "WHO DID SIN!" . 77 OLD WELL NEAR GRAVESEND, 78 AT NETHY BRIDGE, INVERNESS-SHIRE, -jg CAIRNGORM, . . 80 ON KERRERA, . . 81 BEN CRUACHAN,. ... 82 ^7- OBAN, ... . 83 AT BRIXHAM, TORBAY, . . g^ O.A'' INQUIRING THE WAY AT AN OLD FORCE, DEVON, . 85 A REMOTE WATERFALL, 86 AT THE CASTLE OF THE WARTBURG, . 87 WAITI 88 AT CHALFONT ST. GILES, BUCKINGHAMSHIRE, 90 91 92 93 CONTENTS. ix ^Dnn£t£ — Continued. pAGE TO A COMET, ON INCHINNAN BRIDGE, A T HURSTMONCEUX CASTLE, PRIMROSE BAY: A PROTEST, . 94 AT RUNNYMEDE, . . 05 ON A FORMER BUSINESS COAT OF ARMS, . 96 AT GIRVAN, .... 97 THE HANDEL FESTIVAL, 1885, . gg AT THE WATERSMEET, LYNMOUTH, loo ON AN EARNEST FACE AT A GOSPEL MEETING, 102 IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, MARCH, 1885, 103 "BLIND," .... 104 LUX E TENEBRIS, . IO5 lONA 106 STAFFA 107 STONEHENGE AND SALISBURY CATHEDRAL, 108 GLASGOW EXHIBITION, im, . I09 A SAINT no AGE AND YOUTH, . . Ill AT BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, 112 ALL THINGS ARE OF THEE, . . I13 THE POET'S TEACHERS, . II4 X CONTENTS. ifttaccllnrtfotts Jpofins— ^ Page A SMILE, . . W] MESSENGERS, . . 120 SIMPLE HAPPINESS, . . . . . I23 IN A SUBURBAN STREET, . . 125 A WINTER MORNING 127 A VANISHED SCENE ON THE CLYDE, 129 A NEW EARLY SUMMER, . . 131 SIMPLE WISDOM, .... ■ ■ 133 THE IGNORANT PEASANT, . I35 THIS GREA T SIGHT, . . 137 WHERE IS THY GOD '. 139 ON AN OLD FOR TRAIT, 144 5;'(Eiitir)i ; to ailsa rock. 147 ^ ffiotnmott Witt •■ REMINISCENCES AND REFLECTIONS. ^ Cormmcrn ^ifo. What have I done in the world ? I have Hved. ' What been ? A man. 'Tis more to be a man Than a great man : to think and feel and do, Than think, feel, do a little better. More The mass of the mountain range than the one peak Uplifted on its shoulders and woTrld-named. Instead of great men, give us, God, man great : The whole upheaved, humanity redeemed ! My life's been common : therefore do I write ; From myself telling what my fellows are. He's most the poet who is most the man, Knowing life's burden heaviest : carbon plain A 2 A COMMON LIFE. Crushed into diamond is sole Shakespeare's mind. Respect the passer-by upon the street ; A human heart is his : the dull outside Of pebble is what you see, but, sorrow-cut, 'Twould glow or sparkle, giving back heaven's light. Yet all are not mere splinters from one rock. But individual, with powers distinct ; That has been given us we must offer up In special service. I do owe't to God To be the man I am of all the crowd. Each of us in the earth of his gross life Holds some thin flakes of gold, it may be hid, The earth the outermost, till trouble wash In to the soul and bare the covered gleam. Gather the particle or two ; they'll add Their httle to the store of the world's wealth. I too have had my thoughts, my soul has stirred At fancy's touch; among the common grass A COMMON LIFE. Of my plain life there has, half hidden, grown A daisy or a violet here or there. Gently a breeze rose this soft summer morn : And now it swelled, and now it sank again ; One moment it stole warmly from the south, Another round yon bush curled from the west, With it a leaf soft lighting lil^e a bird. Scent from the bean-field, freshness from the sea, Wood-smoke from cottage, fitfully it bore. "Such," said I to my soul, "will be the breath That bears my verse: a variable wind, Carrying some leaf, some scent, of memory." I'm my own public; my own critic too. Time was, perhaps, when I might faintly dream My memory would leaf above my grave, Green for a season; now I little reck 4 A COMMON LIFE. What others think of me : I know myself. I sing much as the thrush trills to his mate, Of love the song expressive, not of art ; Or, as not bird, but man with power to know Of beauty, be there music in the notes, I'm glad because of it the while I sing. "Set down the score, then," says my heart to me, "That you may sing it o'er some later day, And one or two perhaps, of kindred soul. May say, 'These are my thoughts, so have I felt'; Joining their voices pleased in symphony." Seated upon a nurse's knee, a child Some two years old, having put on my hand A worsted mitten (still I seem to see't. And feel it fleecy soft, and know again The pride of being dressed so fine) ; that is The simple shell I first find on the shore A COMMON LIFE. 5 Of memory. It was a little world, And I a citizen small, nay, king on throne. The woolly glove was happiness to me ; Fellow I was of kitten on the floor Clawing with simple glee the worsted ball. I understand its status and its peace, And can bless lowly creatures in my heart ; I for a while did share their little life About the steps that led me up to man. Next dimly the uplifting mists disclose A tiny figure barefoot, held by the frock Scarcely within the selvage of the surf, At the sea side. The wavelets as they came, How large they seemed, threatening the ventured foot; Which quick withdraws at the cold-douching plash. And then, full bold, bottoms the sand again. And I wade out — how far to childish eye ! 6 A COMMON LIFE. Ah, I have known since then this was my life Pre-figured : how, held by another's hand, I played within the marge of being's sea, Knowing not its wide circle, or its storms Heart-wrecking. Since then I have been, unheld. Swimming far out, and feeling at my mouth Trouble's big billows salt, which near o'erwhelmed Me, sinking in no looker's pitying sight; With not a bell from my last breath, distinct From the white waste of general woe, to tell A corpse had downward sloped beneath time's shelves. What I remember after this was weird And gruesome : 'twas the first cholera time. I mind me yet how from the evening dusk. In field hard by my home, red fires glared out Like monster's eyes, and smoke from smouldering heaps A COMMON LIFE. 7 Came in foul whirls. 'Twas burning of the beds Of the plague's victims ! How I, at my age, Had knowledge of the meaning of the scene Rerabrandtesque, I cannot bring back to mind; But all the years since then have had their leaves Specked by the memory; awe entered me. I was too young to think, but much I felt Unquestioning. The smoke strewed on my soul A soil of mystery, on which some seeds Did fall, to germinate in after time. From that year's haze stands up in sun-smit peak Another memory, which fed with streams My coming life. Set upon shoulder strong Of elder brother, in some vantage spot Of public green, I saw a procession pass In honour of the winning of Reform. 8 A COMMON LIFE. Trades followed trades, with their insignia And blazoned banners, 'mid platoons of cheers. My soul was stirred as then I did not know : 1 only saw those waving flags, and heard That tramp of men, those cries. And still to-day I see the crowds, I hear the far-off roar. " Reform " was stamped on my unconscious soul, And bides a flesh-mark ; and that tramp of feet Has grown a prophecy of marching minds. Speak to the young soul lofty principles ! Gild them upon your banners ! Utter loud Great truths, incarnate them in noble deeds ! And God's elect of childhood will perceive Unknowing; and at epochs new will bud In effectual calling, fruit in works of faith, The plant of heaven set in the true heart's soil ! 1 know not when it was ; I might be eight. A COMMON LIFE. 9 Upon a summer day I played alone Near to my father's house. And all at once, As if a flame had broke through a heaped fire, A brightness lit my soul, and to myself I said, " I'm happy ! " and I wished a friend, Whose name I inly spoke, might chance to pass And see me as I was ; so full of peace ! Not since have I like feeling had so pure. ■ Now, if the day be bright, I faithless say, "'Twill darken soon !" if a fair child I see Asleep in its cradle, straight its sunny face Is craped with the shadow. — "Ah, this time next year Its sleep may know no waking, the grave's worm May creep across a cheek that does not feel ! " Knowing, I dread now; that hour long ago, I felt and feared not: self-forgettingness Rich self-possessing : then " eternal life " — 10 .A COMMON LIFE. Being, without to-morrows or yesterdays — Was tasted by me in prophetic draught. Its sweetness bides within life's bitterness. Later, one summer Sabbath eve, what year I wot not. All too full of life was I To think of time. Angels live not by weeks ; No sun to thin gold days shreds their one life. Walk close with Christ, and till the journey's o'er, You will not know 'tis evening : you will ask, Did not our heart burn in us by the way? The window to the north-west opened wide. And I sat gazing. The sky met my look : We caught each other's eyes. Liquid the blue. And in it lay becalmed a far-spread fleet Of many clouds : some stately, turreted, Their .solid sides against the clear relieved, Some small, hke little boats at anchor held. A COMMON LIFE. 1 1 Slowly they changed : great islands were outspread, Fantastic creatures couching or rampant showed. The sky was azure washed with green and gold — God's easy fresco on heaven's western wall. I looked intent, my mind sat at my eyes; Of poetry I knew not, scarce of awe ; But both were in my soul in that fine hour; The sky a prophet's writing was to me — That beauty is an attribute of God. Long did I sit and gaze till slowly out Died the gold glory. Then the after-glow Flashed up like diver, bringing pearls of stars. The light is mystic, nor can ever fade. I watched the rain one day, in midsummer. The ground was dry and dust-white. In the porch Of a farm-house I stood. First some broad drops Starred the stained dust, then lost themselves updrank. 12 A COMMON LIFE. Some moments' pause, then warm gouts glistening fall Like lighting gold-flies. Fast and faster come The impetuous pellets, lost in the floury ground, Which blackens and smells fresh to my quick sense. And now fine mist of moisture dusks the scene — Trees, barn-roofs, hedges, cattle, veiled and dim. Earth drinks its fill, and drinks my soul refreshed. How hot the summer days of that young time 1 The sun was not then old, nor did it touch With bloodless hand. Its ardours fierce I felt Flung on my face on roadside patch of green. When I could walk no farther on my way Home from the village church one afternoon. I could not even drag me to the shade. But where I sank lay till my comrades passed Out of my sight; when, pricked by the childish fear Of being alone, I rose and followed them. j4 common life. 13 'Twas in the country, where, some happy times, We went in summer to a homely farm. Within its pleasant bounds there was a brook I well remember, all its name, "The Burn." Hidden it was by hazels ; here and there Cliffs showing, fetlocked deep with grass and ferns. Up in the thick-wove shade there was a linn, Black-red as blood : scarce would we venture near. But in an opener space, where in gold stains The sunshine lay, we'd seek with sudden hand The infant trout, that on an eddied shoal Of cinnamon sand, lay still as a sunk leaf A capture I made once, and feel to-day The cold thing in my palm, and see its spots. Crimson and small, dotting the pallid brown; And I start yet, as it makes one leap more, When I had thought that it had gaped its last. 14 A COMMON LIFE. In town,* what then the summer day but length Of light for boyish games, or for late run To Kelvin, rural still, for evening bathe ? Unmarked, though seen, the light among the leaves, Sheen of the stream, the glory of the eve — Miser with years, I count the treasure now — All that we thought was — " Is there time to go ? " And "Will the stream be deep?" had there been rains ; Or "Will it be too cold?" and "Who could swim Across, and who could not?" And, chief of all, "Would certain dogs at gate which we must skirt, Be loose or no ? " It was a foolish fear, But real : sooner had we passed church-yard. Ah, we were boys, and it was long ago ! Grown men, we have feared since, more foolishly. And we have lost the wisdom of the boy — * Glasgow. A COMMON LIFE. 15 Of living in the present in God's world As it lies all about us for a boon. I thank thee, Teacher, for thy "Take no thought!" Give me to use, not question about use, Or structure, or the barren How or Why ! I chanced to see within a cabinet One day a curio most beautiful — A leaf from which the tissue had been purged, Leaving a skeleton of frame-work fine, Net exquisite of midrib and branched veins That ran into each other, creamy-white. But 'twas no living leaf! Its fragrance fresh, Its fulness, softness, colouring, twittering, gone I Would a bird know it? It is in its place There in glass shade on shelf, its neighbours urns With ashes of dead things in them. My God, Give to me back, with age's measuring mind, My boyhood's heart, that knowing I may be, 1 6 A COMMON LIFE. And that the substantial world I have learned To analyze, I may possess complete — Thy synthesis of sun and moon and stars, And hill and vale, and shimmer of the sea. And wafted perfumes, and the song of birds, And the leaf living on the sap-filled bough ! What bliss it was in the vacation time To leave the grim grey town for the seaside ! What talk before, what preparations made — Purchase of fishing-lines, on square frame wound, With " sinker " of bright lead, precious as gold ; Fitting of toy-boats with new masts or sails. Or helm or keel, and many a pleasant care ! Then in the steamboat on the eventful mom Of voyaging Columbus' soul was ours. The sharp bell makes its last imperative call, The gangway grates withdrawn, the rope's unlooped A COMMON LIFE. 17 From holding-post, its end dropped in the stream, And straight inhauled by sturdy " hand," and wound In cobra-circles on the deck bedript. Now beat the paddles and the quay flies back : We are away ! And soon, beyond the smoke And din of hammers in the shipyards, fields In sunshine spread, with cattle grazing calm. Then hills uprise, and the firth opens out From where Dumbarton Rock stands sentinel. The flood grows green, with bells of yeasty white At prow and paddles, seething with soft sound. Now sea-birds circle slow behind the stem, Or slope their wings for sudden downward swoop. Wind-like their shriek : Ha ! we are far away From the close town, like the wild sea-gulls free. We feel the wind's hand at our lifted hair. Higher the hills and wilder, and the firth. Lake-like and wide, white glistens in the noon. B 1 8 A COMMON LIFE. Past Cloch and rough heights of Lochlong, we leave Far on right hand dim Cowal, and sail south ; Arran o'er Cum brae grand and shapely seen. Loosed now from Largs, we hold expecting way To the one love of our untravelled hearts, Millport I — let it be named as dear one dead; For dead is most that blessed it : though embalmed ! Close to the island's coast-line do we keep : There the red rocks, the dark-maned " lion " there, Couched ever, looking up on the low hill. Round Farland Point, stretched like protecting arm. We're calm within the bay, as now my soul. Winter too had its charms : for the young boy. Sliding with glee, his face red like the sun's ; Then for him, older grown, walking abroad. With eye unfilmed by grossness or thick sense. Rime over all the fields ! the green shown through ; A COMMON LIFE. 19 Shed brown leaves sugared ; each sharp lance of grass Fine-crystalled; where a foot of passer-by Has left its print, lies a fresh stain of green ; Here, where the rain had gathered, a spread pool Is glazed with ice, the ground seen brown below : White crust in thinner parts : and, as I slide With one wise foot, sudden round air-bells shift; Or if the heel rest on the doubtful sheet A moment, hark ! it cracks, starred like a pane. Red with his struggle 'gainst the morning mists, The sun is free, and clearing his flushed face. Looks kingly round, and where his strong eye falls. The usurper frost straight yields, and the freed grass Weeps gratitude. But here, still in the shade, Those bits of broken straw are glued to the ground. Each finer-feathered than young dove's white breast ; And this worn foot-spar of old wooden stile Is silver, fairy princess might step on. 20 A COMMON LIFE. I saw it all; think not youth's eyes range wide Unnoticing : I saw, and now perceive. To-day a west wind smote my cheek, and fresh Smelled the March ground, which to my printing foot Felt firmer after the long-soddening rains. A simple thing ; no need for coloured words. And yet to me th' experience slight has been Magician's wand to wave me back my youth. Just such a cool touch on the cheek, and such A sense of foot that pressed half-stiffened clay. Have Uved in me : a small amid great things Preserved, as in Pompeii by crust Of ashes some plain jar near human form. And more ! rise deeper meanings from the things : The touch is from cold fingers of the dead ; The foot-fall is upon the earth of graves ; Old spring-times are in this new March ; to-day's A £OMMON LIFE. 21 Daisies root in the mound of buried years. The past returns on us; make holy then The present; for from the far under-world, At beckoning of some finger of event, Will rise its ghost for witness on thy soul ! The scenes of nature were as yet to me But sights, not signs : still was the picture all. Though that was wonderful ; it took my love. Not given yet to woman or to God. Some meanings too it had, while yet of grace No sacrament ; imagination 'gan to lift Its tinctured wings in my warm youth's spring air. Rainbow that sashed the breast of Ethiop cloud, Snow-flakes thick whirling 'gainst the gloom, a joy Were to me ; or in frost-clear night new moon Held up in lake of blue, as in the tale,* . * " Morte d' Arthur." — Tennyson. 2 2 A COMMON LrFE. Excalibur, or with the old moon clasped Like acorn in its cup; red clouds black-barred, Fire within cresset glowing; or a bush That burned with sunset and was not consumed ; Or arching wave foam-crested, motes of weed Or tangle in its amber, whole a breath, Then clashing in a crystal dust of spray — Such influences stirred me, like a wind Rippling my spirit, as they had erewhile Raised great still waves in Wordsworth's spacious soul. Not he, or Burns, or Thomson, Byron, Keats ; Or Cowper, Milton — my home's household gods — Taught me to look at Nature ; her own eye Drew my heart from me in a fond first love. But books grew dear to me, as if they were Inscriptions on the trees cut by her, dropt A COMMON LIFE. 23 Love-missives : these with rapture I perused When with my mistress' self I might not walk 'Neath the soft moon or in the pensive dusk Of mid-day wood. From them I learned to know Her inner soul. I had but loved her face Before, or flushed or pale ; slave to her eyes, Sun-bright or their long lashes hung with wet. But now to my instructed spirit showed The deep things of her hidden mind, the signs Which all sights are to him who has the key — How things are double one against another. And this is the meaning of that. There burst Fronj the dun bud, which had been close, a bloom Of bright analogies. A prophetess Nature became to me, like Miriam : Clashing her cymbals in the glorious storms. Singing her sacred anthem in all sounds ! 24 A COISIMON LIFE. My youth was pure in me, the outer world I loved for itself, I cast a simple eye On ajl creation, glad, unquestioning. The morning air was sweet, the north wind's touch. Cold on the cheek, was strength, quick'ning the walk ; The mountains were a glory : standing black Sharp silhouetted 'gainst the liquid eve, Or with grey mist monk-hooded, or their sides Dappled like deers' by shadows of the clouds, Or dark-sashed by a wood of pines, long drawn (3'er breast and shoulder. And the impetuous streams, That, to the pibroch of their motions wild. Dashed to the lowlands, caught me in their joy And bore my spirit with them. The roused sea Grand in its roar — what time the hands of storm Freed from its prison the ancient phonograph Of God's voice when He said, " Let the earth be !" And the earth was — a prophet of the great A COMMON LIFE. 25 And the sublime proved to me. Ah, fresh mould Of youth, untramped as yet by satyrs' feet, Would thou didst still clothe soft my manhood's mind ! My thoughts to-day be as the useful worms, Taking the past, absorbing, 'fining it, And throwing it to life's surface in new soil ! I did not question, sceptical, but much I mused. " Nature, thou art not all ? " I asked. And this her answer : " I am nothing, God Is all in all. I am a bubble blown By His great breath, of iridescence fair; And such are all the shining worlds. We float In th' element of His will our little while; We minister, by beauty and order true, To spiritual beings, who will 'dure When we have melted back into God's palm. I teach thee Him ! " I bent my young brow bared. 26 ^ COMMON LIFE. Early I learned Thee, God, and in Thee found The key of nature, reason, and my heart. Thy mystery did not confound me : what But mystery could'st Thou be, since Thou art God, Thy " excess of bright " making thick haze of gold ! Thee to deny were to deny myself In my deep being, which asserts Thou art — The stamp which shows the Die from which it came — I need and have Thee, and do know Thee sure. Nor in cold being only: Thou art Light; And, what had doubtful fallen from Nature's lips, Spoke clear by Him who came to us from Thee To tell us all Thy heart, 1 also name — I call Thee Love ! I know Thee Father kind, And great as kind, whose ways are not as ours, Since higher, on dread plane of perfectness. The letters of the word which names Thee Love — A COMMON LIFE. 27 Illuminated word, of colours rich — Are each deep-shaded, yet they spell the word : The shading black to the tear-cleanst^d eye Making it stand out clear, confessor bold. From its small pulpit-crevice in the rock The harebell leans and preaches to me God Who cares for great and little, and expends An Artist's love on everything He makes, A Parent's care on all He brings to life. I bless Him that I have been taught to know His perfect being as the Pharos light White on the night's dark billows I He is thought, And love, and justice, power; on the one throne Of Nature sitteth Character and Might. To bless thee in thy need He bids conspire All influences of the universe — I plucked of the grapes of Pleiades last night And was refreshed ! — and did their virtue not 2 8 A COMMON LTI'E. Suffice thee, there still slumbers in His arm Unspent omnipotence, which would awake. Great God ! the lowly know Thee and draw near : In Thee the sparrow, fearless, unashamed, Has its pert being, pecks from Thine opened hand While Thou lookst smiling ; and against Thy foot The kitten rubs herself, purring her plea; Thou art not angry with the jackdaw, that Upon Thy church's steeple he sits black, And croaks his dissonance with the anthem grand Which hearts of men heave high in offering Up to Thy shrine ! Because Thou art most great Thou none despisest, to Thee nothing's mean. Opens Thy heart hke violet's, and lo ! In the dark velvet's centre burneth calm A star of gold : love upon mystery ! My God, I bring the oblation of my joy That I did know Tliee early, and have learned A COMMON LIFE. 29 To be familiar with Thee, as Thy child. My Elder Brother taught me, when He came To tell us we had misconceived Thy heart. Guilty, we knew Thee righteously displeased And thought Thou didst not love us any more : Mixing the true with false; but when Thy Son, Heart of Thy heart, came down to bear the brunt Of what our sin had brought us — be a Rock Against the storm, within whose ample cave, Strong-walled, we could while the blast beat be calm- Wonder rose in us, clarifying quick To adoration, and we loved Thy name Righteous and merciful, our Father-God ! 'Twas like Thee to create. Fulness of Life ! And like Thee to redeem. Fulness of Love ! Ah, Shepherd-heart, that from the ninety-and-nine Turns to the one that wanders on the wild ! See how that mother hastes at her child's cry. 30 A COMMON LIFE. Whom she could leave alone while stringing flowers And babbling to them in its simple joy ; And righteous God, who hast had children, Thine Is the prime Parent-heart, that pitieth. And Thou art holy and the Lord of all — Wilt Thou have sin within Thy kingdom's gates ? Sin more than sorrow pitying, as worse woe. And worse than woe, Thou'dst purge it from the soul ! Holy, Thou'dst holy make, loving, wouldst save; In us the need, therefore in Thee the boon ; In us the ill-desert, the righteousness With Thee, and the sweet grace, which blot with blood. Warm from Thy heart, the sentence on our souls. The cross is the wise method of Thy love In man's redemption : lo the tree of life ! ■Where sap of pity and strong righteousness Runs to the fruit of a salvation just. A COMMON UPE. 31 I pluck and eat and ray dead soul revives. Behind the tree I saw a glory burn, An orb white-dazzling; but the screening leaves Broke up the terror, and my eye could look, And lo ! there rose upon the blinding disc A cloud of the smoke of sacrifice, and I Could bear the awful glory unconsumed ! So was it at the first in my new life ; But now such sense of pardoning grace so long Have I enjoyed, that almost I forget I've been forgiven, or ever did not love ! We live by illusions : one is creature love. Where Eve is there is Eden; she a spell Throws over all, which makes earth's rusty ball A paradise, gold-glancing for a while. Love is that light ne'er seen on sea or shore, Since in the heart it dwells invisible. 32 A COMMON LIFE. Making the beauty which it thinks it sees. Peculiar bliss ! thrill of a spirit chord Before unfingered ! There's a joy from flowers, A glory in far view from mountain top — Where lower hills, and plains deep down, and lakes, And silver links of stream do dreamhke show; By music the soul's moved to ecstasy; As light in cottage window in the dark Is a mother's eye, and sweet the tender touch Of a young sister's sympathetic hand — But they're not love, these feelings of the soul ! Or even of kin to it ; it is itself, With raptures and sweet sorrows all its own. Ah, those dear days when, from the darksome street Beheld, a shadow shifting on a blind Touched the soft soul to blissfulness, and made Your heart say to itself, " It is her form 1 " Or casual meeting on the road sent back A COMMON LIFE. 33 The blood upon its fountain, and one look From eyes soft-lifted taught you Dante's heart When sunshine came with Beatrice's face ! Alas ! the shadow of the neighbouring yew Palls the bright grass and lies across the beds Of pinks and roses red with the flush of life. Over my mom, the dew still on its joys, Came in cold cloud the mystery of death. The mother from our home — her quiet ways Familiar like the ticking of the clock Upon the wall, which ever filled the house With its most peaceful music — sudden passed : No more to move amongst us ; hushed the sound Domestic ; and the silence awed our steps. 'Tis now a mellow grief, a solemn joy; Time has embalmed the smile upon her face; But that first sight of the still, stiffened form, c 34 A COMMON LIFE. The movelessness of the white lips, that ne'er Would part to speak to us, the icy chill From the thin fingers, which had touched us warm, Thridding the tangle of our pleased hair — I know them yet, and wonder at my peace ! Are there not pleasant ghosts? One came to me — Or was't a dream' which all the griming years Have not bedimmed? In her accustomed place My mother sat, knitting with useful yarn And smiling on us. I beamed back with joy, I learned what simple bliss the soul can feel. Ay, and what grief renewed is ! I awoke The vision gone, and round me the grey day. 'Tis natural a little child should sleep, And easy for it, though the sleep be death. So do I comfort me among the years Over the little one whom God first took. A COMMON LIFE. 35 I seem to see the " Good Night ! " which the eyes, Weary with weakness, looked me ere they closed, And I wait for " Good Morning ! " with calm hope. Later, the foe came in a sterner shape. A preacher I had been, vendor of words. And much had spoke of death, comforting souls. And thought not that I offered empty pods; When God flung down a sudden lightning flash Upon the page whereon the words were writ : — "As one that is in bitterness for a firstborn!" Deep was the meaning scored into my soul. For the first-born was mine. Up from the book The bolt leaped to my heart, smiting it soft And powerless : scarce I uncover now The spot which tells where the shaft passed unseen. It was in winter, the year's foremost month, Severe : snow over all the land lay white. 36 A COMMON LIFE. And this year brings it back, a decade gone. 'Tis white again ; nor is it strange that I Should see another whiteness — of the sliroud And trappings of a young man's funeral. There is a mound where the snow lies to-day — I mark it o'er four hundred miles, and sigh. But spring is on its way, and the sad boughs Will laugh again in roses : what we left In the wintry ground, was not a withered leaf, Whirled to the clay to rot, but a quick seed To germinate and send up a white flower. That headstone is writ rough with other names ! — Of parents : whom I bless in gratitude ; And of a child who, when three black-robed months Had pac^d slow after our first-born's hearse, ^Vas also called to pass through the dark gates. April had come, and flowers and the young lambs A COMMON LIFE. jy Were out, and hope was in the soft'ning air; But still she faded, for the earlier frost Had chilled the life-sap in its hidden roots. At last a day came* which made England grave, For a great man passed on it to his Judge; But little did I mark the large event — The register by other record filled — That was the day our loved one lost the light From her large eyes. They had been dimmed with tears (Ah, father's child !) when told she could not live : Most human tears, which did not wholly dry From the drenched lashes — nor were unillumed By ray from the far land ! Her father's child In natural fear, her greater Father's more In trust that took her weeping to His arms ! *l9th April, 1881. 38 ^ COMMON LIFE. 'Twas spring-time, and wise faith has asked me since — In death did not there burst another flower? The fire's my garden in this wintry time. I glance without, and all lies white with snow. Accented strong by sooty trunks of trees, And walls, and gable from whose shoulder cold The vesture white has slipped. There's not a break In all the dull grey sky that bending domes The town. So, from the dingy plot behind On which my window looks, to the red fire. Heaped in the grate, a bank of flowers, I turn. There glows the peony, the marigold, The tiger-lily; that quaint-branching flame's A stag-horn fern, yellow from withering; And here's the blue-peep of a speedwell small From its dark bud. And all toss as in wind. There's life in you, ye children of the coal ; A COMMON LIFE. 39 Ye stir yourselves to cheer me this dull day; Ye speak to me with tongues, " Be glad in God ! " Ye preach me Providence — from dark the bright ; Ye prophesy of summer from the beams Stored in the carbon : sleeping light and heat, To wake as ministers in winter's need. I am a child, and have a Father's care : He sure, whate'er's uncertain ; if our rest Is like the halcyon's upon a wave, Yet we can sleep; the sea is in His palm. A child is free of all his father's house. And into some of its great rooms I've peeped In travel, seeing their rich garnishings. 'Twas from the bridge at Basle I saw the Rhine For the first time. I from its centre gazed In the large moonlight. Leaning o'er the side, I looked at the heaped waters whirling past — 40 A COMMON LIFE. Movement continuous. Sweeping in circles on, The Rhine to me is motion, onwardness.* I call it Time, and think how awfully It rushes yet, while many a moon has waned : Of those who trod the bridge with me that night t All changed : the old passed out from mortal crowds, The middle-aged grown old, to anxious men Turned the young boys who paused by me and gazed. Yet are there others on the bridge to-day; The Rhine is full, and full the stream of life. And shall the river flow, and men who think Fail as the waters that return no more? The being I call mine, my conscious self, A passing flux from a cold glacier — God ! I had been watching from the train, and long * "The great characteristic of a river is onwardneas." — Horatius Bonar. t In 1866. A COMMON LIFE. 41 Full keenly the far sky had scanned in vain. Settling to mood of unexpectingness, I had half turned away my head, when lo ! Something my eye arrested, far off, faint. What is that vision low of billowy white? 'Tis fleece of cloud wind-teased ; or — can it be, That long-swelled wave, the Bernese Oberland ? Nearer we draw, dreamlike yet firm it stands, Nor like a cloud changes or thins away. The snowy Alps ! they touch me from afar, Like Christ at distance healing, in quiet power. It is not height impresses me ; low-sunk, They tell by their remoteness that they're great. They stand a great white reredos in House Of God, before whose lustre mild j^y soul Is held in prayer. I'm at the gate of Heaven ! Another sight scarce less did move my soul, 42 A COMMON LIFE Pleasing by awe, as the far Alps with peace. From Rome to Naples we were journeying, And ere we reached the southern city night Buried the landscape, and there was no moon. Dreary the way till one by chance looked out. And " See ! " exclaimed, pointing with flush of face On to the sky in front, in which there burned A yellow-red too high for earth-fed fire. 'Twas like an orange banner whose tall staff Was hid by smoke, or a cloud-broken moon Of frosty crimson. I had at the time Forgotten it, and so Vesuvius, Sudden revealed, by pressure of surprise Printed itself in colours on my mind. The mount invisible, I saw the blaze Alone, and it lives single in my soul. As if, God's a^vful face by cloud concealed, The Israelite marked but His eye of fire ! A COMMON LIFE. 43 At Rome I sought the piece of solemn ground Where Shelley's heart was still, and Keats sank down Grief-wearied. At a flat low stone of blue With greenery framed, I meditative gaze. I see no words, " John Keats," with reverence graved, But " Here lies one," I read, " whose name was writ In water." So the sad slab moans. Why, then. First of the treasures buried in this field, Has that beneath this flag been by me sought? And why, when from a trance of thought I raise A tear-filmed eye, do I beside me see Others who the same pilgrimage have made. Even through the Atlantic's roar? And how So readily, from my few broken words Italian, did the sexton know my quest? Ah ! as by ours to-day, so reverently By many feet is sought the resting-place 44 '-i COMMON LIFE. Of the soul's son of Spenser. No, not " writ In water " is thy name ! Tear-channelled deep Rather in Anglo-Saxon hearts, a fit Strong tablet, is it cut ! Sleep comforted. The Csesars' Palace ! whether in you Paul stood, He^Emperor, before mean Nero's face ; And, Tre Fontane ! whether you mark the spot Where his grey head rolled at the swordsman's stroke ; — 'Tis doubtful all. But this I surely know : He trod the Appian Way, and his eyes looked Upon the Tiber, and did rest themselves Upon that aqueduct's balm strength, and glean Beauty and power from Alban, Sabine, hills, And peace from the Campagna, a green sea. I gaze on these as he did, and I feel His company ; they are a linked chain A COMMON LIFE. 45 Through which a current runs from him to me : I know the fellowship of saints to-day. I take a book into my hand and read, And as I turn the leaves a stranger tear Visits my eyelids. If you saw the book, You'd wonder at my mood, for 'tis not sad. This is its simple power, that it was read Nigh fifty years ago, when life was young; And now 'tis what is writ between the lines. Or in the margin, all unseen, that moves; In every word association's power Pulsates. My eye falls now upon a phrase Of plainest sort, and it brings back to me The silver laugh of one whose voice long since Was- choked by the grave's mould; and this recalls A summer by the sea, when it was read, As I was taking up in hope and fear 46 A COMMON LIFE. The armour of life's fight, which not unstained Or dinted, I must now full soon put off. Old books have books within them ; on their page Lies touch of after-glow from the set years. And can it be that I am old now, I, The little boy of yesterday? I see Him plain, playing upon the way to school, A roguish light in his brown eye while he A snow-ball throws, then walks demurely on. My father became old, 'twas natural That his hair should turn white, his voice should age ; But an illusion's on you, little folks, That ye should think me venerable grown ! The looking-glass is never true, ridiculous That it should paint me with a grey-beard face ! If I by feelings count, I'm younger turned. Yet are there some things that do seem to lie A COMMON LIFE. 47 Far back within the mists, as if they were Of a state pre-existent ! shadows walk Or sit, thin figures of the long-since dead. Ah, rae ! I know a tomb-stone lichened o'er And air-gnawed, cut with letters out of date — A little child looks wondering at its age — And the worn words tell doubtfully the name Of a coeval, one with large blue eyes Full of the morning, and sun-glinted hair: I hear her laugh yet which said life and joy. Strange that a gravestone in the clay should crush Such violet ! Mystery of mysteries, God ! Up the long steep of life, with boulders rough, And here and there deceitful with soft marsh. Or edged by precipice sheer, or torn across By furious torrent, I have slowly climbed To near the summit. Nor have toiled alone: 48 ^ COMMON LIFE. A gladsome band we were of boys and girls When we set forth from out a father's door And, joined by playmates, sang on our morning way; Breathing the air of pines, pausing to look At bird, or squirrel, or trout in the brown stream ; Resting on bank of thyme, then up and away, Breasting the first heights with a run ! Ah me ! Where is the company? Death-weary, some Were left by the way; others, missing the path. In the thick mists still wander. I now stand Near where the cliff sheers on the farther side. I try to pierce beyond, but glooms that surge And curl about the rock's steep brows, and ope And close again, ever deny my gaze. I know there's farther land, but cannot see; And I am sure I shall be safely borne To the veiled region from this precipice, A COMMON LIFE. 49 Be it by swoop of angel 'neath the soul Bearing it gently in its mystic way. I shall not fear to light: whatever world My foot shall touch, it will be one of God's ; And He's the same for ever, everywhere. A little babe, unchoosing, I did find Myself in this fit house of Earth, with place For me in it, a warm and soft-lined nest. My small weak hand was grasped by one full strong And gentle, my blind whimpering mouth Was guided to smooth fount of nourishment. There was sweet air to breathe, and there were flowers To clutch at by and bye. And all was good. I'm the same Father's child; nay, nearer Him By zest of reconciliation, and new heart; And when again I'm born in death, not less Will a fit home await me: should I fear? 5° A COMMON LIFE. Birth was no woe, and, able to be bom, To die I shall be able. Though 'tis true I now am conscious, and have power to dread. But I can take that black piece from the board By moving over it this ivory white — That I do know what God is : He who gives Both lives, the present and the future, nor Doth make by change the second shame the first. My coming to this world I did not know, I found myself within it in a home ; And in the far years of eternity May death not be forgotten? With a smile. One of the dwellers in Life's land will ask His fellow from this far-off ball of earth- — " Can you remember when it was or how That we came hither? Faintly I recall A time when I did seem to fear some hurt Was threatening me, and yet I felt no blow. A COMMON LIFE. 51 It was a darksome dream I cannot bring Back to my recollection now 'tis day !" A voyager far o'er the sea of life, I drop enclosed this missive in the deep : Will some one find it and the message read? Hail and farewell, my brother ! 'mid the mists I in my destined, variable, way. Rising and falling on the ordered waves Of circumstance, hold on to my sure port. SONNETS. SONNETS, ffinr Kttknotott ^oets. How large a bird looks on a naked bough I An easy eye-shot is that piping thnish, This first of March. But when, with sudden rush, The leaves come out, gazing as I do now, Their veil of .greenery will not allow Glimpse of the singer upon tree or bush : Frond-hid the fount from which the raptures gush — Fit emblem of our crowded age, I trow. Great does a Caedmon show in bare March clime Of England's nationhood; while in these days Of life full foliaged, this rich summer time, The wide air vibrant with a thousand lays, Unknown's the source of many a tuneful rhyme. Hid in the wood, the minstrel has no praise. 56 SONNETS. A LARGE plain house fronting the dusty street Close to the pavement : tread of passers-by Heard the day through, with huckster's summoning cry, School-boy's shrill shout, and clink of horse's feet — All sights and sounds of work-day world here meet. But hid behind, a garden quiet doth lie, With shadeful alley, box-edged walks, and high Fruit-jewelled walls, that guard fair flowers most sweet. Such art thou, friend ! Facing life's public way, A plain built man, full practical of mind, I see thee 'mid the clamour of the day; Then at hushed eve within thy soul I find A cultured pleasaunce rare, where quaint paths stray 'Mongst flowers and fruits of spiritual kind. SONNETS. 57 Of all the trees, here in these Surrey woods, Scotch Pine, I love you ! Not that to the North, Dear with the years, you bear me, or lure forth My spirit from the city to your solitudes, To preach me peace in my soul-troubled moods. This is the pleasant spell my thoughts confess — You take the sunshine in its goldenness, And hold it while each neighbour darkly broods. So let me, one of the world's forest crowd, Receive the radiance with a sun-ward face. And when the gleam withdraws and trunks grow grey, May passers-by, plodding with heavy pace. Find in my look a brightness on their way Such as is stored in your stem's ruddy cloud ! 58 SONNETS. Two little boys who sport this blue June day In the long village street ! Ye bear me back O'er hill and vale of years by winding track To burnt-out summer days of my far home, Where lives my heart, howe'er the foot may roam. I look — 'tis I with old companion there ! I feel again the breath of th' morning air, Though o'er me 'gins to flap night's curtain grey. Play on, young hearts, with ring of voices clear ! Play on, play on, unconscious while you may ; Soon will life's bugle call you to the fray, And then full soon the pensive hour be here When you will feel the starting of a tear, As you look on and see young boys at play ! SONNETS. 59 Is there, still Preacher asketh, anything Whereof it may be said, See, this is new? — The sun which lights to lustre the pale dew. Winter's white face, or this late-coming spring? As once in Shakespeare's ear, the thrushes sing; As now in the pied mead, the king-cups grew While the child Cowper saw; and west winds blew: Our fathers felt life's joy and sorrowing. Yet, are not all things new to the new eye ? — Day-dawn, smooth leaf unfolded, evening star? Look ! was e'er seen such glory of the sky ? Some angel entering left heaven's gate ajar ! Keen to young heart the joy of so rich eve; And ah ! to me this soul-stound, as I grieve. 6o SOAWETS. "She J[atn£lj00 ^'ffrh. Thou too art fair, although thou hast no fame. Rich the reflections on thy surface shine — I gaze at jewels in an opened mine — Heaven's sapphire, green of down-dipt trees, furze-flame, Fire under water. Even as his who came, Radiant unwisting, from high Horeb's shrine. Thy face beams back the lustrousness Divine, While no awed crowd by silence speaks thy name So thou, my brother, stranger all to praise, Far in lone place abidest, there to show God's glory in thee through pretenceless days; Not to be known e'er seeking, but always That man in thee of the great Lord may know : "Altar of earth,'' incense to heaven to raise! SONNETS. 6 1 ^ spring Janes- A TREE Stood looking at its fallen leaves — Rachel bereaved and bare, her children gone : Pity her there, staring with eyes of stone ! Shivering heart-cold, all comfortless she grieves, Nor in spring's resurrection-joy believes. But, see, with swift white foot comes sunshine on, And stays with solace warm her mother-moan ; Round her chill limbs he consolation weaves. Sad soul, have hope ! Stript by the robber wind, New joys will leaf thy winter-naked boughs. Young tendril loves thy happy arms will bind ; Fresh fruit of faithful summer's marriage vows. Add not despair to worst bereavement's pain; Glad thou wilt stand in foliage- full again ! 62 SONNETS. All melted, save this last wreath in the shade Of deep-browed bank, that shuts out the soft south, And the warm breath of the sun's passionate mouth Kissing to life again the earth, death-laid. While fields show brown or shot with glancing green. Here, like white hare, these twin tall trees between, Couches the snow, hiding in shady lair From the feared shafts of the heat-darting air. Thus, in a heart to the whole world else kind, Cold hate towards one, long lingering we findj Or freezing fear not yet heaven-sunned away; Or icy doubt unthawed from the hard mind. Late lies some snow-drift on our life's spring day : An edge of north cuts in its westered wnd. SONNETS. 63 influena of (EarXg JHtmories. Why do I love thee, Scotland? — For thy dark Mist-marled peaks, or thy round pastoral hills, Asleep in the heat, lulled by the low-voiced rills? For curlew's cry ? or home-sound of the lark, Mingled from far with sheep-dog's echoing bark ? For gleaming tide which the loch's spread palm fills, Or brown-black bum from the mossed rock that spills, Or plumdd pine watching on cliff-top stark? Dear are they all to me, my native land ! But to furred Lapp as dear his constant snows, To Arab his desert dancing in noon's blaze, To South Sea Islander his surf-laced strand. This is the charm, which ever the heart more knows — I looked upon thee first with childhood's gaze ! 64 SONNETS. 'She Return. Up from the village by the road to th' mill I saw him pass, as one who knew the way, Yet doubtfully ; — change had been since his day. Long does he gaze at the old wheel, now still, And idle stream lamenting down the hill. Next, by an apple-tree, time-crusted grey, He pensive stands, as who doth inly pray. While thoughts, far-welled, his soul o'er-flowing fill. Here was he born. Bough of that tree had held A casket hid— a nest he one day found With sapphire eggs. Salt were his boyish tears, The treasure gone ! So has his bosom swelled This eve, back in the loneliness of years, To see the nest of Home torn on the ground ! S0NNE7S. 6s '^a gr. m. §. Robertson Of Irvine. West Calder Station. " Pit with smoking stalk ! The country's face grimed by hands work-a-day ! Midlothian, too, where Gladstone wageth fray Political ! " Thus, as alone I walk Musing, I to myself for company talk. Next well-farmed fields, with belts of sheltering wood, Engage reflection to another mood; Poising itself o'er nature, as yon hawk Over its quarry. Now before me swings A rustic gate, and winding avenue long I traverse, greeted by late robin's song. Till rose-hung porch me to thy presence brings, Thy pictures, casts, books, music rare among — I hail thee, true divine, friend of all human things ! E 66 SONNETS. ^o the \-a.it |3rofes6or ®rahatn. Six short months since we spoke together, friend — As flower in fallen earth the memory clings — Earnestly asking of deep-hidden things ; Of life, of death — there is our road to end ? Or shall the soul the frowning cliff transcend. From the broke chrysalis finding sudden wings ? Useless always were our imaginings. And in some jest did the strained soul unbend. Now thou, my brother, knowest that which lies Behind the height. What is it ? Thou too still ! Conspirator, to glad me with surprise When I in turn can see beyond the hill ! Thou'lt meet me with a holy jest again, That we could e'er have feared our hope was vain. SONNETS. 67 "SShite ganion." Fix it in memory ! soon will melt away The frost-work vision this morn meeting me. The roofs deep-eaved with snow, and glisteringly Fringe of clear icicles stretched in long array — Harp-strings of silver on which north winds play. As with sloe-blossom burdened bush and tree, And whiteness, whiteness, far as eye can see ! Foul London looks a holy place to-day. This New Jerusalem has come from Heaven ; Waking from sleep I found the God-spread scene. And when, Great Father, boon by love's might given, Will London show of purity the sheen, Its snow into each blackest nook grace-driven? Oh, from all leper-whiteness make us clean ! 68 SONNETS. Qlounttj) ani i:oton. My window looks out on a London street, Yet what I view is not the brick-walled way, With those who pace it through the uncoloured day. Mine eye the sun's o'er-flushed Cairngorm doth greet. Or blue Loch Morlich's opening at his feet ; Like flash of fish, I see the silver Spey Gleam from the wood ; I see great boulders grey ; And haze-soft line where plain and mountain meet. Drinking by day the sharp-sweet Northern air, Hushed by low voice of pines at night to rest, Let me no longer know grim London's care, No longer by its horrors be opprest ! — And cease the city's griefs with Christ to share? Leave Him sin's head sunk on His lonely breast? SONNETS. 69 Oihe Jfijre0t-f Inc. Oh chiefest charm of the far view serene ! Fair are the trees, and that white brow of hill, Glassed in the stream spread out so clear and still ; But thou soft blue held mystical between, Like cottage smoke at evening 'mid the green, Or mist of hyacinths which spring woods fill, Taking me captive at thy beauty's will, Bearest me to the dear days that have been. Scenes of my youth, ye stand amid such blue ! I see you dim and tender in its haze. Such magic mist, old friends, enshroudeth you ! But most, as in the sapphire depths I gaze, I see, suffused the natural landscape through, A Presence pure that awes my soul to praise ! 70 SONNETS. Jlfter a ^tornt: JHoniing. The sky looks bright, as if it had not sinned. Yet what a hideous and guilty night It was ! The infuriate elements did fight. Flashed lightning's twisted spear; the wounded wind Yelled at the thunder; hissed the sea, and grinned With white-frothed teeth of rocks, which bite Did at the billows, that howled back in fright. Then contrite wept the storm, and the clouds thinned. May I, as does this mom, show sunny face, And eyes unringed with red, life's passion past; No moan recurring of yet unlaid blast ; Of cloud of suUenness or fear no trace Dark trailing. Fair in the free light of grace Let my soul smile as ne'er by sin o'ercast ! SONNETS. 71 'Tis only a low dune, wind-scooped and bare, The bunching bent in struggling patches seen, Blown yellow sand in barren breadths between. Yes, that is all; and over it grey air, In front grey sea. Yet to me 'tis more fair, This pensive hour, than fairest spot has been. Bearing me to the years ere o'er life's green The surly blasts of time swept sands of care. On such a mound, in summers far away. With you, my brothers and my sisters three, I was a glad unconscious child at play ; And now, returning late this autumn day. Your laugh I hear, your little forms I see, In ray through th' evening cloud striking the grey. 72 SONNETS. In June, in midsummer, it needs must be. Cloudless concave of blue, aerial, clear; Landscape seen not too distant nor too near ; A light west wind soft fanning fitfully; The long grass lush ; one round rose the rose-tree : The fulness and the calm of the poised year. Ere yet descendeth winterwards the sphere, And a great peace of soul possessing me ! Thus learn I Heaven. Of its white-footed days This has stepped down to earth with print of bliss; And though the messenger no long while stays, And I to-morrow may his presence miss. Yet do I know of Heaven now always That its gold year is linked of days like this. SONNETS. 73 ^ §tz\\t in Jttibsnmm^r. _ It was so beautiful I felt afraid ! It met me unawares, like grave fair face Turned sudden round. From a high open spa.ce I chanced to look. Far ridge, with wood and glade, And fields in foreground, panorama made Blue-misted. After me one checked his pace, And stood eye-fixed as in enchanted place, Then turning to me, " Gate of Heaven ! " said. Landscape of dreamland, distant soft and still ! Nature speaks not to-day, but looks, with calm Great eyes, which hypnotise me to her will Of rest. Upon my soul there lies the balm Of beauty and silence ; peace doth my spirit fill. As if there just had ceased a holy psalm. 74 SONNETS. %\\t JttBsters of the Sufertng Clhilii. Otf A PICTURE OF AN OUTCAST. I. Oh, little one, forsaken and so lone, Hiding thy unloved face — thy poor young heart Learning despair untimely, thine no part In childhood's coloured joys — thou question'st not Why thou art here, or whence thy piteous lot ; Just knowing grief, thy world a ring of gloom, Thy naked feet thrust from the unchosen womb To touch the cold of this hard planet's stone ! My God, forgive me that I do not understand ; But, tear-blind, walk in faith of Thy great love Which gave Thy Son to sorrow for our sake ! Help me, so feeble, to be as the hand By which the orphan-souled Thou dost up take. And lift to light, where we shall know, above ! SONNETS. 75 Their angels always do behold God's face : And, hand to sword, Avenger, by lit eye, Asks that, as lightning flash, he fierce may fly And smite the ostrich-hearts which on the stone Have left this little one, despairing, lone. Praying in sobs to Heaven. Then pitying Death, Angel of soft black wing, low-whispering saith, " Let my arms comfort her with their embrace ! " But thus the Father unto them replies — "Her angel walks the earth with seeking eyes, Mercy his name, ever in steps of Christ Treading bare-foot^ with sorrow to keep tryst ! " As spring the deep-sunk roots by its warm breath. Love finds the wretched out in hidden place. 76 SONNETS. (Kbenitts SSEorship. ON A PICTURE OF A SEAMSTRESS. Dim yellow candle, fouled, for that no time To trim thee from her stem task could she spare ; Burnt low in marking the slow hours of care — Thou shinest on an altar ! And sublime As star-browed seraph's at creation's prime. The thin submissive face sad bending there Over the work spread on the aching knee ! Altar-cloth makes thy needle, holily; Or ephod for thy Samuel, by thy chair Asleep in the curtaining dark; or mantle rare To cover a husband's and a father's sin ; Or, ah ! prove it a shroud to wind thee in, 'Twill turn into a heavenly garment fair, Whose threads of light Christ's nail-pierced hands did spin ! SONNETS. 77 ON A PICTURE OF A SLSEPIKC BEGGAR-BOY. Oh ! weary, weary face, which not e'en sleep- No sleep less deep than death's — from pain can smooth ! Poor child ! no mother's tones thy sorrows soothe ! Grief has itself run dry : thou dost not weep ! Swept in this corner here, a piteous heap, As if no jewel lay the dust within ! My righteous Master, tell me, " Who did sin," That, a mere child, to battle thus with life, Forth he's been thrust, to sink in th' unfair strife? Not the poor boy, heir of entailed woe; Or his dead mother, robbed of the pride of wife. Perchance the hard sinner passes, and a blow From the child's hand strikes to his coward heart ! Or is it thou, Christ's Church, who the transgressor art ? 78 SONNETS. ®lb SScU luar Qlrabegcni. Where pilgrims drank, to Canterbury bound — Nun, friar, franklin, miller, all the old Troop of " religious " by our Chaucer told — I drink to-day. Refreshed, their tongues they found, And passed the way-beguiling story round ; Flung feathered jest; spake deed of soldier bold Or courtier's guile, never on parchment scrolled. Echoing from Time's grey wall their laughters sound. Such Well, great Geoffrey, are thy Tales to me ; This noon I quaff where pilgrims of life's road, Dim centuries since stretched themselves restfully. Unstrapped a little while their dusty load. I taste, as they, the waters fresh and free From human fount on the way to shrine of God. SONNETS. 79 ^t ^ethg ^rilig*, inbemfss-ghire Anything written ? asks my friend of me In letter lighting here in far Strathspey : (He knew the sonnet as my somewhiles play.) And this my answer fortunate may be : — Not one poor line; unto me spirit free, Careless of fruitage, each gold flower-day Opening and closing in its calyx grey; I write not, think not, look not, only see. Yet is there that's been written : on my soul Black mountains forest-furred, wild loch's eye-gleam, Red Sea of heather covering flat and knoll. Cot, farmhouse, corn-field silver-edged with stream, Are pencilled fadelessly by heaven's beam. Memory, well-pleased, doth the writ page up-roll. 8o SONNETS. daivngorm. The summit gained ! And one, with down-bent eyes, In rain-washed hollows, white with gravel bare. Full keenly looks, now here his glance, now there, And fruitless looks, till, lo ! a sudden prize Gleams in the net of patience, and he cries Loud of his luck. Eager to him repair A wide-eyed group, his boyish glee to share As in spread palm brown prism of pebble lies ! But I, withdrawn, was gazing o'er the scene — North, where the sea scarce differs from the cloud ; East, where Ben A'an stares back with solemn mien ; Or south-west, where the Badenoch clan-hills crowd. My Cairngorm goodlier than his, I ween : But what I found I could not tell aloud. SONNETS. ®tt genera. "If you are for the Castle, take the way That goes by the shore." So said the kindly lass Whose smiles a hostess made her, as our glass Of milk she brought. She had not heard us say Aught of the craggy keep in the far bay. We had not known of the ruins. But to pass Gold hours poured out uncounted, 'mid the grass And heather, was our plan, the livelong day; Feel the free wind, hear the sea-mew's wild cry, Or cluck of the brown burn within the brake. Yet, " If you are for the Castle," did me make Thoughtful — To the old walls then do all hie? Yes ! human story ever the heart must take ; Sacred the places where men live and die. F 8 a SONNETS. ^zxi (Ernarhan. Taynuilt ! Forth stepping in the morning air, Pleasant with scent of thyme, bog-myrtle, heath, The eager Awe's soft freshness, Etive's breath. We ask if there is track o'er shoulder bare Where ascent is easy; and are answered — "There,'' With wave of the hand, " is the mountain ! " hood Of grey-white mist revealing it where it stood. Could tell no more; 'twas left to us to dare The summit as we might, finding our way. Lesson of life ! There, cloud- wrapt, is its peak ; Of trodden path for me no guide may speak. Upwards, o'er moss and stone, through mists, must strain Each traveller for himself, in his short day, If haply he the hidden height may gain. SONNETS. 83 Jit ©ban. Pray, can you tell which is the Pulpit Hill? I did not know, and but expressed regret Then to myself soon, Strange so to forget ! The pastor-spirit might have taught thee skill Wisely to speak; but give fit answer still To other ears than those of querist met; Blessing her for a mind to thinking set, So that with pouring fancies it 'gan fill. The Pulpit Hill ! For answer look around ! 'Tis each you see, blue-canopied with sky — Ben Cruachan, from which law-thunders Sound; Ben More, in whose white sun-glints you espy Feet of peace-preaching angels touch the ground : From all the heights God's word comes variously ! 84 SONNETS. Jit ^rixham, ^orbag.* 'Tis hewn, and shaped, and polished, now, that stone Which WilHam's foot first pressed two hundred years Ago; it is railed round: and it uprears Upon its obelisk point, on quay blast-blown, A lamp, oft hailed as it has helpful shone, By fishers straining towards the uncertain piers. Their hope salt-dashed by breaking waves of fears — To this the rude rock of old days has grown. It is the Constitution of our land ! Rough did the wise Prince find it ; now 'tis smooth — Knowing since his of many a patriot hand The fashioning touch — and guarded from unruth, Here on the sea marge it doth strongly stand, Lifting white light of liberty and truth ! * The Prince of Orange landed here, 1688. SONNETS. 85 ©n inquiring the OKag at an (Dii J[orge, geljon. Thanks, brother Vulcan, for the happy word : — " This road to Totnes goes, good seven miles ; And that," his grimed face flickering with smiles, " Leads to the lanes, and," laughing as 'twere absurd, " Oh, everywhere ! " Thanks for the phrase I've heard. Right brilliant sparks your hammer strikes oftwhiles, And this is one; its gleam my way beguiles; A pleasant debt to you I have incurred. " Oh, everywhere ! " 'Tis true of many a road : It sets us thinking as free-souled we walk : We pass to various scenes, at home, abroad; With friend half over the round world we talk As o'er that fence; or enter his abode On prairie where red men were wont to stalk. 86 SONNETS. ^ gemote 5Saatn-faU. Ten miles I walked, and five linked to the ten, Then left the highway, entering a wood : By wand'ring path long I my way pursued 'Mong heather and strewn rocks, the foxglove's den. Till clear I was at last of the close glen — When lo ! before me, as I sudden stood, Over high cliff white-arching, a great flood Poured thunderous, far from the world's ken. Smit by sun's ray or star's, 'mid winter snow Or June leaves, it is there ; and who would know Its majesty, leaving the crowd behind. Must journeying visit it. Such is the mind Of Greatness always : in its place it bides. And would'st thou see it, go where it resides ! SONNETS. 87 Jit the CastU of the SBSartbnrg * 'Tis the Grand Duke of Saxe' Weimar's. So The Guide Book tells me, with much sand-drift lore 'Bout lords and ladies great in days of yore ; And as my gaze wings o'er the landscape, lo I Graved in the grass of yon hill side doth show — Sight which my shamed vision paineth sore — A Crown, with letters after and before Of the Duke's name. Him owner let all know ! But in my ear, "We're Luther's, Luther's!" cried All things around. Before his loftier claim Sinks title of earth's, lordship from its pride; Each hill displays unwrit the Reformer's name ; Than his I see no kingly crown beside : He holds the land by right divine of fame ! * Where Luther was confined. 88 SONNETS. [A phenomenon of rare beauty, noticed in the papers at the time, was observed in some parts of Scotland at sunrise, nth December, 1884.] I. Beat with black wing against the pane the night, Gusty and wild, and ever the weeping rain Would wake me from my troubled sleep again ; And when the morning entered with dim light, I heard the wet soak at the window sill. ■Another day of gloom, a drearier still!" Such my complaining thought : " no more are bright And glad-eyed dawns to greet us from the hill?" Shaded in spirit, down to the morning meal I took me, and by chance looked eastward out. Scarce, as I gazed, repressed I sudden shout : Lo ! the clouds parting bands and peaks reveal Of mother-of-pearl ! God's glory strewn about ! Such a surprise of bliss who wake in heaven must feel. soMj\r£rs. 89 11. Many the years were I had known the skies, Marking them in their glory and their gloom; Seeing the sun sink in his nightly tomb, And in each morning's resurrection rise. Smiling around with sleep-refreshed eyes; Yet never had such splendours been revealed. And, O my God, what glories still concealed Bide — as in boughs now bare the summer's bloom — The appointed moment, and the mind's fine mood In which the dreams from heaven are understood ! For Thy salvation teach my soul to wait ; Although it tarry, it will surely come. What time my foot has told the meted sum Of pilgrim steps that bring to the celestial gate. 3° SON-NETS. Jit ffl:kalfont §t. (Siles,* Buckinghamshire. And Milton walked these fields ! Friend Ellwood's arm Pressing, he paced full slow, amid the sounds Of rural life ; and, o'er the inwalling bounds Of blindness borne, his spirit knew the charm Of all the fair and summer-tinted world — Saw the grey smoke at eve that thinly curled 'Bout the brown forehead of the ancient farm ; Saw on the plum-tree's staff the bloom unfurled. He walks to-day ! Reverend, his form appear By pond or stile I mark. There on Church wall His shadow moves. Christ, in yet nobler thrall My homage hold ! From this, that Thou art here. Be consecration ! This my joy in all — Milton's high Lord and mine divinely near ! * Milton resided liere for a time, in a house taken for him by Ellwood, the Quaker. SONNETS. 91 I0 a Comet. "Caused to fly swiftly," shining in white light, On strenuous wing from the far court of heaven Sped Gabriel. And, when the solemn even Brought to the earth th' hour of oblation rite, Softly he touched the prophet, tranced in prayer, And, looking up, a glory Daniel saw, His spirit trembling with a blissful awe; While a still voice spake to his thralle'd ear : — "To give thee skill, I've come, O man belov'd. And teach thee understanding ! " Even so. Pale heavenly messenger, here from afar. Hast thou this night me gently touched, and moved My conscious soul with a new skill to know How great the wonders of God's works and good- ness are ! 92 SONNETS. ®n Enrhinnan ^ritige. "The kingdom of God is within you." Hungry for beauty, aching o'er for rest, I left the dinsome town, and took my way To where, methought, 'mong the far mountains lay Buried the treasures. Eager in my quest Up Enterkin's lone pass with seeking eye I clomb; and, the wide summit reached, reclined. Breast and hot brow bared to the bathing wind. I saw th' empurpled hills, and the deep sky; But not the beauty saw, or the rest found. " They lie," then said I, " in the enchanted land \\'here Yarrow flows " ; and soon I gazing stand On its sung banks, yet look in vain around. Now, simple scene, in thee at my own door, While seeking not, I find of peace full store ! SONNETS. 93 ^t ISuratmottccttx Ctaetk. Thy very name's a charm ! Ye red-white towers, Loop-holed and ivy-hung, thou oriel fair. Ye roofless walls, wing-swept by the free air, Which carries scent of box and autumn flowers From the old gardens, with their walks and bowers, And memories too of Fiennes, Dacre, Hare — Ye bear my spirit to a grander age ! Knights, dames, priests, servitors, rare figures old, I seem to see wrought rich in cloth of gold, Or shining on illuminated page. Would that we lived once more in such great times, Lulled into faith again by soft church chimes ! Thus dreamed I; then awoke to wiser mood — Nay, Feudalism, 'tis in ruins thou art good ! 94 SONNETS. ^ximxoQt Pap : Jl JProtcat "The nightingales, Their anthems of no church, how sweet they are ! " — Tennyson. Still from the very grave-mound will they take, And for a challenge wear, the innocent flower Large Heaven has given us as a common dower ; Teaching the lips of sweet-breathed Spring to break God's truce in Nature, rather than whisper peace Amid the strifes of Party, that increase ? With sunbeams and the showers, which have no creed, Save God o'er all and pity for all need. Leave the meek clusters ! For young children's hands, From cottage or from castle, leave them ! Let the sick At their cool touch feel on their beds release From fever-fire that makes the blood boil quick ! Twist not God's blossoms in sectarian bands ; Let them spell Love, gold-lettered, o'er the lands ! SONNETS, gg Jit ^nnnsmebe. A. PLAIN green field : yet what on thee has grown ! — Strong Liberty ! here planted by mailed hand Of patriot peers, when John our English land Scornful would hold for pleasaunce of his own. Ringed with seven hundred years, to wide-girthed tree The slip has waxed, bearing the useful fruit Of laws ; and, seeding, on Thames' waters free Has shed quick germs, which wave-born have ta'en root On shores uprisen in the lonely sea For homes of Greater England yet to be. A plain green field : but to the freeman's eye, Seen from afar amid time's haze of gold To hero-guise transformed thy barons bold. Thou seem'st a shining valley of the sky ! 96 SONNETS. ®tt a Jformer ^itsincss Ctxjat of ^rms. IMACMILLAN AND CO.) Three acorns : triple seed of purpose strong. Higher, on the right hand, a bee : for not By growth alone, if industry day long Be wanting, may achievement be outwrought. And to life's task be music, as bee's song, Be lightsomeness and charm of beauty brought. In their fit place : for such the pleasant thought Which on the left that butterfly has hung. Now lo ! above have fruited in three stars The acorns : telling of accomplished aims. And 'tis within a cross's holy bars All lie, while it a mystic sphere enframes : Aim, effort, end, in that sign of high wars. Itself within the circle which The Perfect names ! SONNETS. 97 ^t ©irban. A BREEZY day 'mid yellow Autumn fields ! Dash of bunched foliage, twitter of small leaves, Rustle of ears, crest of yon billowy sheaves ; Waft of keen fragrance the strewn sea-weed yields ; A sudden stillness where this thick wall shields, Then gathered murmuring from far and near. As when a shell's smooth lip kisses the ear. Noise of a nearing train among the hills, Hoarse as the sea, then faint like far-off rills, Then loud again — I start with foolish fear ! A dog barks distant. Now a robin sings. Better food bearing than the ravens brought. I hear and see and feel, and have no thought : Soul-satisfied with sense of simple things. 98 SONNETS. Wnt ^ani5d Jestibal, 1885- I. Bicentenary of his birth ! 'Tis well To mark this advent of a life : of death We think not, for the forceful breath Of immortality blows in these sounds ; That mighty utterance knows no tempoi-al bounds ; For ever on the far-drawn billows swell, And pour themselves in grand melodious tide, ^Vhile children of new generations clap Rejoicing hands, as the great waves in ride. And breaking thunderous the shook shore wrap. Nor only in his song doth he abide : To soul creative, unto God allied By power to praise Him, never could it hap That pen should write, on such a day he died ! SONNETS. 99 II. Five thousand instruments and voices, one ! White hands show as they move, shuttling the bows Which music weave ; flutes pipe ; strong trumpet blows ; Choir-cloud on the right hand, now sudden cleft, Peals mellow thunders, echoed from the left — As if to sister brother angels spoke, And sisters answered, from each side God's throne. By no harsh dissonant note's the harmony broke. Oh, when, great Christ, conductor of earth's choir, Shall men obey Thee, keeping Thy perfect time. Each bearing his part with each in fitting chime, Each voice, each instrument, now low, now higher, True to the silent beat of Thy desire ! Then Heaven will bend to hear earth's strains sublime. SONA'ETS. Jit the ggSateramect, ^ji'^mmtth. I. Down wood-hung path, with honeysuckle sweet, Through gloom of ferns lighted with fox-glove's glow, We wend our way, silent with thought and slow, Nearing the music of the Watersmeet. And resting now, stretched upon mossy seat, We watch the brown-cheeked water trembling go, With foam-white feet, to trysting place below ; While, round yon corner, amorous and fleet, Comes her bold lover. Straight in soft embrace The twain are locked; then hand in hand they run, Young gladness glancing from each dimpled face, Or, at monition of the looking sun. Reflective grown, steal on with sober pace : Their moods the same, their actions ever one. SONNETS. loi And what draws feet of pilgrims to this spot? 'Tis not the fairest nook of all the scene. Here baldest cliffs and whitest falls are not, Or massiest rocks velvet with freshest green ; Elsewhere the trees tip higher the blue serene. The charm's not that of scenery, but of thought. The thread of sentiment with all inwrought, The something which these meeting waters mean. The human in them moves us, that which tells Of our lives' myst'ries — how they meet and twine, And flow together, with their lulls and swells. Their breaks and eddies, in the shade or shine, Gloomy 'neath cliff, or bright with sunny bells; My sorrow yours, your gladness also mine. SONNETS. ©u an ffiariuat Jate at a Oiospel Jftceting. It was not beautiful that grave young face Fixed on God's messenger, whose pleading call, Like a wave-heaving wind, moved spirits all. There, as I looked, no soft-swept lines of grace, Filled in with peachy bloom, the eye could trace. No rose her cheek, no faint-flushed pearly shell Her little ear, with convoluted swell. Yet did that countenance my soul enthrall. 'Twas awe-transfigured, as in Holiest Place The high priest's ! Clear from earth's bestaining clay Was the rapt spirit, gazing far away ! A seraph's look I saw, through sense-veil riven. Or that as of a dear dead child in heaven. Great human face, that lights in God's eye-ray ! SONNETS. 103 In SKeetmittcter Jlbbeg. March, 1885. " Age of machines, digging and crushing gold, Shaping and stamping it, pouring the grain Of specie out, which glearps like sun-smit rain-- Hard iron age ! unlike the times of old When worth lived simple in plain Nature's eye. Finding its gold in crocus or eve's sky — Thy god is mammon, millionaires thy saints. Thy heaven success, confession of sin complaints Of miscarrying ventures ! " Such my bitter moan, Entering Westminster for one breath of th' air Of other days ; — when the word Livingstone Looks up at me, cut in that blue slab there ; And as to Poet's Corner my eye turns, I read rebuke again in new-carved bust of Burns ! 104 SONNETS. "flinii." Picture of an Old Lion, by A. T. Nettleship, Grosvenor Gallery, 1883. Blue haze of blindness in the old mournful eyes That know not of the cliff one paw o'erlaps. Beneath gapes death; another step he lies Stiffened below, while over him foul flaps The vulture's wing. And, see, already slink Cowardly about him, to the invisible brink Herding him on, a vile hyena pack, Red-mouthed and soft of foot. So to me shows Old Milton, sightless, "fallen on evil days And evil tongues,'' destroyers at his back. Turn but the kingly head round on such foes. The dull and lightless orbs would seem to blaze ; The dastard crew obscene, scattered and cowed. Knowing the lightning sheathed within the cloud. SOJVNETS. Dux t l^enfbrtg. 105 Have faith, my soul, thy clouding care will pass ! This morn the mist lay thick o'er all the scene, Scarce visible the tallest tree-top green : No rift of pleasant blue, no glint of grass, The air opaque as breath-bedimmfed glass. But ere the dull sands of the day had run, Forth looked in radiance the late-sleeping sun: The gloom was gone as it had never been; And I who sat dejected in the grey, Gazing at even from a gleam-tipped height, Saw, o'er the landscape lessening far away, The open west a sea of liquid light. With one tree 'gainst it black in bough and spray. And one winged cloud, a fly in the amber bright ! io6 SONNETS. lona. As one who on the road, among the stones, Should chance upon a pebble richly graved, Storied with priestly forms and saintly cross, — So come we on lona 'mid the isles. Its emerald surface history's burin owns ; Tracing to thought how mild Columba braved Wild waves and wilder men, at th' enriching loss Of all that wins a witless world's smiles. Here piety prevailed from granite bare Beauty to create, firm-knit with majesty, Then breathed into the frame a soul of prayer. Such mystic meanings grow beneath mine eye. The gem I take, upon my breast to wear : One travel-memory more, rest sacred there ! SOJVJVETS. 107 §tafa. loNA holy, this but common ground ! Because no temple made with hands is here, Or carven crosses sacred forms uprear. No consecrated tombs lie solemn round? This, too, is temple, pillared more profound : By God's hand raised each shapely shaft severe ; The sea-mew's scream is worship in His ear; Well pleased He hears the sweeping billows sound. Within the cave, Elijah's soul is mine, Or Moses', when " Thy glory show ! " he prayed. I stand thought-wrapt, most blissfully afraid. Man is not, all is God ; an awful shrine These columned stones and arching roof have made. To-day I know the earth to be divine. lo8 SONNETS. ^tortthcnge anb ^alisbura (Eathebral. Up rose from columned Stonehenge on quick wing A bird, nor rested from far flight until On floriated chancel-window's sill Of Sarum's minster it sank fluttering. Of my mmd's flying with it do I sing. A spiritual flight : not over hill, Or field, or road, but years of good and ill. And the strange good that God from ill doth bring. Stonehenge, Salisbury — be they symbols styled ! Of blood as vainly as unwilling spilt, One speaks ; of Christ self-given for a world's guilt, The other. Vi'lence that; this manners mild. Stonehenge! grim blocks as for a prison piled;, Salisbury ! fair Father's house of smooth stones built. SONNETS. 109 ©litsgxrtD (Exhibition, 1888. Yes, yes, I '11 come ; be sure your mile-spread tent On the May-mead will draw my loyal feet. Inventions, pictures, products rare that meet From many lands, in friendly vieing sent, On the long floors artistically blent. Rich Royal presents, quaint Old Glasgow's street- All my pleased eye will welcomefully greet. My spirit glad with wine of wonderment. Yet would I rather steal some common day Back 'mid old scenes, lonely to move about, Looking for what the years have borne away : See Campsie's fell, that o'er the smoke looks out, Kelvin, or Clyde, where I was wont to stray. Or the plain street that heard my boyhood's shout SONNETS. ox A PICTURE OF A PEASANT tVOMAN BV J. F. MILLET. " Salute the beloved Persis," said St. Paul To the Church at Rome ; and thee, saint of to-day We greet, thus meeting on life's common way. No shining task is thine, observed of all : Thou toilest screened within thy garden small. Thy plot of ground tended with faithful care, Thy hearthstone white, thy children taught their prayer — Happier thy husband than the squire in hall. Thy cap's a nimbus round thy honest head ; Eye upon work is as in worship bent ; Prayer thy grave face, thine arms in toil outspread ; That gathered fruit into the basket shed An offering poured to God doth represent. " Much in the Lord thou, too, hast laboured ! " SONNETS. Old tower that totters on the wave-worn rockj Old trees that pause for breath half up the hill ; Old stones with moss white-bearded ; bowed old mill ; Old church with lichened walls and quaint-faced clock; Old gravestones in old churchyard, a grey flock; Old sexton whose thinned spade old mould doth fill — All things are old, look wheresoe'er I will : The world dies palsied from full many a shock. Who could dream of the future now, or think Of travelling abroad, of winning fame Or wealth, or being wed? Done world, adieu ! So spoke I with fool's tongue; for the light chink Of a boy's laugh from near me silvery came, And in his young eye's ray beheld I all things new. 112 SONNETS. ^t ^rsnttoo0l), (Eontstxrn. THE RESIDENCE OF JOHN R USKIN. Here at calm eve, sunk in thy rustic chair, Through yellowed leaves lookst thou with ageniild eye. Over the lake doubtful thou dost espy Amid the foliage, buildings here and there, 'Minished and blended by the gracious air. Where house of rich man or of poor doth lie, Or chapel or church, thou canst not sure descry : Only of man and God art thou aware. Thou blessest both. Raihyay which scars the hill, Steam-launch on mere, with smoke and whistle shrill. Mar not the " glory " of the mount and cloud. And arch of blue, and one star in the west. All seen in that, pass with thy grey head bowed, " Lamp of the Infinite " lighting thee, to rest ! SONNSTS. "3 JlU 'Shinge arc at Wmz. " 'Tis' only noble to be good ! " Well spake The poet preaching; and I preacher may Dare to be poet and responsive say : 'Tis good too to be noble ! Do not make High truth eclipse the low: warm Mars doth take The eye with his redness, while the diamond ray Of Venus compensates the loss of day : From various strings God's fingers music wake. The sun, which has no virtue nor adores ; The unconscious iceberg flashing in far sea; Niagara, which no libation pours; A statue, standing in mere majesty; A mighty intellect, that but explores; — Are they not good in that they noble be? H 114 SONNETS. "We learn in suffering what we teach in song.'' In gladness too : joy speaks to me to-day, Its white rose out upon life's brier-spray. Brisk hops the bird that blossomed bough along, And yonder, on the daisied grass, a throng Of happy children mingle at their play : Kaleidoscopic forms that change alway. I feel what 'tis rejoicing to be strong ! Man, know thyself when thou art glad of heart, 'Tis only then thou knowest worthily; In likeness of His bliss God fashioned thee ; Sorrow, like sin, is of an alien part. Nor will our life be a fit melody Till joy has taught us the true singer's art. MISCELLANEaUS POEMS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Like the sky with sunbeam, Like a room with fire-gleam, How a face is lit up with a smile ! I saw it to-day, As I toiled on my way, And it shortened the road a good mile. How the eye kindles bright, And the teeth sparkle white — Ivory keys o'er which joy's fingers run — How the dimpled cheeks shine With a radiance benign ! My heart feels the touch of their sun. 1 1 8 MISCELLANEO US POEMS. Mighty magic of mind, By the flesh unconfined, Writing quick with unseen spirit hand ! What mysteries lurk, What deep-hid powers work, Then flash in the face at thy wand ! Just one little word said — It is life from the dead; How the features, so sombre and still. Become suddenly bright With gold ripples of light, Raised by the wind-touch of thy will ! Give me, dear Christ, love's heart, As the true better part. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 Blessed storage of sunshine within ! That each new day I live I some gladness may give, And smile away some cloud of sin. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. It lighted on me as I lay, Stretched 'neath a bank's eaves from the rain ; And ere it had fluttered away, It stirred a sweet thought in my brain. Close shut were the leaves of its wings ; I saw them of gloomy black-brown. Faint figured with crosses and rings. And feathered with finest of down. Funereal-plumed butterfly ! Your lighting so soft made me start ; Away ! was my unuttered cry, As I felt sudden throbbing of heart. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 12 The dusky-hued bud-wings unfold — What blossom bursts forth on the sight ! Lustrous " eyes " of bright purple and gold, With stainings of red, brown, and white. Long resting, the fair creature stays, And as all its splendour I see, God sent you, my happy heart says, On errand of teaching to me : How trouble, in raiment so sad. Is only a joy with shut wings : They open ; and straightway we're glad With vision of glorious things ! The east had been cavernous gloom, But now 'tis with twin rainbows spanned; Like the angels that guarded Christ's tomb. Wing close to tinged wing as they stand. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Oh, glory-plumed rainbows on high ! Oh, butterfly low on my knee ! — Bit of colour dropt out of the sky — Ye bring the same lesson to me : That after the dark comes the light, And the great God is beauty and love ; You tell it me, butterfly bright, And ye, seraph rainbows above ! In the mouths of the witnesses two, Soft speaking to me in my need. The word is established true, That gloom is of glory the seed. The bows in the heaven paled away. The butterfly rose on the wind : The messengers here could not stay. But they left their message behind. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 A BROWN-ROOFED COt WES in sight, With pigeons round it straying, And a man working in a field, And little children playing. And the air was sweet and cool, The autumn sun was shining. Bright was the creeper on the wall — Red, gold, and green combining. Nothing of the world's was mine, But I felt rich in pleasure, And I blessed my God in my heart, Who had given me such treasure. 124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I found it hid in the field, What time I was not seeking : " Ask not, and ye shall receive "- That also is Christ speaking. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 In a §«bttrban ,Stre£t. A CARTFUL of garden cuttings Laid by the side of the road, And three pretty children picking Sprigs from the tempting load. One of them looked at me smiling, As if she had known me well ; But 'twas only the simple pleasure Her innocent eyes must tell. I threw back a smile j and passing Happy along the street, A few steps farther onwards A lady I chanced to meet. 126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. My eye ou hers carelessly lighting, Demurely she fixed her face; And I sighed, Alas, that experience Should make us distrust our race ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 127 % ggainter JHotning. New snow white on old thatch, Berries red on grey tree, Gleam of smooth prick-edged leaves — A lesson writ for me. God with His frost makes fair The roof smoky and torn ; Bright berries speak Him kind, Though the leaves point their thorn. I feel the north wind keen; But it blows out of blue. And as I walk, the blood Dances my glad veins through. 128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. All things come to us mixed, What is there simply good? When was a blessing sent As the receiver would? Humbly I take the boon I do not understand, Placed in the shadow cast By the great giving Hand. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 129 ^ xSanishei §£enc an the dlgbe. Oft have I looked for them since, Those solemn dark hills and high, With, against them,' the storm-birds white. As seen by my childhood's eye. Time after time have I sailed Down the dear stream to the sea ; The very same stream where the hills And the birds were seen by me. But never the dark high hills, Nor the white birds borne like foam. Would again to the longing eye, Out from the emptiness come. I 130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. How had the black mountains sunk? Where was their wild grandeur gone ? \Vhy were there no great white birds Now sailing solemnly on? Ah me ! is it childhood's sight, Not mountain or bird, that's fled? The morning mist, making all large, Is't that from the landscape's sped ? In mystic memory alone Can the dark high hills be seen ? And the great white birds borne Uke foam. Had these but in youth's eye been ? Fret not ! your boy's eye to-day Sees the shut glories unfold; 'Tis his turn on the Father's knee To have the old stories told. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 Just as in by-gone years ! The leaf comes out on the tree, The early swallow appears, The cowslips sprinkle the lea. Just as in by-gone years ! The lark is loud in the sky, Sounds as long since in the ears The hum of the passing fly. Just as in by-gone years ! Warm feels the touch of the sun, Darkens the heaven or clears. As it for ever hath done. 132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. All as in by-gone years ! Yet nothing's the same to me — Voices the ear no more hears, Faces the eye cannot see. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 ^jm^jle Sittsliom. I WILL not now question at all, But take the world just as it is ; Whatever events may befall, I will look up and say they are His. My heart I will ope to the sun, To the night chills I'll fold up its leaves ; When the rain falls its pelt I will shun, Smiling out 'neath some sheltering eaves. When it freezes I'll draw near the fire. At the darkening I'll light up my room. When the blaze sinks I'll pile the coals higher, With brightness I'll battle the gloom. 134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. I will suit myself all that I can To the world the Wise Ruler has made ; Remembering the law of His plan — For each thing its price must be paid. No longer I'll say, Why is this ? But This is, and I've been put here. That simple obedience is bliss, The child knows, the man leams full dear MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 1!lte ignorant feasant. 'TwAS not three miles off, but she could not tell The way to the village of Lyne; It lay out of sight, for the ground took a swell And hid the small hamlet of Lyne. 'Twas near three miles off, and how could she know So distant a place as was Lyne? It had nought to do with her matters, I trow : No kinsfolk of hers lived in I,yne. As for her, here in Thorpe, hard by yon tree, She dwelt, and knew nothing of Lyne ; She might ask her man, Will, but didn't think he Had ever heerd mention o' Lyne. 136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. She went to church, yes, and knew Christ and God ; But nothing could tell me of Lyne ; And she loved little Will, long under the sod : But no, she knew nothing of Lyne. She'd not say me false, good soul, for her life, And could not direct me to Lyne : A God-fearing woman, kind mother and wife, And yet to know nothing of Lyne ! Well, let us thank God she at least knew Heaven, Though ignorant so as to Lyne, And loved her two Wills : 'tis not to all given To be learned and know about Lyne. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 137 "^his ffircat .Sisht." Far down in the depths of the forest, Aside in loneliest spot 'Mid oaks old, of patriarchs hoarest, By woodcutter death long forgot, There flashed forth ablaze all with glory, Its lit leaves of reddest gold, A beech like the bush in the story Beheld by the prophet of old. Why here in this solitude hidden, Where scarce there's a passer-by ? Why, catching the greenwood, thus redden The flames to no noticing eye? 138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. "ris enough if one awe-stricken Moses God's glory there burning see : To the prophet the desert discloses The vision he tells you and me ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 gKherc is Ihg Olob ? There were foxgloves bright by the road, And there crossed it a gold-mailed fly, Ferns shook from the lichened grey wall : I felt that the dear God was nigh. Oh ! Maker of simple fair things — Fly, foxglove, moss, ivy, and fern — Thy love in these lovely I know, Thee great in these little I learn ! Walking on, I came to a bird : Blood-stained were its feathers of grey ; A touch of a blind passing wheel Had crushed out its life where it lay. I40 M/SCELLAUEOUS POEMS. Ah, now not so clear saw I God : A mist had come up o'er mine eyes : It rose as I looked at the bird Flat there on the roadway that lies. And I lose Him more as the tombs Of the hamlet's churchyard I reach — 'Tis there on that slope by the sea : The waves requiem chant on the beach. Hid by the close-standing gravestones — One tells of an infant so small, And one of a dear husband drowned — He scarce can be seen now at all. Alas ! I've lost sight of Thee, God, Whom this morn, low bent on my knees, 1 "Father" in prayer had called. Saying, "Do Thou the things that Thee please! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Seen bright 'mid the harebells and ferns, Thy face darkened out by the way To this place of cold tomb-cast shade From the spot where the bruised bird lay. It is orphaned eyes that I lift, When lo ! on a pillar, white-cut With chisel unfalt'ring, there gleam Words of One who had "Spared not "His Own Son, but for us men all Delivered Him up," in sweet grace; And as I gazed, soul-held, my God, Again from the gloom came Thy face. I knew it at first not so well As I thought I had done before. When seen where the foxgloves and ferns Light-hearted I bent myself o'er. 141 142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. There was a shade dark in thine eyes ; Thou too, Father, seemedst to grieve : And in Thy love which I less knew The more my awed heart did believe. So, bramble with harebell and fern In chaplet (A faith I now twine; I shadow the foxglove with yew, For the dark and the bright are Thine. On this gravestone I hang the wreath, Here by the black sun-glinted sea, Near the road where the wheel-crushed bird And gay foxgloves were seen by me. I praise Thee, my God, found and lost, And found to be lost not again : Earth's ills can no more make me doubt — Of Thy love I 've seen the blood-stain. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 Lo ! the darkness lifts from the grave : Drowned sailor and little one dead, Christ low, in His sympathy sweet, Beside yours laid down His pierced head. As if with His arm round you each. You sleep, and together you'll rise, His known face the first thing you see, Heaven's dawn in the look of His eyes ! 144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. (Dn an ©It) portrait. Full eye, rose-leaf lip, living warm flesh and blood,' And a hundred and ten years ago : How strange 'tis to gaze and to think of thee thus. And to know thee so long lying low ! In Seventeen Eighty the summer sun shone. There were flowers in the grass as to-day, And heart throbbed to heart as hands touched at the stile, In that far-a-way fair month of May. They were living and young then, the long long dead, Their strong forms and bright faces I see ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 Old age and the grave ? oh, far off ! and they laughed, And false echo laughed back to their glee. My great-grandsire's young head I see by yon chair, As he bends to the spinnet, where sits A sunny-haired maiden, across whose blue eyes Just a gleam of sweet consciousness flits. And is there not left now a little dark dust, From a frame that had mouldered slow. With lip of rose-leaf fold, and eye that looked love, All a hundred and ten years ago? Ah ! is Carpe diem the one wisest word Which the tongue of poor mortal may speak? To canvas age-blackened and scarred must we turn The loved forms of the long-lost to seek? K 146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Nay, 'tis not the dead that I look upon here, There's a prophet's word writ on the page : As the face in the picture is young yet to-day, So the spirit-face knoweth not age ! 'Eo ^Hsn Mock. gone, Inhere blue sza of skjj, blat skp, of stn Jftcet, glilsa, thon art txr m« as a star $S tohtch i mj) soul's bearings take afar, ^easttrinj its mgstic place in things from th«. (Snnncb or cloub-tairt, — beautg, sttblimits, ^hon shotofst; age's hoar, strength aniib tear 5®ith btllotos passion-tdhite, tohich bark beat are; %\ij) form, too, altar »nto '^zitp, ! ^om thine mg life hob) little, toeak, i Uarn— ^ snn-gleam or a gloom npon tkjg brob). get I'm the obscrber, the marc measnre tkoa ! ^he fair, great, ancient, in thee, I biscErn ! Clottb on thee as oblation-smoke I knob) ! Jlnb tohile thou'rt ftxcb, mj) free soul on both go ! PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE, 153 WEST NILE STREET, GLASGOW