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Cornell University Library 
 PR 464B.5.E2H5 
 
 Hesperas, rhythm and rhyme. 
 
 3 1924 013 454 735 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013454735 
 
HESPERAS 
 
HESPERAS 
 
 RHYTHM AND RHYME 
 
 E. M. EDMONDS 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., i, PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 
 ^ 
 
'^CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY-' 
 
 {The rights of irmislation and of reproduction are reserved?) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACfE 
 
 Hesperas ... ... . ... ... I 
 
 Lilian ... ... ... .. ... 4 
 
 The Voices Three ... .. ... ... 20 
 
 Myra ... ... ... .. .. 25 
 
 Poppies ... ... ... ... ... ... 29 
 
 Elfie's Doll ... ... ... ... 40 
 
 Queen Vashti ... ... ... ... ... 45 
 
 The Poet's Wife ... ... ... ... 50 
 
 The Foundering of the "Cvprian" ... ... 53 
 
 The Trysting Tree ... ... ... ... 61 
 
 The Sudden Cloud ... ... ... ... 62 
 
 To K.iLLIOPE ... ... ... 63 
 
 Dora; or, Last Words ... ... ... ... 64 
 
 Our Elsie ... ... ... ... ... 76 
 
 Cold, Proud Margaret ... ... ... ... 92 
 
 Fair Athena: an Invocation ... ... gS 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 Waiting ... ... . . ... ... 113 
 
 Song of the Workers ... ... ... 117 
 
 The Snapped String ... ... ... ... 119 
 
 A Golden Dream ... ... ... ... 122 
 
 Her Mother's Farewell to Galeswintha ... 127 
 
 A Cretan Legend ... ... ... ... 132 
 
 Cretan Harvest Song ... ... ... ... 137 
 
 Rhigas ... ... ... ... ... 140 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I.— Vni ... ... 146 
 
 IX. Thinking of Athens ... ... 154 
 
 X. Idle Hours: at Athens ... ... ... 155 
 
 XI. The Same ... ... ... ... 156 
 
 XII. The Akropolis Owl ... ... ... 157 
 
 XIII. On the bringing into Athens the Body of 
 
 Mr. Ogle ... ... ... ... 15S 
 
 XIV. Sonnet ... ... ... ... ... 159 
 
 XV. After Pindar ... ... ... 160 
 
 XVI. Kentish Hedgerows in Autumn... ... 161 
 
 XVII. On a Monument by Chantry, in Chevening 
 
 Church, Kent i6j 
 
 XVIII. Guildhall Pigeons ... ... ... i6j 
 
 XIX. Sonnet ... ... ... 164 
 
 In the Evening ... ... ... ... ... 165 
 
HESPERAS. 
 
 I: 
 
 HESPERAS— in the evening, 'neath the arch 
 Of thick leaves soft stirred by the western wind 
 Where the last gold ray lights the dusky larch, 
 And trembles through the beech' arms low in 
 
 clined, — 
 Between the pauses of the throstle's song. 
 Between the interchange of loving thought, 
 In simple rhymes some inner feelings strong, 
 I bring to 'guile the hour (yet not unsought) ; 
 While, circling round, the blithe bat's filmy wing 
 With quick erratic motion fan the face. 
 In eager hasting, ere swift darkness brings 
 The time to seek its shrouded nesting-place. 
 
 " B 
 
HESPERAS. 
 
 When Love is speaking, Love will listen long ; 
 And deep-browed night its dew-damp cloak hath 
 
 donned 
 Full oft, whilst my dull pipe its crudest song, 
 To ears indulgent of it's sounds, prolonged. 
 
 II. 
 
 Hesperas — in the evening, whilst the flame 
 From crackling logs threw out a sparkling glow. 
 With weary feet which to the hearthstone came, 
 My friend would ask that light be shaded low ; 
 And then again, to stay mildewing care 
 From spotting all the colours of the soul 
 By secret folded thoughts, he would declare 
 Of Life, and all its purposes unroll. 
 And when unburthened, with awakened smile 
 Ask for a rhyme, the moments to beguile. 
 
HESPERAS. 
 
 Hespera ! standing between day and night 
 We pause, whilst looking at thy gliding feet, 
 Which come with rose tints of the sunset light, 
 And noiseless pass, enwrapped in shadows sweet. 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 Enwrapt in thought, mild Lilian sate 
 In an embrasure, where the light 
 Streamed from on high, and dancing bright 
 Played in her golden hair, which late 
 
 Unbound and from its coils set free, 
 As happy thoughts imprisoned long 
 Burst forth in gay tumultuous song, 
 So frolicked it in liberty ; 
 
 Adown her shoulders lithe and small 
 Tumbling in all its glittering sheen, 
 As cloth of gold that robes a queen 
 Low to the ground in folds doth fall ; 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 And shining like a nimbus round 
 A very sweet and gentle face, 
 Whose charm was but the reflex grace 
 That aye with loving heart is found. 
 
 A panelled picture old and quaint 
 Her mirror gives, where is enshrined 
 Meekness and gravity combined. 
 Befitting well a maiden saint. 
 
 But Lilian's eyes not in her glass 
 Are resting, but with quiet smile 
 Upon her lap intent, the while 
 Her fingers slight the needle pass ; 
 
 Whilst, with an artist's taste and skill, 
 She blends the silks that ev'ry flower 
 Speaks to the soul with mystic power. 
 As though it bloomed by vale or hill. 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 And many an anxious thought and care, 
 And many a moment stol'n away, 
 Had Lilian given day by day 
 To make this 'broidery rich and rare. 
 
 " Gift won is not heart won," she sighed ; 
 " Yet this may prove the cunning key 
 Which shall at last unlock for me 
 The treasure hitherto denied." 
 
 She smiled. " It is so dainty fine. 
 The wand'ring bees will hither come, 
 And think they're in their garden home. 
 Upon thy gown, O sister mine ! 
 
 " This ophrys, spotted gold and brown, 
 In mimic semblance may beguile 
 Their little wings to pause awhile, 
 Ere they will dare to settle down. 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 " These flowers of Spring in love I drew — 
 Pale oxalis with purple veins, 
 That hiding in the wood remains, 
 And yellow paigle wet with dew." 
 
 A sound as of an opening door, 
 A shadow on the mirror cast. 
 And a firm footstep quickly passed 
 Across the room, across the floor. 
 
 A stately form, a form of pride, 
 
 A face in Beauty's perfect grain. 
 
 That but to look on it again. 
 
 Both men and maids would turn aside. 
 
 Thus hastily surprised, all mazed 
 Down thrust were silken skeins confused, 
 And, archly smiling, half amused, 
 Lilian her slender arms upraised ; 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 And, as if that her sole employ, 
 Slowly and dreamily she weaves 
 Her fingers through her hair, and leaves 
 Them resting there as if in joy. 
 
 But quick her timid lids again 
 Droop tremulous ; a sudden chill 
 Pales brow and cheek, as thro' her thrill 
 The swift-winged woi'ds of cold disdain. 
 
 " Said I not well in scorn of late, 
 That ever false was over sweet ? 
 That low-voiced tones were ever meet 
 With cunning and sly craft to mate ? 
 
 " When saintly Lilian oft retires 
 For holy orison and prayer, 
 This is the sacred work which there 
 Her chamber's solitude inspires ; 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 " This the device through which she's dight 
 With praise of men in foolish rhymes ; 
 By these arts did she lure betimes 
 A heart that was mine own by right. 
 
 " So sirens, with melodious song, 
 And shining hair all spread around 
 (In the old myths), successful found 
 Such arts to subjugate the strong. 
 
 " In careless seeming, but with aim 
 As one at home in small deceits. 
 This paper with its fond conceits 
 Must needs my eye's attention claim, 
 
 " As if to make parade, I trow, 
 Of triumphs, since she's not too fair ; 
 But then she hath such wondrous hair. 
 And its achievements I must know ! " 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 Once, as the bitter accents fell, 
 Lilian her trembling fingers prest 
 Slightly her bosom's sacred nest ; 
 And then, as if the passing bell 
 
 Had tolled her young life's years, the flush, 
 That had but for a moment's space 
 In crimson dyed her brow and face, 
 Fled backward with a sudden rush. 
 
 She spoke not, for the blood was chilled 
 In her warm veins, and semblant death 
 Stayed the pulsations of her breath, 
 As those words' meaning thro' her thrilled. 
 
 But as the sense she was alone 
 Came back to her, then came again 
 Quick heart-throbs of a greater pain, 
 Of wrong for which she must atone. 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 And hastily she strove to scan 
 The lines that were before her flung, 
 These lines o'er which she fondly hung 
 With the first dawn that day began ; 
 
 Lines that with eager smiles she read, 
 And childlike wonderment of joy, 
 That in the present no alloy 
 Can find, no unfaith, and no dread. 
 
 But now each word a deeper cloud 
 Hangs in dark shadow o'er her brow ; 
 These thoughts in all their onward flow 
 And tinkling rhymes do untruth shroud. 
 
 A little bird which roamed a garden's sphere, 
 And saw within the fine meshed nets secured, 
 The pale and ruddy currants close immured, 
 Hovered with longings all the day anear, 
 
LILIAN. 
 
 And finds at last an entrance ; but affright 
 At being captured now its bosom thrills, 
 That which it so desired seems firaught with ills, 
 Its one aim now, its sole idea — flight. 
 
 Its flutterings vain a friendly eye that sees, 
 "With gentle hand the envious cords removes. 
 Bares the ripe fruit the speckled songster loves, 
 And the bright clusters with the poor bird frees. 
 
 But now it pauseth not to gaze anew 
 AVhere hang the careless berries without let, 
 More beautiful in freedom : how forget 
 The peril 'scaped, the prison yet in view ? 
 
 And so right joyous, lifting high glad wings, 
 It seeks its safety in the wood's retreat, 
 Where, heedless of the coveted escheat, 
 In loud melodious throbs its freedom sings. 
 
 But erst, when captured in a silken net 
 My Lilian's tresses closely lay confined, 
 I found to that small prison house assigned 
 The dearest wishes of my heart had met. 
 
LILIAN. 13 
 
 Nor sought I to be free ; but when in grace 
 My lady would her prisoner restore, 
 And loosed the cords, I saw, unseen before, 
 Each golden hair did fetters interlace. 
 
 gold-rayed lily ! for my crest 
 
 1 take thee from this hour : 
 
 My love's pale brow, her radiant crown. 
 
 The quiet majesty which dwells 
 
 In the deep calm of her pure breast, 
 
 To my heart's every thought, to my whole being tells 
 
 Of thee, thou stately regal flower ! 
 
 This reading, with sad 'w^ildered gaze 
 Towards her mirror's page she bent ; 
 The silent mirror backward lent 
 A vision seen with flushed surprise. 
 
 Upon her hands her head drooped low ; 
 Her lips, with half suppressed cry, 
 Broke forth with " Oh, my mother, why 
 Hast thou then left me .' Thou didst know 
 
14 LILIAN. 
 
 " My weakness. I am as a reed 
 Swaying, and to the breeze inclined ; 
 Made strong in fellowship, but by th' wind 
 Prostrated ; standing lone, in need. 
 
 " Was she the first loved ? Could it be 
 That these poor threads of gold could sway 
 A true heart from its faith away ? 
 And comes this grief to her through me ? " 
 
 Then suddenly she rose. A light 
 Illumined her like that which gleamed 
 From Holy Stephen's face, when beamed 
 His dying brow with radiance bright. 
 
 " If it be so, the love that 'bides 
 
 True to itself and love, must dare 
 
 All sacrifice, and nurse no snare 
 
 Which love from love's perfecting hides." 
 
LILIAN. 15 
 
 All high resolve is strength ; where late 
 Each nerve in her slight figure shook 
 With sense of pain, too great to brook 
 Withouten- lapse a jealous hate, 
 
 Now seemed as firmly strung as those 
 Which, when preparing for the race. 
 With brightened eye and purposed face, 
 The young athlete's strong limbs disclose 
 
 As void of passion or quick haste 
 With an untrembling hand and slow. 
 Severed glide silently below 
 The glittering locks, in cruel waste ; 
 
 And Lilian standeth there alone, 
 As the dark shadows steal along, 
 Shorn of her glory — theme of song 
 That oft had woke th' uncertain tone 
 
1 6 LILIAN. 
 
 Of youth's poetic strain ; more dear 
 The well-remembered fond caress, 
 When a loved mother's hand did press 
 The clustering curls and forehead clear. 
 
 Thrice did the bell with shrill resound^ 
 In louder tones its summons peal, 
 To gather for the evening meal ; 
 And thrice the echoes died around. 
 
 And in the shadows there alone 
 She stood so still, her bosom's swell 
 Scarce stirred her white robe's folds, which fell 
 In simple lines, like sculptured stone. 
 
 But starting suddenly, she clasps 
 Her hands, as one bounds up the stair, 
 Humming a careless, merry air, 
 And quick the chamber door unhasps. 
 
LILIAN. 17 
 
 And Mabel's voice is heard again, 
 And, somewhat like the bittersweet, 
 Where poisons and where beauty meet, 
 A sportive jest now points the strain. 
 
 " Has not the gold-rayed lily yet 
 Its crown arranged ? We wait below 
 All anxious, curious to know 
 The cause which doth its coming let. 
 
 " And Herbert too is there, and wears 
 In sort sublime his chains. They seem 
 To gall him somewhat, so I deem 
 From the grave knitted brow he bears." 
 
 One moment more, and Lilian flung 
 Herself athwart her sister's breast. 
 And the soul's feelings, unreprcst, 
 Burst from her lips as there she clung. 
 
 G 
 
1 8 LILIAN. 
 
 " Give me thy heart. I did not know 
 Until this hour where lay offence ; 
 But it was late revealed, and hence 
 I ask thy love — with fearless brow. 
 
 " If I am weeping, be content ; 
 It is not for my beauty lost — 
 It is not that I count the cost 
 But all too late, and now repent. 
 
 " For Herbert thou art fittest bride. 
 How will his pencil joy to trace 
 For ever in thy form and face 
 A subject for his art and pride ! " 
 
 Tumultuous quick sense of shame, 
 Prelude to justice and to right, 
 Shrinketh before the sudden light, 
 Not strong to meet the inner blame. 
 
LILIAN. 19 
 
 So Mabel quick those arms unwound, 
 And fled with sobbing. Well she knew 
 His place was there, in whose heart true 
 Unswerving loyalty was found. 
 
 And Herbert kneels at Lilian's feet. 
 And murmurs, " Though thy golden hair 
 Was precious in my sight, more fair 
 Thou seemest now. O love ! O sweet ! 
 
 " Ungentle hands my lily flower 
 Have harshly bruised ; but by God's will, 
 'Neath careful tending, it shall still 
 Bloom in a storm-sequestered bower." 
 
THE VOICES THREE. 
 
 The weaving it stays not by night or day, 
 The colours dazzle with lurid light, 
 With shining trails and flashes bright, 
 But crossed with shadows every way ; 
 And a lady of beauty, with smile of doom, 
 Sits at the wheel, or stands by the loom, 
 And ever singeth she this song — 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong.'' 
 
 The threads have been spun by that lady weird- 
 Threads of gold and of fibres fine. 
 Fit and meet for the subtle twine 
 Of a woof whose weaving for men's souls spiered 
 
THE VOICES THREE. 
 
 And with careful eye the lady drew 
 Closely the threads as the warp she threw, 
 And this the burden of her song — 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 A knight there lay where the moonbeams fell, 
 In couchM softness and lidded sleep ; 
 And all enwound in the mystic keep 
 Of the fine-spun threads of unholy spell ; 
 For aye as the thread had lengthened out, 
 The lady had coiled him with loops about. 
 And grimly smiling sung her song — 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 There came a noise of tramping steeds. 
 The rouse of a martial strain, 
 A trumpet blew shrilly again and again, 
 Calling a summons to hero's deeds. 
 
THE VOICES THREE. 
 
 The lady she looked where the warrior lay ; 
 And his limbs they stirred. It passed away, 
 
 And she laughed in scorn, and sung her 
 song — 
 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 Through the thick tapestries there came 
 Floating chant of the hymnal praise, 
 Old chapelries were wont to raise 
 At eve to Holy Mary's name. 
 " Alma Redemptoris mater ; '' and high 
 Rung one clear voice, as seeming nigh. 
 The lady she frowned in her song — • 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 As the chorus rose, as the chorus fell, 
 The knight his heavy lids ope'd wide, 
 Slightly moaned, and turned on his side ; 
 But still she wove her magic spell. 
 
THE VOICES THREE. 
 
 " Peccatorum miserere," in accents fair, 
 Tremblingly died in the shadowy air. 
 
 The lady laughed again in her song — 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 The night was gloomy, the night was still, 
 And thro' the silence there came a cry 
 As of a woman and child close by, 
 And their tender wailing the room did fill. 
 Of sobbing and kisses there came a sound. 
 And the snap of a thread at a sudden bound. 
 But the lady paused not in her song — 
 " I spin deftly, I weave strong." 
 
 The knight again hath sunk to his sleep, 
 The lady rises from woof and web : 
 " A time for flow, a time for ebb ; 
 The voices three have spoken deep. 
 
24 THE VOICES THREE. 
 
 There cometh none other to mar my sway, 
 When those voices three have died away. 
 I stay my warp, I stay my song, 
 Spinning deftly, weaving strong." 
 
MYRA. 
 
 " Mourir pour la patrie 
 C'est le mort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie." 
 
 " Dear child, upon this ancient tome 
 Mine eye and brain have pondered long, 
 And still the meaning hath not come, 
 Though busy fancies thickly throng. 
 
 " So, Myra, whilst I rest awhile. 
 Read me some old romantic lay. 
 Such as may troublous thoughts beguile. 
 Such as may passion's dreams assway." 
 
 And Myra rose in slender grace, 
 
 And reached a once-lov'd volume down. 
 
26 MYRA. 
 
 And bending low her glowing face 
 (Which trembled with a little frown, 
 
 To see that dust had gathered there), 
 She read, in mellow tones and clear, 
 Of warrior knight and lady fair, 
 And truth, to constant hearts so dear. 
 
 And as her accents rose and fell, 
 With passion or with pathos sweet, 
 Within the room, as by a spell, 
 The poet's phantoms straight did meet. 
 
 And held me in a mystic chain ; 
 Nor knew I when, but only knew. 
 And knew it with a sense of pain, 
 The voice was hushed, and silence grew. 
 
 But fixed was Myra's steadfast look 
 On the still open page, and where 
 
MYRA. 27 
 
 There lay upon the printed book 
 A crisped lock of chestnut hair. 
 
 ***** 
 " I heard the throstles yester eve, 
 Where the tall elm trees shadows long ■ 
 Fling on the grass,, as loth to leave ; 
 We will go listen to their song." 
 
 And Myra nothing said, but rose 
 And softly linked her arm in mine, 
 And thus we passed the garden rows. 
 Where showed her care and culture fine ; 
 
 Nor paused until we reached the gate. 
 Round which the woodbine frolics free, 
 . Where the elm shadows ling'ring wait, 
 And there upon a fallen tree 
 
 We sat, and listened to the song. 
 Through which the refrain ever swept, 
 
28 MYRA. 
 
 " Life it is short, but love is long,' 
 And then I knew that Myra wept. 
 
 I stooped to kiss her drooping head. 
 Whilst softly fast the tear-drops fell. 
 " Did he not well, dear child ? " I said ; 
 And Myra answered, " He did well." 
 
POPPIES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Poppies ! the bright red poppies here again, 
 
 With smell of new-mown hay ! 
 
 Poppies ! that like all loved things bring some 
 
 pain 
 That lingers near them alway — yes, alway. 
 Poppies that once ('tis many years ago) 
 Set my heart all aflame with ruddy light, 
 As they were nestling in a gown of white. ] 
 
 II. 
 
 A bunch of poppies anywhere and how 
 
 Is still a glorious sight ; 
 
 Yet I would travel on by day and night, 
 
30 POPPIES. 
 
 If only once to see the fields where grew 
 Those poppies that beneath cathedral shade 
 One afternoon ('tis many years ago) 
 Gleamed on me as the swelling organ played, 
 Filling the hollow dome with echoes deep and 
 
 low, 
 Whilst men and boys in full-toned quire did 
 
 raise 
 Sweet Mary's loving song of grateful praise. 
 A richer mellowed treble on my ear 
 Than boys can give, had fallen with a thrill ; 
 A tender tremor filling all space near 
 With its pathetic sentience of God's will ; 
 And I looked up, and saw a clear pale face. 
 Set round in crisping waves of nut-brown hair. 
 Shine midst the dark carved oak in radiant 
 
 grace 
 Like to some holy thing, it was so fair. 
 And as of handmaid's lowliness they sang, 
 
POPPIES. 31 
 
 Tears in her eyes of purple gray I saw ; 
 
 Tears such as Gabriel might have witnessed 
 
 hang, 
 On lids that drooped in meekness to God's law. 
 Gazing, my thoughts as in a dream 
 Were borne away from earth to spirits blest, 
 When suddenly I saw the gleam 
 Of poppies lying on her breast ; 
 And, rich in life, a warming glow 
 They upward cast and 'round on that pale face 
 
 and garb of snow. 
 
 III. 
 
 O poppies ! ye awoke me to a smile 
 
 Of earth and earth joys, when 
 
 Was lost straightway the heavenly strain awhile ; 
 
 And the awaking then. 
 
 Has thrown my whole life backward to a dream 
 
 In shadow land, whilst walking to and fro. 
 
32 POPPIES. 
 
 Holding a guiding lantern, with the gleam 
 Of poppies resting amid folds of snow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I heard nor text nor preacher. She 
 Who sat there list'ning, rapt and lost, 
 Both text and preacher was to me ; 
 And through the long years, tempest tost, 
 No sweeter teaching yet to me hath come. 
 Than there I learnt beneath cathedral dome. 
 
 V. 
 
 There came a rustle and a pause. 
 
 The preacher's voice was still, and then 
 
 The murmured " Peace of God " — the cause, 
 
 So little understood of men. 
 
 Bowed were all heads the blessed gift to meet 
 
 And poppies' petals fluttered to my feet. 
 
POPPIES. 33 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her skirts they brushed me as she passed along 
 From out the porch, the marble steps then down ; 
 One hand was linked within an arm right strong, 
 The other slightly raised her snow-white gown. 
 A smile was dawning o'er her stainless cheek, 
 As he who held her arm within his own, 
 Bade her in loving jest her poppies seek, 
 From whence the crumpled petals thin had 
 
 flown. 
 And the bare calices, bereft. 
 Upon her bosom sadly drooping left. 
 
 VII. 
 And she was gone ! the horses' heels 
 Threw on my brow the splashing soil. 
 And she was gone ! the carriage wheels 
 Sped swiftly through the thick turmoil, 
 
 D 
 
34 POPPIES. 
 
 To bear her back to countiy life, 
 
 To poppy-fields and waving grass ; 
 
 Whilst I, who held a heart with love's thoughts 
 
 rife, 
 With slowly dragging feet did homeway pass. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Upon my psalter's page I laid 
 
 The wayward petals, one by one. 
 
 Which, from their stalklets having strayed, 
 
 I gathered from the pavement stone. 
 
 I saw their colour day by day. 
 
 As by remorseful sorrow stained, 
 
 Not fade, but sadly change away 
 
 Till only funeral tints remained. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Still, when the bell for evensong 
 Fell on my anxious list'ning ear, 
 
POPPIES. 35 
 
 I threaded through the busy throng, 
 And sought the holy temple near. 
 And day by day I felt my heart 
 Beat with a feeling ever new ; 
 And day by day with sudden start 
 Of quickened pulses, when I knew 
 (Although I dared not look around) 
 That in that oak carved shadowy stall. 
 Of rustling robes there came a sound. 
 
 God ! the tears that there did fall 
 In secret, on that holy floor, 
 
 Were not for youthful sins, but that she came 
 no more. 
 
 X. 
 
 1 saw her never more — no more, 
 And that is many years ago, 
 
 And in the world, from shore to shore, 
 I have still wandered to and fro. 
 
36 POPPIES. 
 
 The world is but a speck in space, 
 
 To me it seemeth wondrous large, 
 
 Since, one day looking on a face, 
 
 I knew it took my life in charge ; 
 
 And sought it fervently, as some seek gold. 
 
 And sought it vainly, till the years grew old. 
 
 XI. 
 
 To-day I lie amongst the uncut grass. 
 With the blithe poppies waving o'er my brow ; 
 And there I dream and dream, and sweetly pass 
 Away from all the present and the now : 
 And I again am 'neath cathedral dome. 
 And I again behold a presence come. 
 And I again do hear sweet tones rehearse, 
 " My soul doth magnify the Lord," in touching 
 solemn verse. 
 
POPPIES. 37 
 
 XII. 
 
 But it is yet day, tho' the night be near, 
 And I wake up to life and work again ; 
 Nor will the poppies grieve that I shall bear 
 An armful with me homewards. An old strain 
 Will through the silent chamber steal. 
 And rain down harmonies on rriy lone meal ; 
 Whilst o'er the well-filled vase will droop, 
 And to the white-clothed board will stoop, 
 The ruddy blossoms, bringing near 
 A contrast that so long ago. 
 Impanelled in my heart most clear. 
 Was pictured on a robe of snow. 
 And gazing in them I shall therein see 
 Those thoughtful eyes of deepest violet gray, 
 In petals purple based which will not flee 
 Nor close, till wearily they drop away. 
 Falling upon the damask one by one, 
 As some fell once upon cathedral stone. 
 
3? POPPIES. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 So pass the days in works which make some 
 
 glad, 
 So pass the nights in thoughts which are not 
 
 sad ; 
 Betwixt the heavens and earth, in loving tending, 
 The messengers, the angels, still are wending. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Yet, when my earth's last evensong is sung. 
 And " Nunc dimittis " is my call to rest, 
 Friends ! when the passing bell its knell hath 
 
 rung, 
 Lay ye a bunch of poppies on my breast : 
 For that I do believe most solemnly. 
 My summons hence will most assured be 
 In summer-tide, when July's glowing time 
 Is bathing all the earth in golden prime. 
 
POPPIES. 39 
 
 And, friends ! in some green spot where grasses 
 wave, 
 
 There (unencased) just scoop a little grave. 
 
 And lay me down where laughing poppies grow ; 
 
 Of which the children, running to and fro, 
 
 Will fill their laps, whilst singing joyful rhymes ; 
 
 And whither there may come by chance some- 
 times 
 
 A maiden such as she, who'll bare her hand 
 
 To pluck them, whilst her pausing feet will 
 stand 
 
 Upon that peaceful sod — one whose heart's 
 shrine, 
 
 As hers, is templed by a love divine. 
 
ELFIE'S DOLL. 
 
 One morning as I walked along, on many a 
 
 tortuous thought intent, 
 Elfie, a little maiden child with large gray eyes 
 
 of solemn bent, 
 I overtook, as to and fro she moved with grave 
 
 and quiet pace. 
 And all the cares of motherhood upon her 
 
 little matron face. 
 
 " Elfie, do let me see your doll," I asked ; but 
 
 she relaxed no whit 
 Her tightly clasping arms, but pursed her rosy 
 
 lips a tiny bit, 
 
ELFIE'S DOLL. 41 
 
 And looked at me with doubting, as she 
 answered, very firm and slow, 
 
 " What can _;/(?« want to see her for? — indeed, I 
 should much like to know." 
 
 Now, Elfie's doll had had some wear, for then 
 
 there was not left a trace 
 Of any bloom on cheek, or lip, in her poor 
 
 mealy washed out face ; 
 And Elfie's doll had lost an eye, its head was 
 
 dented in, and bare ; 
 And, I suspect, of legs and arms it did not boast 
 
 the usual share. 
 
 " Now, Elfie," said I, coaxingly, " will you not 
 
 kindly give it me ? " 
 The little maiden frowned severe, and hugged it 
 
 still more fervently. 
 
43 ELFIE'S DOLL. 
 
 " Give it to me, my Elfie dear ; will you not truly 
 
 love me so ? " 
 But Elfie only frowned the more, and very 
 
 sternly answered, " No." 
 
 " Nay, but instead I'll bring to you one other 
 
 showing much more fair, 
 With bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, 
 And long and glossy golden hair ; 
 With waxen arms and feet ; — indeed, the prettiest 
 
 creature that is sold. 
 If you to me will give that doll, so very ugly, 
 
 worn, and old." 
 
 Then Elfie with her large gray eyes looked up 
 
 at once into my face, 
 And she stopped her hushing "bye-bye," and 
 
 she stayed her solemn matron pace ; 
 
ELFIE'S DOLL. 43 
 
 And with a tighter clasping still, in ringing 
 
 words distinct and slow, 
 With measured utterance she spoke, as her 
 
 indignant thought did grow. 
 
 " Go, then, and buy yourself that doll, so much 
 
 more pretty and more fair. 
 With bright blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, and 
 
 long and glossy golden hair ; 
 And I will have my own doll — yes, my own doll 
 
 I will keep alway ; 
 I will not have your new doll, no, for all the 
 
 words that you may say." 
 
 And Elfie is a woman now, her eyes are large 
 
 and clear and gray ; 
 But when I ask her of her doll, she laughs with 
 
 scorn, and turns away — 
 
44 ELFIE'S DOLL. 
 
 She says she has forgotten quite, and it must be 
 
 a great mistake, 
 So hideous an object ne'er one thought from her 
 
 could scarcely take. 
 
 But Elfie 'tis who erreth — who, alas ! can now 
 
 in no wise see, 
 What mystery of love lay shrouded in the 
 
 mem'ry she doth flee ; 
 Nor knows she when her grand and clear gray 
 
 eyes look proudly in my face, 
 I miss with sighs the beauty of her childhood's 
 
 sweet and loyal grace. 
 
QUEEN VASHTI. 
 
 The wine is flashing high 
 
 Where King Ahasuerus holds his feast ; 
 There is no stint or measure in the cup, 
 With precious metals worked, which joys the 
 
 eye. 
 To-day restraining rules are all releast ; 
 " Fill up the quick-drained goblet, fill it up." 
 
 On beds of gold reclined 
 
 The king with all his princes. On the walls 
 Rich many-coloured hangings draped around, 
 Fine purple fillets to the pillars bind 
 On silver rings. Each heavy fold down falls 
 On porphyry and jasper marbled ground. 
 
46 QUEEN VASHTI. 
 
 Shall not Queen Vashti come ? 
 
 This is the seventh day of deep carouse, 
 The king's proud heart is burning hot within ; 
 He looks upon his royal state and home. 
 What is there more his nobles to arouse, 
 To sense of all his majesty therein ? 
 
 " Will the Queen Vashti come ? " 
 
 Said one to other with full beakers raised ; 
 Whispered, with eyes lit up with wanton fire, 
 Across the laughter-sparkling beads of foam ; 
 " Shall we look on the beauties so much 
 
 praised ? " 
 Let Vashti come, was each lewd heart's desire. 
 
 " Bid our Queen Vashti here, 
 
 To show her hidden fairness us among. 
 That we may gaze, and thereof take our fill. 
 Then shall ye say she is without compeer 
 
QUEEN VASHTI. 47 
 
 'Mongst womankind who have been sung in 
 
 song; 
 And she too waiteth on my kingly will." 
 
 " Will not Queen Vashti come ? " 
 
 She sitteth with her women, as the moon 
 Among the stars in majesty and grace, 
 In the veiled precincts of her regal home, 
 Which guards with jealous eye the golden noon 
 From looking' on the glories of her face. 
 
 Queen Vashti veils her brow. 
 
 " What saith the king thy lord, my lord the 
 
 king? 
 Hath he not drunken deep for seven days ? 
 The strong wine doth his goblet overflow ; 
 He understandeth not what unclean thing 
 This mandate on his queen and handmaid lays. 
 
48 QUEEN VASHTI. 
 
 " What message bring'st me now ? 
 It seemeth me a mockery and jest ! 
 Great Ahasuerus has too much forgot. 
 Am I a dancing girl with bold bare brow, 
 To curve myself and smile to please a guest ? 
 To the king's feast Queen Vashti goeth not. 
 
 " Vashti am I, the queen ! 
 
 A consort fitted for so great a king, 
 
 Who chooseth not as shepherds choose theii 
 
 mates ; 
 The honour of my lord the king is seen 
 To suffer, if his handmaid in this thing 
 The dignity of queenliness abates. 
 
 " As Vashti, she hath more. 
 
 The gai'ment of her womanhood to bear, 
 That on her cheek ne'er riseth clouding shame 
 When she doth stand her lord the king before ; 
 
QUEEN VASHTI. 49 
 
 That is her own possession, which to wear 
 UnsuUied, honoureth the king's great name. 
 
 " Say to my lord the king, 
 
 His handmaid's life, her royal state, her crown, 
 Were his to grant, are his to take away ; 
 That these she to his feet will humbly bring : 
 Yet of herself, when these she layeth down. 
 Discrowned or crowned, Vashti is queen 
 alway." 
 
THE POET'S WIFE. 
 
 Mv head is weary with a sense of loss, 
 Although the summer-tide is all aglow ; 
 Whate'er I look upon seems turned to dross, 
 With thoughts that stifle, and with thoughts that 
 grow. 
 
 I knew it was my beauty woke his theme, 
 Mine eyes that made his verse with passion flow. 
 And I was proud and happy. Did I deem 
 That he would mount, whilst I was left below .'' 
 
 The years have made him famous, and the years. 
 Have weighed upon me with exceeding weight ; 
 Betwixt us two, there day by day appears 
 A deeper valley, and a steeper height. 
 
THE POET'S WIFE. 51 
 
 Did I not see the looks of cold surprise, 
 When on his arm amid the courtly hall ? 
 The questioning glances and uplifted eyes, 
 As though they whispered, " Does her face recall 
 
 Aught that could e'er those glowing lines inspire 
 Which on a sudden made the world to pause 
 And ask with rapture, ' Whence caught he this 
 
 fire ?' 
 Who is the maid, and where, that is the cause ? " 
 
 And so I go no more to clog his joy 
 With the sad thought I am no fitting mate 
 For his ripe years ; he was but yet a boy 
 When for my " starry eyes " he tempted fate. 
 
 All day I sit alone, and on my knees 
 His poems lie open, and I strive in vain 
 To lift my soul to his ; my weak brain sees 
 Words, words, and only words, and words again. 
 
53 THE POET'S WIFE. 
 
 But yet I will not tell him I have grief, 
 For he would seek in some way to atone ; 
 I would not see, for my poor heart's relief, 
 My eagle moping by the ingle stone. 
 
THE FOUNDERING OF THE 
 " CYPRIANr * 
 
 " O HO, merrily ho ! 
 
 We are riding to port, and I see the line 
 
 Of the coast and the harbour. There is a glow 
 
 That tells thro' the mist that the moon will shine, 
 
 To light us home, 
 
 O'er the waves and foam, 
 
 To the hearts and hearths 
 
 That are warm and bright ; 
 
 God give us joy of our meeting to-night ! " 
 
 A smile came over the master's face. 
 
 As the good ship Cyprian danced along ; 
 
 He was sure of the grounding and every trace, 
 
 And his heart leaped up in a merry song, 
 
 * The Cypnan foundered off Wales in the autumn of 1881. 
 The master, John Strachan, gave his own and last life-belt to a 
 stowaway, and was drowned. 
 
54 THE FOUNDERING OF THE "CYPRIAN:' 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! for the mariner coming ashore. 
 
 For of all his long watches as many more 
 
 Are the kisses in store." 
 
 The master stopped in his low-voiced song. 
 
 " Take your soundings, the fog is coming along \ 
 
 The shores of our land are treacherous oft ; 
 
 Its children, homeward bound, 
 
 Too often have met with a rough embrace. 
 
 Too often a grave have found, 
 
 When they thought that a few hours, more or less, 
 
 Would find them clasped in their mothers' arms. 
 
 Look out to the windward ! " 
 
 What saith the lead. 
 
 That there drifts a gloom o'er the master's face. 
 
 Where late the dream of a fond caress 
 
 Had left the light of its passing trace, 
 
THE FOUNDERING OF THE " CVPRIAN:' 55 
 
 But now is shadowed by growing dread ? 
 "We are foundering, mate! the rocks are ahead 
 
 Now God give us help, and Christ send grace, 
 For we have sailed straight for our burial-place 1 
 I thank Thee, Father, that on this day 
 Nor woman, nor child,_ doth with me stay ! 
 Steady and calm ! let down the boat. 
 And save ye, my men, and one by one. 
 And without a tremor now get ye afloat, 
 And God guide' ye safe to the unkind shore. 
 I will bide me here, and see that none 
 Be left to perish, and I, alone, 
 Will trust to the waves that have ofttimes bore 
 Me safe on their bosom.. This life-belt good 
 Will aid me to brave the darkling flood." 
 Down thro' the darkness and the gloom 
 
56 THE FOUNDERING OF THE "CYPRIAN." 
 
 Dropped the boat on the sullen sea, 
 And one by one, and silently, 
 The men they wrung the master's hand, 
 As the}' passed before where he did stand, 
 And gave to each a belt for need 
 If the boat should swamp, and to each " God 
 speed." 
 
 The master stood on the deck alone. 
 
 His life-belt in his hand ; 
 
 His burthened heart gave forth a groan 
 
 For the safety of his band, 
 
 And he looked around with a noble joy 
 
 That he was but one, and they were gone. 
 
 And then he thought of his wife and boy 
 
 In their cottage home alone, 
 
 And his broad breast heaved as he raised his arms 
 
THE FOUNDERING OF THE "CYPRIAN." 57 
 
 To plunge in the hissing wave. 
 
 His heart it beat with no vague alarms, 
 
 For the master was good and brave. 
 
 But his arm was seized with convulsive grip, 
 
 And a gasping voice in his ear outshrieked, 
 
 " Am I to go down with your rotten ship ^ 
 
 Am I to be left to be murdered and wrecked, 
 
 Whilst the others go safe to land ? " 
 
 And a ghastly wretch, in frantic fear, 
 
 Clutched at the master with nerveless hand. 
 
 " Who art thou, man ? whence, why art thou here? 
 
 Thou art not one of my faithful crew, 
 
 Who sailed with me o'er the tropic seas ; 
 
 I counted them all to the boat — they were few — 
 
 I could not misdoubt, for I saw them and know 
 
 That nine was their number who went below. 
 
58 THE FOUNDERING OF THE "CVF/HAN." 
 
 " Nor art thou one of the voyagers three ; 
 They were my first care, my mind to ease. 
 I know thee now — yes, thou art he 
 The stowaway, who basely found 
 A hiding-place the bales among ; 
 And when our ship was under sail 
 Crept forth, and raised our good mate's ire, 
 Who swore such cumbrance of the ground 
 Should to the fishes straight be flung. 
 Stand up, man ! If I did now fail 
 In doing that which I judged right. 
 Before I met this purging fire. 
 There might be some excusing plea 
 In that poor babe and mother frail, 
 Who by the morn for such as thee 
 Will widow and will orphan be. 
 
THE FOUNDERING OF THE "CYPRIAN" 5c 
 
 " Take now this belt, and for I know 
 
 Tkou wilt not dare to plunge below, 
 
 And that full oft I've made the vow 
 
 That never would I leave my prow 
 
 In any peril, any woe, 
 
 That oft befalls those sons of men. 
 
 Who down to the deep in ships do go 
 
 And see God's wonders clearly then. 
 
 Here I remain : but stand aside — 
 
 Nor say I this in foolish pride 
 
 To bid thee go apart ; 
 
 But that, in face of coming ill. 
 
 It best befitteth human heart 
 
 To commune, and be still. 
 
 Yet heed these words : if thou through grace 
 
 Dost reach the shore alive, 
 
6o THE FOUNDERING OF THE " CYPRIAN.'' 
 
 " Keep thou a cleaner breast — 
 
 No man defraud, but henceforth strive 
 
 To owe to no one aught, 
 
 Save that which with all good is fraught ; 
 
 If not, God give thee rest." 
 
 The master folded his hands in prayer, 
 
 And his head bowed on his breast : 
 
 " God ! Thou art holy, and just, and good ; 
 
 And for Thy guiding care 
 
 Until this hour. Thy name be blest ! " 
 
THE TRYSTING TREE. 
 
 THREE EPOCHS. 
 
 Soft is the wind that is stirring the grass 
 Where is sleeping the pale anemone ; 
 I heed not the moments which sweetly pass. 
 Pink and white blossoms are clust'ring the tree. 
 
 Tfr 6|r ^ Jlr ^ 
 
 Bright is the sun that is gliding each bough, 
 Bright are the smiles that are greeting me, 
 Bright is the golden hair shading a brow, 
 Ruddy red apples hang thick on the tree. 
 
 ***** 
 I have waited here till the shadows come, 
 I have waited long whilst the hours flee, 
 I am waiting still in the mist and the gloom. 
 One by one fall the dead leaves from the tree. 
 
THE SUDDEN CLOUD. 
 
 As erst I looked upon my dear love's brow, 
 Where shone thesummer of a sweet content, 
 Amazed I saw a sudden shadow grow, 
 And all the sunlight in a moment shent. 
 
 Taking her hand, " Nay, sweet, whence comes this 
 
 cloud 
 Unheralded that thus doth bring alloy ? " 
 Her tear - gemmed eyes this rising thought 
 
 avowed — - 
 " Grief treadeth still upon the heels of joy." 
 
TO KALLIOPE. 
 
 Nay, frown not, sweet Athenian maid, 
 At this my gift of asphodels. 
 Beheve me, that these graceful bells 
 Were gathered in no gloomy shade ; 
 For had I trod that fated plain 
 Where memory ceases, thee again 
 I had not sought, forgotten evermore the, pleasure 
 and the pain, 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 
 
 " Draw back the curtain, let me see the sky : 
 There are so many shadows in the room 
 Which come and go, for ever passing by, 
 Hiding from me the Hght in misty gloom. 
 Dear wife, come nearer to me, sit beside. 
 And raise my head that I may look again 
 Upon the sunset in its crimson pride. 
 Nay, it is yet too much, too great a strain ; 
 Let fall, and listen as I speak awhile 
 Of that which is the burden of my heart. 
 The grateful thoughts I bear thee make a pile 
 Too heavy for my feeble words t' impart. 
 Ah ! thou wert ever diligent and kind 
 To meet my crudest wishes. In the years 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 65 
 
 That follow after this drear time, thou'lt find 
 
 This knowledge will make transient all sad tears. 
 
 I fear to thee I have been sorry mate — 
 
 A selfish bookworm, reading midnight hours, 
 
 And oft till morning at the eastern gate 
 
 Came gliding in to waken up the flowers. 
 
 But it is all now past. If there was aught 
 
 That ever vexed thee in my silent mood, 
 
 Thou knowest yet that I have ever sought 
 
 To reverence in thee the wise and good. 
 
 The future will be easy for thee, dear ; 
 
 That was my earliest, my chiefest care. 
 
 So thou might'st never feel the anxious fear 
 
 That goes where needs do doubtful fortunes 
 
 dare. 
 No, there is nothing more, and I am weak : 
 Dear wife, thy hand is heavy on my brow. 
 I will now sleep. But, Agnes, if I speak 
 In all my wandering dreams, belike I may, 
 
 F 
 
56 DORA; OR, LAST IVORDS. 
 
 Thou wilt not heed. Now rest thee, rest thee, 
 
 drear 
 Thy watch has been — thy watch by night and day 
 Most long, most weary ! rest thee, rest thee, dear. 
 In a sick room, where Death is hovering near. 
 How many angel feet do walk unseen ! 
 How many angel whisperings you hear 
 The watches of the deep-browed night between. 
 When skilled Love, not the hired watcher, tends 
 And the wife Agnes had the dext'rous hand 
 Whose gentleness expert its tendance lends 
 In unfelt, unknown touches ; no command 
 T'obey, because each need was seen before 
 The feeble lips the halting phrase could frame. 
 How slowly drag the minutes thro' each hour, 
 After the dial a fresh day doth name ! 
 With what relief is seen the first pale streak 
 That pierces the closed blinds, and brings the 
 
 chill 
 
DORA J OR, LAST WORDS. 67 
 
 Which heralds in the dawn, and shows the cheek, 
 Than yesterday more wan and haggard still ! 
 And Agnes sat beside, but yet not close. 
 In deference to the dying husband's mind, ' 
 Which cared not for caresses : one of those 
 Whose ways are reticent and cold, but kind. 
 And thus her manner by communion grew 
 Repressive of emotional warm glow : 
 Gracious to all, and friendly to the few 
 Who, like her husband, scholar tastes did show. 
 She sits beside him, in her features blend 
 Some pride along with sadness ; though no tears 
 Swell the full lids, the eyes cease not to bend 
 Ward unremitting, lest some change appears. 
 And he is sleeping — that deep sleep which oft 
 Slopes into, or precursor is of death. 
 
 Across his face there stole expression soft ; 
 His lips were moving with a quickened breath ; 
 
68 DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 
 
 His opened eyes shone with a stranger light ; 
 And with convulsive force his arms stretched forth 
 Towards, as if to clasp her. Quick as light 
 She sank down closer to him, as most loth 
 To lose last precious words. He gave a sigh, 
 And looked at her with strained and wandering 
 
 gaze, 
 With a half-timid yet dilated eye. 
 As he were seeking something through a haze ; 
 And then the broken words came trembling 
 
 through 
 In accents strange and foreign to her ear. 
 With fond impassioned tenderness which grew 
 To full heart-chords of throbbing tones and clear. 
 " Dora ! my own dear Dora ! sweet one ! place 
 Thy hand in mine, my own love ! on my brow 
 Drop thy cool kisses ! Do not hide thy face. 
 But look at me, my sweet, for well I know 
 Thou hast not lost one atom of thy grace. 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 69 
 
 Yet, love, thou must be weary : it is long 
 
 Since thy dear head hath lain it down to sleep. 
 
 I now am happy, Dora. Yesterday 
 
 I could not speak thy name, my Dora — no. 
 
 Nor yesterday nor many days : there lay 
 
 A spell upon me, why I do not know. 
 
 Because I see thee, and thou art not dead. 
 
 But yet I dared not Dora say aloud ; 
 
 I whispered it sometimes with hushing breath. 
 
 Lest other one should hear. Ah, what a crowd 
 
 There came to see us wedded ! I was sad ; 
 
 Thou didst not wear thy usual face that day. 
 
 But it is long ago, and I am glad 
 
 That time is past, for ever gone away. 
 
 Thy little hand is trembling ! Go and sleep 
 
 Awhile, my Dora darling ! I will call 
 
 If I shall need thee. Dear love, do not weep ; 
 
 Ah, do not so ! I am not sad at all : 
 
 I seem as I had travelled long and far, 
 
70 DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 
 
 And borne a heavy burthen all the way. 
 
 At nights there never came one shimmering star ; 
 
 The days were very cloudy, dull alway. 
 
 I worked and worked, and studied hard and late 
 
 To get me from myself, and now they say 
 
 My brain hath been o'ercharged. No ; it was hate 
 
 Of thy strange look upon our mariiage day : 
 
 For, ever after, ever until now, 
 
 I thought it was not Dora I had wed. 
 
 This foolish thought dug furrows on my brow ; 
 
 This foolish thought gnawed so till my heart bled : 
 
 And now I am a worn and dying man. 
 
 And all because of that same foolish thought 
 
 Which blurred me so, that now I cannot see 
 
 Thy features, my own Dora, as I ought — 
 
 Not even now, this moment, O my sweet ! 
 
 When I look fully at thee as just now. 
 
 Be thou not angry, darling ! thy dear feet 
 
 Need not to beat the floor : but kiss my brow 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. yi 
 
 Again — again, to drive that face away ! 
 Nay, I will close my eyes, or I shall dream ; 
 My brain is 'wildered. Art thou Dora ? say, 
 Oh, say thou'rt Dora ! Hide that hard lamp's 
 
 gleam 
 That gives another face ! Oh, let me die. 
 With my own Dora I have loved so long 
 Kissing my trembling lips. Say, ' It is I, 
 Thy Dora.' Ah, the name is like a song 
 Heard once in childhood and forgot, yet when 
 'Tis heard again, it is a sounding joy 
 The years between have never known till then. 
 Dora ! my Dora ! kiss me on my mouth ! 
 It is a foolish thought, yet ere I die. 
 In those soft tones thou caught'st in the sweet 
 
 south, 
 
 Say once — for I am ill — ' Thy Dora.' I " 
 
 A troubled tremor for a moment swept 
 Across the face of her who knelt beside ; 
 
72 DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 
 
 Then o'er her cheek a tender flushing crept, 
 Lower and lower bent her head of pride. 
 She kissed him on the mouth — again— again, 
 And whispered, " I am Dora ; it is I, 
 Thy love, thy Dora, by thy bed of pain 
 Watching alway — thy darling Dora, I." 
 Around her neck his arms essayed to meet ; 
 A bright smile flickered o'er him. " Then I die 
 Most happy. O my Dora ! bless thee, sweet ! 
 A foolish thought — but Dora could not lie." 
 And thus, while hot tears rained upon his brow. 
 His life with kisses gently passed away. 
 Leaving behind the halo and the glow 
 Of blissful sweet contentment where he lay ; 
 Not paler than that tear-stained marble face 
 Which looked upon him with such pity deep 
 As guardian angels show, whose helpful grace 
 Has worked in vain. A thousand mem'ries 
 sweep 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 73 
 
 Tumultuous, as she strove to bridge the gap 
 Of that which was, with that which might have 
 
 been. 
 Some knowledge, if it comes full late, mayhap 
 If earlier by no better light is seen. 
 
 " At last I know the travail of thy soul ; 
 
 At last thy lips have quivered to my touch ; 
 
 At last, when thou wast drawing to Life's goal — 
 
 At last I see thou could'st love overmuch ! 
 
 This other one, this Dora, who is she 
 
 That thou didst shroud within thy heart so 
 
 long, 
 Whilst the remembrance sucked thy life from 
 
 thee. 
 Making thy breast a prison barred iron strong ? 
 Thy place was here, thou Dora. What wert thou 
 To me, that I should lie for thee .' My will 
 Goes strong to hate thee, but that even now 
 
74 DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 
 
 His dying kiss upon my lips doth thrill, 
 When he believed nrie Dora. Yet he said 
 His Dora could not lie ; and / must sear 
 My soul with lies to soothe his dying head, 
 And lull him to his rest. Ah, husband dear. 
 My lie was not like Yseult's, when it slew 
 The sinful but true lover. Thou poor heart ! 
 They who have never loved, and never knew 
 Love's loss however lost, have here no part ; 
 But I have loved thee, husband, thro' the years. 
 And know the heavy load that thou hast borne. 
 Who is this Dora, that will give no tears 
 To wash his brow whose life she made forlorn ? 
 I know her not, if she were false or true. 
 Or what her likeness ; hidden tress of hair 
 As secret treasure hoard ne'er gave its hue. 
 By careless chance revealed, to say 'twas fair ; 
 Nor absent thoughts on margin of a book 
 E'er traced the name of Dora ; — yet how meet ! 
 
DORA; OR, LAST WORDS. 75 
 
 When written down it hath a pretty look, 
 As for a lover's ear its sound is sweet. 
 Alas ! my hand weighed heavy on his brow, 
 Until as Dora's it was angel light. 
 Will he be angered if he know it now ? 
 Or shall I still be Dora in his sight .? 
 In the fair glory of Love's perfect day, 
 Shall there be any longer two ? Ah no ! 
 The unloved one is blotted out for aye, 
 And Dora in his Agnes he will know." 
 
OUR ELSIE. 
 
 Yes, we always were proud of our Elsie— ay, 
 
 somewhat too proud, I fear. 
 The ring of her laugh it was ever so joyous, so 
 
 pleasant to hear ; 
 And her eyes were so bright, and her cheeks were 
 
 so downy and fair, 
 And a gleam of gold ran through the waves of 
 
 her thick chestnut hair ! 
 
 Our Elsie still comely as aye ! Yes, wife, I know 
 
 it full well ; 
 And I need not to speak with the tone of a 
 
 funeral bell. 
 And you cannot make out why so sullen and 
 
 stern I appear. 
 Whenever her wedding-day cometh, the joyfullest 
 
 day of the year. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 77 
 
 It is that my thoughts they go back to that 
 
 night ten years since at this hour, 
 When the favours were strewn all about — little 
 
 bows with a tuft of some flow'r : 
 You, wife, and the girls were as proud and as 
 
 happy as happy could be ; 
 And our Elsie the brightest of all, with the smiles 
 
 aye so pleasant to see ! 
 
 And I sat and looked on from my chair by the 
 fire, and was glad 
 
 Our Elsie had met with a husband with solid 
 good gifts as Ned had ; 
 
 But yet through my gladness came stealing, un- 
 bidden, a shade of regret 
 
 For the lad whom I loved as my own son, the 
 lad whom I could not forget. 
 
78 OUR ELSIE. 
 
 Eh — there was never a lad who could handle the 
 
 plough with more skill, 
 Or would work late and early as he, with body, 
 
 with soul, and with will ; 
 There was never a lad more God-fearing : well 
 
 looking was he, 
 And I aye thought if he lov'd our Elsie, and she 
 
 him, what better could be. 
 
 And then just to think, of his being so fond of 
 
 the gold. 
 He must leave the old place, with the sheep and 
 
 the lambs in the fold — 
 And the corn he had sown too, just showing so 
 
 green on the ground : 
 It had broken my heart to have gone ere the 
 
 harvest came round. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 79 
 
 But he went, and ne'er spoke of our Elsie ; and 
 Elsie said nought, 
 
 Although she did seem a bit downcast a day or 
 two after, I thought. 
 
 But I soon heard her singing again, and there-, 
 fore I surely must know 
 
 There was no love between them but yet, I won- 
 dered that it could be so. 
 
 And every one loveth our Elsie, ay, every one 
 
 speaks of her well ; 
 Her laugh is so pleasant to hear, and her voice is 
 
 as clear as a bell. 
 There are some girls whose hearts are as true — 
 
 ah, as true as the gold, and as sweet ; 
 Yet the men never wait at their bidding, nor lay 
 
 down their lives at their feet. 
 
So OUR ELSIE. 
 
 And so, while ye talked of the morrow, the 
 dresses, and gewgaws, and more, 
 
 I sat in my chair by the fire, when suddenly in 
 at the door 
 
 Quick cometh the dear lad I thought of — our 
 Harry from over the sea. 
 
 Sunburnt and handsome as ever, with eyes over- 
 flowing with glee. 
 
 Forthwith there were hearty embraces, and many 
 
 a clamour and shout, 
 " You're just in time, Harry ! " " In time ! why, 
 
 pray, what is all this about ? " 
 And you, wife, you looked in his face, as you 
 
 kissed him, with something of scorn 
 Saying, laughing, " About ? what about ? Why^ 
 
 our Elsie will marry i' the morn." 
 
OUR ELSIE. 
 
 But I marked, 'mid the merry shrill welcomes 
 
 which rang to the roof, 
 That our Elsie was not 'mong the greeters, but 
 
 silently standing aloof ; 
 And I marked, when I clutched it with ardour, 
 
 and fervently grasped his broad hand, 
 That it shook like an aspen — God help me ! I 
 
 wonder the poor boy could stand. 
 
 The hearts that are joyous, too often are blinded ; 
 
 they see not at all 
 Of the sorrow that standeth beside ; and clearly 
 
 I still can recall. 
 How none saw the pallor that stole through the 
 
 bireadth of his bonny brown cheek, 
 As they called, " Just in time ! " But our Elsie, 
 
 our Elsie, she — she — did not speak. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 
 
 But Harry was made of good stufif, wife, that 
 
 night — yes, that night made it plain ; 
 And although you don't like me to say it, I say 
 
 it, and say it again, 
 That he was too good for our Elsie, though her 
 
 cheek was so downy and fair. 
 And though her smiles always were flashing 
 
 from under her waved chestnut hair. 
 
 Then he gave a long glance once around, and 
 
 he said, with a somewhat sad smile, 
 " Nay, I must be gone ere the morrow, and 
 
 travelling many a mile 
 ]'>c the joy-bells ring merrily forth ; but although 
 
 I stay not as a guest, 
 I am glad that I cameyV/j^ in time, my bride-gift 
 
 to place with the rest ! " 
 
OUR ELSIE. 83 
 
 Then he drew from his bosom a necklet, with 
 
 rubies and pearls all beset, 
 With curious devices in gold work. " 'Tis Indian. 
 
 I did not forget 
 That once when the yule log was burning, our 
 
 hearts their dear wishes unbound. 
 And Elsie she wished for a necklet, with rubies 
 
 and pearls set around." 
 
 And straight he went up to our Elsie, who was 
 
 silently standing aloof. 
 And, though he spoke low, I'll be sworn that he 
 
 uttered no tone of reproof 
 I just heard but so much : " Dear Elsie, be happy 
 
 — be happy ! From me 
 No word that shall trouble thy future shall e'er 
 
 come. There — there — let it be. 
 
84 OUR ELSIE. 
 
 " As brother to sister, to thee do I offer these 
 
 jewels, and pray 
 That as bride and as wife thou wilt wear them in 
 
 sisterly calmness alway. 
 Farewell ! I can tarry no longer. Shall I come 
 
 back some day ? Yes, some day 
 We shall all — we shall all — meet again — 
 
 where " He faltered, and hastened 
 
 away. 
 
 Now, wife, do not look so afeared, when I tell 
 
 thee my heart felt as cold 
 As though it was chilled into ice, and its beatings 
 
 for ever outtold. 
 When one look I gave to our Elsie, who silent 
 
 apart still did stand, 
 With a flush on her cheek, but a smile — yes, a 
 
 smile at the gems in her hand. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 85 
 
 Dearest wife, just for once ask poor Elsie to- 
 morrow to lay them aside — 
 
 Just for once, then perhaps I shall less feel this 
 dull heavy pain at my side — 
 
 For ever I think I behold, as I look on those 
 rubies and pearls, 
 
 Large blood-drops and tears trickling down, 
 though the eyes laugh from under the 
 curls. 
 
 But whilst all were praising the baubles, and 
 
 wond'ring and crying aloud, 
 Of their beauty and worth, and some added, 
 
 " How odd Harry was, and how proud ! " 
 I stole unobserved from the room, and I quietly 
 
 followed him out. 
 For I said to myself I knew well that the lad 
 
 would be somewhere about. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 
 
 And I went where I thought to be sure I should 
 
 find him, but he was not there, 
 Though the foal had been just like his own child, 
 
 and often you'd heard me declare, 
 That one of the first of his wishes, if ever the 
 
 lad should come home. 
 Would be just to know of the brown foal, and 
 
 what of its promise had come. 
 
 But as I came round through the gate by the 
 
 orchard, right close to the seat, 
 Which Harry's own hand had upbuild ed so 
 
 cleverly, dainty, and neat. 
 With branches all close interwoven and carefully 
 
 canopied round, 
 With logs quaintly carved just for footstools 
 
 placed firmly and sunk in the ground ; — 
 
OUR ELSIE. 87 
 
 I heard a loud crying of anguish, and there came 
 
 thro' the heavy night air 
 The wail of a strong man in travail — in travail 
 
 with grief and despair ! 
 And the words, like the swift-flying balls, stung 
 
 my ears as they passed to my breast, 
 Where the wounds that they made, wife, will 
 
 linger till you and I take our long rest. 
 
 " My Elsie ! my own darling Elsie ! 'Twas here 
 
 that thou gav'st me thy troth, 
 'Twas here thou didst kiss me to seal it ; 'twas 
 
 here hand in hand we swore both, 
 To say not a word of the matter till I came 
 
 back from over the sea, 
 O God ! if it could be Thy will that now I could 
 
 die, blessing thee ! " 
 
85. OUR ELSIE. 
 
 And there like a heap of dark shadows I found 
 
 him all prone as he lay ; 
 And I put my hand lightly upon him, and 
 
 hoarsely said, " Lad, go away ! 
 'Thou'rt not the first man who's been duped and 
 
 befooled — ay, befooled by a smile ; 
 And the time may come surely around, thou'lt be 
 
 glad thou hast suffered awhile. 
 
 " But that the woman who 'gulled thee should 
 
 ha' been our young Elsie, far lief 
 I had seen her laid low i' the churchyard, ere she 
 
 had brought thee to this grief ! " 
 Then he sprang to his feet with a bound, and 
 
 firmly his hand grasped my arm. 
 " Peace ! " cried he. " Peace ! not a word that 
 
 can hurt her or do her a harm ! 
 
067? ELSIE. 
 
 " She was always ' Our Elsie,' and I swore to be 
 
 loving and true till the death ; 
 And thou art the father who reared her, the father 
 
 through whom she drew breath : 
 And I tell thee, and swear to thee truly, that 
 
 sooner, far sooner, than she — 
 Our Elsie, our bright, smiling Elsie, should suffer 
 
 reproaches for me, — 
 
 " I would walk with my torn heart all bleeding— 
 
 ■ all bleeding, and bear the great load 
 Of this moment for ever — for ever, nor pray for 
 
 the end of the road. 
 Heaven bless thee ! Thou camest to seek me — 
 
 to seek me ! O angel of God ! 
 Thou didst open the floodgates of mercy, when 
 
 thou found est me low on the sod ! " 
 
90 OUR ELSIE. 
 
 And the lad threw his strong arms about me, 
 
 and wept as he lay on my breast ; 
 " I am sorry to leave thee, dear father ; but still 
 
 thou wilt say it is best. 
 And say nought to the women to vex them ; the 
 
 women — the women have griefs 
 Of which we know little, we men, with our work 
 
 and our many reliefs." 
 
 Yet the lad was not one to sit down in a corner, 
 
 to idle and weep ; 
 If the lightning had tlicn struck him down, he'd 
 
 ha' smiled as he went to his sleep. 
 But whilst the blood beat in his veins, he must 
 
 up and be doing ; and so 
 He was off by the morn, far away from the scene 
 
 of his hopes and his woe. 
 
OUR ELSIE. 91 
 
 I knew, yes, I knew why he went to the land of 
 
 the fever and swamp : 
 But God He had gotten some work that the lad 
 
 must still do in the camp. 
 And so he toiled on for the good cause, and won 
 
 him no little renown ; 
 But if he had married our Elsie, she'd ha' smiled 
 
 all his high thoughts adown. 
 
 And the Angel of Death found him working in 
 
 the midst of the harvest he'd sown. 
 With the sheaves standing thickly around him : 
 
 he knew every ear that had grown. 
 And the marks of the daysman were on him, 
 
 who, labouring early and late. 
 Paused not, although languid and weary, till his 
 
 Master called loud at the gate. 
 
COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 
 
 " I've longed to tell thee many a day, 
 
 As we have walked along, 
 That all my love hath passed away 
 
 As the echo of a song. 
 
 " Though it be hard for thee to hear, 
 
 'Tis hard for me to say : 
 It seems, in sooth, as if a year 
 
 Had passed o'er me this day. 
 
 " If love had been a thing at will. 
 
 Nor had it now been said ; 
 Or could it live by seeming still, 
 
 When all its life was dead. 
 
COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 93 
 
 " But love comes like th' unbidden wind, 
 
 And like the wind departs ; 
 There is no miracle can bind 
 
 Two wayward human hearts. 
 
 " But I will keep my troth plight yet, 
 
 If there be cruel need." 
 Then up rose cold, proud Margaret. 
 
 " Nay, but there is no need." 
 
 He bit his lip in sheer despite. 
 
 And strode across the floor. 
 " Maiden, for thy frank speech this night 
 
 I thank thee evermore." 
 
 Lightly he sprang adown the stair ; 
 
 With light heart went he forth. 
 Had she him given words more fair, 
 
 It had brought little worth. 
 
94 COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 
 
 She laid her head upon the sill, 
 She clasped her fingers tight ; 
 
 She listened to each footfall, till 
 No sound came thro' the night. 
 
 And then with form erect and tall, 
 
 And stern and rigid face. 
 She softly swept across the hall, 
 
 With slow and even pace. 
 
 She turned from the half-open door. 
 Where showed a ruddy flame ; 
 
 She shunned with shuddering the floor 
 Whence children's laughter came. 
 ***** 
 
 A scarce-stirred stream, upon whose side 
 
 The rugged alders grew, 
 Which on its bosom in springtide 
 
 Their happy catkins threw ; 
 
COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 95 
 
 When Love had had its transient day, 
 
 Whilst April suns looked on ; 
 Before the crooked branches gray 
 
 Their downy leaves did don. 
 
 She leant against an alder tree, 
 
 Its boughs swept o'er her face. 
 She said, " There is no room for me 
 
 In all this wide world's space." 
 
 She looked athwart the alder tree, 
 
 Into the pool beneath. 
 " Thy sullen gloom suits well, " said she, 
 
 " For one in love with death." 
 
 A little star, whose steady light. 
 
 Had travelled ages on, 
 Looked down, and with a flicker bright 
 
 Danced tenderly upon 
 
96 COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 
 
 The quiet pool, where milfoil fine 
 And bristly brook-rush met. 
 
 " Thou art a foolish star to shine ! " 
 Said woful Margaret. 
 
 Within the thick-leafed bower near 
 She sat her down, and leant 
 
 A weary head, that seemed to sear 
 The twigs that backward bent. 
 
 A timid bird, whose growing nest 
 Was hid those leaves among, 
 
 Peeped out to see what creature prest 
 So heedlessly along. 
 
 It peered into that cold, set face, 
 
 And laid its tiny beak, 
 As if in pity, one short space 
 
 Upon that cold, pale cheek. 
 
COLD, PROUD MARGARET. 97 
 
 Whereat there rose a surging flush, 
 
 A thrilling tremor deep. 
 " Go, silly bird," sighed Margaret. " Tush ! 
 
 Nay, thou hast made me weep.'' 
 
 H 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN 
 INVOCA TION 
 
 Ki T6 Kmapai Kai lotrTe(pavoi koI aoiBvfjiot, 
 'EWd^os epetc/xa, Khetval 'ASacai, Za.ip.6vtov nro\U5pop. 
 
 Pindar. Aiflupa/i)3oi. 
 
 Fair Athena, in the glory of thy all-pervading 
 
 light, 
 Whilst my veiling eyelids droop astonied at its 
 
 radiance bright ; 
 
 II. 
 
 And thy Doric columns, flushing with a deeper 
 
 golden dye 
 Than the ages give them, proudly upwards gaze 
 
 into the sky ; — 
 
FAIR ATHENA. AN INVOCATION. 99 
 
 III. 
 I, a weak and lonely pilgrim from a misty isle 
 
 afar, 
 After days and nights of travel, come to hail thy 
 
 morning star. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Through the long years murm'ring voices, oft- 
 times heard in dead of night. 
 
 Filmy phantasms of the dream-hour, lulling 
 reason in their might, 
 V. 
 
 Whispered, " Thou shalt yet behold it, yet shalt 
 near the ruined shrine, 
 
 Where thy child-thoughts dwelt in rapture, spell- 
 ing out each mythic line. 
 
 VI. 
 I rejoice I had not seen thee manacled, a slave, 
 
 abased. 
 Discrowned, from thy queenly brows the violet 
 
 wreath plucked off, effaced, 
 
loo FAIR A THENA . AN INVOCA TION. 
 
 VII. 
 Trodden in the dust, and of its blossoms crushed, 
 
 the purple stain 
 Dyed the mourning garments Hellas wore till thy 
 
 day came again. 
 
 VIII. 
 Not thy day of former triumphs, not thy day of 
 
 golden shields, 
 Hung on high as votive off'rings, thank-gifts for 
 
 victorious fields ; 
 
 IX. 
 Not the day of lo pseans echoing thro' the lucid 
 
 air. 
 As the chariot wheels ascending, clanged along 
 
 the marble stair, 
 
 X. 
 
 When thy temple gates flung open, welcomed in 
 
 the joyous throng. 
 Flushed with ardour, and heart throbbing at the 
 
 high heroic song. 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. loi 
 
 XI. 
 Not thy day of special honour, when a robe of 
 
 white and gold — 
 Broider'd with the cunning needle, rich device in 
 
 every fold, 
 
 XII. 
 Broider'd by the youthful virgins of the noblest 
 
 race and fame, 
 Borne along in grave procession, offered to thy 
 
 sacred name ; 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Whilst the green bough bearers followed, who the 
 shining olive bore. 
 
 And the young men crowned with millet, sing- 
 ing praises evermore ; 
 
 XIV. 
 And the strangers, men and matrons, who in sign 
 
 of alien race. 
 Held small boats and water-vases, as they walked 
 
 in solemn pace ; 
 
I03 FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 
 
 XV. 
 And the basket-bearing maidens, and the men 
 
 with shield and spear, 
 All thy sons and all thy daughters, marching on 
 
 in holy fear ; 
 
 XVI. 
 When the prison doors were opened — when the 
 
 sad and captiv'd throng, 
 Coming forth with sorrows lightened, feebly joined 
 
 their grateful song ; 
 
 XVII. 
 And when crowns of gold were given those who 
 
 had served country well. 
 And were chanted hymns of Homer, with their 
 
 mighty rhythmic swell. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Time o'er these hath wav'd his pinions, time o'er 
 
 these hath set his seal ; 
 That which hath been, shall be never, as the 
 
 newer truths I'eveal. 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 103 
 
 XIX. 
 But thy beauty still abideth, and thine hands are 
 
 free to weave 
 Once again those spells, which Nature, casting in 
 
 thy lap, doth leave. 
 
 XX 
 
 And thy children, gath'ring round thee, joy to 
 
 raise thy marble walls ; 
 Joy to rear the gilded pillars, of thy academic 
 
 halls. ^ 
 
 XXI. 
 Long those sons — the faithful remnant — fleeing 
 
 to the rocky hills. 
 Waited, handing down the history of their 
 
 country's woes and ills — 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Down thro' many weary ages ; and the echoes 
 
 of their song. 
 Reached thee as thou laidest shackled — bade 
 
 thee rise, and yet be strong. 
 
104 FAIR A THENA : AN INVOCA TION. 
 
 XXIII. 
 By their blood poured out like water, seven long 
 
 years of cruel strife, 
 By the hopes that cling around thee, in thy fresh 
 
 awakened life, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Put not on thy high plumed helmet, take not up 
 
 the sword and spear. 
 Thou in whose extended genius higher powers 
 
 than these appear. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Whilst the jealous nations striving, holding iron- 
 clads and shell. 
 
 Are the last best civilizers, long to learn their 
 lesson well ; 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Be not touched by all the specious glamour of 
 
 the martial strain. 
 Whilst thy villages are scattered, and thy children 
 
 toil in pain. 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 105 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Look around upon thy vineyards, the scant herb- 
 age of thy fields, 
 
 Thou who knowest all the science, all the arts 
 that labour yields. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 Nor love-longing eyes for ever turn unto the 
 
 gorgeous pile. 
 Where the Christian bells are silent, where the 
 
 Moslem min'rets smile. 
 
 XXIX. 
 Now thou art a queen and crowned, would'st 
 
 thou tempt the changeful Fates } 
 Could Athena be a handmaid, waiting at the 
 
 golden gates "i 
 
 XXX. 
 All the great renown and glory, that from age to 
 
 age was told 
 To our fathers — which our children's children 
 
 shall in homage hold, 
 
io6 FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 
 
 XXXI. 
 Circled round thee as thou satest on thy barren 
 
 Attic rock, 
 Whence thy hardy sons defiant hurled back every 
 
 tyrant shock. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Mistress of the sea, and ruler of the hearts and 
 
 minds of men, 
 Unto whom the gods in whispers gave to know 
 
 their wisdom then, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Where wast thou and all thy teachings, when 
 
 beneath the Eastern sway 
 Of imperial rule thy greatness frittered year by 
 
 year away .'' 
 
 XXXIV. 
 Ovcrlayers of show and tinsel, fine-spun thoughts 
 
 of subtle brains. 
 Gold and perfumes, royal purple, day by day 
 
 were forging chains. 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 107 
 
 XXXV. 
 Laws, decrees, and holy synods — fathers, councils, 
 
 what avails? 
 When the inner voice is silent, oracle and prophet 
 
 fails. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 Where the earth withouten travail giveth fruits, 
 
 nor taketh count 
 With what measure she outmeteth from her 
 
 never-failing fount, 
 
 XXXVII. 
 There her children love to slumber in the lap of 
 
 fragrant ease. 
 And, of tyranny the victims, sink by luxury's 
 
 disease. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 Thrice to thee hath Love in wisdom spoken. 
 
 Once, when long ago 
 Thou gavest to the old man hemlock, for his gift 
 
 of how to know. 
 
io8 FAIR ATHENA : AN INVOCATION. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 And again, when on the hill-side near thy Par- 
 thenon, there came 
 
 One who dared all base contumely but to preach 
 the Holy Name ; 
 
 XL. 
 One who knew how rich endowments puffeth up 
 
 with vain conceits ; 
 One who warred against the unfaith springing 
 
 from the heart's deceits. 
 
 XLI. 
 And the third — the latest lesson written in thy 
 
 blood and tears — 
 Was the chastening of anguish where oft highest 
 
 love appears. 
 
 XLII. 
 Though my heart doth swell with sorrow at the 
 
 memory of thy grief. 
 Yet the thought is strong within me, born of 
 
 hope and fair belief, 
 
FAIR ATHENA: AN INVOCATION. 109 
 
 XLIII. 
 That thou wilt in quiet meekness wear the honours 
 
 thou hast won, 
 And in place of Gorgon breastplate, wilt the 
 
 mystic peplum don. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 Working still for sacred freedom with a noble 
 firm resolve, 
 
 It shall be thy sole endeavour problems yet un- 
 tried to solve. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 The music of the tinkling sheep-bells floats adown 
 the rifted rock, 
 
 As from noontide heats the black-browed shep- 
 herd leads his docile flock. 
 
 XLVI. 
 And a dreamy sense of beauty silenceth all doubts 
 
 and fears ; 
 And a changeful vision passeth, and a shifting 
 
 scene appears. 
 
no FAIR ATHENA . AN INVOCATION. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 And I see thy ships deep laden going to and fro 
 
 with ease, 
 Bearing heavy freights of produce o'er thy ever 
 
 purple seas ; 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 And the fisher boats sun-gleaming, with their 
 
 bright red lateen sails, 
 Dancing merrily to harbour, where a crowd their 
 
 coming hails. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And I see the young oaks rising, and the thick- 
 set pines once more. 
 
 With the wide-armed shining beeches, gladdening 
 thy ev'ry shore. 
 
 L. 
 Every true son deeming rightly, he who plants a 
 
 tree does well ; 
 And that he is alien truly, who with wanton 
 
 hands doth fell. 
 
FAIR ATHENA. AN INVOCATION, iii 
 
 LI. 
 For of old the august mother, hearing in her 
 
 sacred grove 
 Sound of axe in cruel spoiling, did the outrage 
 
 base reprove. 
 
 LII. 
 And I see the silver currents of thy thread-like 
 
 rivers swell, 
 Nourished by the growing wood-glades on each 
 
 mountain-side which dwell. 
 LIII. 
 Cometh thro' the air song-laden, gladding hymns 
 
 from grateful earth. 
 For the freshet streams which waken budding life 
 
 from Attic dearth. 
 LIV. 
 But the visions now are fading, dying in a golden 
 
 mist ; 
 Glow of joy, as now the sun-god rock and hill 
 
 hath warmly kist. 
 
112 FAIR A THEN A ■ ANINVOCA TION. \ ' 
 
 LV. 
 And I see the columns only, in their silent 
 
 grandeur lone ; 
 At their feet the regal agaves, blooming from 
 
 the rugged stone, 
 
 LVI. 
 Mute and eloquent of greatness each to other 
 
 witness bears ; 
 Each to other hath been speaking through the 
 
 centuries' long years. 
 
WAITING. 
 
 What do the rushes say, 
 
 Gwendolen, 
 That ever your footsteps lead that way ? 
 Do you not fear the damps that cling 
 To your trailing skirt and light-shod feet ? 
 Go you to hear the bittern sing ? 
 Has the water-coot a voice more sweet 
 Than the throstle that sings in your garden's 
 
 close ? 
 Or is it to gaze at the water-snake 
 Wriggling within the shallow lake ? 
 Or to hold commune with the toad morose. 
 Whose glittering eyes will never blink 
 As it stares in your face as you kneel by the 
 
 brink ? 
 
 I 
 
114 WAITING. 
 
 Blows not the air chill, 
 
 Gwendolen ? 
 Does not the mist like a mantle fill 
 That lower space, as thick-dewed night 
 Draws its close veil o'er the marshy waste ; 
 When the sky hangs out no lantern to light 
 Your wavering foot, to guide its haste. 
 But, as in baptism, pours instead 
 \\'ater-drops on your unhooded head ? 
 
 W'zn grows your cheek, 
 Gwendolen ! 
 Do the thoughts of your heart go forth to seek 
 Love from hate, and truth from guile ? 
 You may linger long beside the stream, 
 With a sometime frown, or a sometime smile. 
 Though from the moon's deceptive gleam 
 Will lie a shadow on the grass, 
 Yet the black poplar's arms stoop low. 
 
WAITING. IIS 
 
 And beneath them will not pass 
 Footfalls where cold arums grow. 
 With waiting long are you not now full weary ? 
 Is not the day-star pale ? is not the night most 
 dreary ? 
 
 I hold my heart, my soul, in fee ; 
 
 I wear my thoughts not on my sleeve 
 
 For daws to peck at. What to me 
 
 The rushes whisper, I receive ; 
 
 The water-snake it fears me not ; 
 
 There is a fellowship between ; 
 
 It doth not curse its narrow lot. 
 
 Its skin by sunlight hath some sheen. 
 
 The gold-eyed toad hath borne the blame 
 
 Of centuries in its calm breast ; 
 
 It hath no scoff for me, I tame 
 
 My nature by its patient gest. 
 
n6 WAITING. 
 
 The drops wrung from my heavy hair 
 Are weighed and counted as they fall. 
 Since that my cheek was praised as fair, 
 It boots not now the day recall. 
 Is the night dreary ? 
 Is all waiting weary } 
 
 Where the black poplar casts a shade along 
 Comes yet no footstep .■■ Heed not ; I am 
 strong. 
 
SONG OF THE WORKERS. 
 
 Brothers, work with heart and zeal ; 
 
 Guide the powers that are given 
 You to know, and use for weal. 
 
 Brains of mighty ones have striven 
 Labour's hindrances t' anneal. 
 
 Be it woof, or warp, or wheel, 
 
 Be it ploughing, sowing grain, 
 Be it work in brass or steel. 
 
 There is glory to attain — 
 In the love of good and fair ; 
 
 In the noble thoughts that scorn 
 Great by littleness t' impair. 
 
 Glossing sleight of falsehood born ; 
 
ij8 song of the workers. 
 
 In the joy which is a ray 
 
 From the great Creative Mind, 
 
 Which, unceasingly, alway 
 Worketh in most perfect kind. 
 
THE SNAPPED STRING. 
 
 Within the children's ward, beside 
 A little bed, there stands 
 A strong man, who a puppet holds 
 In his broad nervous hands. 
 
 A merry puppet full of fun, 
 Obedient to the string. 
 That here and there, and up and down, 
 Head, arms, and legs will fling. 
 
 A puppet whose sole mission was 
 To gladden heart of child, 
 Yet who could gravely look upon 
 Its antics strange and wild? 
 
THE SNAPPED STRING. 
 
 And the strong man with lusty will 
 Tugged at the twisted string, 
 With eager eyes that watched intent 
 For some sign answering. 
 
 But on that little shrunken face 
 There came no transient smile ; 
 Nor in the eye one kindling look 
 Of wonder passed awhile. 
 
 " You see, he is my only one — 
 His mother, too, is dead ; 
 And it was I— just think of that- — 
 Who brought him to this stead. 
 
 " Twas I who dropped the unseen spark 
 Which seared him as he slept ! 
 He looked so pretty sleeping, I — — " 
 The strong man stopped and wept. 
 
THE SNAPPED STRING. 
 
 Down his care-furrowed cheek there ran 
 Quick tears of scathing grief. 
 " If he would only laugh — ^just once, 
 It would be such relief ! 
 
 " Ha ! there's a famous leap ! Just look ! 
 Now for another bound ! 
 This time, I'll give so sharp a pull 
 We'll make him turn right round ! " 
 
 Snap went the string, and motionless 
 The puppet's stiff limbs hung ; 
 And from the bed a feeble cry 
 Of trembling laughter rung : 
 
 " Oh, father ! " Then my hand I laid 
 Upon the strong man's arm ; 
 " Hush ! see you not ? " A finer cord 
 Had broken 'neath his charm. 
 
A GOLDEN DREAM. 
 
 Young Maggie's in the garden's close, 
 
 Wliere the ripe currants glow ; 
 And slender lither fingers those, 
 
 Which quick their clusters throw 
 
 Within the osier woven round 
 
 For ample fruitage meet. 
 Which stands upon the thickset ground 
 
 And touches her light feet. 
 
 Her large straw hat is tilted o'er 
 
 A forehead frank and fair, 
 Which, whilst thus shadow'd, leaves the more 
 
 Her twisted hair-coils bare ; 
 
A GOLDEN DREAM. 123 
 
 And oft her eyes with longings fond 
 Look straight athwart the sky, 
 
 Above the wicket gate beyond, 
 To the cool pine wood by. 
 
 Some vivid thoughts within her smile, 
 
 Yet stay her not, until 
 High up, a glistening jewelled pile, 
 
 The fruits her basket fill. 
 
 Then, as a kid from tether loosed, 
 Which, with gay joyous bound. 
 
 Springs from the spot where lately noosed, 
 She flees th' enclosed ground ; 
 
 And sitteth on the cone-strewn earth. 
 
 And leans against a tree. 
 The scented pine grove wakes with breath 
 
 Of sweetest minstrelsy. 
 
124 A GOLDEN DREAM. 
 
 And straight some hundred humming things 
 
 With tiny nimble feet, 
 And rainbow pageantry of wings, 
 
 Upon her muslin meet. 
 
 And Maggie's earnest eyes are lit 
 
 With strange unwonted light. 
 Seeing the changing forms which flit 
 
 Before her wond'ring sight. 
 
 The whilst, with list'ning ear intent, 
 Shows forth th' unconscious thought 
 
 That each, from realm of fairy sent, 
 To her a message brought. 
 
 Till slow the heavy eyelids stoop 
 
 To kiss the glowing cheek ; 
 And the unclasping fingers droop 
 
 Which scarlet cup-moss seek. 
 
A GOLDEN DREAM. 125 
 
 Then happy weary Maggie sleeps, 
 
 Until, in loud recalls, 
 Her name throughout the pine wood sweeps 
 
 And on her ear close falls ; 
 
 When, hasting to her side there speeds, 
 
 A stalwart youth, and clear 
 His voice rings — " Maggie little heeds 
 
 I've sought her far and near." 
 
 Then Maggie, raising high her head, 
 
 Looks up with angry gleam. 
 " I wish thou hadst not come," she said, 
 
 " To spoil my golden dream." 
 
 "What dream at noontide, Maggie dear, 
 
 Brings this untoward strain, 
 That makes me almost say, I fear 
 
 To have thee dream again ? " 
 
126 A GOLDEN DREAM. 
 
 " \ may not tell thee : I but know 
 
 I was a fairy queen ; 
 And that my glories all did go 
 
 When thou didst come between.'' 
 
 " Dear Maggie, I will make for thee, 
 That thou may'st dream always ; 
 
 And fairy queen for ever be. 
 Workdays and holidays." 
 
 Said Maggie, '' That is foolish jest. 
 Unless thou'rt fairy king ; 
 
 But like to mate with like is best, 
 So help me now to bring 
 
 "The basket in, for I must home 
 At once to set the cream — 
 
 Yet am I sorry thou didst come 
 To spoil my golden dream." 
 
HER MOTHER'S FAREWELL 
 TO GALESWINTHA* 
 
 " Yet but a little further — yet awhile 
 Let me my arms about my child enfold. 
 Oh, say not there is many a weary mile 
 Homeward again to traverse ! Ye have told 
 Each morning of the steep and rocky way 
 That stretched before us, hoping I should fear 
 The double perils, double cares, that lay 
 Between, ere on returning we shall near 
 The palace of your king, my lord. Ah me ! 
 Too swift the chariot wheels have rolled along ; 
 
 * Galeswintha, daughter of Athanagild, King of Spain, and 
 married to Helperik, King of the Franks, afterwards murdered 
 by him and Fredegonda. — "Chronique de Gregoire de Tours." 
 
128 FAREWELL TO GALES IVINTHA. 
 
 Too swiftly have ye urged them. Ye would see 
 Again your daughters,- — hear the low-voiced song 
 As they walk by the loom or card the wool ; 
 Ye long to feel again their slender arms 
 Woven around you, and their kisses cool 
 The fever of your brows. My vague alarms 
 Ye are impatient of Bethink ye well, 
 I have no daughter when my horses' heads 
 Turn thitherwards. There, doth none other 
 
 dwell ; 
 Where the broad chestnut thick-leaved branches 
 
 spreads 
 My daughter walks no longer. Can ye know 
 The love of mother for her maiden child .? 
 The anxious tremors in her heart that grow 
 Whilst with her smiling prettiness beguiled ; 
 As with the blossoming years her beauties 
 
 bring 
 A cause for gladness and a cause for tears .■' 
 
FAREWELL TO GALESWINTHA. 129 
 
 Gladness is born of loveliness, as sing 
 The bards ; but cankering sorrow bred of fears. 
 Ye look at me with doubting. Ye are men, 
 And what ye will ye do ; poor women we, 
 Whose will must bend to others, even when 
 A diadem is lent us. Ah ! let be 
 All joy divorced from thought of diadem ! 
 The wives who call you husbands still do dwell 
 'Mid their own land and kindred : not to them 
 The royal maiden's saddest trials fell. 
 When they the threshold of their sheltering home 
 Passed, never to return ; they saw you^knew 
 The life that lay before them. Ye did come 
 To woo them, and from wooing loving grew. 
 Ah, misinterpret', hapless womanhood ! 
 When golden bracelets are the fetters worn, 
 And diamonds the price of servitude. 
 With flatteries, a thin disguise for scorn ! 
 Through the long ages ye have suffered long-^ 
 
 K 
 
I30 FAREWELL TO GALESWINTHA. 
 
 Suffered through ignorance, by your own selves 
 
 slahi, 
 To make the theme and triumph of a song ; — 
 Ignoble triumph bringing bitter pain ! 
 Where liberty is not, slavish virtues prized, 
 Therefrom a creeping undergrowth is fed 
 Of little fawning sophistries, despised 
 Of souls, by Freedom's gentle hand yled. 
 My Galeswintha, heavy seems the cloud 
 That hangeth o'er thee ! Though a queenly crown, 
 The homage of a people strong and proud 
 Is waiting thee, ah ! would to God that down 
 Upon thy bier I'd seen thee laid the day 
 They gave thee from me — on thy virgin brow 
 The wreath of purity. By thy grave alway 
 I had then sate, and wept — as I do now, 
 But with less sorrow. Every night and morn 
 The holy chant in full-toned swell would rise 
 And vestal nuns in grave procession go. 
 
F4 RE WELL TO GALESWINTHA. 131 
 
 To pray for thy sweet soul in sweetest wise ; 
 As for the pure, the purest prayers do flow. 
 What sayest thou, child ? That God is there as 
 
 here ; 
 And where Christ's lore is thou art not forlorn. 
 Although the evil powers reappear. 
 That have been cast from their high place in scorn ? 
 God shield thee from all warfare with such ill, 
 For thou art all too meek. Once more, farewell. 
 The sun is sinking on the distant hill ; 
 My warriors' looks beseech me. It is well. 
 Long taking leave takes not the sting away 
 Of partings which no day of meeting know. 
 As Love by loving still is fed alway, 
 So saddest thoughts by sad communion grow. 
 Farewell ! Now urge, my warriors, urge the steed. 
 Press on the chariot wheels. How slow is seen 
 The weary drag that clogs your utmost speed 
 Now I am no more mother, but your queen ! 
 
A CRETAN LEGEND* 
 
 FROM THE CRETEID OF ANTONIADES. 
 
 " I GLORY in thy light, O golden sun ! 
 
 Thy rays who borrowed from my spreading hair. 
 
 Why dost thou, then, endure clouds dark and dun 
 
 To come between me and thy radiance fair ? 
 
 Come back ! come back ! and gild the earth again, 
 
 Or I will be the day-star — I, alone ; 
 
 And thou be banished to the shadowy plain, 
 
 'Mong wretched ghosts to pale and glimmer on." 
 
 * The superstition of the healing waters, still prevalent in 
 many parts of Greece, is derived from a tradition of a girl 
 who, proud of her beauty, insulted the majesty of Apollo and 
 Diana, and was changed by the latter into a bird, whose ever- 
 falling tears are the source of streams possessing curative 
 properties for diseases, mental as well as physical. 
 
A CRETAN LEGEND. 13s 
 
 Thus spake with unadvised, rash tongue the 
 
 maid, 
 As she sat weaving ; and Apollo heard. 
 And at the moment on the girl had laid 
 His fiery darts consuming, but appeared 
 His sister, ruler of the midnight skies, 
 The goddess Dian. " Stay, O brother ! stay 
 Thy anger just ; this silly child despise. 
 I will beguile her with my silver ray, 
 And her inflated heart in mocking jest 
 I will possess with my majestic sway. 
 As though I were obeying her behest." 
 
 Then did she bid the starry host retire, 
 
 For, in her shining chariot, she alone 
 
 Would ride the heavens. The unnumbered 
 
 quire 
 Fell back before their queen, who then, full- 
 orbed. 
 
134 A CRETAN LEGEND. 
 
 Uprose and flashed her glory over space. 
 The maiden, sitting by her loom absorbed, 
 Rich cloth of gold was weaving. With sweet 
 
 grace 
 She moved the combs ; her mellow voice in song 
 Had hushed the wild waves' roaring, which lay 
 
 calm 
 In list'ning silence. The gay dolphin throng 
 Heard with delight the sweet tones' honied balm, 
 And left the brine to nestle in the sand. 
 All round the fisher boats lay at their ease ; 
 The nets, unheeded, cast upon the strand ; 
 Their torches gleaming on the quiet seas. 
 Till, on a sudden leaving her bright car, 
 The goddess as a huntress doth appear, 
 And darkness stealeth near and spreadeth far. 
 The girl she stayed her weaving, without fear 
 She called on Dian. " Shine again, fair moon 
 Lighten the grieving earth. It may not stay 
 
A CRETAN LEGEND. 
 
 Thy longer tarrying. Shine ! or I must soon 
 Give my own radiance, make my own bright 
 
 day." 
 Swift came whom thus invoked, in judgment 
 
 came. 
 And on the maid poured down her vengeful 
 
 scorn, 
 That ever after, steeped in sorrowing shame, 
 She waileth as a bird her state forlorn ; 
 And ever after weepeth hot sad tears — 
 Tears for her beauty lost, and all the joy 
 That comes from youth, which brighter now 
 
 appears 
 Through all the goads which memories employ, 
 When reaping showeth duly what was sown. 
 So this poor bird from ever-welling tears. 
 Gives waters healing every sorrow known. 
 Each wearing grief that on the earth appears. 
 And soothes all other anguish save its own. 
 
136 A CRETAN LEGEND. 
 
 Such is the tale that on the Cretan isle 
 Still finds a credence in some simple breast, 
 Longing to meet that fountain's crystal smile 
 Which should its pain assuage, its woe arrest. 
 
CRETAN HARVEST SONG. 
 
 FROM THE CRETEID OF ANTONIOS 
 ANTONIADES. 
 
 ' ' Aff^uoTo i/aKKovv t!i ^i.pos tov epyoS Kov<j>l(ovTa Ka-nais 
 fl4oi KM vial TomCra 5e (Trixoi Stj^oSoi SijiUtiSeis." 
 
 KpTiTTj'is. 
 
 Near where the thickset stubble stands 
 
 Upon the sun-burnt plain, 
 Fifty and two right noble men 
 
 Winnow the golden grain ; 
 Each one of the fifty-two 
 
 Is strong in arm and tall, 
 But he that goes the foremost 
 
 Is the strongest of them all. 
 The mother looks forth from her door, 
 
I3S CRETAN HARVEST SONG. 
 
 A mother most discreet, 
 And sees her daughter going forth, 
 
 The winnowers to meet 
 " Oh, come from thence, my child ! " she cries. 
 
 With anger in her tone. 
 "A tender maiden such as thou 
 
 Must not go forth alone, 
 Lest that a dog might bite thee, 
 
 Or raven with its beak 
 And cruel claw might tear away 
 
 The roses from thy cheek ; 
 Or lest thy lily brow the sun 
 
 With deepest brown might stain." 
 " No, mother, no ; I will not come. 
 
 But here will I remain. 
 I take no heed if dogs should bite. 
 
 Or if wild ravens tear ; 
 And if the sun do burn me black, 
 
 I do not greatly care : 
 
CRETAN HARVEST SONG. 139 
 
 But I will for my husband take, 
 
 The first man winnowing there." 
 " He, daughter ! he a dowry large 
 
 Will ask, and we are poor : 
 We labour each day hard to live. 
 
 Nor can increase our store." 
 " O mother ! give him promises — 
 
 Yes, promises, no more. 
 Say that your goats are numerous 
 
 As stars in midnight fair ; 
 But that for wealth in linen fine 
 The heavens can't compare ; 
 For that of garments laid in press, 
 
 As many I shall bring 
 As pebbles by the sandy shore, 
 Or roses in the spring." 
 
RHIGAS* 
 
 HELLENIC POET AND PATRIOT. 
 
 Rhigas ! thou soul of patriotic song ! 
 Thou flame of freedom, with poetic fire 
 Sowing the seeds in soil which fallow long 
 Lay waiting, till thy blood the germs inspire 
 To wake to life. Ha ! did proud Austria think, 
 When she did give thee to that Power — which 
 
 still 
 Is as a festering sore — that she could blink 
 The heavy cloud that boded her fresh ill .'' 
 Will Tyranny ne'er learn to mend its ways, 
 Until brought low and humbled in the dust .■' 
 
 * Rhigas, a native of Tliessaly, delivered up by Austria to 
 Turkey, was executed in 1 798. 
 
RHIGAS. 141 
 
 Had Tell not taught how man who dares, repays 
 At last, though bearing long the oppressor's 
 
 lust ?— 
 That yet again, and yet again the greed 
 Of stern dominion leadeth her astray ? , 
 The brave Pole saved her once, and for his meed, 
 When meted out was his heroic day. 
 With other spoilers she ne'er shamed to part 
 The garment he had worn with noble pride — 
 His country, which had lain so near his heart — 
 Rending it into portions to divide. 
 Time, it is true, reverses all. Not now 
 The conquering crescent glitters at her gates : 
 The Gallic eagle, swooping down below. 
 Is threatening, and O irony of Fate ! 
 Again she trembles, and she gives a sop 
 Unto that whilom foe, and Rhigas dies. 
 But count a patriot's blood out drop by drop ; 
 For each that falls a patriot will rise. 
 
H2 RHICAS. 
 
 And Rhigas died, but not his songs, which, sung 
 On many a mountain-top mid crag and snows, 
 'Cross rocky chasms calls to freedom rung, 
 With stifled echoes from the plains below. 
 But as low whistling winds a storm presage. 
 Which, long held back, at last with sudden roar 
 Burst forth impetuous with a sudden rage. 
 Because of some restraining force before, — 
 So the low murmurs of a people swept 
 O'er isles, and hills, and mountain pass, and vale 
 Louder and louder chords discordant leapt 
 From earth till one blent chorus did prevail. 
 And " Liberty or Death ! " defiance hurled. 
 And one full joy to the high heavens rung. 
 When on the heights the holy flag unfurled. 
 Whilst the Great Feast the glad priests, blessing 
 
 sung. 
 The mothers gave their sons with hearts aglow— 
 The mothers who had trembled with sad fears 
 
RHIGAS. 143 
 
 When it was whispered them the breath below, 
 
 " Thou hast a man-child borne; " and when hot 
 
 tears 
 Dropped on it as they swathed it round, aghast. 
 Lest that their blood had nourished day by day, 
 Fed by their breasts' sweet innocent repast, 
 A tool for their dread foe ; which smiling lay 
 Folded within their arms, whilst they used count 
 The chances, adding superstition's charms 
 (Made credulous by anguish), and amount 
 Of speculation make, to soothe alarms 
 With the fond selfish hope, " Not he, not he ; 
 The lot will miss my darling : it will fall 
 This time upon my sister's child, for she 
 Makes not the holy sign when night-birds call." 
 
 The bashful maidens laid their spinning down, 
 -And cut their long hair short above the brow, 
 Whilst putting off the modest veil and gown 
 
144 RHIGAS. 
 
 To fight as men with fathers, brothers, now.* 
 Thy song it was, O Rhigas ! through the night — 
 The long, dark night of struggle, cheered them on ; 
 Thy song it was, O Rhigas ! by whose might — 
 Th' unequal war was waged, the victory won. 
 The pitying nations its far echoes«heard, 
 And the bright son of Albion awoke 
 From dreams of pleasure, by its cadence stirred, 
 And with a burst of hero's ardour broke 
 From bonds that held him, and he gave his life, 
 Ennobling thus himself for Hellas' sake. 
 Such the foundation stones in that good strife 
 For her rebuilding. Such alone will make 
 A country ; poet ! hero ! and what more .■* 
 A patriot t Yes, a patriot. Yet that name 
 Standeth polluted now my sight before. 
 With deeds of violence and acts of shame. 
 
RHIGAS. i4i 
 
 Who is a patriot ? Who ? Not one who hides 
 In darkness, and will slay a sleeping man, 
 Or maim the harmless creature that abides 
 Within the fold at nightfall. Acts we scan 
 With the cause which prompteth. 
 
 The ignoble deed 
 That cannot bear the open light of day, 
 Is of the old self-tainted tyrant breed, 
 Masked with a name — a country's peace to slay 
 No name so holy but has borne the stain 
 Of vile men's handling, 'bove all others high 
 That one- — the patriot's, which again, again. 
 Trailing through filth, dares talk of freedom nigh 
 
 Rhigas thy hands were pure, thy cause was just ; 
 And through thy poet heart, thy Hellas freed, 
 Will ever think upon thy scattered dust ; 
 Her grateful love thy tomb, her liberty thy meed 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a depth of quiet in the wood ; 
 Though the brown leaves are heaping on the 
 
 ground, 
 A kind of hushing pause is breathed around, 
 As if it held a listening, prayerful mood. 
 Though trees bear signs of many a summer storm, 
 And clasping ivy prostrate lieth low, 
 Yet o'er their scars a gentle wind doth blow. 
 With loving pity kissing each bruised form. 
 O autumn breeze ! that sings blithe lullaby 
 To drowsy Nature, wooing it to sleep ; 
 O autumn leaves ! that drop so tenderly, 
 As if ye knew what charge ye had in keep, 
 Your voices have a sadness, but no sorrow, 
 Your " Good-night " whispers " Yet will come 
 a morrow." 
 
II. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 To be beloved, we only need to die. 
 O beauteous Death ! that giveth us this boon. 
 However long our hearts in bondage lie, 
 Love in its warm embrace will hold us soon ; 
 And they who know us not, or know us wrong 
 Will by degrees come nearer to our side — 
 Will see the things that unto us belong, 
 And, as the shadowing veil is drawn aside, 
 Will note some fairness where they saw a stain,- 
 Will strive each tone and accent to recall, 
 And with a sudden tenderness will strain 
 Love-longing eyes, now hoping to know all. 
 Were this thy only gift, this would be why, 
 O beauteous Death ! methinks, 'tis well to die. 
 
III. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Mv child feet wandered in a mystic maze 
 
 Of dreams and fancies. Gnomes and fairies 
 
 danced 
 Around me in my rambles lone, entranced 
 With visions of my own ; for to my gaze 
 There was no beauty lent of earth or sky, 
 But in the very poverty around 
 Of Nature's riches, was my guerdon found ; 
 For smallest things were glories to my eye. 
 A gilded beetle found, though maimed and slain, 
 A growing pea to one small vase assigned, 
 A butterfly's rare fluttering on the pane, 
 Came fraught with novel beauty to my mind. 
 So now, though gardened round yet looking back 
 I feel not that my child life knew its lack. 
 
IV. 
 SONNET. 
 
 They know not my heart's needs who still will 
 
 chide 
 Because my feet seek not the busy throng ; 
 Nor the great peace that ever doth abide 
 Within the soul that finds its rest among 
 The perfect ways of Nature — who hath joy 
 In every tiny spiral that unfolds, 
 In the fringed chalice of the seeming toy 
 For fairies' use, which the gemmed wall-moss 
 
 holds. 
 If the wild storms of passion or of grief 
 Leave me not scatheless as they onward sweep, 
 Shaking the boughs of life, and making brief 
 Some twining fancies that had rooted deep, 
 One true strong love, increasing with the years, 
 Filleth all gaps, nor leaveth room for tears. 
 
V. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 'TiS said that as the soul its goal draws nigh 
 The years are spanned, and o'er the bridge of 
 
 Time 
 The farther side long left in childhood's prime 
 Is then the one most present to the eye. 
 And as of late I watched the ebbing flow 
 Of life in those dear ones now passed away, 
 I heard them murmur of a far-off day. 
 When parents' kisses set their hearts aglow. 
 So now, what means it that my morning dreams 
 Come floating back in rainbow-tinted light. 
 And all the landscape has the reflex bright 
 Of skies at dawning .'' Are these sunset gleams, 
 That with the sparkle of the opening ray 
 Gild the horizon of a closing day .'' 
 
VI. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " When thou art rich in love, then fear thou most, 
 Nor boast of all thy wealth in flowering time ; 
 Look not too far ahead, and count the host 
 Of fruits from blossoms wanton in their prime. 
 Thou'lt find thy ruddiest apple at the core 
 Has nursed a maggot, making there its home, 
 And leaving it to sad decay before 
 The gathering-in of harvest-time has come." 
 God shield us all from such a cank'rous blight 
 As misbelief in promise of the spring. 
 Though cold winds tear the young buds in our 
 
 sight, 
 The birds within some other boughs will sing. 
 Is our love bruised .-' Beware, for Love's dear 
 
 need, 
 Lest at our heart's sound core the maggot mis- 
 trust feed. 
 
VII. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 " What is this bubble breath that men call 
 
 Love — 
 This flower of phantasy with bloom so frail, 
 That bears no frost o' nights nor heats above ? 
 Howe'er it gaily hangs the fruit may fail ; 
 All must be summer shine, and dainty air. 
 And careful tending, and unwearied toil. 
 Or lost the hope of fond repayment fair ; 
 One gust will just suffice to mar and spoil." 
 Ay, if one love with hope of love returning. 
 Ay, if one measure heart-gifts like the rest, 
 Be sure light weight will set thy heart a-burning 
 At paltry change for gold coin of the best. 
 " So much for so much " is the huckster's thought ; 
 Divinest love it weighs and measures nought. 
 
VIII. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 As sings the lark in heaven without a care, 
 
 If it be heard, of Gods or men, but sings 
 
 From lustiness of heart, all unaware, 
 
 And to the listener thousand heart-throbs brings 
 
 So should the poet sing, nor thought of meed 
 
 Clog the winged thoughts that to the sky caerule 
 
 Should rise without a let, obeying need 
 
 None other than the universal rule. 
 
 That biddeth all things follow one behest — 
 
 To use unto the uttermost the power 
 
 To them assigned ; to be not good, but best, 
 
 By being what their inmost needs empow'r ; 
 
 If with such being there is no alloy. 
 
 No self to mar the perfect work of joy. 
 
IX. 
 
 THINKING OF ATHENS. 
 
 The asphodel, and not the violet, 
 
 Appealeth to my heart, Athense fair. 
 
 As thine own flower ; the asphodel, which yet 
 
 Its many-bloomed spikes throws up i' the air, 
 
 Whilst deep down in the earth its roots are set. 
 
 Frail are its pale streak'd petals, which each breath 
 
 Of wind makes tremulous, and which too soon 
 
 Flutter away as if in love with death 
 
 Right joyously. Their beauty is a boon 
 
 For a day's disport, but there lies beneath, 
 
 A firm strong nature planted in a rock, 
 
 That bears with equal calm the heats and wind, 
 
 And showeth green, enduring every shock, 
 
 And giveth fruit according to its kind. 
 
X. 
 
 IDLE HOURS: AT ATHENS. 
 
 The purpled heights of Hymettus beneath, 
 On a May morning ere the sun be high, 
 With not a sound but that of Nature's breath. 
 With not one human form seen far or nigh, 
 How speed the hours, with Egina's blue sea 
 Skirting the distance, dotted with white sails ! 
 I turn not now Athenae's shrines to see ; 
 The present o'er this careless mood prevails. 
 Only to lie upon the violet slopes, 
 Only to fill the hands with thymy bloom. 
 Only to watch the beetle wise, which gropes 
 Its backward toilsome way to seek some home 
 Its rolling load to bury. If this is idling clear 
 Then in such idling noon comes quickly near. 
 
XL 
 THE SAME. 
 
 The Parthenon possessed me yesterday, 
 Athense ! and my brain was all involved, 
 With learned queries, till there came my way 
 A silky-coated sheep, who straightway solved 
 For that time all archaic studies. She — 
 The pet companion of the warder there — 
 Bounded o'er prostrate carvings light and free. 
 Leapt up and down each wondrous marble stair ; 
 And ever laid she most caressingly 
 Her soft nose 'gainst my hand, and seemed to 
 
 plead 
 For living Nature's sympathetic need. 
 And won her cause, striving unceasingly. 
 That side by side we passed an hour alone, 
 I sitting, she reclining, on the time-worn, rugged 
 
 stone. 
 
XII. 
 THE AKROPOLIS OWL. 
 
 The nightingale sings in the royal close, 
 
 Where amaranths are carpeting the ground ; 
 
 Although it doth. not woo the musky rose, 
 
 Whose fragrant canopies with buds abound, 
 
 But hath its faithful partner nesting near 
 
 The splashing fountains, or the freshet green. 
 
 The garden is a sanctuary ; fear 
 
 Mars not the joy which goes their love between 
 
 But on the rough Akropolis alone, 
 
 The speckled-breasted owl hath still its home. 
 
 Making the ruined Parthenon its own, 
 
 Where nightly with soft winging it doth roam 
 
 In freedom, yet in danger, and its cry 
 
 In shrilly sadness 'plains for memories gone by 
 
XIII. 
 
 ON THE BRINGING INTO 
 ATHENS THE BODY OF MR. 
 OGLE. 
 
 For what the wail of sorrow heard to-day 
 Throughout fair Athens, who with veiled brow 
 Sheddeth hot tears ? Along the darkened way 
 Why wait her downcast sons in silent row, 
 With arms reversed ? Sleeps, then, her young 
 
 crowned king 
 In death ? For here a nation's deep grief shows ; 
 Happy dies he whose dying love doth bring ! 
 Regret so deep for monarch seldom flows. 
 What say the weeping women } 'Tis not he, 
 Our king, he mourneth with us. Hellas land 
 Nor gave him birth, love only, love ! which we 
 In kisses long to shower on his cold hand — 
 The fair-haired, frank-browed Englishman who 
 
 came 
 With burning heart for truth and right aflame." 
 
XIV. 
 SONNET. 
 
 vvv S' e^iTjTi TCI) rwpyeiov tpuhd^ai 
 ^ri/i,' aXttSiitts iSHv ^pxiffra $aivov, 
 
 \ci(()9els Kol (pi\uy. — I(r8fiiai 11. i. 
 
 The Argive's saying will our hearts but sear 
 If we do heed it — " Wealth doth make the man." 
 It makes or it unmakes him. Oh, come near, 
 Come nearer to us that we may ye scan, 
 Ye powers, that veil your eyes when love of gold 
 Creeps on our chilling hearts ! Doth then the 
 
 Muse, 
 As by the thrilling words of Pindar told 
 Long years ago, her sweet-toned lyre refuse 
 Unless with gold or silver overlaid .■• 
 Nor then as now, nor now as then, was fire 
 Ere kindled by the gods for bounties paid. 
 Deeds can alone the high-toned theme inspire ; 
 And where these are not, song, with flapping 
 
 wings. 
 Or gold-clogged, or earth-soiled, to earth yet 
 clings. 
 
XV. 
 AFTER PINDAR. 
 
 yvwQL vvVTCLV OiSiTrrfSa ao^iav. ei yap Tts o^ovs d^VT6fiCfj weXeVet 
 i^epei^l/ai K^v fieydhas BpvoSy aifT^vyoi 5e ol OaTfrhy elSos' 
 Koi (pdipiKapTTOs eoiffa SiSoT ipa(pov irep' a'jra?, 
 tif TTore x^'H-^P^'^^ '""^P f^tKTjrai AoicrdioW 
 ^ ffi'V dpSais Ki6vi(TaiV SeoTrQcr6vai(7ty epetSo^eVa 
 jx6x^ov &K?^ois afj.(pe7reL Sv<rTavoy iv Ter^etrc, eil' ip7]fj.ciiffaLixa x^pov. 
 
 Tlvhia iv. 
 
 As when some cruel hand unawed, and bold, 
 Has dared with ruthless axe to lop and mar 
 The grandeur of an oak in forest old, 
 And fells its spreading arms, and many a scar 
 On its broad trunk in bleeding witness leaves, 
 And triumphs in the spoils he bears away ; 
 The shapeless logs which on the fire he heaves, 
 When winter winds blow chill and skies look 
 
 gray, 
 Will yet, in burning, their proud birth avow. 
 The stately carved columns which uprise. 
 To bear up the high roof in double row 
 On some far shore, mayhap 'neath alien skies. 
 Though from their forest home and parent torn. 
 Will still assert of what high lineage born. 
 
XVI. 
 
 KENTISH HEDGEROWS IN 
 
 A UTUMN. 
 
 Throughout the world is there a scene more 
 
 fair. 
 After its kind, than Kentish hedgerows, seen 
 In autumn days, before a frosty air 
 Has frolicked in and out their bowery green ? 
 The wealth of gold and crimson shows as gay 
 As summer flowers on the Cornell's bough ; 
 The high dark pine a crown with ruddy ray 
 From woodbine's clustering berries weareth 
 
 now. 
 Whilst bryony, with purpled heart-shaped leaves, 
 From right to left contrariwise doth twine. 
 Laughing in glorious freedom as it wreathes 
 And hangs gay bunches, which will glow and 
 
 shine 
 For thee and me, my love, upon our wall, 
 Till spring-time come, nor will one berry fall. 
 
 M 
 
XVII. 
 
 ON A MONUMENT BY CH AN- 
 TE V, IN CHE VENING CHURCH, 
 KENT. 
 
 Cold is the pure white marble, and quite cold 
 The graceful form that seems in sleep to breathe, 
 And with a smile of sweet content doth fold 
 One lovely arm a little babe beneath ; 
 The infant of an hour, to her fond breast 
 Which nestling, eloquent of joy, lies pressed. 
 No wonder he, with heart o'ercharged by grief 
 When first he gazed thereon, gazed yet again ; 
 Nor with the gazing felt one short relief. 
 But evermore increased the bitter pain 
 Of loss beyond retrieve, which that carved stone 
 In all its sculptured art so vivid made, 
 That tortured Love shook Reason from its throne, 
 Hasting to seek thro' death that tomb's lov'd 
 shade. 
 
XVIII. 
 GUILDHALL PIGEONS. 
 
 Where, 'mid the city turmoil and the throng, 
 A crowd of peaceful doves do haunt the way 
 Before the seat of justice ; them among 
 A full hour long I stood one autumn day. 
 And wove a fond imagining, as dream 
 Secluded men full wrongly oft. How sweet 
 The mission of those graceful birds did seem ! 
 What blissful lessons hovered near their feet ! 
 When suddenly there came a wretched train 
 Of men, of boys, of girls, who with stern haste. 
 As foes to order, and a moral stain. 
 Were borne to punishment, for their lives' waste. 
 They passed, and then the doves came as before. 
 And, cooing, picked the scattered crumbs once 
 more. 
 
XIX. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 O DEPTHS of love ! deep down in human hearts 
 
 Why do ye linger till Death's curfew tolls 
 
 A warning that the day of Life departs, 
 
 And the stern march its muffled summons rolls ? 
 
 Still like the hidden spring beneath our feet 
 
 Ye wait, until a power not your own 
 
 Pierces the rock, when upward boundeth fleet 
 
 The silvery waters freed, no more alone, 
 
 They pour their blessings on the thirsty gi'ound, 
 
 That for their freshening wearied had and 
 
 yearned ; 
 Yet where a never-failing stream is found. 
 The earth gives of its best, as rightful earned, 
 And giveth with great joy, as if to say. 
 There is no love that Love will not repay. 
 
IN THE EVENING. 
 
 Look yonder, love, above the elm tree's bough 
 The western star is peeping. It is now 
 A year since I began to rhyme to thee, 
 In answer to our souls' deep mutual need. 
 A very little thing will ofttimes speed 
 The wished-for end, when larger methods flee : 
 A word, a smile, will lift a heavy load, 
 Where deepest reason with its logic fails ; 
 One stumbles from a pebble in the road, 
 Who safely through the stormy ocean sails. 
 O Hesperus ! O Love ! give still sweet light, 
 Our earth-rays taking back to gild thy night ! 
 
 ir. 
 
 For love that gives, and love that takes 
 
 sweet : 
 In mutual needs do mutual blessings meet. 
 
1 66 IN THE EVENING. 
 
 And thus it is we feel a fuller joy, 
 
 When standing hand in hand as we do now, 
 
 With mystic sense of beauty filled ; whilst thou, 
 
 Light-following Hesperus ! our thoughts employ, 
 
 By thinking this dim earth on which we stand 
 
 Is unto thee a glory and a shine 
 
 Above all others in Night's circling band, 
 
 When thou art lost to us with Eve's decline ; 
 
 And that perchance from lovers, poets, rise 
 
 Our orb's glad welcome to thy midnight skies. 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench & Go's Publications. 33 
 
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34 -A List of 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.'s Publications. 37 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench Gf Co's Publications. 39 
 
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Kegan Paul, Trench & Co.'s Publications. 41 
 
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