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 Poems of the day and year. 
 
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 3 1924 013 561 349 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
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 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/cu31924013561349 
 
Poems of the Day and Year 
 
<fcr-t2__ 
 
X 
 
A- (^fci 
 
 n 
 
 J. Miller and Son, Printers, Edinburgh. 
 
TO 
 
 MY SON AND DAUGHTER 
 
 JULIUS AND SOPHIA TENNYSON 
 
 THE COMPANIONS OF 
 
 MY OLD AGE 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Birth of the Year, . . . . . i 
 
 The Redbreast, ..... 6 
 
 The First of March, ..... 9 
 
 Hope, ....... 14 
 
 April, ....... 20 
 
 The Skylark and the Poet, . . . .25 
 
 The Thirty-first of May, . . . .30 
 
 The Cloud, ...... 36 
 
 Noon, ....... 39 
 
 To the Cicala, ...... 42 
 
 To a Summer Fly, ..... 49 
 
 The Forest, ..... 55 
 
 The Fountain, ...... 61 
 
 Sonnets— 
 
 The Poet and the Fount of Happiness, . 64 
 To Poesy, ..... 65 
 
 The Prospect of evil days, . . ,66 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 PACE 
 
 The Blackbird, 67 
 
 The Poet to a caged Nightingale, 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 The glory of Nature, . 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 The Mountains, 
 
 
 
 
 86 
 
 The Temple, . 
 
 
 
 
 91 
 
 The Golden City, 
 
 
 
 
 97 
 
 To the Poet, . 
 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 Death and the Shepherd, 
 
 
 
 
 108 
 
 Follow Now, . 
 
 
 
 
 "3 
 
 Women and Children, . 
 
 
 
 
 126 
 
 The Coming Day, 
 
 
 
 
 130 
 
 Harvest Home, 
 
 
 
 
 134 
 
 The Eleventh of September, 
 
 
 
 
 140 
 
 The Flight of the Swallow, 
 
 
 
 
 143 
 
 Evening, 
 
 
 
 
 147 
 
 The Garlands of Memory, 
 
 
 
 
 152 
 
 TheHolytide, . 
 
 
 
 
 156 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE YEAR 
 
 Let us speak low ; the infant is asleep : 
 
 The frosty hills grow sharp, the day is near, 
 And Phosphor with his taper comes to peep 
 Into the cradle of the new-born year ; 
 Hush ! the infant is asleep, 
 Monarch of the day and night; 
 Whisper — ^yet it is not light — 
 The infant is asleep. 
 
 Those arms shall crush great serpents; ere to- 
 morrow 
 His closed eyes shall wake to laugh and weep; 
 
 His lips shall curl with mirth, and writhe with 
 sorrow, 
 
2 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And charm up truth and beauty from the deep: 
 Softly, softly let us keep 
 
 Our vigils ; visions cross his rest ; 
 Prophetic pulses stir his breast, 
 Altho' he is asleep. 
 
 Now Love and Death armed in his presence 
 wait, 
 Genii with lamps are standing at the door; 
 Oh ! he shall sing sweet songs, he shall relate 
 Wonder, and glory, hopes untold before : 
 Murmur memories, that may creep 
 Into his ears, of eld sublime: 
 Let the youngest-born of Time 
 Hear music in his sleep. 
 
 Quickly he shall awake : the East is bright, 
 And the hot glow of the unrisen sun 
 
 Hath kissed his brow with promise of its light, 
 His cheek is red with victory to be won : 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE YEAR 3 
 
 Quickly shall our King awake, 
 
 Strong as giants; and arise; 
 
 Sager than the old and wise 
 The infant shall awake. 
 
 His childhood shall be froward, wild, and thwart 
 
 His gladness fitful, and his angers blind; 
 But tender spirits- shall o'ertake his heart. 
 
 Sweet tears, and golden moments bland and 
 kind. 
 He shall give delight, and take, 
 
 Charm, enchant, dismay, and soothe, 
 Raise the dead, and touch with youth; 
 Oh ! sing that he may wake ] 
 
 Where is the sword to gird upon his thigh ? 
 
 Where is his armour and his laurel crown ? 
 For he shall be a Conqueror ere he die. 
 
 And win him kingdoms wider than his own : 
 
4 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Like the earthquake he shall shake 
 Cities down, and waste like fire; 
 Then build them stronger, pile them 
 higher 
 
 When he shall awake. 
 
 In the dark spheres of his unclosed eyes 
 
 The sheathed lightnings lie, and clouded stars, 
 That shall glance softly, as in summer skies, 
 Or stream o'er thirsty deserts, winged with wars. 
 For in the pauses of dread hours 
 He shall fling his armour off, 
 And like a reveller sing and laugh, 
 And dance in ladies' bowers. 
 
 Ofttimes in his mid-summer he shall turn 
 To look on the dead Spring with weeping eyes, 
 
 O'er ashes of pale Beauty stand and mourn, 
 And kiss the bier of stricken Hope with sighs; 
 
THE BIRTH OF THE YEAR 5 
 
 Ofttimes, like light of onward seas, 
 He shall hail great days to come, 
 Or hear the first dread note of doom, 
 Like torrents on the breeze. 
 
 His manhood shall be blissful and sublime 
 
 With stormy sorrows, and serenest pleasmes; 
 
 And his crowned age upon the top of time 
 
 Shall throne him, great in glories, rich in 
 treasures; 
 
 The sun is up, the day is breaking; 
 
 Sing ye softly, draw anear; 
 
 Immortal be the new-born year, 
 And blessed be its waking ! 
 
TO THE REDBREAST 
 
 Redbreast, that fliest from the starved wood, 
 Thy homeless misery scorning to complain. 
 
 That speaking eye is not to be withstood. 
 Thy patience pleads not to my heart in vain; 
 
 The wind is whirling and the snows descend ; 
 
 Friend, come to me and I will be thy friend. 
 
 Lone bird, altho' thou hast no songs of joy 
 To glad me when the nightingale's are dumb. 
 
 No golden plumage to enchant mine eye, 
 Thou comest to me when no others come : 
 
 'Tis Hope that makes thee at my casement stand, 
 
 'Tis Faith that bids thee fly into my hand. 
 
TO THE REDBREAST 1 
 
 Thou lookest in my face with eyes of cheer 
 
 That win me in affliction not to weep ; 
 A voice in thy mute sympathy I hear— 
 
 ' Hope is not dead, tho' Joy is fallen asleep ' : 
 Ah ! would to Heaven that in my days of ill 
 My winged heart, like thine, were fearless still ! 
 
 It saith, ' Tho' friends forsake thee, there is one, 
 Tho' penury cling unto thee, do not fear ; 
 
 Tho' days be darkling, they must be outrun, 
 And thou and I shall see another year ' : 
 
 Thou hast my heart, kind bird ; oh ! give me 
 thine. 
 
 That I may neither sorrow nor repine ! 
 
 It saith, ' When glories from the world depart, 
 And youth is past, oh ! linger not alone ' : 
 
 It saith, * When shadows thicken round thy heart 
 Fly forth, and look on ills beyond thine own ; 
 
8 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 And Age shall not behold his thin, grey hairs, 
 And Sorrow shall forget his daily cares.' 
 
 It saith, ' When days are burning to their end, 
 And the mind flutters, and the limbs are chill, 
 
 There is an inner thought that cannot bend 
 Before the dread reality of ill ' : 
 
 Nature's great soul is shadowed forth in thee, 
 
 Life under ashes of mortality ! 
 
FIRST OF MARCH 
 
 Through the gaunt woods the winds are 
 shrilling cold, 
 Down from the rifted rack the sunbeam pours 
 Over the cold grey slopes and stony moors; 
 
 The glimmering watercourse, the eastern wold. 
 
 And over it the whirling sail o' the mill. 
 The lonely hamlet with its mossy spire, 
 The piled city smoking like a pyre. 
 
 Fetched out of shadow, gleam with light as chill. 
 
 The young leaves pine, their early promise 
 stayed; 
 The hope-deluded sorrow at the sight 
 
10 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Of the sweet blossoms by the treacherous 
 light 
 
 Flattered to death, like tender love betrayed ; 
 
 And step-dames frown, and aged virgins chide; 
 Relentless hearts put on their iron mood; 
 The hunter's dog lies dreaming of the wood, 
 
 And dozes barking by the ingle-side. 
 
 Larks twitter, martins glance, and curs from far 
 Rage down the wind and straight are heard 
 
 no more; 
 Old wives peep out, and scold, and bang the 
 door. 
 And clanging clocks grow angry in the air : 
 Sorrow and care, perplexity and pain. 
 Frown darker shadows on the homeless one ; 
 And the grey beggar buffeting alone 
 Pleads in the howling storm, and pleads in 
 vain. 
 
FIRST OF MARCH " 
 
 The field-fires smoke along the champaign drear, 
 And drive before the north wind, streaming 
 
 down 
 Bleak hill, and furrow dark, and fallow brown; 
 
 Few living things along the land appear: 
 
 The weary horse looks out, his mane astray, 
 With anxious fetlock, and uneasy eye, 
 And sees the market carts go madly by 
 
 With sidelong drivers reckless of the way. 
 
 The sere beech-leaves that trembled dry and 
 red 
 All the long winter on the frosty bough, 
 Or slept in quiet underneath the snow. 
 
 Fly off, like resurrections of the dead : 
 
 The homy ploughman and his yoked ox 
 Wink at the icy blasts; and beldames old, 
 Stout and red hooded, flee before the cold. 
 
 And children's eyes are blinded by the shocks. 
 
12 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 You cannot hear the waters for the wind : 
 The brook that foams, and fells, and bubbles 
 
 by, 
 
 Hath lost its voice — but ancient steeples sigh, 
 And belfries moan — and crazy ghosts, confined 
 In dark courts, weep, and shake the shuddering 
 gates. 
 And cry from points of windy pinnacles. 
 Howl thro' the bars, and plain among the 
 
 bells. 
 And shriek, and wail like voices of the Fates ! 
 
 And who is he that down the mountain side, 
 Swift as a shadow flying from the sun, 
 Between the wings of stormy winds doth run. 
 
 With fierce blue eyes and eyebrows knit with 
 pride ; 
 
 Tho' now and then I see sweet laughters play 
 Upon his lips, like moments of bright heaven 
 
FIRST OP MARCH 13 
 
 Thrown 'twixt the cruel blasts of morn and 
 even, 
 And golden locks beneath his hood of grey? 
 
 Sometimes he turns him back to wave farewell 
 
 To his pale sire with icy beard and hair ; 
 
 Sometimes he sends before him thro' the air 
 A cry of welcome down a sunny dell : 
 And while the echoes are around him ringing, 
 
 Sudden the angry wind breathes low and 
 sweet ; 
 
 Young violets show their blue eyes at his feet, 
 And the wild lark is heard above him singing ! 
 
HOPE 
 
 Angels of beauty are abroad to-day, 
 
 And ministers of bliss ; the winds are sleeping, 
 And thro' a thin-wove veil of silvery grey 
 
 The sun is like a timid lover peeping, 
 Where Hope in her own garden stands and 
 sings. 
 
 And gazing upward hears the skylark chiming 
 Wild response to her song, and with his wings 
 
 Sweet measure to his eager music chiming. 
 
 She sang, ' They say that I am false as fair. 
 That these blue eyes are fickle, vain this 
 breath, 
 
HOPE 15 
 
 Mine idle aims impalpable as air, 
 
 My life a lie, and all its triumphs death ; 
 For when I clutch the amaranth flower of Joy, 
 
 Wealth's golden urn, the laurels of the Muse, 
 Joy, Wealth, and Fame may live, but Hope 
 I die, 
 Likei rainbows followed thro' their own sweet 
 dews. 
 
 ' Thankless are they : who arms the heart of 
 
 youth ? 
 
 Who fires the lover's song, the hero's eye ? 
 
 Who breathes the hermit's prayer, the martyr's 
 
 truth? 
 Who makes it bliss to live, and peace to die ? 
 
 Thankless are they, and heed not what they say; 
 
 There is no armour against ill but mine ; 
 When beauty, strength, and youth are fled away 
 
 The living light within mine eyes doth shine. 
 
l6 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 ' These limbs can be a giant's in their might, 
 
 This still, small voice a trumpet clear and 
 loud, 
 These tearful orbs, that tremble in the light, 
 
 Strong as an eagle's soaring through a cloud : 
 I raise the fond eyes and the listening ears 
 
 Of babes to their first friend; I meet the frown 
 Of the last enemy full arm'd with fears; 
 
 I give him battle and I cast him down.' 
 
 But while she spoke, a shadow o'er the plain 
 
 Swept softly, and she turned, and there there 
 lay 
 The wondrous arch built up of sun and rain, 
 
 And dyed the far-ofT woods with hues of May : 
 She ran in haste to scale those steps of fire ; 
 
 The weeping Iris, jealous of her eyes, 
 Drew then her ladder back, lest Hope aspire 
 
 Earth-born to mount unbidden to the skies. 
 
HOPE 17 
 
 Where are the glories that she saw from 
 far? 
 There is no beauty, but the frown instead 
 Of angry winter armed again for war, 
 
 Grim with blown mantle o'er the mountain 
 head : 
 Her eyes were filled with tears, her heart beat 
 fast ; 
 The dewy drops shower'd round her as she 
 came ; 
 Homeward she bent her jocund steps at last, 
 And laughed with mirth the while she blushed 
 with shame. 
 
 Lightly she stepped, and lo ! beyond the shade 
 Of the grey storm, she saw the sunny lea. 
 
 Like an empyreal shore, that seemed to fade 
 In the far azure ether like a sea; 
 
i8 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And stream and lawn, steep wood, and templed 
 town 
 
 Flashed forth like isles of glory, and she sung — 
 * So do my blisses lie beyond the frown 
 
 Of envious Time; my heart is ever young.' 
 
 She sang — ' I'll take the eagle's wings, and scale 
 
 The mighty walls that stand against the sky; 
 I'll take the crescent moon, and softly sail 
 
 Upon the winding amber streams, that lie 
 Betwixt the clouds; I'll take a beam, and run 
 
 Up to the diamond gates of Paradise; 
 I'll peep behind the curtains of the sun, 
 
 And see the fountains of the day arise.' 
 
 Far o'er the woods into the midst of mom, 
 Ceasing her song, she turned her straining 
 sight, 
 And the pale mountains on their fronts forlorn 
 
HOPE 19 
 
 Caught her warm smile, and laughed with 
 sudden light : 
 The sun flashed forth in answer to her smile, 
 And filled the world with radiant ecstasies : 
 Then to her garden flowers she turned awhile, 
 Pansies and violets like her own blue eyes. 
 
APRIL 
 
 April, April, child of Mirth 
 
 And Sorrow, sweetest face on earth ! 
 
 Oh ! but to name thee fills my ears 
 
 With songs, mine eyes with pleasant tears ; 
 
 For so thou wert when I was young. 
 
 And called thee with a lisping tongue ; 
 
 So shalt thou be when I am old. 
 
 And loves and fears alike are cold. 
 
 Tho' others change, thou wilt not change ; 
 But alway something swift and strange. 
 Like shadows followed by the sun 
 From thee across my heart shall run ; 
 
APRIL 
 While the tender breath from thee 
 Sheds life o'er turf and forest tree, 
 Pours love-notes thro' the valleys lone, 
 And brings me back the swallow flown. 
 
 To pale, sad grief thy presence seems 
 A shape of light in mist of dreams. 
 Thou singest in the ears of Joy ; 
 He shakes his locks, th' enchanted boy ; 
 And the clouds soar up, and pile 
 The vast with silver hill and isle. 
 Or under golden arches run 
 Great rivers pouring from the sun. 
 
 Ofttimes I mark thee stepping thro' 
 The mist, thy fair hair strung with dew, 
 Or by the great stair of the dawn 
 Come down by river, croft, and lawn. 
 Thy sun — and cloud— inwoven vest 
 Rippling its skirts from east to west. 
 
POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And glancing on the breeze and light, 
 Dash the wildflowers left and right. 
 
 Ofttimes in moments soft and fair 
 Under the clear and windless air 
 Thou sleepest, and thy breathings low 
 In blissful odours come and go ; 
 And oft in moments proud and wild 
 Thou spoilest, like a fro ward child, 
 The blossoms thou hast just laid on, 
 And laughest when the ill is done. 
 
 Again I see thee run and leap 
 From gusty peaks — or stand and weep 
 Tears, like Memory's, that distil 
 Hopes of good thro' days of ill ; 
 And the peaceful rainbow hides 
 The thunders on the mountain sides 
 With its banner, or in the vale 
 Robes in rich light the poplar pale. 
 
APRIL 23 
 
 Oft thy mavis, blithe and boon, 
 Cheers the n[iorn and afternoon 
 With happy melodies, that seem 
 To turn to sound the sunny beam; 
 Or the nightingale apart 
 Flashes from his human heart, 
 Like earth-born lightning, ceaselessly. 
 Anguish, Hope, and Victory, . 
 
 In Southern isles where thro' balm shades 
 The moonlight glides o'er colonnades 
 Of marble, and the waters gush 
 In tuneful tears amid the hush 
 Of budding bowers, that silently 
 Slope thro' pale glory to the sea. 
 And in the calm and midnight dim 
 Seem listening to that threefold 'hymn. 
 
 April, April, child of mirth 
 
 And sorrow, sweetest face on earth ! 
 
24 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Oh ! had I such bright hopes to make 
 The wild woods listen for thy sake ! 
 Oh ! had I spells to make thy pains 
 My glory, like thy sunlit rains, 
 My days a rainbow's arch, to climb 
 Far off from tears and clouds of Time ! 
 
THE SKYLARK AND THE POET 
 
 How the blithe lark runs up the golden stair 
 That leans thro' cloudy gates from heaven to 
 earth, 
 And all alone in the empyreal air 
 
 Fills it with jubilant sweet songs of mirth ! 
 How far he seems, how far 
 
 With the light upon his wings ! 
 Is it a bird, or star 
 
 That shines and sings ? 
 
 What matter if the days be dark and frore ? 
 That sunbeam tells of other days to be; 
 
26 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 And singing in the light that floods him o'er 
 In joy he overtakes futurity : 
 Under cloud arches vast 
 
 He peeps, and sees behind 
 Great summer coming fast 
 Adown the wind. 
 
 And now he dives into a rainbow's rivers; 
 
 In streams of gold and purple he is drown 'd ; 
 Shrilly the arrows of his song he shivers, 
 As tho' the stormy drops were turned to 
 sound : 
 
 And now he issues thro'. 
 
 He scales a cloudy tower; 
 Faintly, like falling dew, 
 His fast notes shower. 
 
 Let every wind be hushed, that I may hear 
 The wondrous things he tells the earth below; 
 
THE SKYLARK AND THE POET 27 
 
 Things that we dream of he is watching near, 
 Hopes that we never dreamed he would 
 bestow : 
 Alas ! the storm hath rolled 
 Back the gold gates again, 
 Or surely he had told 
 All heaven to men ! 
 
 So the victorious poet sings alone. 
 
 And fills with light his solitary home. 
 And thro' that glory sees new worlds foreshown, 
 And hears high songs, and triumphs yet to 
 come : 
 He waves the air of Time 
 
 With thrills of golden chords. 
 And makes the world to climb, 
 On linked words. 
 
 What, if his hair be grey, his eyes be dim. 
 If wealth forsake him, and if friends be cold ? 
 
j8 poems of the day AND YEAR 
 
 Wonder unbars her thousand gates to him, 
 Truth never fails, nor beauty waxeth old : 
 More than he tells his eyes 
 
 Behold, his spirit hears, 
 Of grief, and joy, and sighs 
 'Twixt joy and tears. 
 
 Blest is the man who with the sound of song 
 
 Can charm away the heartache, and forget 
 The frost of penury and stings of wrong, 
 And drown the fatal whisper of regret ! 
 Darker are the abodes 
 
 Of kings, tho' his be poor. 
 While Fancies, like the Gods, 
 Pass thro' his door. 
 
 Singing, thou scalest heaven upon thy wings. 
 Thou liftest a glad heart into the skies; 
 
 He maketh his own sunrise while he sings. 
 And turns the dusty earth to Paradise : 
 
THE SKYLARK AND THE POET 29 
 
 I see thee sail along 
 
 Far up the sunny streams; 
 Unseen, I hear his song, 
 
 I see his dreams. 
 
THIRTY-FIRST OF MAY 
 
 Awake ! the crimson dawn is glowing; 
 
 The blissful breath of morn 
 From golden seas is earthward flowing 
 
 Thro' mountain peaks forlorn; 
 'Twixt the tall roses and the jasmine near, 
 
 That darkly hover in the twilight air, 
 I see the glory streaming, and I hear 
 
 The sweet wind whispering like a messenger. 
 
 'Tis time to sing ! the spirits of Spring 
 
 Go softly by mine ear, 
 And out of Fairyland they bring 
 
 Glad tidings to me here; 
 
THIRTY-FIRST OF MA Y 31 
 
 'Tis time to sing ! Now is the pride of youth 
 
 Pluming the woods, and the first rose appears, 
 And summer from the chambers of the south 
 
 Is coming up to wipe away all tears ! 
 
 They bring glad tidings from afar 
 
 Of her that cometh after 
 To fill the earth, to light the air 
 
 With music and with laughter : 
 EVn now she leaneth forward, as she stands 
 
 And her fire-winged horses shod with gold 
 Stream, like a sunrise, from before her hands, 
 
 And thro' the Eastern gates her wheels are 
 rolled ! 
 
 'Tis time to sing ! the woodlands ring 
 
 New carols day by day ; 
 The wild birds of the islands sing 
 
 Whence they have flown away : 
 
32 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 'Tis time to sing — the nightingale is come; 
 
 Amid the laurels chants he all night long, 
 And bids the leaves be still, the winds be dumb; 
 
 How like the starlight flashes forth his song ! 
 
 Immortal beauty from above, 
 
 Like sunlight breathed on cloud. 
 Touches the weary soul with love, 
 
 And hath unwound the shroud 
 Of buried Nature, till she looks again . 
 
 Fresh in infantine smiles and childish tears, 
 And o'er the rugged hearts of aged men 
 
 Sheds the pure dew of youth's delicious years. 
 
 The heart of the awakened earth 
 
 Breathes odorous ecstasy ; 
 Let ours beat time unto her mirth. 
 
 And hymn her jubilee ! 
 
THIRTY-FIRST OF MA Y 33 
 
 The glory of the universal soul 
 
 Ascends from mountain tops and lowly flowers; 
 The mighty pulses throbbing thro' the whole 
 
 Call unto us for answering life in ours. 
 
 Arise, young Queen of forests green ! 
 
 A path was strewn for thee 
 With hyacinth, and gold bells between, 
 
 And red anemone : 
 Arise, young Queen of beauty and delight ! 
 
 Lift up in this fair land thy happy eyes; 
 For valleys yearn, and gardens for thy sight, 
 
 But chief this heart that prays for thee with 
 sighs. 
 
 How oft into the opening blue 
 
 I looked up wistfully. 
 In hope to see thee wafted thro' 
 
 Brights rifts of stormy sky : 
 
34 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Many grey moms and nights and weary days, 
 
 Without thy golden smile my heart was d3ring; 
 Oh ! in the valleys let me see thy face, 
 
 And thy loose locks adown the woodwalks 
 flying. 
 
 Come with thy flowers and silver showers. 
 
 Thy rainbows and thy light; 
 Fold in thy robe the naked hours, 
 
 And fill them with thy might : 
 Tho' less I seek thee for the loveliness 
 
 Thou laughest from thee over land and sea, 
 Than for the hues wherein gay fancies dress 
 
 My drooping spirit at the sight of thee. 
 
 Come with thy voice of tears and joys. 
 Thy leaves and fluttering wings ! 
 
 Come with the breezes, and the noise 
 Of rivulets and of springs : 
 
THIRTY-FIRST OF MA Y 35 
 
 Tho' less I seek thee for thine harmonies 
 
 Of winds and waters, and thy songs divine, 
 Than for that Angel that within me lies, 
 
 And makes glad music echoing unto thine. 
 
 O gardens blossoming anew ! 
 
 O rivers and fresh rills ! 
 O mountains in your mantles blue ! 
 
 O dales of daffodils ! 
 What ye can do no mortal spirit can ; 
 
 Ye have a strength within we cannot borrow : 
 Blessed are ye beyond the heart of man, 
 
 Your joy, your love, your life beyond all 
 sorrow ! 
 
THE CLOUD 
 
 Bright cloud, that springest from the laughing 
 East, 
 
 And on swift wings art come before the sun ; 
 
 Thou infant that art panting to outrun 
 The God of Day; upon thy mother's breast 
 Wilt thou fall back, like an o'er-eager boy, 
 And die ere sunrise in the hope of joy ? 
 
 Or wilt thou climb the golden steep of day 
 Into the zenith, like a conqueror, borne 
 Upon the wheels of the ascending morn, 
 
 And gather power and glory by the way; 
 
 Yet, like a steed ere yet the goal be past, 
 
 Faint before noon with overmuch of haste ? 
 
THE CLOUD 37 
 
 Or rather bask in the blue air of June, 
 
 Till that fair-fashioned shape of thine, in 
 
 seeming 
 A king, a throned god, or angel dreaming. 
 Melt in the splendour of the summer noon, 
 Like drowsy warrior steept in sudden bliss 
 After sharp toil and fiery victories ? 
 
 Or shall the afternoon beset thee round 
 
 With thunders and with lightnings, till thy 
 
 form 
 Be mingled with the phantoms of the storm, 
 Thy lovely hues in black confusion drowned, 
 As some bright spirit from the height of fame 
 Hurled down in guilt, in sorrow, and in 
 shame ? 
 
 Or wilt thou wrap thy youth in every fold 
 Of majesty till, veiling half the heaven. 
 
38 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Thou towerest o'er the world in purple and gold, 
 
 King of the West from the peak of Even, 
 A blessed monarch, gracious and sublime, 
 Throned on the hearts of men and top of Time ? 
 
NOON 
 
 The winds are hushed, the clouds have ceased 
 to sail, 
 
 And lie like islands in the ocean day; 
 
 The flowers hang down their heads, and far 
 away 
 A faint bell tinkles in the sun-drown'd vale : 
 No voice but the cicala's whirring note — 
 
 No motion but the grasshoppers that leap — 
 The reaper pours into his burning throat 
 
 The last drops of his flask, and falls asleep. 
 
 The rippling flood of a clear mountain stream 
 Fleets by, and makes sweet babble with the 
 stones; 
 
40 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 The sleepy music with its murmuring tones 
 
 Lays me at noon in an Arcadian dream : 
 
 Hard by soft night of summer bowers is seen, 
 With trellised vintage curtaining a cove, 
 
 Whose diamond mirror paints the amber-green, 
 The glooming bunches, and the boughs above. 
 
 Finches and moths, and gold-dropt dragon-flies 
 
 Dip in their wings, and a young village- 
 daughter 
 
 Is bending with her pitcher o'er the water : 
 Her round arm imaged, and her laughing eyes. 
 And the fair brow amid the flowing hair. 
 
 Look like the Nymph's for Hylas coming up. 
 Pictured among the leaves and fruitage there; 
 
 Or the boy's self a-drowning with his cup. 
 
 Up through the vines, her urn upon her head, 
 Her feet unsandal'd, and her dark locks free 
 
NOON 41 
 
 She takes her way, a lovely thing to see; 
 And, like a skylark starting from its bed, 
 A glancing meteor, or a tongue of flame, 
 
 Or virgin waters gushing from their springs. 
 Her hope flies up — her heart is free from blame- 
 On wings of sound : she sings, oh ! how she 
 sings ! 
 
TO THE CICALA 
 
 Blithest spirit of the earth, 
 Happy as incarnate mirth, 
 Minion, whom the Fairies feed, 
 Who dost not toil and canst not need, 
 Thine odorous ark a forest bough; 
 While summer laughs as fair as now 
 I will not feast, or drink of wine. 
 But live with thee, and joys like thine. 
 
 Oh ! who may be as blithe and gay 
 As thou, that singest night and day. 
 Setting the light and shadows green 
 A-flutter with thy pulses keen, 
 
TO THE CICALA 43 
 
 And every viney glen and vale 
 A-thrilling with thy long, long tale, 
 And river bank and starlit shore 
 With thy triumphs flooding o'er ? 
 
 When the wild bee is at rest, 
 When the nightingale hath ceased, 
 Still I hear thee, reveller, still 
 Over heath and over hill : 
 Thou singest thro' the fire of noon. 
 Thou singest till the day be done, 
 Thou singest to the rising moon, 
 Thou singest up th' unrisen sun. 
 
 Into the forest I will flee, 
 
 And be alone with Mirth and thee, 
 
 And wash the dust from Fancy's wings 
 
 With tears of heaven, and virgin springs : 
 
 Thou shalt lead me o'er the tops 
 
 Of thymy hills, down orchard slopes, 
 
44 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Past sunlit dell, and moonlit river, 
 Thou shalt lead me on forever ! 
 
 Lord of Summer, Forest-King ! 
 
 Of the bright drops the breezes fling 
 
 Down upon the mossy lawn 
 
 In the dim sweet hours of dawn, 
 
 Clear as daylight, pure as heaven. 
 
 Drops which the mid-summer even 
 
 Weeps into pale cups silently, 
 
 I will take, and drink to thee 1 
 
 Just as I raise it to my lip. 
 
 Plumed Oberon shall dip 
 
 His sceptre in, and Puck shall dive. 
 
 And I will swallow him alive; 
 
 And on the vapour of that dew 
 
 He shall rise, and wander thro' 
 
 My brain, and make a sudden light. 
 
 Like the first beam that scatters night. 
 
TO THE CICALA 45 
 
 Then shall I hear what songs they sing 
 Under the fresh leaves in the Spring; 
 And see what moonlit feasts they hold 
 Under a lily's roof of gold : 
 And when the midnight mists upcurl, 
 Watch how they whisk, and how they whirl, 
 And dance, and flash from earth to air 
 Bright and sudden as a star. 
 
 They shall dance and thou shalt sing : 
 But they shall slumber, court and king. 
 They shall faint ere thou be spent. 
 And each shall seek his dew-bell tent; 
 And Titania's self shall tire, 
 And sleep beneath a wild-rose briar. 
 Ere thou be sad, ere thou be ?till. 
 Piper of the thymy hill. 
 
 Oft at the first still flush of morn. 
 The soft notes of some charmed horn 
 
46 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 I shall hear, like sounds in sleep, 
 Waft o'er the greenwood fresh and deep. 
 From magic hold, where giants thrall 
 Beauty in some airy hall, 
 And a plumed lover waits 
 To burst the spell before the gates. 
 
 When the sun is hot and high, 
 I will rest where low winds sigh. 
 And dark leaves twine, and riUets creep. 
 To send me, with thy whirr, asleep; 
 And softly on some prisoned beam, 
 Shall quiver down a noonday dream. 
 Wherein thy ceaseless note shall tingle. 
 And the sweet-toned waters mingle. 
 
 A dream of Faery, where a million 
 Of winged elves a rare pavilion 
 Build for Love amid the green. 
 The fairest summer-house e'er seen; 
 
TO THE CICALA 47 
 
 While some their silver trowels ring, 
 Others opal blocks shall bring, 
 And with quaint laugh and music fine. 
 Pile them in the sunny shine. 
 
 Monarch, thy great heart is more 
 Than treasuries, if thou be poor ! 
 Tho' few the days that to thee fall. 
 They are long, and summer's all : 
 Minstrel, tho' thy life be brief, 
 Thou art happier, than the chief 
 Of mortal poets, for thy song 
 Is fed with rapture all day long. 
 
 Thee, in thy fresh and leafy haunt, 
 Nor Wealth can bribe, nor Penury daunt, 
 Nor Glory puiF, nor Envy tear, 
 Thy drink the dew, thy food the air : 
 Oh ! could I share in thy delight. 
 And dream in music day and night. 
 
48 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Methinks I would be even as thou, 
 And sing beneath a forest bough. 
 
 Nor pain nor evil canst thou see; 
 Thou fear'st not death, tho' it must be; 
 Therefore no sorrow lights on thee, 
 Or mingles with thy melody. 
 From want thy jocund heart is free, 
 Thou livest in triumphant glee, 
 Thou diest shouting jubilee ! 
 A God — save immortality ! 
 
TO A SUMMER FLY 
 
 Thou, that livest in the sun, 
 And, like the lilies, hast not spun, 
 Or toiled since thy life begun; 
 Thou that sorrow canst not see. 
 That fliest all shadows, swift and free 
 How can death o'ershadow thee ? 
 
 If I were a fairy fine, 
 I would make a day of mine 
 Into a life as long as thine, 
 Fearless wanderer of the sky. 
 That art born, dost live and die. 
 Ere the bright days are gone by. 
 
 D 
 
50 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Through the livelong sunny day 
 Thou singest with thy lovers gay 
 To merry thoughts a merry lay; 
 Tiny thing, what tellest thou, 
 As thou glancest o'er me now, 
 Shedding down upon my brow 
 
 The diamond dust that sprinks thy wings ? 
 Is it of the wondrous things 
 That the plumed summer brings 
 Out of her treasures ? anthers fair, 
 Wherein the fallen shower-drops are 
 As blest elixirs rich and rare ? 
 
 Tears of night, that in the beams 
 Of morning change to gold and gems ? 
 Or odours like to wandering dreams. 
 That charm with. subtlest spells, and take 
 Captive the heart, and then forsake, 
 Like songs we hear when half awake ? 
 
TO A SUMMER FLY 51 
 
 Oft thou bathest in clear well 
 Of the wild flower's brimming bell, 
 Cowslip, hyacinth, asphodel. 
 Silver rains, like nectar golden 
 In imperial vases holden 
 Of amber lilies, to embolden 
 
 Thy filmerings for their noonday flight 
 
 Up thro' the happy ether bright, 
 
 'Mid summer air and shoreless light; 
 
 I would feel the pangless pleasure 
 
 Thou feelest, when thou hast drunk a measure 
 
 Of the maydew at thy leisure; 
 
 Maydew by the morn served up 
 
 To thee in a violet cup, 
 
 Which, with loud murmurs thou dost sup. 
 
 Perfumed into ravishment 
 
 With the delicatest scent 
 
 From the inmost goblet lent. 
 
52 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 There thou feastest in the shade 
 With linked rose and woodbine made, 
 Green glooms with chequering lights inlaid, 
 While the hours, like lovers, throng 
 Round dark-eyed Summer, lithe and strong, 
 And not a leaf shall fade for long. 
 
 I would feel the joy thou feelest. 
 
 As round the garden plots thou wheelest. 
 
 And, drunk with song and light, thou reelest. 
 
 And the noon is deep and fair. 
 
 And not a sound of life is there 
 
 But thy low chant that thrills the air. 
 
 Hast thou learnt those melodies 
 
 Heard when day comes up the skies, 
 
 And the subtle atomies 
 
 Are stirred with morning ? Hath thy sight 
 
 Marked the shuttle of the night 
 
 Throw its threads across the light ? 
 
TO A SUMMER FLY 53 
 
 At thy birth did that slim Fay, 
 That drew thy form at break of day 
 Out of the rose wherein it lay, 
 Swathe thee in the rainbow hues 
 Wherewith the level sunrise strews 
 That moment all the meadow dews ? 
 
 Thou art a charmed bark that flees 
 Swiftly with songs thro' soundless seas, 
 With blossom odours for a breeze, 
 Launching from a green, green shore 
 The tiniest craft that ever bore 
 Silken sail, or silver oar. 
 
 Launching on a golden tide 
 
 Of morning, toward realms untried. 
 
 Thou pliest along the sunbeam wide. 
 
 Bound for some flowery cape afar. 
 
 Or sunflower-islet in mid air, 
 
 A dazzling dewdrop for thy star. 
 
54 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Oh wondrous life, oh winged spark ! 
 Between thy plumes would I embark 
 What time the daybeam drives the dark 
 If I were a fairy free 
 I would search the ethereal sea, 
 And sail far off with songs like thee. 
 
 If I were a fairy fine 
 I would make a day of mine 
 Into a life as long as thine. 
 Tearless wanderer of the sky. 
 That art born, dost live and die 
 Ere the summer days go by. 
 
THE FOREST 
 
 I 
 In the hot hours, when scarce the whirr is heard 
 
 Of the bird's wing, or murmur of the bee. 
 When the leaf shadows tremble on the sward. 
 
 To the wild forest come away with me : 
 I know a dewy green where you may lie, 
 
 And dream you hear from the embowered 
 glades 
 Low laughter twinkle, and sweet music sigh. 
 
 And faint away among the pillar'd shades. 
 
 I know a lake upon whose surface pass , 
 
 Trembling soft pictures of the summer treen, 
 
56 POEMS OP THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 And as we gaze into that magic glass, 
 
 The sloping woods with their high walks are 
 seen; 
 Keep thou thine eye upon the azure water, 
 
 And when its mirror ruffles with the air, 
 I'll show thee many a rosy forest-daughter, 
 
 Satyr, and wild-eyed Hamadryad there. 
 
 I'll show thee sun-brown Faun with Wood-nymph 
 playing, 
 
 Or twining wreaths of eglantine and rose. 
 Or on soft moss the tawny musk grape laying 
 
 For Pan, who takes his afternoon repose 
 Upon deep flowers and virgin green — to slake 
 
 His thirsty ardours, when at set of day 
 From his enchanted dreams the God shall wake, 
 
 And see the shadows turned the other way. 
 
 And sometimes Bacchus shall go reeling by 
 Where the deep forest leaves a lawny dell. 
 
THE FOREST 57 
 
 With flute and twisted wand, and sunlit eye 
 
 Amid the rose-crown'd Maenads, with a swell 
 Far off of mingled voices musical; 
 
 And for a moment, in a stream of light, 
 Thou shalt behold the viney festival 
 
 Sweep by like dream, and glitter out of sight. 
 
 If thou shouldst slumber in a thicket near. 
 
 The grasshopper shall wake thee up with glee, 
 And hidden rillets bubbling in thine ear 
 
 Shall float off the soft hours with melody: 
 Thy curls uplifted by the Zephyr sleek 
 
 Shall make thee dream of some beloved hand 
 Laid on thy hair, a kiss upon thy cheek, 
 
 And one dear face, the loveliest in the land. 
 
 II 
 
 A sound of fluttering leaves begins to run 
 From side to side, and the far-flying fawn 
 
58 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Glances athwart green glooms, or in the sun 
 Peers tremblingly, or shoots across a lawn: 
 
 From mossy glens, and tops of breezy hills 
 I hear the bugle wail, and bowstring keen; 
 
 Green plumes move with the leaves, wild 
 laughter thrills 
 
 From sylvan valleys and dark gulphs of green. 
 
 Look where the forest slopes unto the lake. 
 
 And the brisk winds that curl the summer 
 trees 
 Leap to the brink, their morning thirst to 
 slake. 
 Caught from the sharp rocks and the parched 
 leas: 
 The evening waters now begin to sing 
 
 Over the swart sands, and three Oreads tall 
 From oak-tree arms a crimson awning swing. 
 Whose ruby shadows o'er the mosses fall. 
 
THE FOREST 59 
 
 As tho' the blushing turf-plot saw, and knew 
 The virgin huntress with unzoned limbs ! 
 For now a lucent shoulder fresh with dew 
 Dawns o'er the waters, as she shoreward 
 swims: 
 Now leans she on the pebbles with her 
 hand, 
 And lifts herself amid her long bright hair; 
 Now with her nymphs she shoots across the 
 strand, 
 Peerless in grace and stature, pure and fair. 
 
 And now she sits in rosy light, and veils 
 Her innocence, and to the silver sound 
 
 Of falling rillets she begins her tales 
 
 Of Summer pastimes sought with horn and 
 hound : 
 
 At every pause young girls with kirtles green, 
 Taking their little lyres of gracious mould, 
 
60 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Sing antique songs, and strike the strings 
 between — 
 Echoes, and shadows of the Age of Gold. 
 
 Oh ! I could tarry under these green boughs, 
 
 In these deep coverts, all the summer long. 
 If only one sweet nymph with sunny brows 
 
 Would teach me all her ancient woodland song; 
 Till I had learned such pure and simple breath. 
 
 As, poured into the dusty ears of Kings, 
 Would make them thirsty for a wildrose wreath. 
 
 Turf walks, and thymy slopes, and fresh cold 
 springs. 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 Fair fount, that singest in the air, 
 
 And spinnest in the sun 
 Raiment for River Gods to wear. 
 
 From dawn till day be done; 
 Oh ! could I learn thy magic art, and share 
 Thy sympathetic sense, that moulds thee forms 
 So sweet in calm, so glorious in storms ; 
 Could beauty sway my speech, as thee the air I 
 
 Fair fount, thy music swift and strange, 
 
 Thy lightnings in mine eyes. 
 Weave me with every sunny change 
 
 Such pleasant phantasies, 
 
62 POEMS OP THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 That I, methinks, could dream away my years 
 Peacefully gazing, as thy silver dews 
 Make harmonies of lovely sounds and hues, 
 In answer to the soft wind as it veers. 
 
 Image of joy and flowing song, 
 
 And fancy without measure, 
 Thy tongue is tuneful all day long. 
 
 Thy heart leaps up with pleasure : 
 Thine is the glorious youth where jocund mind 
 Weaves tears with laughter, and regrets with 
 
 hopes. 
 Whose careless moments, like thy sunny drops, 
 Are fancy-wooed, as they are by the wind. 
 
 But when the months have chained thy heart, 
 
 And sealed thy tongue with frost, 
 An emblem of that day thou art 
 
 When all we loved is lost : 
 
THE FOUNTAIN 63 
 
 'he heart of Age is but a frozen thing; 
 The eyes of Age see but a wintry mist, 
 Jy no sweet visions like thy sunbows kissed, 
 Vhence smiles have fled, and tears have ceased 
 to spring. 
 
THE POET AND FOUNT OF HAPPINESS 
 
 There is a fountain to whose flowery side 
 By divers ways the children of the earth 
 Come day and night athirst, to measure forth 
 Its living waters — Health and Wealth and Pride, 
 Power clad in arms and Wisdom argus-eyed : 
 But One apart from all is seen to stand, 
 And take up in the hollow of his hand 
 What to their golden vessels is denied, 
 Baffling their utmost reach. He, bom and nurst 
 In the glad sound and freshness of that place. 
 Drinks momently its dews, and feels no thirst ; 
 While, from his bowered grot or sunny space, 
 He sorrows for that troop, as it returns 
 Thro' the waste wilderness with empty urns. 
 
TO POESY 
 
 Tis not for golden eloquence I pray, 
 A God-like tongue to move a stony heart : 
 Full fain am I to dwell with thee apart 
 
 In solitary uplands far away, 
 
 And, thro' the blossoms of a bloomy spray, 
 To gaze upon the wonderful, sweet face 
 Of Nature in a wild and pathless place : 
 
 And if it were that I should once array, 
 
 In words of magic woven curiously. 
 
 All the deep gladness of a summer morn, 
 
 Or rays of evening that light up the lea 
 On dewy days of spring, or shadows borne 
 
 Athwart the forehead of an autumn noon — 
 
 Then would I die and ask no better boon ! 
 
THE PROSPECT OF EVIL DAYS 
 
 'Tis not a time for triumph and delight, 
 
 For dance and song, for jocund thoughts and ease ; 
 
 Like cloud on cloud before a stormy night 
 
 Sorrows I see, and doleful deeds increase : 
 
 Destruction, like the Uragan, shall come, 
 
 And change, like mighty winds, whose lowering 
 
 moan 
 Swells to a shout that makes the thunder dumb ; 
 And bloody Anarchs call the earth their own. 
 But when this time ot terror and despair 
 Is past, tho' I be weary and o'erworn, 
 Still let me live to breathe the freshened air. 
 And hail the glory of that happy morn, 
 When the new day shall o'er the mountains roll. 
 And love again pour down his sunny soul ! 
 
THE BLACKBIRD 
 
 How sweet the harmonies of afternoon ! 
 
 The blackbird sings along the sunny breeze 
 His ancient song of leaves, and summer boon; 
 
 Rich breath of hayfields streams thro' whisper- 
 ing trees ; 
 And birds of morning trim their bustling wings, 
 And listen fondly while the blackbird sings. 
 
 How soft the love-light of the West reposes 
 On this green valley's cheery solitude, 
 
 On the trim cottage with its screen of roses. 
 On the grey belfry with its ivy hood, 
 
 And murmuring mill-race, and the wheel that 
 flings 
 
 Its bubbling freshness — while the blackbird sings ! 
 
68 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 The very dial on the village church 
 
 Seems as 'twere dreaming in a dozey rest; 
 The scribbled benches underneath the porch 
 
 Bask in the kindly welcome of the West; 
 But the broad casements of the old Three Kings 
 Blaze like a furnace — while the blackbird sings. 
 
 And there beneath the immemorial elm 
 Three rosy revellers round a table sit, 
 And thro' grey clouds give laws unto the realm, 
 Curse good and great, but worship their own 
 wit, 
 And roar of fights, and fairs, and junketings. 
 Corn, colts, and curs — the while the blackbird 
 sings 
 
 Before her home, in her accustom'd seat, 
 The tidy grandam spins beneath the shade 
 
 Of the old honeysuckle, at her feet 
 The dreaming pug and purring tabby laid; 
 
THE BLACKBIRD 69 
 
 To her low chair a little maiden clings, 
 
 And spells in silence — ^while the blackbird sings. 
 
 Sometimes the shadow of a lazy cloud 
 Breathes o'er the hamlet with its gardens 
 green, 
 
 While the far fields, with sunlight overflow'd. 
 Like golden shores of Fairyland are seen; 
 
 Again, the sunshine on the shadow springs, 
 
 And fires the thicket where the blackbird sings. 
 
 The woods, the lawn, the peaked manorhouse 
 With its peach-covered walls, and rookery 
 loud, 
 The trim, quaint garden alleys, screen'd with 
 boughs. 
 The lion-headed gates, so grim and proud, 
 The mossy fountain with its murmurings 
 Lie in warm sunshine — ^while the blackbird sings. 
 
70 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 The ring of silver voices, and the sheen 
 
 Of festal garments — and my Lady streams 
 With her gay court across the garden green ; 
 
 Some laugh, and dance, some whisper their 
 love-dreams; 
 And one calls for a little page; he strings 
 Her lute beside her — ^while the blackbird sings. 
 
 A little while— and lo ! the charm is heard : 
 A youth, whose life has been all Summer, 
 steals 
 
 Forth from the noisy guests around the board, 
 Creeps by her softly — at her footstool kneels; 
 
 And, when she pauses, murmurs tender things 
 
 Into her fond ear — while the blackbird sings. 
 
 The smoke-wreaths from the chimneys curl up 
 higher, 
 And dizzy things of eve begin to float 
 
THE BLACKBIRD 11 
 
 Upon the light; the breeze begins to tire; 
 
 Half way to sunset with a drowsy note 
 The ancient clock fi-om out the valley swings; 
 The grandam nods — and still the blackbird sings. 
 
 Far shouts and laughter from the farmstead peal, 
 Where the great stack is piling in the sun; 
 
 Thro' narrow gates o'erladen waggons reel, 
 And barking curs into the tumult run; 
 
 While the inconstant wind bears off, and brings 
 
 The merry tempest — and the blackbird sings. 
 
 On the high wold the last look of the sun 
 
 Burns, like a beacon, over dale and stream; 
 The shouts have ceased, the laughter and the 
 fun; 
 The grandam sleeps, and peaceful be her 
 dream ! 
 Only a hammer on an anvil rings; 
 The day is dying; still the blackbird sings. 
 
72 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Now the good vicar passes from his gate 
 
 Serene, with long white hair; and in his eye 
 Burns the clear spirit that hath conquer'd Fate, 
 
 And felt the wings of immortality; 
 His heart is throng'd with great imaginings. 
 And tender mercies— while the blackbird sings. 
 
 Down by the brook he bends his steps, and 
 thro' 
 A lowly wicket; and at last he stands 
 Awful beside the bed of one, who grew 
 
 From boyhood with him — ^who, with lifted 
 hands, 
 And eyes, seems listening to far welcomings. 
 And sweeter music than the blackbird sings. 
 
 Two golden stars, like tokens from the Blest, 
 
 Strike on his dim orbs from the setting sun; 
 His sinking hands seem pointing to the West; 
 
THE BLACKBIRD 73 
 
 He smiles as though he said 'Thy will be 
 done ! ' 
 His eyes, they see not those illuminings, 
 His ears, they hear not what the blackbird sings. 
 
THE POET TO A CAGED NIGHTINGALE 
 
 If I am sadder when I see thee sad 
 With rayless eyes, O summer-hearted bird, 
 Why do I weep when I behold thee glad 
 With inborn glory, and thy songs are heard ? 
 And, O young minstrel, I have seen thee stirred 
 With such immortal moments of delight. 
 That thine enchanted being hath appeared 
 To go forth on a carol, and take its flight 
 In answer to the call of some empyreal sprite ! 
 
 When in a moment, as from dream awoke, 
 Thou didst begin to sing, and in such wise 
 As when the prime, inviolate forests broke 
 Forth into paeans, and with glad surprise 
 
THE POET TO A CAGED NIGHTINGALE 75 
 
 Struck unimaginable harmonies; 
 And the new-fashioned earth upsent a noise 
 Of tumult and of praise, and from the skies 
 Came down the manifold, melodious voice 
 Of Angels and of Gods, that sing, 'Rejoice, 
 Rejoice ! ' 
 
 And then, descending from thy lofly tone. 
 Glorious as some sweet tempest, which in play 
 Apollo hath upraised around his throne. 
 Mocking the thunder and the winds, thy lay 
 Hath glided like a clear stream on its way, 
 A clear stream rushing on a golden floor, 
 And yet so swift that, when I bade thee stay 
 To run me once again that wild song o'er. 
 In swifter notes were drowned the notes that 
 went before. 
 
 Then hadst thou beat thy prison-house in vain , 
 With idle wings, and prideful, angry eye. 
 
76 POEMS OP THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Because thy gladness had become a pain, 
 And bound thee inly like an ecstasy ; 
 As tho' thou wert complaining — ' Let me die, 
 For I am happy, happy, happy now ; 
 Oh ! let me wander forth upon the sky. 
 And fill the light with songs — oh ! let me go 
 Along the wide sunbeam, and hear the south 
 winds blow ! ' 
 
 At last, o'ermastered by thy strong desire 
 Of freedom, by vain hope, by sport and song. 
 Thou hast gazed round upon the golden wire 
 That girdled thee and broke thy spirit strong, 
 And sadness hath come over thee ere long. 
 And tears bedimmed the joyance of thine eyes. 
 As one who moaned — ' oh ! wherefore is this wrong 
 Done to me ? think ye that my spirit dies ? 
 Ah ! but for these ill walls it would ascend the 
 skies ! 
 
THE POET TO A CAGED NIGHTINGALE 77 
 Know' St thou I com? from summers of the South ? 
 Mine is a bluer air, a nobler sun ? 
 There are the friends and lovers of my youth, 
 Who shared my gladness till the day was done, 
 And soothed my brief unrests. What hast thou 
 
 done 
 To snatch me from society so dear ? 
 Where are the flowers and mountain-trees, 
 
 whereon 
 I sate and sang for joy, and had no fear. 
 While songs as sweet as mine were thrilling in 
 
 my ear ? 
 
 Do not see far off the azure hills ? 
 Their aspect stirs me with a wild delight. 
 For there I know fresh fountains are, clear rills, 
 And by the waysides green young flowers and 
 
 bright : 
 There the elated heart grows strong, despite 
 
78 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Of penury and care, for there the high 
 Eternal works of wonder are in sight, 
 Putting all lowly thoughts and passions by. 
 And wafting up the soul into the spanless sky. 
 
 Do I not hear the everlasting sea. 
 Whose murmur brings from the blue isles afar 
 Tidings of the flown summer unto me, 
 And hearts that throb beneath a happier star ? 
 Oh ! if strong love could sunder bolt and bar 
 Then would I live again one summer o'er, 
 And lave my wings in quenchless light and air. 
 My heart in blisses of my own sweet shore ; 
 Then flee where none should find, or cease for 
 evermore ! ' 
 
 But when I have approached thee in thy hour 
 Of darkness, and required with flattering tone 
 Melody in thy heaviness, the power 
 Of thy undying life to cheer my own. 
 
THE POET TO A CAGED NIGHTINGALE 79 
 
 A song when thou wert desolate and lone, 
 Dear minister of Pity, hast thou not 
 The sweetness of thy saddest thoughts foregone 
 To move me in my sorrow, and forgot 
 Captivity and tears, the burden of thy lot ? 
 
 If I could glad thee now by any spells 
 
 Of Phantasy, then would I fill thine ears 
 
 With all that the enraptured Poet tells 
 
 Of our strange hearts — the loves, the hopes, the 
 
 fears, 
 The joys, the agonies of human years j 
 Or sing unto thee, but I never knew 
 Music so sweet as when it moves to tears : 
 Thy notes are ibrave as light that cleaves the 
 
 blue. 
 And subtle as the air, and tender as the dew. 
 
 Ah ! me, I weep that thou, ordained for mirth. 
 To wander on wild wings, rejoice and soar, 
 
8o POEMS OP THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And search with restless speed the heaven and 
 
 earth, 
 To sing, to dream, to die and be no more, 
 Canst triumph Hke an angel, while I mourn 
 Who know that I shall never die, and more 
 Than Phantasy may vision, and can turn 
 From all I see and know, and feel myself forlorn. 
 
 For tho' sad sense of exile, and the sight 
 
 Of this thy prison sometimes makes thee pine. 
 
 Soon as thou hearst the winds, and seest the 
 
 light, 
 Dost thou not kindle that lone heart of thine 
 With sunny song ? oh ! could I ravish mine 
 Or gladden others thus, I should not sigh 
 For evil dreams to torture me, like wine, 
 Into oblivious peace, to put away 
 The shadows of the past, or veil the coming 
 
 day. 
 
THE POET TO A CAGED NIGHTINGALE 8i 
 
 I weep that Man, with utterance more than thou, 
 A soul that searcheth farther than the wind, 
 A mind that, thro' the windows in his brow, 
 Can follow after the flown star, and find, 
 And from the shore of Time can see behind 
 Columns of fall'n Creations, and before 
 The great new Day whose coming splendours 
 
 blind, 
 Should stoop for glistering serpents on that 
 
 shore, 
 Nor see the coming tide, nor listen to its roar. 
 
 Sing me no songs, for I am sad at heart : 
 Thou art from God, and bountiful like Him : 
 But when I see thee mifte, as now thou art, 
 It is as tho' thou saidst — ' Mine eyes are dim 
 Thro' Man, whose heart is bitter to the brim. 
 Who hates the light, and poisons his own food, 
 Who was the next unto the Seraphim, 
 
82 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And now a bird can chide his thankless mood, 
 A little bird can say — " He envies me my good." ' 
 
 Go forth, O winged Joy ! what ! shall I break 
 That liberal heart of thine, because my own 
 Lies quenched in dust and ashes ? I will wake 
 The God that sleeps within me, and put on 
 The long-disused arms that might have shone 
 Among sublimer spirits, and be free : 
 Go forth in light ! In love thou hast undone 
 Thine hopeless ill, and slain Adversity : 
 I thank thee for the shame thy songs have left 
 in me. 
 
THE GLORY OF NATURE 
 
 If only once the chariot of the Morn 
 
 Had scattered from its wheels the twilight dun, 
 But once the unimaginable Sun 
 Flashed godlike thro' perennial clouds forlorn, 
 And showed us Beauty for a moment born : 
 
 If only once blind eyes had seen the Spring 
 Waking amid the triumphs of midnoon ; 
 Or only once Ae lovely Summer boon 
 Pass by in state like a full-robed king, 
 The waters dance, the woodlands laugh and sing : 
 
 If only once deaf ears had heard the joy 
 
 Of the wild birds, the morning breezes blowing, 
 Or silver fountain from their caverns flowing, 
 
84 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Or the deep-voiced rivers rolling by ; 
 Then night eternal fallen from the sky : 
 
 If only once weird Time had rent asunder 
 
 The curtain of the clouds, and shewn us Night 
 Climbing into the awful Infinite 
 
 Those stairs whose steps are worlds, above and 
 under, 
 
 Glory on glory, wonder upon wonder ! 
 
 If Lightnings lit the Earthquake on his way 
 But once, or Thunder spake unto the world ; 
 The realm-wide banners of the Wind unfurled ; 
 Earth-prisoned fires broke loose into the day. 
 Or the great Seas awoke — then slept for aye ! 
 
 Ah 1 sure the heart of Man, too strongly tried 
 By godlike Presences so vast and fair. 
 Withering with dread, or sick with love's 
 despair, 
 
THE GLORY OF NATURE 85 
 
 Had wept for ever, and to heaven cried, 
 
 Or struck with lightnings of delight had died ! 
 
 But He, tho' heir of immortaHty, 
 
 With mortal dust too feeble for the sight, 
 Draws thro' a veil God's overwhelming light : 
 Use arms the soul — anon there moveth by 
 A more majestic Angel — and we die ! 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 I 
 
 Upon the icy mountain-top alone 
 
 I only hear the beating of my heart; 
 
 Sunburst, and shower, and shadow, earthward 
 thrown 
 
 Like mortal fortunes, for a moment shown, 
 Go by me, and depart. 
 
 There is no voice to talk with me so high : 
 
 The secret spirit of the desert place 
 Answers not to me; and beneath me lie 
 The world and all its wonders; Death and I 
 Are standing face to face. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 87 
 
 And from the torrents and the caves ascend 
 
 Temple of cloud, dim king, and sunlit 
 god, 
 
 Angels with aspects changing without end; 
 
 Visions of power and glory earthward bend, 
 And sceptred giants nod. 
 
 A sunbeam cleaves the misty gulph, and lo ! 
 
 As thro' great gates unfolding in the sky, 
 Valleys, and plains, and rivers past me flow, 
 And silent cities, glittering from below, 
 
 Like phantoms hover by. 
 
 So from the far-oiF mount of Poesy 
 
 The world's great shows like the hushed 
 champaign seem; 
 The Actual, unsubstantiality; 
 Real, what is shaped in Fancy's eager eye; 
 
 Fear, love, a hope, a dream. 
 
88 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Glorious is he who on that sovranty 
 
 Makes a far beacon of his soul sublime: 
 Blessed is he, who from th' illumined sky- 
 Can reach the murmurs of Humanity, 
 
 And hear the voice of Time. 
 
 II 
 
 The spirit of the Poet, like the form 
 
 Of the high mountains, cleaves the heavens 
 asunder. 
 And flies into far realms of fear and wonder, 
 And howling wildernesses, where the storm 
 Goes darkly with its thunder; 
 
 Or soars with quiet pinions where the light 
 Of sun and stars, eternal and the same, 
 Awake afar the unapproached height, 
 Looks down serenely on the stormy night 
 Of whirlwind, cloud, and flame. 
 
THE MOUNTAINS 89 
 
 Within the lone high places of his soul 
 
 Love and Ambition, like the frost and sun, 
 Pile up great towers, or drive the earth- 
 quake on. 
 
 Let loose the winds, or bid the torrents roll, 
 Or make the rivers run. 
 
 And when the proud world, tyrannous and 
 strong. 
 Tramples frail hearts into the dust of scorn, 
 Rathe flowers of spring within his breast 
 are born. 
 Fresh streams of pity murmur in his song, 
 Fresh breezes of the morn. 
 
 The unborn future lightens on his brow. 
 
 As on the topmost cliffs the dawning East; 
 Memories, like glories poured back from the 
 
 West, 
 
go POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Live in his heart, and in his music glow 
 When summer days have ceased. 
 
 In his own land his ever-wakeful eye 
 
 Stands sentinel, like an unsetting star; 
 
 The glory of his immortality, 
 
 Like the great peaks that glitter in the sky, 
 Burns, and is shown afar. 
 
 And when vast cycles, rolling wars and woes. 
 
 Have laid in darkness lesser lights between. 
 Far as the utmost age, or friends, or foes, 
 His mighty spectre, like th' eternal snows, 
 Shall soar up and be seen. 
 
THE TEMPLE 
 
 A SHEPHERD-POET from a mountain land 
 Near a proud temple's open portals stood; 
 
 By lavish steams of fragrance he was fanned ; 
 He heard the hosannas of a mulitude. 
 
 The soaring temple seemed a holy world, 
 And in its beauty was almost divine ; 
 
 He stood in wonder while the incense curled 
 Round the tall columns and the golden shrine. 
 
 He heard the music rolling, like a flood 
 
 On thunders based, with eddying echoes piled; 
 
 He saw the gaint shapes of man and God 
 Glorious in domed sanctuaries isled. 
 
92 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 He bowed his head, and all that glory shook 
 
 His steadfast soul; but then he thought again 
 Of his green valley and its rippling brook, 
 
 And the meek songs of poor and holy men. 
 
 Sweet words of peace and power, like blissful 
 charms, 
 
 TheHighPriest uttered from his carven throne. 
 And claspt his hands, and raised his purple arms, 
 
 As tho' to teach humility by his own. 
 
 The shepherd bowed his head; that golden speech 
 Sank, like a lovely melody, in his ears; 
 
 But then he thought how mountain hermits teach 
 Love with rough words, but prove it with 
 their tears. 
 
 He took his staff; he fled into the light. 
 Far from that perilous beauty manifold, 
 
 Lest his enchanted ears and dazzled sight 
 Should scorn the Presences they loved of old. 
 
THE TEMPLE 93 
 
 Beyond the city walls he fled in haste; 
 
 He left its dust, its tumult, and its sound, 
 And soon beheld long vales and mountains vast, 
 Their kingly heads with storm and lightning 
 crown'd. 
 
 He saw the gulphy bosom of the woods 
 Surge in the wind, and many a river wide 
 
 Glittering in silence, and the spanless floods 
 Of ocean purpling on the other side. 
 
 He saw the plumed clouds go by in state, 
 And shapes of mighty stature bodied forth, 
 
 Of pleading Angel, or of armed Fate, 
 
 Throned in the air and gazing on the earth. 
 
 The soft wind stirred the grass and thickets green ; 
 
 Wild woodnotes stream'd around, rare odour- 
 showers; 
 Glad springs and silver runnels lisped unseen 
 
 Under the briary shades and tangled flowers. 
 
94 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 He marked a shadow swallow up the day, 
 Like coming judgment, and again the sun 
 
 Flash forth, and turn to gold the glooming grey. 
 Like Mercy that repents ere ill be done. 
 
 And then he cried, ' Oh ! shall mine eyes forego 
 The glorious temple of th' eternal skies 
 
 For all the frail magnificence below. 
 
 The words of love for cobwebs of the wise ? 
 
 ' Oh ! if their ears could hear, their eyes could see 
 All that in this great world sublimes the heart, 
 
 Spirit, what need of other shrines for thee, 
 Or muttered mysteries, or fantastic art ? 
 
 ' When gilded shadows of the fancy win 
 More lovers than the sacred face of Truth, 
 
 When o'er the ancient skeleton of Sin 
 
 Lie the warm folds of beauty and of youth ; 
 
THE TEMPLE 95 
 
 ' When juggling pomps and masked mockeries 
 
 Ape the bold steps by freedom only trod, 
 When monstrous idols hide from human eyes 
 
 The face of Nature and the throne of God ; 
 
 ' Woe to that land, how bright soe'er it shine ! 
 
 Its air is thick with shapes that have no breath; 
 Tho' rich with milk and honey, corn and wine. 
 
 Its name is Darkness and its King is Death. 
 
 ' Better the icy wind, the sunshine dim. 
 
 Better the thousand storms that shake the free, 
 
 The torrent thundering to the Sabbath hymn, 
 Or the deep voice of the unchained sea ! 
 
 ' All-powerful Spirit, Universal King, 
 Let others seek thee under marble piles. 
 
 Where the lamps tremble and the censers swing, 
 And waved anthems stream thro' arched aisles. 
 
96 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 ' In that high Temple which Thyself didst frame 
 
 And dost inhabit, I wiU look for Thee, 
 Whose roof is night, whose lamps are worlds of 
 flame, 
 
 Whose mighty bases are the earth and sea ; 
 
 ' When Life and Death, thy ministers, attend, 
 And with dread voices, chanting of all things. 
 
 From the great deep draw echoes without end, 
 Immeasurable giants, clothed with wings. 
 
 ' Thine orisons the world-wide voice that ills 
 The morning air, the clouds thy censers be ; 
 
 Thine altars the inextinguishable hills ; 
 Thy music is the thunder and the sea. 
 
 ' On silent plains, on solemn shores untrod, 
 Amid great mountains where it daily swells, 
 
 That holy music, I will worship God, 
 And listen to His awful oracles.' 
 
THE GOLDEN CITY 
 
 I 
 Two aged men, that had been foes for life, 
 
 Met by a grave and wept — and in those tears 
 They washed away the memory of their strife ; 
 
 They wept again the loss of all the years. 
 
 Two youths, discoursing amid tears and laughter, 
 Poured out their trustful hearts unto each 
 other ; 
 
 They never met before and never after. 
 Yet each remembered he had found a brother. 
 
 A girl and boy amid the dawning light 
 
 Glanced at each other at a palace door ; 
 
 G 
 
98 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 That look was hope by day, and dreams by night; 
 And yet they never saw each other more. 
 
 Should gentle spirits born for one another 
 Meet only in sad death, the end of all ? 
 
 Should hearts that spring, like rivers, near each 
 other. 
 As far apart into the ocean fall ? 
 
 Should heavenly Beauty be a snare to stay 
 Free love, and ere she hear his tongue com- 
 plain, 
 
 Forsake him, as a lily turns away 
 
 From the air that cannot turn to it again ? 
 
 Ah ! hapless Zephyr, thou canst never part 
 From the rare odour of the breathing bloom ; 
 
 Ah ! flower, thou canst not tell how fair thou 
 art, 
 Or see thyself, or quaff thine own perfume. 
 
THE GOLDEN CITY 99 
 
 Ah ! lover unbeloved, or loving not 
 
 The doomed heart that only turns to thee; 
 In this wild world how cureless is thy lot ! 
 
 Who shall unwind the old perplexity ? 
 
 II 
 
 Fond hearts, not unrequited shall ye be 
 
 For ever I beheld a happy sight, 
 Heaven opened, and a starry company 
 
 Far off, like Gods, and crowned sons of Light. 
 
 On beacon towers and citadels sublime 
 They stood, and watched with their unsleeping 
 eyes 
 
 Where two or three across the sea of Time 
 Held on unto the shores of Paradise. 
 
 All day they rocked upon the stormy deep 
 Till night beset them, and they could not tell 
 
100 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 The signal lights — and they began to weep- 
 Then the dark waters smote them, and they 
 feU. 
 
 But oh ! they woke in wonder ! and behold 
 A mighty city ! 'twas a summer morn, 
 
 And dazzling sunshine smote on walls of gold, 
 And blessed voices on their ears forlorn. 
 
 Soon as the grey prow touched upon the sands 
 Wild birds from fadeless woods, and inland 
 streams. 
 Showered o'er them those same notes of Faery 
 lands 
 Which they had heard in far, forgotten dreams. 
 
 And on the morning breezes come and part 
 Gushes of those enchanted melodies, 
 
 Which, for brief moments, born within the heart. 
 Made sad the earth with echoes of the skies. 
 
THE GOLDEN CITY loi 
 
 Odours from silent fields of asphodel 
 
 Breathe o'er them, steeping them in sudden 
 bliss, 
 That once had touched their sense, as with a spell, 
 
 And made them yearn for parted lives in this ; 
 
 Visions which some pale bard had seen afar 
 Burn in the sunset or the morning cloud, 
 
 And then depart into the scornful air. 
 
 Leaving his heart with earthly sorrows bowed. 
 
 And men of sorrows, whose dejected eyes 
 
 Had sought the earth and looked for death in 
 vain, 
 
 Lifted their heads into the glorious skies. 
 
 And sighed with perfect bliss unthralled of pain. 
 
 Then were they born into a vale of flowers. 
 And heard infantine voices, and those tones 
 
102 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Linked in their hearts with the rejoicing hours 
 Ere mortal anguish smit their weary bones. 
 
 Amid the tumult who are they that call 
 In well - known tongues sweet welcomes ? 
 Who are they 
 Amid the multitudes that throng the wall 
 
 With well-known faces, now so young and 
 gay? 
 
 Who are the foremost on the shore to find, 
 And clasp those weary mariners, pale with 
 woes ? 
 
 Friends, lovers, tender children, parents kind. 
 Lost soon as loved — or loved too long to lose. 
 
 They took those storm-beat mariners by the 
 hand, 
 And thro' their worn and weary senses 
 poured 
 
Up to the golden Citadel they fare, 
 
 And as they go their limbs are full of might, 
 
 And One awaits them on the topmost stair — 
 One whom they had not seen, but knew at 
 sight ! 
 
 Hark ! there is music, such as never flowed 
 Thro' all the Ages — for the Lost are found — 
 
 Sorrow is sitting by the throne of God, 
 Justice and Mercy meet, and Love is 
 crowned ! 
 
TO THE POET 
 
 O GENTLE Poet, whosoe'er thou art, 
 
 Whom God hath gifted with a loving eye 
 
 A sweet and mournful voice, a tender heart, 
 Pass by the world, and let it pass thee by ; 
 
 Be thou to Nature faithful still, and she 
 
 Will be for ever faithful unto thee. 
 
 Let them disdain thee for thy just disdain ; 
 
 Shield thou thy heart against the world accurst. 
 Where they discourse of joy, and ache with pain, 
 
 And babble of good deeds, and do the worst ; 
 Shed dews of mercy on their wither'd scorn. 
 And touch their midnight darkness with thy 
 mom. 
 
TO THE POET 105 
 
 There blind Ambition barters peace for praise ; 
 
 There Pride ne'er sleeps, nor Hatred waxeth old; 
 And dwarfish Folly can his cubit raise 
 
 To god-like stature on a little gold ; 
 There Madness is a king, and ev'n the wise 
 Sell truth to simpletons, and live on lies. 
 
 There pleasure is a sickly meteor-light, 
 
 A star above, a pestilence below ; 
 There knowledge is a cup of aconite. 
 
 That chills the heart and makes the pulses slow ; 
 Remorse, a scorpion's self-destroying sting, 
 Sorrow, a winter without hope of spring. 
 
 There Love's clear torch is quenched as in a 
 tomb; 
 
 Or, bound for ever in a golden band. 
 He drags, with eyes fixt on his early doom, 
 
 Behind lean Avarice, with the iron hand : 
 
io6 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Fancy, that filled the woodlands with his glee, . 
 Scorns at himself and murmurs to be free. 
 
 There Justice, mindless of her holy name, 
 
 Creeps o'er the slime with adder's ears and eyes, 
 
 Stirs with dark hand the world-involving flame, 
 Thirsteth for tears and hungers after sighs ; 
 
 There honour is a game to lose or win, 
 
 And sanctity a softer name for sin. 
 
 For thee 'tis better to remain apart, 
 
 Like one who dwells beneath the forest green, 
 And heareth from afar the beating heart 
 
 Of the wide world, all-seeing, though unseen. 
 In a cool cavern on a mountain side 
 With rare, sweet flowers and virgin springs 
 supplied. 
 
 Hark thou the voices from the peopled plain 
 In tuneful echoes murmuring in thine ears; 
 
TO THE POET 107 
 
 Watch thou the sunshine mingle with the rain, 
 
 And mark how gladness interweaves with tears; 
 And ply thy secret, holy alchemy. 
 Like God, who gives the work, when none are by. 
 
 And from the twilight of thy solitude 
 
 Note thou the lights and shadows of the sky, 
 
 And cast the mighty shapes of Evil and Good 
 In perfect moulds of immortality, 
 
 Till they are seen from afar, like mountain light. 
 
 That burns on high when all below is night. 
 
DEATH AND THE SHEPHERD 
 
 Veil'd in a golden haze of afternoon 
 
 The Ught is trembling o'er the western hills ; 
 Hard by o'er rocks a mountain river spills 
 
 Its bubbling urn into the valley boon : 
 
 The pearly waters rufHe, as they run, 
 In the soft spirit breathing from the south, 
 And wild grapes, clustering o'er a cavern's 
 mouth. 
 
 Flush with deep crimson in the evening sun. 
 
 The purple champaign, streaming like a sea, 
 Far off between unfolding hills appears; 
 The sound of a great city in our ears 
 
 Swells, like a sunken tide, melodiously : 
 
DEATH AND THE SHEPHERD 109 
 
 And now and then the distant plain is stirred 
 With bugle wail, or gleam of sylvan arms, 
 Or grey smoke wreathing o'er the busy farms, 
 
 Or dusty breath of homeward-wending herd. 
 
 Under the forest roof the faint wind dies; 
 
 The birds are still, the echoes are asleep; 
 
 And thro' the'arches green the sunbeams creep, 
 Floating the dizzy gnats and lazy flies : 
 An aged shepherd in an oaken shade 
 
 Lay drowsily, and down the mossy ways 
 
 He turned his dreaming eyes, and with amaze. 
 Fair shapes he saw, half glad and half afraid. 
 
 Shrill laughter from the grot is flooding forth 
 Of two wild Oreads, whose large eyes shine 
 Under clear temples shaded with the vine; 
 And good Silenus yields him to their mirth : 
 His arms are fettered in a jasmin band : 
 
no POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Forth from the curtains of each slumbrous lid 
 Shoot stars of joyance, often as they bid; 
 
 And the red cup is fallen from his hand. 
 
 He heard sweet sounds; he saw the graces dance: 
 ' Ah ! give me youth, and I will give to ye 
 All my peace-offerings to Adversity,' 
 
 He cried — and his white hair grew dark at once. 
 
 ' 'Tis well,' he said, ' but what is flowing hair. 
 And strength, without the blisses fed by gold ? 
 Plutus, for thee the firstlings of my fold 
 
 I will provide, so thou wilt hear my prayer.' 
 
 Then from amid the boughs the auspicious God, 
 Silently stretching forth his potent hand, 
 Flashed in the shepherd's eyes a golden wand. 
 As 'twere a sunbeam floating in the wood : 
 And therewithal was struck the caverned rock 
 Hid in wild flowers and brambles o'er his 
 head; 
 
DEATH AND THE SHEPHERD in 
 
 And when he looked for dust there rained 
 instead 
 Some fair round pieces down upon his flock. 
 
 Between the knotty boles brown Satyrs glanced, 
 And star-eyed Fauns; and Momus, leaping 
 
 out 
 From the dark umbrage with an antic shout, 
 Made sport before the nymphs when they had 
 
 danced : 
 Again he said, ' O gentle Momus, hear; 
 
 I cannot laugh with them, nor yet be merry; 
 For I have thoughts within I cannot bury; 
 Grant that, and thou shalt have three goats 
 a year.' 
 
 From the dry leaves he started up in haste; 
 He danced and laughed, and laughed and 
 danced; but still 
 
Relentless memory ! when the heart is evil 
 Nought is so cheerless as a merry devil; 
 My heavy thoughts are fetters to my feet.' 
 
 A cold wind sighed among the trees, and Deatl 
 Lifted his crowned head o'er a branch of pim 
 Screening his armed hand in leaves of vine : 
 
 Softly, ' Why prayedst thou not to me ? ' he saith 
 
 ' Oh ! whatsoever thou art ! ' the old man cried 
 ' I have done deeds that haunt me, in m 
 
 youth ; 
 Yield me, pale Power, oblivion of the truth. 
 
 That T may live ! ' Death touched him, and h 
 died. 
 
FOLLOW NOW 
 I 
 
 One morning of the breezy spring, 
 
 With jocund hearts and free, 
 We met old Time a-wandering 
 
 By the shores of the Great Sea ; 
 The waters dashed before the wind, 
 
 Onwards he still did fare : 
 He seemed a beggar old and blind, 
 
 With neither joy nor care. 
 
 We knew not our Arch-enemy, 
 For we were heedless boys ; 
 
 So we called to join our revelry 
 The Lord of tears and sighs ; 
 
 H 
 
114 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 ' Father,' our wanton voices sung, 
 
 ' With us thou shalt abide ; 
 Upon the shoulders of the young 
 Full swiftly shalt thou ride.' 
 
 He sped not for our merriment. 
 He sped not for our laughter ; 
 
 With frolic steps we forward went^' 
 Old Time he laboured after ; 
 
 At last a voice like broken thunder 
 Came rolling on the wind ; 
 
 Still we stood 'twixt fear and wonder- 
 He spake — his words were kind. 
 
 ' ChUdren, my pace is old and slow, 
 
 My blood is thin and cold ; 
 Have pity on me — haste not so — 
 
 Have mercy on the old ; 
 My songs and tales ye cannot hear 
 If ye leave me here behind ' — 
 
FOLLOW NOW IIS 
 
 But we laughed and fled when he came near, 
 And his voice went down the wind. 
 
 ' Know ye not I have magic charms 
 
 Hid in my wallet here ? 
 Wizard spells to save from harms, 
 
 And spoils of every year ? 
 Rare essences, green leaves of truth. 
 
 Elixirs, gems, and gold ? 
 Odours and balmy drops for youth. 
 
 And balsams for the old ? ' 
 
 The image of the rising sun 
 
 Fled o'er the glittering sands, 
 And running seemed to bid us run, 
 
 And catch him in our hands ; 
 It seemed the very fire of joy, 
 
 Wherewith our hearts ran o'er. 
 Made visible unto the eye. 
 
 And dancing on before. 
 
ii6 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 ' Come, father, come and make us game,' 
 We shouted, nought afraid; 
 And, thinking he was blind and lame. 
 
 Snares in his path we laid ; 
 Onward he stept, and took no harm 
 
 From any ills we planned, 
 But he seized us with his mighty arm 
 And flung us on the sand. 
 
 A wild rose chain, in frolic freak. 
 
 With linked woodbines tied, 
 We wove, and cast it o'er his neck. 
 
 The blind old man to guide; 
 We pulled him on with all our might; 
 
 The flower links snapt in twain; 
 The roses scattered left and right, 
 
 But we joined the links again. 
 
 All day the giant made us merry ; 
 And at the set of day 
 
FOLLOW NOW 117 
 
 Still joyous all were we, nor weary 
 
 For all our sunny play : 
 Lightly we coursed, and from the brow 
 
 Of a primrose-covered hill 
 We shouted, ' Father, follow now ! ' 
 
 But his steps were slower still. 
 
 n 
 
 Again we met, but it was noon — 
 
 And now the unruffled sea 
 Basked in the full midsummer sun, 
 
 And proud as noon were we ; 
 The dewy ripples to the sand 
 
 In pleasant murmurs rolled ; 
 One came, and took us by the hand, 
 
 A traveller blithe and' bold. 
 
 He said, ' When last ye walked with me. 
 In the springtime long ago, 
 
n8 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 As swift as antelopes were ye, 
 
 While I was faint and slow ; 
 I have thrown by my crutched staff, 
 
 And ye have gat ye strength, 
 So I can run and leap and laugh, 
 
 And race with ye at length. 
 
 We cried, ' Art thou that blind old man 
 
 We met beside this sea. 
 Who couldst not follow when we ran. 
 
 Or make us walk with thee ? 
 Oh ! thou art changed ! ' ' Not I,' he said, 
 
 ' Who am for ever strong ; 
 Ye thought me old in infency. 
 
 In youth ye think me young.' 
 
 He seemed as one 'twixt youth and age; 
 
 Cheeks dark with toil, but bright; 
 His eyes, his brow, a mystic page. 
 
 His limbs of knotty might : 
 
FOLLOW NOW 119 
 
 His locks were rich as autumn trees, 
 
 But touched with frosts of ill; 
 Lips smiling with accustomed ease, 
 
 Or locked with iron will. 
 
 ' My life is not as yours,' he said, 
 ' My growth is not the same— 
 Ye see my wrinkled hoary head. 
 
 Ye hear m^' hollow name; 
 Ye think that I am ever old, 
 
 An idle, useless hack; 
 But thus it is — when ye go on. 
 My children, I go back ! ' 
 
 And then he bade us race with him. 
 
 As we had bade him once, 
 When our young limbs were light and slim 
 
 And his but weary bones : 
 But he kept pace with us, and ran 
 
 Along that well-known shore; 
 
5 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 ' O friend,' we cried, ' O mighty man, 
 We cannot mock thee more ! 
 
 'Forgive us; we outran thee then — 
 
 But tell us, whence hast thou 
 Gat thee this strength and speed, and when 
 
 Those dark locks on thy brow ? ' 
 ' When ye were babes ye thought me old : 
 
 Farewell again,' he said; 
 ' I shall return ; farewell ! ' behold 
 
 He waved his hand and fled ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 And now the summer afternoon 
 
 Flamed in the golden west; 
 The dying airs were soft and boon. 
 
 Like sighings for their rest; 
 Our feet were slow upon the shore 
 
 Where we so oft had run; 
 
FOLLOW NOW 121 
 
 And now the day had little more 
 Before the setting sun. 
 
 And one came bounding from the hills, 
 
 A bugle in his hand; 
 Shouting he leapt the little rills, 
 
 And stood upon the strand. 
 He blew his horn, he called his hounds. 
 
 Less wearied he than they; 
 His dark curls hid his forehead round, 
 
 But ours were fleckt with grey. 
 
 ' Hail, friends, young friends of mine, I ween ! 
 
 What have ye done this day ? 
 Among the mountains I have been, 
 
 And marked the eaglets play; 
 And yet I bid you to a race 
 
 Again on these smooth shores 
 And ye shall weary of my pace 
 
 As once I did of yours I ' 
 
122 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 ' Boast not ! ' we said, for we were tried 
 
 To anger by his taunt; 
 ' Thou hast not beaten yet,' we cried; 
 
 ' Let who shall vanquish vaunt : ' 
 And stretching on with struggling might] 
 
 We gained a step or two ; 
 But he came up as swift as light, 
 And shouted ' Follow now ! ' 
 
 IV 
 
 The sun was sunk, the day was done : 
 
 Th' horizon far away 
 In mighty rivers seemed to run 
 
 Heart's blood of dying day : 
 A star or two shone over all — 
 
 The full moon, like a wraith, 
 Rose ghastly on the mountain wall ; 
 
 I felt its icy breath. 
 
FOLLOW NOW iaj 
 
 saw my image shadowed there 
 
 Upon the moonlit sands, 
 ly sunken brows, my snowy hair, 
 
 My lean and trembling hands : 
 Ind then I thought upon that morn, 
 
 Midday, and afternoon, 
 )re those dear friends were from me borne 
 
 Whom I shall follow soon. 
 
 sighed, and near me stood a child, 
 
 Like me, on that fair day 
 ^hen we with merriment beguiled 
 
 The pilgrim old and grey : 
 looked — oh ! was it magic art 
 
 That showed me that young elf? 
 'he form alike in every part 
 
 To that was once myself ? 
 
 'he roses on the lip, the gold 
 Upon the flowing hair. 
 
124 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 The supple limbs of gracious mould ? 
 
 All, all were living there : 
 The silver tongue, the truthful face. 
 
 The artless, early words 
 Stirred me, like echoes in the bass 
 
 Of a harp's treble chords. 
 
 And with a quaint smile he began : 
 
 ' Old man, wilt run with me. 
 As once ye bade that ancient man 
 Ye met beside the sea ? ' 
 ' And who art thou ? ' I asked in fear, 
 ' Who seest thro' my heart ? 
 Thou wert not born when he was here; 
 Oh ! tell me who thou art ? ' 
 
 And still his words they were the same — 
 ' Old man, wilt run with me ? 
 Come, father, come and make me game. 
 As once he did to thee ! 
 
FOLLOW NOW las 
 
 ' My child,' I said, ' my pace is slow. 
 My blood is thin and cold ; 
 Have pity on me, haste not so — 
 Have mercy on the old ! ' 
 
 He laughed a moment ; then he stood 
 
 As one prepared for flight; 
 His aspect took an awful mood. 
 
 His frame a giant's might : 
 He spread forth wings, I saw his eyes. 
 
 Like starlight throb and glow — 
 And, as he rose into the skies, 
 
 He thundered ' Follow now ! ' 
 
WOMEN AND CHILDREN 
 
 God said, ' Bring little children unto me ' ; 
 
 And Man is likest God, when from his heart 
 Truth flows in its divine simplicity. 
 
 And love dwells in him, working without art : 
 Children are earth's fair flowers — the crown of 
 life 
 
 A noble woman, and he is refilled 
 With hope who turns with love unto his wife. 
 
 With love who turns with hope unto his child. 
 
 If never faces were beheld on earth 
 But toiling manhood, and repining age, 
 
 No welcome eyes of innocence and mirth 
 To look upon us kindly, who would wage 
 
WOMEN AND CHILDREN 127 
 
 The gloomy battle for himself alone ? 
 
 Or thro' the dark of the o'erhanging cloud 
 Look wistfully for light ? Who would not groan 
 
 Beneath his daily task, and weep aloud ? 
 
 But little children take us by the hand, 
 
 And gaze with trustful cheer into our eyes; 
 Patience and Fortitude beside us stand 
 
 In woman's shape, and waft to heaven our 
 sighs : 
 The guiltless child holds back the arm of Guilt 
 
 Upraised to strike, and woman may atone 
 With sinless tears for sins of man, and melt 
 
 The damning seal when evil deeds are done. 
 
 When thirsty suffering hath drunk up our tears, 
 And left the heart sere as an autumn leaf. 
 
 From her fond eyes they fall for us; she cheers 
 With songs, and lights with hope, the cloud of 
 grief: 
 
128 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 When our sweet Youth for ever buried li 
 
 And we wellnigh forget the thing we v 
 Once more we meet him in the young bh 
 
 And laugh to see his resurrection then 
 
 When to the ear of Vengeance or of Hat( 
 We yoke ill thoughts, and memories hi 
 HeU, 
 'Tis she that stays us, like relenting Fate ; 
 'Tis her weak arm that locks the 
 wheel : 
 Above the dust of conflict, and the jar, 
 
 She lifts a little child ; her voice is heai 
 Piercing above the thunders of the war, 
 ' Spare thou, that thine hereafter m 
 spared ! ' 
 
 And should they go before us on that wa} 
 Which all must tread, and leave us fain 
 sorrow; 
 
WOMEN AND CHILDREN 129 
 
 Should the great light of Love forsake the day, 
 Memory's bright moon bespeaks a sunlight 
 morrow : 
 Behold, the skies unfold ! broad beams descend; 
 
 Beneath the Gods upon the golden stair, 
 Amid the upward glories without end, 
 
 At heaven's gate they stand, and bid us there. 
 
THE COMING DAY 
 
 On Sinai's steep I saw the morning cloud, 
 
 Shattered with light, roll off on either hand. 
 And on the topmost peak an Angel stand. 
 
 That lifted up his arms, and cried aloud, 
 And shook the sea and land. 
 
 The Night is ended, and the Morning nears: 
 Awake, look up ! I hear the gathering sound 
 Of coming cycles, like an ocean round; 
 
 I see the glory of a thousand years 
 Lightening from bound to bound. 
 
 Woe, woe ! the earth is faint; its heart is old, 
 And none look upward. Where is one who 
 saith. 
 
THE COMING DAY 131 
 
 ' Forgive my sins by reason of my faith ? ' 
 Where is one truthful bard, one prophet bold, 
 One heart that listeneth ? 
 
 One holy soul that prayeth night and mom. 
 One kindly hermit, or one lowly sage, 
 One adamantine warrior, who can wage 
 
 A steadfast war, without the arms of scorn. 
 Against a scornful Age ? 
 
 Where is the promise of the world's great youth, 
 The sunrise of the soul, when God's own eye 
 Scattered the darkness of futurity. 
 
 And kings bowed down, and caught the light of 
 truth 
 Directly from on High ? 
 
 The hour is come again; the world-wide voice 
 Of God shall cry unto the ears of time: 
 Scorners shall seek, and saints shall welcome 
 Him, 
 
132 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 And know the ancient Presence, and rejoice, 
 As in the days of prime. 
 
 And they that dwell apart shall know each 
 other ; 
 And they that hymn their solemn songs 
 
 alone 
 Shall hear far voices mingling with their 
 own. 
 And understand the utterance of a brother 
 In every tongue and tone. 
 
 And countless tongues upon a note of 
 praise 
 Shall hang, until, like thunder in the 
 
 hiUs 
 Redoubled and redoubled, it fulfils 
 The earth, and heaven, and everlasting days, 
 And drowns the noise of ills. 
 
THE COMING DAY 133 
 
 That note shall soar from every living heart; 
 That endless note shall never die away: 
 God, only God, to-day as yesterday ! 
 
 Thou wert from everlasting, and thou art 
 For ever and for aye ! 
 
THE HARVEST HOME 
 
 Come, let us mount the breezy down, 
 And hearken to the tumult blown 
 Up from the lowland and the town. 
 
 Lovely lights, smooth shadows sweet 
 Swiftly o'er croft and valley fleet, 
 And flood the hamlet at our feet, — 
 
 Its grove, its hall, its grange that stood 
 When Bess was Queen, its steeple rude, 
 Its mill that patters in the wood ; 
 
 And follow where the brooklet curls 
 Seaward, or in cool shadow whirls. 
 Or silvery o'er its cresses purls. 
 
THE HA R VEST HOME I JS 
 
 The harvest days are come again, 
 The vales are surging with the grain, 
 The merry work goes on amain. 
 
 Pale streaks of cloud scarce veil the blue, 
 
 Against the golden harvest hue 
 
 The Autumn trees look fresh and new. 
 
 Wrinkled brows relax with glee, 
 And aged eyes they laugh to see 
 The sickles follow o'er the lea. 
 
 I see the little kerchief'd maid 
 
 With dimpling cheek, and boddice staid, 
 
 'Mid the stout striplings, half afraid ; 
 
 Her red lip, and her soft blue eye 
 Mate the poppy's crimson dye, 
 And the cornflower waving by. 
 
136 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 I see the sire with bronzed chest ; 
 Mad babes amid the blithe unrest 
 Seem leaping from the mother's breast. 
 
 The mighty youth, and supple child 
 Go forth ; the yellow sheaves are piled, 
 The toil is mirth, the mirth is wild ! 
 
 Old head, and sunny forehead peers 
 O'er the warm sea, or disappears, 
 Drown'd amid the waving ears ; 
 
 Barefoot urchins run, and hide 
 In hollows 'twixt the corn, or glide 
 Towards the tall sheafs sunny side ; 
 
 Lusty Pleasures, hobnail'd Fun 
 Throng into the noonday sun, 
 And 'mid the merry reapers run. 
 
THE HAR VEST HOME 1 37 
 
 Draw the clear October out, 
 Another, and another bout, 
 Then back to labour with a shout !. 
 
 The banded sheaves stand orderly 
 Against the purple autumn sky, 
 Like armies of Prosperity. 
 
 Hark ! through the middle of the town. 
 From the sunny slopes run down 
 Bawling boys and reapers brown : 
 
 Laughter flees from door to door. 
 To see fat Plenty with his store 
 Led a captive by the poor, 
 
 Fetter'd in a golden chain, 
 Rolling in a burly wain. 
 Over valley, mount, and plain : 
 
I j8 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Right through the middle of the town, 
 With a great sheaf for a crown, 
 Onward he reels, a happy clown. 
 
 Faintly cheers the tailor thin, 
 And the smith with sooty chin 
 Lends his hammer to the din; 
 
 And the master, blithe and boon, 
 Pours forth his boys that afternoon. 
 And locks his desk an hour too soon. 
 
 Yet, when the shadows eastward seen. 
 O'er the smooth-shorn fallows lean, 
 And Silence sits where they have been, 
 
 Amid the gleaners I will stay, 
 While the shout and roundelay 
 Faint off, and daylight dies away; 
 
bummers parted, glories Hown; 
 
 Till day beneath the West is roll'd, 
 Till grey spire, and tufted wold 
 Purple in the evening gold. 
 
 Memories, when old age is come. 
 Are stray ears that fleck the gloom. 
 And echoes of the Harvest -home. 
 
THE ELEVENTH OF SEPTEMBER 
 
 Sister, the Daystar, that hath brought me hither, 
 Once more thy birthday, shines on me and thee. 
 And by its welcome light I seem to see 
 The many years that we have sped together. 
 Winter and summer, still the selfsame weather. 
 
 Tho' mountains sunder, and the wild sea flings 
 Its desert 'twixt our hearts — and on the wind 
 Thy voice is still, so musical and kind; 
 
 Tho' world-wide tumults drown, and Time's grey 
 wings 
 
 Shadow the past, thy spirit to me sings ! 
 
 Thou art mine own self with a softer frame, 
 A clearer brow, and eyes more full of thought; 
 
THE ELEVENTH OP SEPTEMBER 141 
 Thou art myself into an angel wrought, 
 Thy heart an altar, whence the purest flame, 
 Of hope ascends, for ever and the same. 
 
 Thou art my dearest and my first of kin : 
 
 The thoughts of man are riddles, but my heart 
 Tells me in all most truly what thou art : 
 Thou hast a secret loadstar deep within, 
 Whereto I thrill in spite of care and sin. 
 
 When cruel passion tore me I could see 
 Thy pleading eyes, and hear thy tuneful tongue; 
 When crafty counsels flattered me to wrong, 
 Justice and Truth with voices clear and low 
 Spoke to me from the temple of thy brow. 
 
 To thy pure, simple songs I Ipved to lend 
 My ear; at thy soft pity's healing word 
 My spirit sheathed at once its angry sword; 
 And to thy blessed meekness I could bend 
 A heart which many tyrants could not rend. 
 
142 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 The wise world looked, and, seeing dark and 
 bright. 
 Deemed that in spirit we remained apart : 
 But we were but as adverse stars, that dart 
 Their beams into each other, and unite 
 Aspects of diflFerent omen in one light. 
 
 Thy beauty is the shrine where Mercy dwells ; 
 Thy tongjue Love's tender oracle below, 
 Whence his immortal inspirations flow; 
 Thine eyes the lightnings, whose soft glory quells 
 Pride that disdains, and Anger that rebels. 
 
 As the sun-colour and the crystalline 
 Mingle together in the summer green— 
 Nature that shall be and hath ever been. 
 My heart's quick motions, and the peace of thine 
 Make one pure love eternal and divine ! 
 
FLIGHT OF THE SWALLOW 
 
 The golden-throated merle and mellow thrush 
 
 Chant to us yet ; the woodlark will not fly 
 His ancient sylvan solitude, or hush 
 His dewy pipings for a softer sky : 
 But the swallow flies away ; 
 
 I would that I were he ; 
 He follows the flown May 
 Across the sea. 
 
 The swallow hath a fickle heart at best ; 
 
 He bears off the sweet days he brought us o'er, 
 And sounds retreat like an ungrateful guest. 
 
 That shuns the flattered host he sued before : 
 
144 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Should kind Mirth be forgot 
 
 When his dark locks are grey, 
 And Love remembered not ? 
 Ah ! stay, oh ! stay.- 
 
 Know ye of gladness, that with jocund hearts 
 
 Can cast away old loves for love of new ? 
 O friends, the music of a thousand art 
 Charms not so sweetly as a voice that's true : 
 I sang ye songs of sorrow ; 
 I sang ye songs of glee; 
 I cried, ' Await to-morrow ' ; 
 Ye heard not me. 
 
 Know ye of sorrow ? Can ye understand 
 
 Mortality, that hung unto the robe 
 Of Summer, as she flies from land to land, 
 Follow swift Youth around the rolling globe ? 
 Joy's winged heart is light, 
 But blind are his bright eyes; 
 
FLIGHT OF THE SWALLOW 145 
 
 Grief seeth in the night 
 Of tears and sighs. 
 
 The feathers of Time's wings, ere yet they fall 
 Ye pluck, and from his plumes ye trim your 
 own; 
 Ye answer to the south wind's silver call; 
 Ah ! whither wend ye, leaving me alone ? 
 Ah ! stay, dear friends, ah, stay. 
 
 And leave me not forsaken ; 
 Care takes not the same way 
 That ye have taken. 
 
 In our lorn woods the morn and evensong 
 Will fail, and things of sunshine cease to be : 
 
 Lo ! chilling Winter leadeth Death along; 
 
 I see the tyrant shake his lance at me. 
 
 Delight hath fled the earth, 
 
 The evil days are come, 
 
 K 
 
146 POEMS OP THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 So I will light my hearth, 
 And sing at home. 
 
 Ye seek the blue isles, and the happy hills; 
 Ye rush into the heart of summer skies; 
 Ye leave behind ye unremember'd ills; 
 Ye fly, like happy souls, to Paradise. 
 Oh ! could ye, blissful things, 
 
 On my dark, utter day. 
 Lend me those selfsame wings 
 To flee away ! 
 
EVENING 
 
 Hush ! it is Even, dark-eyed Even, 
 
 With her low song, and tender sigh, 
 Soft-uttered voice of earth to heaven. 
 
 Witnessed by one lone star on high; 
 On wheels of rayless flame she passeth by; 
 
 And Peace sits by her, clasped unto her heart; 
 
 Hatred, relent; and. Care, forget thy smart; 
 And, Anger, droop thine eye. 
 
 Dusky Memories throng her way; 
 
 Bright Fancies from the shadows peep; 
 And Hopes that panted in the day 
 
 Sadly hide their eyes and weep : 
 
148 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 Lorn Griefs look up into the balmy sky; 
 
 Plumed Love upon the soundless air comes 
 
 out; 
 And Wit he bears his wavering lamp about; 
 Despair seeks where to die. 
 
 Fly with her yon howling cave 
 
 Loud with riot, red with flame, 
 Where haggard Passions whirl and rave, 
 
 And Phrenzy links her arms with shame : 
 Revenge uncoils the serpents round him curled, 
 Red Murder steals abroad with perilous hand; 
 And Treason whispers grim, and lights his 
 brand 
 To fire a slumbering world. 
 
 Fly with her the golden doors, 
 Thro' whose valves thrown open wide 
 
 The trumpet-streaming revel pours 
 Where Folly haunts the ears of Pride : 
 
EVENING 149 
 
 And Nature, like the king at Babylon, 
 
 Dazzled with glories, with enchantments bound, 
 Hears not the momently-increasing sound 
 Of Judgment rolling on. 
 
 Rather let us rove with her 
 
 By river-slopes and orchards green, 
 
 Where soft and fragrant thickets stir, 
 And the last daylights gush between : 
 
 Or, when the tides are sunken to their bed. 
 Wave her godspeed upon the silent sands, 
 As she sails on, far oif to other lands. 
 And Night is Queen instead. 
 
 Rather, while all the air is mute, 
 
 And flowers breathe rare from closing bells, 
 Let us listen to her lute, 
 
 And hear her sing divine farewells ; 
 While failing echoes fall upon our ears. 
 
 Forever dying thro' the misty hills. 
 
ISO POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 And mix with murmurs of the mountain rills, 
 And Twilight drops her tears. 
 
 Rather with her seek the chamber 
 Which fond Hesper, twinkling thro' 
 
 The vines that o'er the lattice clamber, 
 Every moment peeps into : 
 
 Where some kind mother softly steals above, 
 From friend, and lover, to her sleeping boy. 
 And on his cheek, all flushed with dreams of joy, 
 She sets her seal of love. 
 
 Sometimes let us seek the cell 
 
 Where the Poet, far apart. 
 To two or three he loveth well 
 
 Works the wonders of his art : 
 And from his coloured lamp and golden lyre 
 
 Peoples the past with voices and with light, 
 
 And scrolls futurity's unfathomed night 
 With symbols and with fire. 
 
EVENING 151 
 
 And when the stars are o'er us burning, 
 
 And the moon is dawning slow, 
 And the nightingale is mourning , 
 From his porch we'll softly go : 
 And memories of his music shall descend 
 With the pure spirits of the sunless hours. 
 Sink thro' our hearts, like dew into the flowers 
 And haunt us without end. 
 
 Blessed art thou, O dark-eyed Even, 
 
 Thou and thy tender handmaids true ; 
 Send us thy mercies down from heaven 
 
 Daily with the falling dew : 
 Dark flowers to heal the bleeding brows of 
 sorrow 
 From thy soft chaplets fail not to untwine. 
 And pour into our tortured hearts, like wine, 
 Sweet dreams until to-morrow. 
 
THE GARLANDS OF MEMORY 
 
 When Memory in the gloom of Cyprus bowers 
 
 Unwove her garlands, she laid down with sighs 
 Mournfully, one by one, the withered flowers 
 
 That were at morn the light of her sad eyes : 
 The wild buds she had gathered had drunk up 
 
 Their matin dew, and died ; grey dust of death 
 Lay desolate in the lily's silver cup ; 
 The red rose breathed not its voluptuous 
 breath : 
 She said, ' The light is dying, 
 
 'Tis nigh the end of day ; 
 Cease, heart, oh ! cease thy sighing. 
 We must away, away ! ' 
 
THE GARLANDS OF MEMORY 153 
 
 Their drooping graces and their dusky hues, 
 
 Their faint sweets telling of the morning time, 
 Pleaded to her so well she could not choose 
 
 But love them faded better than their prime ; 
 Slie held them up before her aching sight. 
 She breathed fond sighs to spread them out 
 again ; 
 She laid their dim, soft leaves across the light, 
 And gave them tender tears like autumn rain: 
 She sang, ' The sun is leaving 
 
 The blessed summer day ; 
 Cease, heart, ah ! cease thy grieving, 
 We must away, away ! ' 
 
 Then blamed she the swift sun,whose eager touch 
 Had stolen all their beauty's early treasure; 
 
 The wind that had been wanton overmuch, 
 And drawn their life forth with excess of 
 pleasure : 
 
154 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 Her tears could not awake their bloom again ; 
 
 In vain against her mournful heart they lay; 
 Her tenderest tears could wash away no stain ; 
 Her beating heart but shed their leaves away : 
 She moaned, ' The sun is setting, 
 
 It is the end of day ; 
 Cease, heart, ah ! cease regretting. 
 We must away, away ! ' 
 
 At last she found some leaves of eglatere. 
 
 Whose circling spray had bound those flowers 
 in one : 
 She said, ' I will not weep while thou art here, 
 
 Whose odour and fresh leaf outlives the sun ; 
 Green wert thou in the early morning shine; 
 
 Green art thou still at even— a holy wreath 
 Of pale, sweet flowers for me thou still may'st 
 twine. 
 
 When I go forth to be the bride of Death ! ' 
 
THE GARLANDS OF MEMORY 155 
 
 She sighed, ' The sun is set, 
 
 It is no longer day; 
 Oh ! heart, couldst thou forget ! 
 
 But come, away, away ! ' 
 
THE HOLYTIDE 
 
 The days are sad ; it is the Holytide : 
 
 The flowers have ceased to blow, and birds 
 to sing : 
 Where shall the weary heart of man abide 
 
 Save in the jocund memories of the spring ? 
 As the grey twilight creeps across the snow 
 
 Let us discourse of walks when leaves were 
 green : 
 Methinks the roses are more sweet, that blow 
 
 In Memory's shade, than any that are seen. 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Drear clouds have hid the crimson of the 
 West, 
 
THE HOLYTIDE 157 
 
 And, like the winged day, delight hath died 
 
 Within me, and proud passions gone to rest : 
 In this dark hour, before the lamps are lit. 
 
 Thro' the heart's long, long, gallery I will go. 
 And mark pale Memory's taper full on it. 
 
 Starting strange hues, like firelight on the 
 snow. 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Ye, whom I may not see for evermore. 
 Oh ! I will dream, tho' Death's great waste is 
 wide, 
 That ye may hear me from your silent shore : 
 And ye who wander, and are far apart, 
 
 (Oh ! this great world is bleak, and years are 
 growing,) 
 I have a sunny corner in my heart 
 Where I do set ye when rough winds are 
 blowing. 
 
158 POEMS OF THE DAY AND YEAR 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 There is a welcome in the porch — I hear 
 The voice of one whom I have loved and tried, 
 
 A voice I have not heard this many a year : 
 Ah ! me, that face is like the withered flowers. 
 
 Paler with pain, with sorrows more forlorn ; 
 But still the smile, the soul of other hours. 
 
 Shines from that face, the even like the mom. 
 
 'i 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 We speak together while the daylight dies : 
 I see not he is old, for to my side 
 
 The ghost of Youth comes up between our 
 sighs : 
 The charm is broken by a single word — 
 
 He answers — 'Thou wilt hear no more on 
 earth 
 The faithful voice that we so oft have heard. 
 
 Or see that face that was the sun of mirth ! ' 
 
THE HOLYTIDE 159 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Now let the last words of departed friends 
 Be sweeter to thee than a singing bride ; 
 
 Weigh hearts, and for oblivion make amends : 
 Spurn not the penitent with haggard eye ; 
 
 Seat thou the hungry outcast by thy chair ; 
 The son whose spring hath fled in tempest 
 
 by, 
 
 The weeping daughter with dishevelled hair. 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Let Wealth and Glory, as they take their fill, 
 Mark how Mischance to Fortune is allied; 
 
 Let Hope look up again thro' cloud of ill : 
 Let us look down into our children's eyes. 
 
 And think, amid the mirth and festal flow. 
 How once we were as they are— think with 
 sighs 
 
 Of them that were as we are, long ago. 
 
i6o POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Cleanse oiF the ills of Time, the hates of years ; 
 Hush forked Scorn, and veil the crest of Pride; 
 
 Kiss humble Love, and wipe away his tears; 
 Let vain things be forgot for evermore; 
 
 Let good things rise from out these mournful 
 days; 
 Bring out forsaken memories from thy store. 
 
 If there be any pity, any praise. 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Ah ! let the Grief, that knocks against thy gate, 
 Sit by thy heart, and murmur at thy side, 
 
 Think of Truth, think of Mercy, think of Fate; 
 Think what kind dews have fallen on thy head; 
 
 What thou wouldst do, but what thou hast 
 not done; 
 Cast out the flaunting Sirens, that have led 
 
 Thy heart, and once for all, and every one. 
 
THE HOLYTIDE i6i 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 Hark ! in the drifting tempest, and the roar 
 Of darkling waters, are the Powers that guide 
 
 The wreck of Nature to a summer shore; 
 Let Man too in the darkness arm, and strive 
 
 With the dark host within him, rise and fight, 
 And, ere the morrow morn, begin to live; 
 
 Sorrow brings strength, as day is born of 
 night. 
 
 The days are sad ; it is the Holytide : 
 
 The sun is on the hearth, the world at 
 home ; 
 Over the frozen heath the whirlwinds ride ; 
 
 Drink to the past, and better days to come : 
 Wreathe we our goblets with the evergreen, 
 
 Fadeless as truth, sad as humanity ; 
 Let no bright flower or withered leaf be seen ; 
 
 These hours are sisters to Adversity. 
 
i62 POEMS OF THE DA Y AND YEAR 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holjrtide : 
 
 The winter mom is short, the night is long ; 
 So let the lifeless hours be glorified 
 
 With deathless thoughts, and echoed in sweet 
 song: 
 And thro' the sunset of this purple cup 
 
 They will resume the roses of their prime. 
 And the old dead will hear us, and wake up, 
 
 Pass with dim smiles, and make our hearts 
 sublime ! 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Hol)^ide : 
 
 Be dusky mistletoes and hollies strown. 
 Sharp as the spear that pierced His sacred 
 side. 
 Red as the drops upon his thorny crown ; 
 No haggard passion, and no lawless mirth 
 Fright off the sombre Muse — ^tell sweet old 
 tales, 
 
THE HOLYTIDE 163 
 
 Sing songs, as we sit bending o'er the hearth, 
 Till the lamp flickers, and the memory fails. 
 
 The days are sad : it is the Holytide : 
 
 But ere we part to dreams this blessed night. 
 Of Angel songs on the hushed mountain side. 
 
 And wondrous shapes that come upon the 
 light, 
 Let us lift up our voices altogether 
 
 In one deep harmony, a rapt farewell. 
 So sweet we shall not hear the stormy weather, 
 
 And dying sorrow wake to hear it swell. 
 
 THE END 
 
ERRATA 
 
 Page 49, 2nd stanza for ' Fearless ' read ' Tearless." 
 II 51, „ for ' filmerings ' read ' film-wings.' 
 
 11 ^2, „ for ' where jocund ' read ' ' whose 
 
 jocund.' 
 ,, 77, Jst line bottom stanza, insert 'I' between 
 
 ' Do ' and ' not,' 
 „ 99, line 6, insert a colon after ' for ever : ' 
 „ 138, 4th stanza, insert a comma after ' shadows, ' 
 ,, 140, line I, delete comma at end of line 
 „ 162, 3rd line from bottom ' his ' should be ' His.' 
 
JOHNLANE^ 
 
 CATALOGUEg/^PUB LICATIONS 
 £^ BELLES LETTRES^?££hS^^ 
 
1895. 
 
 List of Books 
 BELLES LETT RES 
 
 (^Including some Transfers^ 
 
 Published by John Lane 
 
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 N.B. — Tke Aut/wrs and Publisher reserve the right of reprinting 
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 ADAMS (FRANCIS). 
 
 Essays in Modernity. Crown 8vo. Ss. net. \Shortly. 
 
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 BAILEY (JOHN C). 
 
 An Anthology of English Elegies. [/« preparation. 
 
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 The Story of Venus and Tannhauser, in which is set 
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JOHN LANE 
 
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