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Pi.i5mj 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4629.D6F8 
 
 Fragments of verse.Printed for private c 
 
 3 1924 013 343 680 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013343680 
 
FRAGMENTS OF VERSE 
 
FRAGMENTS OF VERSE 
 
 BY pl^ 
 
 HENRIETTA A^ DUFF 
 
 ' Give me a low and humble mound 
 In some sequester'd dell 
 
 And Memory shall scatter there 
 The laurel I have longed to wear." 
 
 W. M. Praed. 
 
 r 
 
 (Printed for Private Circulation) 
 
 ILonBon: 
 
 MARCUS WARD & CO., 67, 68, CHANDOS STREET 
 
 And royal ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST 
 
 1 880 
 K 
 
i\.\SS%%c^ 
 
IBeJicateU 
 
 ERRATA, 
 
 Page 70, second line from top, for " 'Twixt he and me,'' read 
 " 'Twixt him and me." 
 
 Page 117, in title, for *' Welweiss," read " Edelweiss " 
 
 H. M. D. 
 
 March, 1880. 
 
©etitcateB 
 
 TO 
 
 Mr. & Mrs. FREDERICK LOCKER, 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF 
 
 THEIR CONSTANT FRIENDSHIP FOR, AND 
 
 KIND ENCOURAGEMENT OF 
 
 ONE WHOSE POEMS WOULD HAVE APPEARED IN A 
 
 MORE FINISHED FORM, 
 
 HAD SHE BEEN SPARED TO REVISE THEM. 
 
 H. M. D.' 
 
 March, 1880. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Eclipse of the Moon, 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9 
 
 Cradle Song, . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 58 
 
 A Greeting, . 
 
 lO 
 
 My Dead Love, . 
 
 59 
 
 Among the Vines, 
 
 12 
 
 The Queen of the Season, 
 
 60 
 
 Never Met ! . 
 
 13 
 
 Cousin Giulio, . 
 
 62 
 
 Leal Souvenir ! . 
 
 16 
 
 The Working Ladies' Guild, 
 
 83 
 
 In the Park at Tredegar, 
 
 18 
 
 It Might Have Been, 
 
 84 
 
 Suspense, .... 
 
 20 
 
 A Valediction, . 
 
 86 
 
 Back to Italy, 
 
 21 
 
 Young and Old, 
 
 87 
 
 To the Author of "Blue 
 
 
 The Maid-Queen, 
 
 88 
 
 Roses," . 
 
 23 
 
 A Sonnet, 
 
 91 
 
 Summer-Moon, 
 
 25 
 
 Times and Seasons for Artist- 
 
 
 A Portrait, 
 
 27 
 
 Life 
 
 92 
 
 New Houses, . 
 
 28 
 
 A Madrigal, . 
 
 94 
 
 The Birth of Cain, . 
 
 .30 
 
 To a Friend, 
 
 95 
 
 The Lost Piece, 
 
 38 
 
 Spinning- Song, 
 
 96 
 
 Holy Night, 
 
 40 
 
 Young T , 
 
 98 
 
 "Rejected," . 
 
 41 
 
 Misconceptions, 
 
 100 
 
 My April Queen, 
 
 43 
 
 Somebody's Eyes, 
 
 lOI 
 
 Damascus, 
 
 45 
 
 For Palm Sunday, . 
 
 102 
 
 An Unfinished Song, . 
 
 46 
 
 Laurels versus Roses, . 
 
 103 
 
 The Mower's Song, 
 
 49 
 
 Casuals, 
 
 loS 
 
 Daybreak at Pontresina, 
 
 SO 
 
 A Sonnet, from a Spanish 
 
 
 In Despair, 
 
 SI 
 
 Idea, . . .. . 
 
 106 
 
 Chance, .... 
 
 52 
 
 Die Wacht am Rhein, . 
 
 107 
 
 A Catch, 
 
 54 
 
 How Love Glorifies, . 
 
 no 
 
 Princess Eva, 
 
 56 
 
 Only a Word, 
 
 112 
 
Contents. 
 
 Prosper Merimee's Grave in 
 
 the Cemetery at Cannes, . 113 
 Patience, . . . 115 
 An Impromptu, . .116 
 
 Nur Blumen, . . 117 
 
 The Happiest Day, . .119 
 Bells at Christmas-tide, . 120 
 A Sea-GuU on a Wet Day, 121 
 Only in Dreams, . . 122 
 A Pancake-maker — in Paris, 123 
 Something Beyond, . 124 
 Aspirations, . , . 125 
 The Name of Kate, . 129 
 The Songs that were Sung 
 
 Long Ago, . . .130 
 A Longing, ... 132 
 To Lisette, . . .133 
 
 A Farewell, . . . 135 
 A Greeting, . . .136 
 Love-Song, . . . 141 
 
 To F 142 
 
 In the Churchyard — Cannes, 143 
 The Widow's Son, . . 144 
 The Old Story, . . 146 
 A Lullaby, . . .148 
 
 Good-Morning, . . ijo 
 Floating, . . . . ijr 
 
 ffiijristmas, WtSn gear, Ualenttne, 
 antf ISirtfjBag STetSES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Christmas Carol for Mas- 
 ters and Men, . . 155 
 A Christmas Greeting, . 157 
 A Christmas Card (with 
 
 Heather-hell), . . 159 
 A Christmas Card (with 
 
 Forget-me-nots), . . 160 
 A Christmas Greeting (with 
 
 Trefoils), . . . 161 
 A Christmas Card (with 
 
 Maiden-hair), . .162 
 
 A Christmas Carol, . 163 
 
 A Birthday Wish (Spring), . 164 
 
 Do. (Summer), 165 
 
 Do. (Autumn), 166 
 
 Do. (Winter), 167 
 
 A Letter of Good Wishes, . 168 
 
 A Valentine ( To Marguerite), 1 70 
 
 A Valentine, . . . 171 
 
 affiatlanSDftitflear. 
 
 
 Spring 
 
 172 
 
 Summer, 
 
 173 
 
 Autumn, . . . . 
 
 174 
 
 Winter, . . . . 
 
 1 75 
 
FRAGMENTS OF VERSE. 
 
 THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON. 
 
 Seen from the Gardens of Rowfant, Aug. 23, 1877. 
 
 Dedicated to Frederick Locker, Esq. 
 
 npHE trees stand black against the skies — 
 
 Tiie skies themselves are full of light, 
 For all the stars, like angels' eyes, 
 
 Look down upon the world to-night ; — 
 While slowly on the moon's fair-orbfed face 
 Earth's hills and dales their darkling shadows trace. 
 
 O Earth, O Moon, O Love, O Life, 
 
 O eager hearts and spirits pure, 
 The mists of morn, the stains of strife, 
 
 The dusk of death we must endure, 
 Until at length we learn from angels' lips 
 That we have reached the world beyond eclipse ! 
 
 Rowfant, Aug. 24, 1877. 
 
 B 
 
A Greeting. 
 
 A GREETING. 
 
 TO THE DUCHESS OF EDINBURGH. 
 
 'T^HE Town sends her thousands to meet her, 
 
 The Princes and people go forth 
 With music and banners to greet her, 
 
 The gentle Princess from the North — 
 The streets we are decking with flowers. 
 
 And streamers are floating on high : 
 But a welcome more tender than ours 
 
 Is the greeting that comes from the sky ! 
 
 The North flings before her in splendour 
 
 Its diamonds glittering and white, 
 And, spread o'er the shadows, its tender 
 
 Lace raiment of nuptial white : 
 It has summon'd its speediest minions. 
 
 Its horses of wind, fleet and wild, 
 And brought, as on angel's white pinions, 
 
 A kiss from the Czai: to his child. 
 
A Greeting:. 
 
 It has breathed on her cheek and has spoken, 
 
 In language as soft as the snow, 
 The meaning of motto and token, 
 
 The homage of high and of low. 
 It has proved that though lands may be parted. 
 
 As stars in the dark skies above ; 
 There is still to the true and fond-hearted, 
 
 The one and same Heaven of Love ! 
 
 March 12, 1874. 
 
Among the Vines. 
 
 AMONG THE VINES. 
 
 IN ITALY. 
 
 T^HE clustering vines spring up through the clear air; 
 ■*■ They grow twice over; once, high up and green, 
 
 And once deep down in the blue lake, between 
 The purple mountains — both alike so fair. 
 One scarce can tell the sunshine from the glare. 
 
 Here, the light ripples through a leafy screen. 
 
 There, it flows on all golden and serene. 
 In both the dark-eyed children stand and stare; 
 While up and down their weary parents pace 
 
 Those stony ways, with long, deep baskets slung 
 Over their shoulders; yet with easy grace 
 
 They bear their burdens, whether old or young : 
 For here they play at work — in many a place 
 
 They work at play — for those, no song be sung. 
 
Never Met ! 1 3 
 
 NEVER MET! 
 
 "How touching is the story of the friendship between Scaliger 
 and Casaubon, the two great scholars, who never met, but who 
 loved each other dearly." — See The Times, March 8, 1875. 
 
 TTTHO'S not felt, while poring over 
 
 Some divine mysterious scroll, 
 Wild desires within him burning. 
 
 Strongest longings of the soul — 
 "Would that I had known this master!" 
 
 Thus the ardent spirit cries ; 
 "Would that I had lived when he lived, 
 
 Lived and died beneath his eyes ! " 
 
 Sad regrets — yet how much sadder 
 
 Was it in the olden days, 
 For those two great famous scholars 
 
 Who ne'er crossed each other's ways : 
 
14 Never Met! 
 
 Parted, not by chance of birth-time, 
 But by fortune sterner yet; 
 
 Beads upon the self-same chaplet, 
 Strung apart — they never met. 
 
 Never met — though deep devotion 
 
 Bound the younger to the sage ; 
 Never met — though faithful friendship 
 
 Little recked of fame or age ; 
 Never met — though kindly greetings 
 
 Passed between their hands for years. 
 While each heart to each lay open 
 
 In a letter wet with tears ! 
 
 Then at last came death, came darkness, 
 
 Came the setting of the sun, 
 Came the news one life had vanished, 
 
 And one worker's work was done ; 
 But across that funeral tolling 
 
 Surely too came accents sweet, 
 "Friend, rejoice, the day is nearing 
 
 When we first, at last, shall meet!" 
 
Never Met ! 1 5 
 
 Oh ! that day — that glorious trysting, 
 
 May we all be present too ; 
 All who love, and all the loving, 
 
 All our heroes, brave and true; 
 For we trust, amid the elders 
 
 Sitting on their golden thrones. 
 We may realise ideals, 
 
 And know, too, our Great Unknowns ! 
 
1 6 Leal Souvenir! 
 
 LEAL SOUVENIR! 
 
 [Words under a Portrait, by John Van Eyck, in 
 THE New Wing of the National Gallery.] 
 
 TS it a friend who is painted here, 
 
 Rugged of feature, and homely of dress ? 
 Did he inspire such a leal souvenir, 
 
 All those years back on the banks of the Lesse ? 
 
 Was he a friend as a friend should be — 
 
 Loyal alikfe in. praise and in blame — 
 Prone to be silent, yet prompt to foresee 
 
 Every call upon friendship's name? 
 
 Was he so steadfast that no one could e'er, 
 E'en for a moment, his constancy doubt? 
 
 Honest and faithful — so just and so fair — 
 
 His whisper meant more than another man's shout? 
 
Leal Souvenir! 
 
 17 
 
 It was ages ago, and mankind, we are told, 
 
 Has since become selfish, and hard, and austere; 
 
 Yet I think it were strange, if 'twixt friends, new and 
 old, 
 We did not own, too, just one leal souvenir 1 
 
1 8 In the Park at Tredegar. 
 
 IN THE PARK AT TREDEGAR. 
 
 A GRASSY mound, by bay trees crowned, 
 
 Four cypresses in sight, 
 A sculptured stone, with moss o'ergrown. 
 
 This touching tale indite. 
 " Sir Briggs" lies here, for many a year 
 
 A charger swift and bold. 
 Who nobly bore his master o'er 
 Crimean fields of old. 
 
 He won his way, that glorious day, 
 
 Upon the Alma height. 
 And fought for life in the bloody strife 
 
 Of Inkerman's dark fight; 
 But the foremost claim he has to Fame 
 
 Has been sung by the Poet's breath, 
 In the famous raid of the Light Brigade, 
 
 Where he rode through the Jaws of Death ! 
 
In the Park at Tredegar. 19 
 
 And when at last his day was past, 
 
 And his active service o'er, 
 No echoing roof rang back his hoof — 
 
 For he scorned a stable door ; 
 But still out there, in the sweet fresh air. 
 
 He chose to live and die, — 
 And now he sleeps where the Welsh wind sweeps 
 
 O'er him a lullaby ! 
 
 Knole Park, April 27, 1875. 
 
Suspense. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 A LITTLE longer to wait, 
 A little longer to pray ; 
 Weary to learn my fate, 
 Day after day ! 
 
 Will it be joy or pain ? 
 
 Will it be peace or strife ? 
 What doth thy hand contain, 
 Life, for my life ? 
 
 Nay, it is better so, 
 
 Hid in the future tense ; 
 Best that I now should know 
 Only suspense. 
 
Back to Italy. 
 
 BACK TO ITALY. 
 A Rhyme without Reason. 
 
 DACK to Italy! ah yes, 
 
 Start off by the next express ; 
 Quickly seven-leagued boots we don, 
 Panting, puffing, plunging on. 
 Under mountains, over seas. 
 
 To the land of figs — and fleas. 
 What to us are cleanly ways, 
 English dinners, English days ? 
 What the sight of Alpine snows. 
 Or the mountain gleams and glows ?- 
 Give us Italy — ah I si. 
 Give us that — and let us be. 
 We shall glory in the grime. 
 Dust, decay, and dirt sublime ; 
 We shall learn the dearest way. 
 How to beg — and what to pay ; 
 
Back to Italy. 
 
 How to drink the sourest wine. 
 And upon polenta dine ; 
 How to have one's cheek saluted, 
 How to have our wills disputed ; 
 How to give with both our hands 
 In this liberalest of lands, 
 And to be transformed so 
 That ourselves we hardly know. 
 Wherefore 'tis our constant prayer, 
 Every day and everywhere, 
 That whenever flit shall we, 
 'Twill be back to Italy ! 
 
 Baveno, Sept. 19, 1874. 
 
To the Author of "Blue Roses." 23 
 
 TO THE AUTHOR OF "BLUE ROSES." 
 
 A LL the world in flower 
 Lies about me now, 
 Light on every bower, 
 
 Bloom on every bough ; 
 But where are the roses 
 
 In my dreams that grew? 
 Flower that never closes, 
 Rose whose shade is blue. 
 
 Once, I thought I found them 
 
 In the days gone by- 
 Buds grew all around them. 
 
 Bluer than the sky; 
 Still, whene'er I touched them, 
 
 Blue would turn to grey, 
 For it seemed I clutched them 
 
 Only to decay. 
 
24 To the Author of "Blue Roses' 
 
 Ah ! blue roses, never 
 
 Here may be your birth — 
 Sin and shame together 
 
 Dark have made our earth ; 
 But the mist discloses 
 
 Azure peeping through, 
 And, may be, my roses 
 
 Are where all is true ! 
 
 Midsummer Day, 1877. 
 
Slimmer-Moon. 25 
 
 S UM M ER-MOON. 
 
 A Picture in the Royal Academy (1872), by 
 Frederick Leighton, R.A. 
 
 TTEAD to head, and hand in hand, 
 
 'Mid the fulness of all things fair : 
 Dreaming they lie in the sweet southern land, 
 
 Where the moonlight, flooding the air. 
 Rounds the pomegranates the whole night long, 
 Hushes loud life with its lullaby-song. 
 
 Heaven's peace in the midst of earth's prayer. 
 
 O passionless, perfect, O " Summer-moon ! " 
 
 Rarest picture thus triply crowned 
 With the music of painting, the colour of time. 
 
 And the cadence of golden sound : 
 
 A "Schlummerlied" striking a chord for a rest — 
 
 A poem of peace by grave symbols expressed — 
 
 Art's sweetness in ecstasy drowned, 
 c 
 
2 6 Summer-Moon. 
 
 Sleep ever, ye girls, and O moonlight, still stream 
 
 That ineffable halo of light. 
 Which fills our souls subtly in moments supreme 
 
 With a glory beyond common sight : 
 Inspirer, O picture, O fair "Summer-moon,'' 
 It is worth while to live through long months for one 
 June, 
 
 One such breath from the land of delight. 
 
A Portrait. 27 
 
 A PORTRAIT. 
 
 T)UT let me paint them once — the hands, the head, 
 the hair, 
 The flower-like face poised on a lily stem. 
 The sweet sad lips — the eyes half closed, as though 
 there were 
 Some weary, dreary secret hid in them ; 
 And then that look — the burden of a long past pain, 
 
 perchance, 
 Regretful, hopeless, helpless, as Eurydice's last glance ! 
 
 Only, and if Eurydice could hear and see 
 
 Her Orpheus singing somewhere in the light; 
 Only, and if our hearts were but more frank, more 
 free, 
 More apt to live by faith, and less by sight ; 
 Then speechless pictures, soulless words, and such a 
 
 smileless face 
 In God's great glad created world would never have a 
 place. 
 
28 New Houses. 
 
 NEW HOUSES. 
 
 A HALF-FINISHED house at most, 
 ■'■ *■ A wall, 'and a cross-way beam, 
 A nameless, numberless ghost, 
 
 A faceless, figureless dream ; 
 Yet why should it own not a rhyme. 
 
 As well as a house that is old ? 
 That was young too, once on a time. 
 
 Before its stories were told. 
 
 The stories of these had begun 
 
 Or ever their mortar was dry; 
 For oft through the westering sun. 
 
 As a gay young couple go by, 
 They'll gaze at the brick and the stone 
 
 As they pause where the roadway is rough, 
 And they'll sigh — "Such a house for our own 
 
 Were happiness more than enough ! 
 
New Houses^ 29 
 
 "Those rooms — to the left — to the right, 
 
 Shall be yours, shall be mine, shall be ours. 
 And there, where the sunshine is bright. 
 
 Our children shall grow up like flowers ; 
 Our schoolboys shall yearn for their home; 
 
 Our girls flit about it all day, 
 Until, in due time, there shall roam 
 
 Some lover adown the rough way." 
 
 There's a story in there to be read, 
 
 Home-coming, and wedding, and birth. 
 And then one thing beside, all unsaid, 
 
 That only one sure thing on earth; — 
 Ah ! Death — spare the young and the fond, 
 
 Or, at least, when their knell must be tolled, 
 Let the city have stretched far beyond, 
 
 And these new houses then be the old. 
 
30 The Birth of Cain. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF CAIN. 
 
 (Eve speaks.) 
 /^H ! was there ever such a day as this, 
 
 Since first upon the darkling water's face 
 The Spirit moved? And has it been, indeed, 
 A day like other days, made up of hours, 
 Just common hours, of daybreak — noontide — night, - 
 Such hours as mark the everydays of life ? 
 Ah ! surely not. I have known so many days : 
 The day when first I woke to life and love ; 
 The day when first I knew of sin and shame ; 
 The day when first those flaming swords were set 
 Round Eden's gate ; and then, those other days. 
 When Adam sallied forth to daily toil. 
 And I was left alone to watch and weep \ — 
 But never day like this. The skies stooped down 
 To kiss the straining earth, — athwart the trees 
 I heard the angels move, and surely felt 
 His Presence, too, who walked beside us once 
 
The Birth of Cain. 31 
 
 In Eden's grove. A solemn silence fell 
 
 On all things living. To their grassy lairs 
 
 The howling, grovelling creatures noiseless crept ; 
 
 The birds swung still and silent on their boughs ; 
 
 The waters soundless swelled and swayed. My soul 
 
 Seemed widening slowly; — o'er my spirit stole 
 
 A sweet, strange sense of swimming into space. 
 
 Until at last across that silence broke 
 
 A little cry : my babe was born, — our son. 
 
 O Adam, come and look upon "the man 
 
 Which I have gotten from the Lord " to-day 1 
 
 Poor Adam ! thou art weary too, and worn 
 With many a day of travail and of toil ; 
 Methinks the curse hath fallen sorer far 
 On thee than me, — and yet the sin was mine. 
 The arid ground yields not such fruit as this 
 For all thy delving. Ah ! my pretty bud, 
 My fairest flower in all the world, — nay, nay. 
 Thou must not wrinkle up thy forehead thus, 
 Nor frown like that. Do babies always frown? 
 Does the world seem to them so ill a place, 
 They needs must pucker up their little brows 
 At sight of it ? How should I know ? In truth. 
 
32 The Birth of Cain. 
 
 There never was a baby born before 
 
 On all this earth : this is the first, — our child ! 
 
 Look at him, Moon and Stars ! Look at him, once. 
 
 And then draw off your twinkling silver rays, 
 
 Lest they disturb his slumbers. Sun, arise 
 
 In splendour, so that he too may awake 
 
 To light, and joy, and gladness. Birds, trill out 
 
 Your sweetest songs ; 'twill make him leap for joy. 
 
 Come hither, beasts, and let him stroke your manes. 
 
 And draw his fingers down your furry coats ; 
 
 For is not he the first-born babe on earth? 
 
 And should not all things minister to him. 
 
 Their infant lord and master? 
 
 Ah ! my babe. 
 My precious babe, how shall we train thee up? 
 How rule him rightly, Adam, thou and I, 
 Who are so ignorant of life ourselves ? 
 What shall we teach him ? Shall he be as thou, — 
 "A tiller of the ground," — and learn to delve. 
 And offer up his first-fruits to the Lord, 
 And carry home his faggots on his back ? — 
 And some day — some far distant day — when we 
 Are resting 'neath the fig-tree's fragrant shade 
 
The Birth of Cain. 33 
 
 (One must grow weary as the years go on), 
 We'll watch him coming through the palms at eve, 
 And know that he is working now for us. 
 As we worked once for him, our little Cain. — 
 What ! frowns again ! — ah no ! this must not be, 
 I cannot bear to watch those shadows pass 
 Across thy brow. There; nestle down once more. 
 And sleep and dream the ugly marks awfiy. . . . 
 
 Lullaby Song. 
 
 Sleep, then, my little one, 
 
 Peacefully sleep ; 
 Father and mother your 
 
 Vigil will keep ; 
 Angels wa:tch over you, 
 
 God above all, 
 So that no evil thing 
 
 Can you befall. 
 Sleep, then, my little one, peacefully sleep ; 
 God's holy angels your vigil will keep. 
 
 Sweet be your dreams, my babe, 
 Tender and bright, 
 
34 The Birth of Cain. 
 
 Visions like stars shall shine 
 
 Through the long night ; 
 Daybreak they flee before, 
 
 Drop into dew, 
 Spangle the earth afresh, 
 Darling, for you ! 
 Dream, then, my little one, peacefully dream ; 
 Starshine or dewdrops about you shall gleam. 
 
 (Four months later.) 
 
 Adam, — quick !— come, tell me what is this 
 
 1 hold within my hand, all stiff' and stark ? 
 It was a butterfly, I know — a thing 
 
 All full of pretty life and light ; but now — 
 What is it now? It does not move, nor fly. 
 But lies here like a lifeless stick, or stone. 
 This morn it flew above my baby's head, 
 Through the blue air. He stretched his fingers out, 
 And caught it thus, and crunched it up between 
 His tiny palms, and laughed to see it start. 
 And struggle (oh ! he 's lusty now, and gay, 
 Our four-months' babe), and then he let it fall ; 
 And there it lay until I picked it up. 
 
The Birth of Cain. 35 
 
 All bruised and crushed — a pretty thing no more ! 
 
 What ! never any more — never again 
 
 To flit across the sunbeam's path, nor float 
 
 Through summer breezes like a rare-winged flower. — 
 
 What ! dead — ^quite dead ! Oh, Adam, 'tis not dead ! 
 
 Death is a thing for thee and me, but not 
 
 For babes to deal to creatures such as these ! 
 
 Dirge. 
 Dead J — dead, — dead, — 
 The word has been said. 
 And blood has been shed 
 
 Upon earth ; 
 For all that have breath 
 Are as certain of death 
 
 As of birth ! 
 
 (A year later.) 
 Another son, dear lord ; we are rich in sons. 
 I might have wished a woman-child this time, 
 But God knows best; and this, our last-born son. 
 Looks mild and gentle as a little lamb. — 
 No frowning here. But where 's our elder son ? 
 
36 The Birth of Cain. 
 
 Where 's Cain ? — ah me ! he toddled off awhile 
 
 To pounce upon some little unfledged bird. — 
 
 See ! there he comes, his prize between his hands, 
 
 How fierce he looks ! — nay, boy, put off for once 
 
 That scowling face, lest it affright the babe. 
 
 What is it that offends thee? Can it be 
 
 That thou art jealous of thy brother, Cain? 
 
 Nay, but thou, too, thou sturdy year-old child. 
 
 Once sat upon my knee as Abel now. 
 
 So come, and give him one fraternal kiss. 
 
 What ! clenched fists ! — a rush, — a blow, — a cry : — 
 
 Oh, Cain, what hast thou done? See, Adam! see. 
 
 Thy elder strikes thy younger ! Oh, my God, 
 
 Is this the punishment reserved for me? — 
 
 To see my blessings turned to curses thus. 
 
 My children foes, — to know that through my sin 
 
 All men shall sin, that but for me alone 
 
 There had not been in all the world such things 
 
 As envy, hatred, strife, or death 
 
 Ah! Lord, 
 
 My punishment is more than I can bear. 
 
The Birth of Cain. 
 
 37 
 
 (Eve swoons, an Angel sings.) 
 
 Great was thy guilt, O Eve, 
 
 Cruel thy crime ; 
 Yet shall thy seed atone 
 
 For it, in time. 
 Death shall be swallowed up. 
 
 Strife shall be o'er ; 
 Men shall through Man attain 
 
 Life evermore ! 
 
38 Tlie Lost Piece. 
 
 THE LOST PIECE. 
 
 To R. B. H. 
 
 ' Rejoice with me ; for I have found the piece which I had 
 lost." — S. Luke xv. 9. 
 
 TTTILL it be really so? 
 Shall we some day 
 Get back the things we thought 
 
 Gone for alway? 
 Find our lost treasures, dear, 
 
 Count our lost sheep. 
 Gather what blossomed, while 
 
 We were asleep ? 
 
 Joys that we once have had, 
 
 Love that was ours, 
 Hopes that we scoffed and scorned 
 
 In the past hours ; — 
 Hands that we might have held, 
 
 Hearts that we lack, — 
 Chances we miss on earth. 
 
 Will they come back? 
 
The Lost Piece. 39 
 
 Will they ? Ah ! who can tell 
 
 What we shall find, 
 When the great golden gates 
 
 Close in behind? 
 Crowns, palms, and seraph songs,- 
 
 / shall rejoice 
 If I may hear, at last. 
 
 One angel voice ! 
 
 Trevalyn, July 24, 1877. 
 
40 Holy Night. 
 
 HOLY NIGHT. 
 
 QTARS with silver-crested besom 
 
 Sweep the heavens pure and bright. 
 Fearful lest they should awaken 
 Any slumberer to-night. 
 
 All the forests lie in silence, 
 Holy watch the branches keep, 
 
 While his shadowy arms the mountain 
 Flings before him in his sleep. 
 
 Mute are all things — save the lovers. 
 Whispering in their star-lit bower ; 
 
 What to them is day or darkness, 
 Cottage roof, or palace tower? 
 
 COBLENTZ, Sept. 2, 1872. 
 
"Rejected" 41 
 
 "RE J EC TED." 
 
 A Picture in the Royal AcADEMy (1876), by 
 Marcus Stone, R.A. 
 
 TTER little face is white with woe, 
 
 Her downcast eyes are wet ; 
 She had not meant to grieve him so, 
 
 At least, — at least, — not yet; — 
 It was so pleasant to be wooed, 
 
 So hateful to be won, — 
 Ah ! why should many a merry mood 
 
 End in so sad a one ! 
 
 She draws the curtain back, and peers 
 
 Into the world beyond; 
 The garden gleams in flowery tiers, 
 
 The fish leap in the pond; 
 Behind there is a misty hill, — 
 
 How grey it all has grown ! 
 Perhaps it was her father's will, 
 
 Perhaps it is her own. 
 
42 
 
 " Rejected:' 
 
 He turns aside, — he pleads no more, 
 
 But goes with drooping head ; 
 A man is often wounded sore 
 
 Who dons a coat of red. 
 And so he sadly rides away. 
 
 Slowly, o'er hill and plain ; 
 But, let us hope, some other day 
 
 He will ride back again ! 
 
My April Queen. 43 
 
 MY APRIL QUEEN. 
 
 npHE winter, with his icy hand, 
 Has hewn the flowers down. 
 And turned this green and pleasant land 
 
 Into a plough-field brown. 
 E'en now young April's twigs can show 
 But little buds of ice and snow. 
 
 Yet deem not, blossoms, that I weep 
 For your long-tarrying grace. 
 
 Nor think that I for ye can keep 
 Within my heart a place : 
 
 The fairest flower on earth, I ween. 
 
 Has filled it all— my April Queen ! 
 
 What need of nightingales have I, 
 
 Or blackbird on the tree. 
 While her clear voice doth scale the sky 
 
 In carols sweet to me ? 
 Her eyes are like the violets blue, 
 Her breath as fragrant honey-dew. 
 
44 
 
 My April Queen. 
 
 What rose among the hedges grows 
 
 As rosy as her lips? 
 What bee among the blossoms knows, 
 
 As I, such dainty sips? 
 Ah ! May, what need have I of thee, 
 When April brings such sweets to me? 
 
Damascus. 45 
 
 DAMASCUS. 
 
 To THE HONBLE. LIONEL TOLLEMACHE. 
 
 A FTER long years, 
 
 Gloomy with fears, 
 Travail and tears : — 
 Suddenly Light 
 Breaks through the night. 
 
 Heavy and grey, 
 Clouds ever lay. 
 Low on my way : — 
 
 Yonder the Blue 
 
 Opens to view. 
 
 Once all around. 
 
 Falsehood I found 
 
 Worshipped and crowned : — 
 Time at last brings 
 Truth on his wings ! 
 
46 An Unfinished Song. 
 
 AN UNFINISHED SONG. 
 
 r?ARE-THEE-WELL, my love, fare-thee-well, 
 For by Faith's plighted token shall Love live 
 unbroken : 
 Fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well, fare-thee-well. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thus he sang, my own love, on a fair autumn day; 
 And the winds, through the heather hills moaning and 
 
 sweeping. 
 Stirred the shivering barley that fell with the reaping, 
 Shook the bells of the sheep on the grey moorland 
 
 leaping. 
 And they all answered back as my love turned away. 
 Come again, come, come again, 
 From the wearisome road or monotonous main, 
 Through the glare of the sun or the beating of rain : 
 Come in sadness or gladness, in pleasure or pain ; 
 For, undaunted by weather, Faith and Love stand 
 together : 
 
 Come again, O my love, come again. 
 
An Unfinished Song. 47 
 
 II. 
 Then the air drank the echo, and silence fell round, 
 Yet through winter's closed doors shutting out the 
 
 earth's singing, 
 Through the birth-bells of life which the springtide 
 
 sets ringing. 
 Through the passion of summer outflashing and flinging, 
 Till its music the dirges of autumn have drowned : 
 
 I could hear, yes, my love, I could hear 
 A sad sobbing and throbbing of waves in mine ear. 
 And the burden of footsteps grown dusty and drear. 
 And the ghost of a voice sounding icily clear. 
 Love may live through Death surely, if Faith be kept 
 purely, 
 
 I can hear, O my love, I can hear. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah ! he never came back, — and I live on alone. 
 But the summer and winter together are fleeting; 
 The round ring of hfe groweth nigh its completing. 
 And the jewel it lacks shall be set in the meeting; 
 
 So I wait and keep faith, and my love makes no 
 moan : 
 
48 An Unfinished Song. 
 
 For I know, love, I know, for I know 
 The faint song that the clouds drifted back long ago, 
 We shall finish at last beyond sunshine and snow. 
 Ringing out its full meaning we missed here below. 
 How that Faith's work is ended when All Love is 
 blended. 
 
 Oh, I know, my own love, oh, I know. 
 
The Mower's Song. 49 
 
 THE MOWER'S SONG. 
 
 QWISH, sweep, the scythe is keen, — 
 ^ Swish, sweep, the grass is green, — 
 And the flower of the field that to-day is bright, 
 Shall be food for cattle to-morrow night ; 
 So swish, sweep the meadows clean. 
 
 Swish, sweep, another scythe, — 
 
 Another mower keen and lithe, — 
 And the flesh that we now with such pleasure array, 
 May be food for the worm in a little day; 
 So swish, sweep, though mortals writhe. 
 
 Swish, sweep, not so indeed — 
 Dead grass may yet hold living seed — 
 And we trust that our names like new-mown hay 
 May be sweetly remembered for many a day; 
 So swish, sweep, through wheat and weed, 
 The mower's song is the mortal's creed. 
 
50 Daybreak at Pontresina. 
 
 DAYBREAK AT PONTRESINA. 
 
 "TlARKNESS trickling into dawn, 
 
 Steel to blue, and blue to white. 
 Rolling on in waves of light, 
 As the tide, grown full and high, 
 Floodeth first the pallid sky, 
 Then o'erlaps the mountain tops 
 With a spray of silver drops. 
 Till within its sway supreme 
 Field and fold and snowy stream, 
 All at last are gained and drawn : — 
 So each morning here is born. 
 
In Despair. 51 
 
 IN DESPAIR. 
 
 /^OME to me, darkness, 
 
 Close on me, night. 
 Hide me, — oh, hide me 
 Out of the light. 
 
 Noontide is searching, 
 Sunshine 's all eyes, 
 
 Stars are the only 
 Blanks in the skies. 
 
 Eyes red and swollen,— 
 Wlien will it cease? 
 
 Not till death brings us 
 Darkness and Peace ! 
 
52 Chance. 
 
 CHANCE. 
 
 TT THERE the tall white lilies bloom and fade, 
 
 And the starry flag-flowers blow ; 
 There sat a maid in the dewy shade, 
 
 With a face of wistful woe. 
 " Oh ! the birds o'erhead have their mates to wed," 
 
 'Twas thus she made her moan, 
 "And each blossom here has a sister dear, 
 
 But I am alone, alone." 
 
 Where the reeds and rushes swim and soar, 
 
 By the side of the rippling wave, 
 There sprang to the shore with a steady oar 
 
 A noble youth and brave ; 
 "Is there never a one beneath the wide sun 
 
 To welcome me back?" he cried; 
 "I have travelled afar, like a wandering star. 
 
 And no one hath watched at my side." 
 
Chance. 53 
 
 Where the oak and the ivy meet and twine 
 
 Round the arch of an old church gate, 
 At the sacred shrine of love divine, 
 
 These two have joined their fate ; 
 And he wanders still at his own free will. 
 
 But never afar from shore. 
 For there 's some one now who does not allow 
 
 Him to leave her alone any more ! 
 
54 -A Catch. 
 
 A CATCH. 
 
 Refrain. 
 Oh ! when watches disagree, 
 There 's an end to harmony ! 
 
 Dialogue. 
 
 " p-'-^-^ o'clock — six — past seven — near eight — 
 
 What is cook doing? Why are we so late?,"- 
 " Eight o'clock, John ! Your watch, how it ticks. 
 It is you who are wrong j why, it barely is six." 
 " That 's the nature of watches, my dear little wife." 
 " Well, but look how it races, as if for dear life ; 
 Now mine may be slow, but it's steady, you know; 
 
 Past eight, 'tis absurd " 
 
 "Oh fie, such a word 
 From a wife to a husband should never be heard. 
 But chiefly from one who has owned she is slow." 
 "Now, John, that's not true, I am fast, I declare. 
 By the clock on the top of the gallery stair." 
 " What ! fast are you, now ? — that I will not allow." 
 
A Catch. 
 
 55 
 
 "Oh, John, how you bait me, — you make me quite 
 hate ye. 
 
 The clocks are all right — call Betty, and see " 
 
 Here Betty comes in with the dinner — or tea, 
 Whichever repast it may happen to be. 
 
 June 2, 1874. 
 
56 Princess Eva. 
 
 PRINCESS EVA. 
 
 An Impromptu. 
 
 T^INY hands just caught together, 
 
 Cheeks that match the pinkest heather 
 Ever born on snowy wold — 
 
 Topaz eyes in wonder gleaming, 
 
 Hair that sets a miser dreaming 
 
 How to clutch the burnished gold — 
 
 Lips that crush with baby clatter, 
 
 Hardest tongues to sweetest chatter : 
 This is Eva, — Princess Eva, 
 
 Waiting while from snow-wreathed Neva 
 
 They bring her chains of many a word, 
 
 Songs to suit a Russian bird, 
 Many-voiced as Eva. 
 
 Three short years my Princess numbers 
 Since her life of smiles and slumbers 
 Woke across the Northern Sea ; 
 
Princess Eva. 57 
 
 And her little mouth rejoices 
 In three languages, three voices, 
 
 Wherewithal to sound her glee ; 
 Ch'erie, Liebchen, triple blessing, 
 Fall upon her sweet caressing : — 
 
 What 's the Russian word for Eva ? 
 (Th' Italian might be "Casta Diva") 
 Where is truth ? but in her eyes — 
 What is love? her kiss replies — • 
 
 Kiss me, Princess Eva. 
 
 Ah ! when three times three are doubled, 
 And all lovers' hearts are troubled. 
 
 How my young Princess to woo : — 
 Three words still, shall sweetest sound 
 In whatever tongue they 're found, 
 
 Ah! "I love you!" Love, be true. 
 Choose for her the sweetest lover. 
 May all angels' pinions cover 
 
 Evil from her, Princess Eva; 
 Make her life one long " Evviva,'' 
 To end where nations meet above. 
 Speak one language, know one Love, 
 
 Three in one ! my Eva ! 
 
58 Cradle Song. 
 
 CRADLE SONG. 
 
 QLEEP and dream, my child, 
 ^ Dream and sleep, — 
 God's holy angels, child. 
 Vigil will keep. 
 
 Wake and work, my dear, 
 
 Work and wake ; 
 Though thy hands fail, my dear. 
 
 Though thy heart ache. 
 
 Trust and hope, my love, 
 
 Hope and trust. 
 God's word is sure, my love, 
 
 God's ways are just. 
 
 Die and live, my saint, 
 
 Live and die ; 
 Until God's trump, my saint. 
 
 Calls thee on high. 
 
My Dead Love. 59 
 
 MY DEAD LOVE. 
 
 TF I called you, would you come, 
 
 Dear, across death's pallid sea. 
 From the grave which is your home, 
 Back to life, to love, to me? 
 
 Nay, though autumn draweth near. 
 Days are days as when we met, 
 
 Still I would not have you, dear. 
 Meet me here, or meet me yet. 
 
 There is much that I must see, 
 Much that I must learn and do, 
 
 Ere I feel that I shall be 
 Fit for death, and fit for you. 
 
6o The Queen of the Season. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE SEASON. 
 
 QHE laughs as the sun in his heaven, 
 She moves as a bird on the wing ; 
 She answers each compliment given, 
 
 With just the right accent and ring ; — 
 And men look upon her with pleasure, 
 
 The women with envy, 'tis said, 
 As she moves to the music and measure, 
 
 Wherever her footsteps are led. 
 
 But, oh ! when the band has done playing, 
 
 And, ah ! when the lights are put out, 
 What meaneth this passionate praying, 
 
 This trouble, and tossing, and doubt? 
 And wet is her pillow, where, lonely. 
 
 The throbbing white face has been laid, — 
 Can the Queen of the Season be only 
 
 A poor little woe-begone maid ? 
 
The Queen of the Season. 6i 
 
 It may be. — Yet better this weeping 
 
 Than many a glance from her eye; 
 For tears must have truth in their keeping, 
 
 While laughter may cover a lie. — 
 So close up the curtains above her ; 
 
 Put by her ball dress and her gloves — 
 The smiles are for those who may love her ! 
 
 The tears for the one whom she loves! 
 
62 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 COUSIN GIULIO. 
 A Girl's Story. 
 
 I. 
 
 T CANNOT tell why I was born — nor why I live, 
 
 and breathe — 
 Yet poor as Life has been to me, I 've something to 
 
 bequeath ; — 
 For in this world, so full of woe, where all must weep 
 
 and wail. 
 Some heart may get some sympathy from this my 
 
 simple tale. 
 
 2. 
 
 In youth, perhaps, it may be best to hide these 
 
 things away 
 From all the hundred eyes and tongues that scorch 
 
 our Life's noon-day; — 
 But when those rays are slanting off — before the stars 
 
 appear — 
 Between the lights — past days and nights step forth 
 
 distinct and clear. 
 
Cousin Giulio. 63 
 
 3- 
 
 It chanced, then, on an Easter Eve (Oh day of hap- 
 piness !) 
 
 I set to work, as was my wont, our village church 
 to dress ; 
 
 For the vicar, my dear father, always loved, each 
 year, to see 
 
 His church's festivals thus marked by all the flowers 
 and me. 
 
 4- 
 But 'twas in vain, that day, I strove my wreaths to 
 
 twist and twine. 
 They drooped, and dropped, and baffled quite this 
 
 vaunted skill of mine ; 
 And the sheaves of golden daffodils lay withering on 
 
 the floor, 
 When noontide came — and noontide brought my father 
 
 to the door. 
 
 5- 
 A stranger stood beside him — ah ! my cheeks were all 
 
 a-glow. 
 For a bramble-bough had caught my gown, and given 
 
 my hand a blow. 
 And yet he scarcely could, I think, bow lower to a 
 
 Queen, 
 While softly fell the murmured words — "My Cousin 
 
 Rose, I ween." 
 
64 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 6. 
 
 Then my father's grave voice answered, "Ay, she's 
 
 all now left to me. 
 Her mother sleeps 'neath yonder yew, her brother is 
 
 at sea. 
 Come, look up. Rose, and welcome give to this your 
 
 cousin, dear, 
 My sister's son should never be a stranger to us here." 
 
 7- 
 So I knew my Cousin Giulio, and, half-flushing with 
 
 surprise, 
 I shook the lilies from my lap, and lifted up my 
 
 eyes. — 
 Ah ! God forgive me what I write, but the saints that 
 
 dwell with Thee 
 Can scarce be fairer in Thy sight than he was then 
 
 to me !" 
 
 8. 
 In glorious strength, in youth's fair pride, in wondrous 
 
 winning grace. 
 With noble head, and drooping eyes, and rarely tender 
 
 face. 
 So peerless, perfect, grand, sublime, such beauty must 
 
 be good. 
 And o'er his head the oriel shed a halo where he 
 
 stood. 
 
Cousin Giulio. 65 
 
 9- 
 
 He moved not for a moment, but stood with down- 
 cast eyes, 
 
 While slowly o'er his face there grew a look of glad 
 surprise. 
 
 " If my cousin would but let me," thus, at length, he 
 softly said, 
 
 " I would show her how our peasants oft their shrines 
 with blossoms spread." 
 
 10. 
 Ah me ! was this the peasants' way — these gentle looks 
 
 and words. 
 These smiles whene'er our fingers met, shy glances 
 
 like a bird's ? 
 Then would I were a peasant too, if ever at my hand 
 Another peasant, such as he, might wait my least 
 
 command ! 
 
 , II. 
 
 They said our church had never looked so bright, so 
 
 fair before. 
 As on that Easter Day when his and my joint work 
 
 was o'er; 
 They said that even Lady Maud, with eyes so calm 
 
 and blue. 
 Glanced round her very often from her carved and 
 
 cushioned pew. 
 
65 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 12. 
 
 "That is Lord Welbourne's daughter," said my father, 
 
 service done — 
 We stood within the churchyard gate, and greeted 
 
 every one; 
 " My daughter deems her haughty — Rose, she 's bowing 
 
 to you now. 
 But surely Giulio will to her some other grace allow." 
 
 13- 
 Then faintly I responded to my lady's greeting gay, 
 
 Methought I liked her gracious air less than her 
 
 haughty way; 
 But Giulio's words came thick arid fast, while slowly 
 
 out of sight 
 The carriage to the castle bore its burden gay and 
 
 bright. 
 
 14. 
 " ' A lily maid ' — the fairest face in sooth I 've ever 
 
 seen. 
 Ah ! were I not a democrat, I 'd crown her as my 
 
 Queen ! 
 But being what I am — to me the sweetest thing that 
 
 grows 
 In all the earth, my uncle, you yourself have named a 
 
 Rose." 
 
Cousin Giulio. 67 
 
 IS- 
 " What an answer for a Painter ! " said my father, 
 
 laughing too, 
 And then all suddenly my hand within his arm he 
 
 drew — 
 And, talking thus, we went across the fields that 
 
 homeward lay — 
 Oh ! was there e'er before, or since, so sweet, so 
 
 bright a day ! 
 
 16. 
 Yes, Giulio was a Painter — what a noble name it 
 
 seemed ! 
 A soldier's or a sailor's life quite common things, I 
 
 deemed ; 
 But a Painter — God's creative gift to hold within one's 
 
 hand. 
 To call down angels from the sky around one — at 
 
 command ! 
 
 17- 
 He was a democrat besides, but I scarcely understood 
 
 The meaning of that word, although I knew 'twas 
 
 nothing good; 
 For had it not an exile made of him who owned the 
 
 name, 
 And cast up barriers before his opening road to fame ? 
 
68 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 1 8. 
 " 'Tis not too late, I '11 work again," 'twas thus he 
 
 bravely said ;— 
 And work he did, from morn till eve, till twice the 
 
 skies were red ; 
 And sometimes e'en beneath the stars we 'd wander 
 
 forth to see 
 The glimmering light fall faintly o'er the darksome 
 
 lawn and lea. 
 
 19. 
 And so it chanced, one summer day, he held a sketch 
 
 aloft, 
 A charcoal drawing of a girl, with serious eyes 
 
 and soft, 
 And in her hand she held a palm .... I 
 
 pondered for a space. 
 Till Giulio spoke — " Rose, let me give my maiden 
 
 saint your face." 
 
 20. 
 I had no need to answer — for between the parting 
 
 trees 
 My father came — our talks of late had seemed him not 
 
 to please. 
 "Thank God," he said, "my little Rose is but a 
 
 homely flower. 
 And hardly fair enough to inspire a painter's skill or 
 
 power." 
 
Cousin Giulio. 69 
 
 21. 
 "A flower indeed — the Queen of flowers!" my cousin 
 
 murmured low. 
 But graver still my father spoke, "Yes, Giulio, but I 
 
 know 
 Your art demands stern study, therefore would it not 
 
 be well 
 To seek out art with artists, and awhile in town to 
 
 dwell?" 
 
 22. 
 Then passed a few more twilight talks, and lingerings 
 
 at noon. 
 Each golden sunset chased the last too quickly and 
 
 too soon, 
 Till dawned a morn whose memory still doth make 
 
 my eyelids- swell. 
 When Giulio waved his hand to us, and bade us all 
 
 farewell ! 
 
 23- 
 The night before — that golden eve — ah! can I write 
 
 what passed, 
 How Love caught up two throbbing hearts, and held 
 
 them firm and fast — 
 How faint grew Life, how strong grew Love, all else 
 
 how weak and vain, 
 Till faith seemed but a sacrilege, in Love's celestial 
 
 fane? 
 
70 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 24. 
 That moment it seemed very s*eet to hold a secret 
 
 thus, 
 'Twixt he and me — no other lips our treasure might 
 
 discuss. 
 But in the morn I held my breath, lest sighs should 
 
 aught disclose, 
 It was so hard to part just then — "Good-bye, my 
 
 Cousin Rose." 
 
 25- 
 He wrote — he wrote — yes, letters came, at first quite 
 
 thick and fast, 
 Then by degrees they fewer grew — and then, they 
 
 ceased at last ; 
 But yet — not yet, did I lose heart — each dawning 
 
 day I thought 
 Before the night some tidings bright to me will sure 
 
 be brought. 
 
 26. 
 So swelled the summer sweetness, and I whispered 
 
 to each flower, 
 " My Love, my Love shall see you ere is spent your 
 
 little hour." 
 Methought they trembled 'neath my touch, or else 
 
 the sun was strong. 
 And scorched their little lives — I know that year they 
 
 lived not long. 
 
Cousin Giulio. 71 
 
 27. 
 One morning (there had been a night of storm and 
 
 wind and rain, 
 And the standard-tree that bore my name had shed 
 
 great drops of pain) 
 The Lady Maud sent for me — she 'd returned from 
 
 town, I knew, 
 Could she have seen my Giulio — ah ! if such a thing 
 
 were true ! 
 
 28. 
 They led such different lives, of course — yet stranger 
 
 things have been, 
 And stranger things were here. — How strange and soft 
 
 had grown her mien ! 
 " Rose, I 've some news for you," she said. " You see 
 
 this little ring, 
 No rare one — but you know, perhaps, what meaneth 
 
 such a thing ? 
 
 29. 
 " 'Twas always talent I adored — not rank, nor wealth, 
 
 nor birth, 
 A man of genius was to me the noblest thing on 
 
 earth ; 
 'Tis true I ne'er met one before in all my gay young 
 
 life— 
 Until I knew your cousin, and agreed to be his 
 
 wife !" 
 
72 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 3°- 
 I heard the words — all too distinct, and ah ! too 
 
 simply clear, 
 My lips disputed not their truth — no room for doubt 
 
 was here, 
 And so I sat in silence, while her words pierced 
 
 through my heart — 
 I scarce can write them — even now, they make my 
 
 life-blood start. 
 
 31- 
 She told me how she met him unexpectedly one day, 
 
 And after that, how oft they chanced to cross each 
 
 other's way, 
 Until, at last, he craved her leave to paint her '■^pretty 
 
 face" 
 In a picture which he hoped some day would take 
 
 a noble place. 
 
 32- 
 Great God ! keep back this bursting pain — I see 
 
 him — hear each word, 
 I too have marked his eyelids droop — such tender 
 
 pleading heard. 
 Why didst Thou give to Lady Maud a bliss denied 
 
 to me — 
 His cousin, and his plighted love — his wife that was 
 
 to be! 
 
Cousin Giiilio. 73 
 
 33- 
 
 So then, between those two, fell hours that only lovers 
 
 know. 
 When Fear means Hope, and Pain is Joy, and Love 
 
 akin to woe : 
 When words spring up each dare not say, and 
 
 thoughts they cannot sigh, 
 When looks are all too eloquent, and hearts are 
 
 strung too high ! 
 
 34- 
 The dread of parting, fuel heaps on Love's fresh 
 
 lighted flame. 
 It kindled once my flickering torch, and now it did 
 
 the same 
 To this intenser passion — yet I think, when all was 
 
 told, 
 He did not love her half as well as he did me of old. 
 
 35- 
 He thought of me between each kiss he strained 
 
 upon her brow, 
 He spoke of me in tender tones (I like to think that 
 
 now) ; 
 He told her she must love me too, for I was kind 
 
 and good. 
 Though just too cold, and English born, to suit his 
 
 southern mood. 
 
 F 
 
74 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 36. 
 
 All this I heard, yet heard not, as sick eyes in sorest 
 
 pain 
 Will mark each pattern on the wall, and trace each 
 
 curve again — 
 Will watch the nauseous draught prepared — gaze at the 
 
 leech's knife. 
 And lose no jot of present pain in sight of future 
 
 strife. 
 
 37- 
 But she — oh ! God be praised — but she observed not 
 
 aught of this. 
 "Congratulate me. Rose," she cried, "come, give me 
 
 one kind kiss." 
 I could not — ere her words had ceased, I 'd flown 
 
 beyond the gate — 
 Great God ! he stood there — whom, that hour, I almost 
 
 tried to hate. 
 
 38- 
 I darted past him, but he laid his hand upon my arm, 
 
 I shook it off, as Paul of old, that thing of viperous 
 
 harm. 
 " You 're angry. Rose, and with good cause, yet grant 
 
 me one more grace. 
 Just let me speak." I turned, alas ! and gazed upon 
 
 his face. 
 
Cousin Giulio. 75 
 
 39- 
 
 Ah ! why were we weak women made with hearts so 
 
 faint and frail, 
 That all our stern resolves before a glimpse of sorrow 
 
 quail ? 
 We give our all, and ask for nought, but hold life's 
 
 holiest end 
 Is just to love once — ^evermore — whate'er else God 
 
 may send. 
 
 40. 
 'Twas thus with me — my Love was there, I turned, 
 
 and looked, and heard, — 
 I gazed upon his well-loved face, I drank in every 
 
 word. 
 And sweetness found within the thought that he had 
 
 come to me, 
 With workless hands, and loveless heart, for sister's 
 
 sympathy. 
 
 41. 
 No word we spake of Lady Maud until we neared 
 
 our door. 
 Then brake he from me, but I pleaded, "Giulio, 
 
 come once more 
 Back to your home — for this is yours, until — your 
 
 wedding-day ; 
 Ah! off so soon — God speed your love" — God helped 
 
 me thus to say. 
 
76 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 42. 
 He heard not, for he'd loosed my hand, and I 
 
 returned within, 
 And told my father what had passed, my sorrow and 
 
 my sin. 
 And then together mute we sat, and listened to each 
 
 sound 
 That greatened in the gloaming, until night fell all 
 
 around. 
 
 43- 
 At length I pushed the door ajar, and looked out 
 
 through the air ; 
 Against the sweet lime-tree he stood, — I felt he would 
 
 be there. 
 Beneath that tree we'd told our love. He needed 
 
 now its aid. 
 And there he stood half-kneeling, cowering low beneath 
 
 its shade. 
 
 44. 
 He started when he saw me — o'er his lips there broke 
 
 a smile : 
 "Give me your hand," he said, "sweet Rose. My 
 
 uncle, list awhile ; 
 We stand together, she and I, to whom one Love was 
 
 life— 
 For I loved none but her, and she had sworn to be 
 
 my wife ! 
 
Cousin Giulio. 77 
 
 4S- 
 "Between us stepped the Lady Maud — a madness 
 
 filled my brain 
 And hers — we thought we loved — and yet the thought, 
 
 to me, was pain. 
 There 's no excuse — I am, in truth, most worthless, 
 
 false, and base. 
 Yet Maud's more passionate beauty never blurred out 
 
 this sweet face. 
 
 46. 
 " ' A low adventurer^ thus my lord has spurned me 
 
 from his door, 
 And thus 'twixt Lady Maud and me all plighted vows 
 
 are o'er. 
 But never dare I now to wed — my bride must be my 
 
 art. 
 To Italy I give my hand — but still thou hast my heart !" 
 
 47- 
 
 Sore troubled looked my father, but his words no 
 blame expressed : 
 
 "'Tis late to talk of future plans, my Giulio, come, 
 and rest." 
 
 He answered not — one short sigh's space his lips on 
 mine were laid, 
 
 And then we parted once again beneath the lime- 
 tree's shade. 
 
78 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 48. 
 
 It ended there — the morning light could show of him 
 but this, 
 
 These trembling lines — "Farewell, my Rose, my bride, 
 whose plighted kiss 
 
 I dare not, cannot claim — for by my love I under- 
 stand 
 
 'Twere wrong with my false lips to touch your holy 
 maiden-hand. 
 
 49. 
 " It was not Love 'twixt Maud and me — not perfect 
 
 Love and pure, 
 Such as shall now between our souls for evermore 
 
 endure. 
 Through changing seasons, altered years, through good 
 
 report and Ul, 
 Till Love's exceeding great reward Love's patience 
 
 shall fulfil. 
 
 SO- 
 "Not yet, not yet; nor know I when that blessbd 
 
 time shall be. 
 But not till Lady Maud, I think, has set our spirits 
 
 free ; 
 Such flames as hers devour themselves, they burn too 
 
 fierce to last. 
 They change or fade within the shade by time or 
 
 absence cast^ 
 
Cousin Giiilio. 79 
 
 51- 
 " But our Love, ours, by pain baptised, my tender- 
 hearted Rose, 
 Shall flourish still, for oft by tears I think it sweeter 
 
 grows. 
 And we who love must ever live — true Love can never 
 
 die- 
 When Faith and Hope are needed not. Love still is 
 Love on high. 
 
 52- 
 "For what is Death? This, all we know, by it new 
 
 Life is born. 
 As bruised grapes give out new wine, as midnight 
 
 maketh morn ; 
 So all things change, but nought is lost, God looseth 
 
 silver cords, 
 Earth's leading-strings to bind them firmer, faster 
 
 H eaven-to wards. 
 
 S3- 
 "And so my darling will forgive the ill my Love 
 
 hath done, 
 For earth meets heaven in the rain as well as in 
 
 the sun ; — 
 My fingers tremble — ah ! how poor seem words of 
 
 Love to tell, 
 But Rose will understand — my Rose, for ever mine, 
 
 Farewell !" 
 
8o Cousin Giulio. 
 
 54. 
 
 Ah ! God is good — He held me up while yet there 
 had been aught 
 
 To do or bear, now let me faint or die — it matters 
 naught ; 
 
 My head reels round — a fever smites upon my throb- 
 bing brain ; 
 
 And thus I toss for many a week in weary racking 
 pain. 
 
 55- 
 At length, I slowly rose again — but changed was all 
 
 the world, 
 The sun was hid in mist and frost — the lime-tree 
 
 stretched and hurled 
 Its bare arms wildly- — Lady Maud had sought a 
 
 sunnier clime, 
 And George, my sailor-brother, George, was with us 
 
 for a time. 
 
 56. 
 A dear, kind lad was brother George, and strong his 
 
 boyish arm. 
 How tenderly he carried me, and strove to cheer 
 
 and charm; 
 How oft he told his middy tales, and when we 
 
 found them dull, 
 How patiently he'd scan the Times, some news from 
 
 it to cull. 
 
Cousin Giulio. 
 
 57- 
 "There's nothing new," he oft would say, "except 
 
 these daily fights 
 Between the Papal party and Italians on the heights. 
 To-day there 's one which must have been a very 
 
 bloody strife, 
 In which 'tis feared the painter known as 'Giulio' 
 
 lost his life." 
 
 58. 
 One long sharp cry my father gave, I neither wept 
 
 nor spake. 
 But merely stretched my arms across, the newspaper 
 
 to take. 
 My brother rose, and gave it me — ah ! holiest 
 
 surprise — 
 Ah ! God be praised ! before his name, another met 
 
 my eyes, 
 
 "59- 
 "At Florence, Lady Maud Welbourne, to Walter, 
 
 Viscount Tyne, 
 The English Church," — Ah ! thus, my Love once more 
 
 at last is mine ; 
 All claims to him she has renounced, has set his 
 
 Love aside. 
 And by her marriage we are free — our Love is purified ! 
 
82 Cousin Giulio. 
 
 60. 
 And what if to this World he's dead, it matters 
 
 little now, 
 He's mine in the new-coming World, whose breath is 
 
 on my brow; 
 He's mine in life, and mine in death, my Hope, my 
 
 Joy, my Love, 
 Earth's sweetest memory, to be reality above ! 
 
 61. 
 And God, who ruleth all things well, has ruled this 
 
 for the best. 
 Here in this hurrying world of ours one has no 
 
 time for rest ; 
 And Work spoils Love, as Love spoils Work, but 
 
 both shall perfect be 
 When Life and Labour rest in Love through all 
 
 Eternity ! 
 
 62. 
 
 And so I '11 wait, if God permit, my father's eyes to 
 
 close, 
 Then let me shed my petals pale, as doth my emblem 
 
 rose; 
 Thus fading from this loveless world, to wake in 
 
 Heaven above. 
 Where he and I for evermore shall live in perfect 
 
 Love ! 
 
TJu Working Ladies' Guild. 83 
 
 THE WORKING LADIES' GUILD. 
 Dedicated to the Lady Mary Feilding. 
 
 TirORK as your Saviour worked when here, 
 
 Breathing a blessing everywhere, 
 And do the best within your reach. 
 Each for all, and all for each. 
 
 Tread where your blessed Master trod, 
 Feet in His footprints tend to God ;^ 
 Go not alone, but with you lead 
 The hands that fail, the feet that bleed. 
 
 Join hands and hearts, until at length 
 
 The Guild shall prove that "Union's Strength;" 
 
 So shall ascend about the Throne 
 
 Ten thousand songs — not yours alone ! 
 
84 It Might Have Been. ' 
 
 IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. 
 
 TT might have been 
 
 Home, riches, bliss. 
 A husband's love, 
 
 A baby's kiss ; — 
 It is, instead, 
 
 A silent room. 
 An empty hearth, 
 
 A spinster's doom. 
 
 It might have been 
 
 A snarling mate, 
 More mouths than meat, 
 
 Less love than hate; — 
 It is, instead, 
 
 A cosy tea, 
 Which " troops of friends" 
 
 Share oft with me. 
 
It Might Have Been. 85 
 
 Each scene is true ; — 
 
 All might, you know, 
 Have different been. 
 
 But it is — so. 
 Then let us set 
 
 Our minds at rest, — 
 Whatever is 
 
 Is for — the best ! 
 
86 A Valediction. 
 
 A VALED I CT I ON. 
 
 TT is May, and the season, they're saying, 
 
 Is just at its merriest hour, 
 For the Parks all their charms are displaying. 
 
 And the balconies all are in flower; — 
 But vainly the sunlight is shining. 
 
 To me all is dismal and drear; 
 And vain is all dancing and dining. 
 
 While you, my one Friend, are not here ! 
 
 You are gone, and my heart has gone after, 
 
 And left but a pain in its place, — 
 A sighing where once there was laughter; 
 
 Where once there was music — a space; — 
 Yet I know, when I kneel at God's Altar, 
 
 His angels are never afar; — 
 So, praying or praising, I '11 falter, 
 
 God bless you — wherever you are ! 
 
Young and Old. 87 
 
 YOUNG AND OLD. 
 
 TJAND crossed with hand on the threshold- 
 
 And the fingers just newly ringed there, 
 Are grasping the hand, all trembling, 
 Of a woman worn with care. 
 
 Hand crossed with hand on the threshold — 
 One was hardly a minute made wife. 
 
 While the other, once bride too, and mother. 
 Would fain now have done with life. 
 
 Hand crossed with hand on the threshold, 
 While the bells ring to East and to West : 
 
 Ring now for a wedding — the next 
 May toll for a Spirit at Rest. 
 
The Maid- Queen. 
 
 THE MAID-QUEEN. 
 
 r^OLD on her brow, 
 ^ Gems on her breast, 
 Thus she came forth, 
 
 Looking her best. 
 " Choose thou to-day 
 
 Whom thou wilt wed," 
 So all her lords 
 
 Shouted and said. 
 
 Glancing round once, 
 
 Glancing round twice, — 
 Lips that grew pale, 
 
 Hands that were ice; — 
 "Oh, sad, how sad!" 
 
 Cried she, " my fate ; 
 Who is there here 
 
 Fit for my mate?" 
 
TJu Maid-Queen. 89 
 
 Stood forth a prince, 
 
 Broad were his lands — 
 " Let me, I pray. 
 
 Kiss those fair hands.'' 
 But she drew back, 
 
 " Never," she cried ; 
 " My hands are clean — 
 
 Yours with blood dyed." 
 
 Next there came by 
 
 One of gay mien. 
 Surely he must 
 
 Please the Maid-Queen. 
 But she stood still — 
 
 "Villain, in sooth, 
 Get thee begone, — 
 
 Traitor to truth. 
 
 " He whom I wed 
 
 Must be most brave. 
 Fair as the dawn. 
 
 True as the grave. 
 Woo me with grace. 
 
 Win me by love. 
 Die for me here. 
 
 Then live above.'' 
 
90 The Maid-Queen. 
 
 Sighing, she spoke, 
 
 Glanced round once more, 
 
 None that stood there 
 Could she adore. 
 
 So, grave and sad, 
 Tho' with much pride, 
 
 Maid-Queen she lived, 
 
 . Maid-Queen she died ! 
 
 , London, June, 1872. 
 
A Sonnet, gi 
 
 A SONNET. 
 
 'T^HERE is a mist between us, dear, my friend — 
 
 It hangs about our soul's doors; we may see 
 Dim outlines, but we feel that there may be 
 Some sweeter thought hid close, as truth by rhyme ; 
 Or as the curtains on the shrine descend 
 To hold the world from those who bend the knee. 
 So, lest should mocking eyes disturb us, we. 
 Whose hearts are shrines, choose not this veil to rend. 
 Yet when the dew has risen, night is past; 
 Where dropping veils guard churches, prayers are rife. 
 And where words tremble, thoughts are beating fast ; 
 So shall the sun arise above our strife — 
 Love's sun — to lift the rising veil at last. 
 And seal a covenant with Love and Life. 
 
 Florence, May 3, 1865. 
 
92 Times and Seasons for Artist- Life. 
 
 TIMES AND SEASONS FOR ARTIST-LIFE. 
 
 pURPLE Twilight makes the Poet 
 
 Blossom into starry rhymes ; 
 Spring's soft voice the rapt musician 
 
 Answers back with silver chimes ; 
 Crimson day-dawns, golden sunsets, 
 
 Painter's straining hands .repeat. 
 And the night's deep silence. Science 
 
 Needs to make her work complete. 
 
 These are Artists, — Artists holy, 
 
 Working each in his degree. 
 Beating from creation's rhythms 
 
 Echoes of the life to be : 
 Nature's mystical discernment. 
 
 Mindful of their daily needs. 
 Spreads for each, in due succession. 
 
 Star-strewn skies and flower-grown meads. 
 
Times and Seasons for Artist-Life. 93 
 
 But one Artist-life remaineth, 
 
 One existence, nobler far 
 Than these feeble lives whose motions 
 
 Subject unto seasons are ; 
 He who leads it knows no, winter, 
 
 No bad days of storm and strife. 
 When he may not fill his being 
 
 With the passion of his life. 
 
 He, the Poet, lives in praising, 
 
 He, Musician, singeth aye. 
 He, the Man of Genius, learneth 
 
 How to live and how to die. 
 He, the Painter, waiteth, watcheth. 
 
 Through the night for light divine^ 
 This is Artist-life, this truly, — 
 
 Oh, may such a life be mine ! 
 
94 ^ Madrigal. 
 
 A MADRIGAL. 
 
 lirHY should I love thee? 
 Thou art coy, 
 
 Slow to smile, but swift to toy 
 
 With each varying emotion 
 
 Of a lover's fond devotion : — 
 Thou art paler than the flowers 
 Blossoming about thy bowers ; 
 
 Cold as icebergs, fierce as fire. 
 
 Wayward as a hedge-row briar; 
 
 Froward, foolish, proud, unkind, 
 
 Fickle as the summer wind ; 
 
 Hard to win, but harder yet 
 
 'Twere to lose thee — or forget. 
 
 Tell me, then, why I should love thee? 
 Or, for what? — 
 
 Nay, but ask the stars above thee, 
 Why should I not? 
 
To a Friend. 95 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 T WAS not wrong, then, when at first we met 
 
 I hailed you bird of song ; 
 Not yours the poet's dower, you said, — and yet 
 You found it was, ere long. 
 
 We cannot always read ourselves aright. 
 
 Or count our gifts by name ; 
 But wheresoe'er there burns one spark of light. 
 
 There too may be a flame. 
 
 And wheresoe'er is traced a golden vein. 
 
 There let a mine be sought ; 
 God gives nor spark of fire, nor tender strain, 
 
 Nor touch of gold, for nought. 
 
 England has need of poets in these days. 
 When bad is oft her best; 
 
 Their voices aye ring true through blame or praise- 
 Lift yours among the rest. 
 
96 spinning- Song. 
 
 S PINNIN G-SONG 
 From the German. 
 
 TJURRY, hurry, hurry, 
 
 Through the fret and worry, 
 Shuttle flying round the wheel, 
 Drawing threads along the reel. 
 For a maiden's dresses. 
 
 Hurry, hurry, hurry. 
 Through the fret and worry. 
 
 Weave a veil all bright and gay. 
 Fit for her whose wedding-day 
 Time now onward presses. 
 
 Hurry, hurry, hurry. 
 
 Why this fret and worry? 
 
 Many maidens there have been 
 Fair without and foul within, — 
 Bridals are but guesses ! 
 
spinning- Song. 
 
 97 
 
 Hurry, hurry, hurry, 
 
 Quick the shuttle worry. 
 
 For, at last, a maid I 've seen, 
 Fair without and pure within, 
 E'en as her golden tresses. 
 
gS Young T- 
 
 YOUNG T- 
 
 "TN the twelfth !" ah, my hero, then pardon 
 
 I crave from your proud flashing eyes; 
 If I deemed you at school still, O harden 
 Your heart not in angry surprise. 
 Do such red beardless lips, and fair cheeks stained 
 
 with health, 
 Appertain by some right to the roll of the twelfth? 
 
 Will the fingers that met mine in dancing 
 Draw the sword with a warrior's hand? 
 Will the voice through which laughter is glancing 
 Grow hoarse with the words of command ? 
 Is the glory of strength, and young intellect's wealth, 
 Offered all to the service and need of the twelfth ? 
 
Young T . 99 
 
 When the drum and the trumpet are calling 
 
 Each soldier to battle for right, 
 When the bullets like hailstones are falling, 
 When victory crowneth the fight — 
 May a thought that is creeping towards me in stealth 
 Float over the banner you bear in the twelfth. 
 
 May the twelve who began the great battle, 
 
 Who wrestled that we might withstand 
 All the chains of the devil that rattle, 
 And fetter man's soul to his hand; 
 May these fishermen twelve, who built God's common- 
 wealth. 
 Still in spirit watch over my boy in the twelfth. 
 
Misconceptions. 
 
 MISCONCEPTIONS. 
 
 T THOUGHT you loved me when your eyes 
 
 Bent down to laugh in mine — 
 I thought Love's instinct, keen and wise, 
 
 Could not mistake Love's sign. 
 Ah me ! ah me ! you loved me not — 
 
 And I, in pride, my love forgot. 
 
 I thought you did not love me, dear. 
 
 When graver grew your face : — 
 I did not know — just then- — that fear 
 
 In true love has a place. 
 Alas ! alas ! I rose in haste — 
 Such love as that has bitter taste. 
 
 I thought, I thought the world was gay 
 
 With rifts of golden light ; 
 I know not why, but since that day 
 
 All things appear less bright. 
 Ah, dear, my friend, come back and see 
 If this be love 'twixt you and me. 
 
Somebody s Eyes. 
 
 SOMEBODY'S EYES. 
 
 QOMEBODY'S eyes flashed across me one day, 
 
 Brilliant and bright as a diamond's ray^ 
 Clear as the wells wherein truth doth abide ; 
 Somebody — why did you turn them aside? 
 
 Somebody looked up with tenderest glance, 
 Somebody looked down askance — askance, 
 Somebody sighed when I went away, 
 Somebody smiled the following day. 
 
 Somebody blushes and somebody pales, 
 Somebody ventures, but — somebody fails : — 
 Somebody — ah ! well, he is not too wise 
 Who stakes all his hopes upon somebody's eyes ! 
 
For Palm Sunday. 
 
 FOR PALM SUNDAY. 
 To Frances. 
 
 "l T 7"E do not know what life may mean — this twisted, 
 "^ * tangled skein ; 
 But by-and-by the Master Hand shall draw it clear 
 
 and plain. 
 Our sorrows here will cease anon, the tempest change 
 
 to calm ; 
 And they who bore the cross below, above shall wear 
 
 the palm ! 
 
 We do not know what love implies — that sweetest, 
 
 saddest gift ; 
 But presently the glare shall cease, the heavy clouds 
 
 shall lift. 
 If under foot the road is rough, the sky is clear 
 
 above ; 
 And they who love through life on earth, in heaven 
 
 shall live in love ! 
 
 London, Palm Sunday, 1877. 
 
Laurels versus Roses. 103 
 
 LAURELS VERSUS ROSES. 
 
 ' ' et ces lauriers, doivent ils remplafer vos roses 
 
 bleues." — From a letter. 
 
 "TiraiCH, which shall it be?" 
 
 They are asking of me, 
 "Is the Laurel or Rose to be thine?" — 
 
 For Love, stands the Rose, 
 
 While the Laurel-tree grows, 
 For Success, — 'tis its token and sign. 
 
 The Laurels are bright 
 
 With their evergreen light. 
 And through all the seasons they last ; 
 
 While the roses are dead, 
 
 And their petals are shed, 
 Or ever the summer is past. 
 
 Then were it not wise 
 To choose as one's prize 
 The smooth-shining garland so fair? 
 
I04 Laurels versus Roses. 
 
 To walk through the world 
 With one's love-locks all curled, 
 And the laurel set high in one's hair? 
 
 Ah ! no, for we hold 
 
 That a Rose-bud, though old. 
 
 Is worth more than a mere shrivelled leaf. 
 Dead roses smell sweet. 
 And dead loves cannot cheat. 
 
 Though the life of them both be so brief. 
 
 But a Laurel alone 
 
 Is to bread as a stone. 
 Or as poetry turned into prose ;— 
 
 Yet those who don both 
 
 Unto neither are loth 
 Where groweth the Laurier Rose. 
 
Casuals. 105 
 
 CASUALS. 
 
 A Picture in the Royal Academy (1874), by 
 
 Luke Fildes, A.R.A. 
 
 TTUDDLED together, and hated, and hiss'd. 
 
 Hungry, and tired, and cold. 
 Looming like "Sphinxes" through drizzle and mist, 
 
 Children and people old ; 
 Shivering they stand, 'neath the wan gas-light. 
 
 Praying for shelter and board, 
 Waiting long hours through the chill damp night. 
 
 For a bed in the casual ward. 
 
 Oh ! was there nothing that they could have done ? — 
 
 Or nothing that we can do 
 To save these souls from the fate they have won. 
 
 And help them to work life through? 
 Or will this riddle — this enigma of life — 
 
 Not be solved till "The Great Overthrow"?* 
 When, at last, we shall learn the true reason of strife, 
 
 And as we are known, we shall know ! 
 
 * " Dumb, wet, silent horrors ! Sphinxes set up against that 
 dead wall, and no one likely to he at the pains of solving them 
 until the General Overthrow." — Extract from letter of the 
 late Charles Dickens. See Forster's Life of Dickens, vol. iii. 
 H 
 
io6 A Sonnet, from a Spanish Idea. 
 
 A SONNET, FROM A SPANISH IDEA. 
 
 Cada uno para si. Dios parce todos. — Spanish Proverb. 
 
 ly ifY soul, the sun is sinking o'er the sea, — 
 
 ^ Earth's purple shadows rise, — less fair, less bright, 
 
 Less tinged with hope and strength, less full of light 
 
 Must each remaining moment be to thee. 
 
 Then let me haste, my soul, lest aught there be 
 
 Left uncompleted of my Task. For Night, 
 
 Wherein no more shall men go forth to fight. 
 
 Is slowly, surely creeping over me. 
 
 Ah ! why are men so fitful ? We may speed 
 
 With frantic footsteps, at a breathless pace, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain, through each flowery mead, 
 
 Up hill, down vale — for just a little space. 
 
 And then we drop asleep — asleep indeed — 
 
 While steady Time plods on, and wins the race. 
 
 Pau, January 30, 1875. 
 
Die Wacht am Rhein. 107 
 
 DIE WACHT AM RHEIN. 
 The First Anniversary of Sedan. 
 
 r\ SHOUT! shout! shout! 
 
 Thro' thy battled-for line, O thou many-voiced 
 Rhine, 
 From the Drachenfels rock to the grim Lurlei cave 
 Let the music re-echo, the war-banners wave : 
 For this day was the foretaste, Sedan was the sign 
 Of the speedy fulfilment of Prussia's design. 
 
 Then shout ! shout ! shout ! 
 For the mighty deeds done, that made Germany one : 
 For the Fritz, who returns to his faithful Lolotte, 
 For the husbands unharm'd and the brothers unshot, 
 While the mother clasps proudly her warrior-son : 
 
 Yet watch ! watch ! watch ! 
 Not for smoke of the foeman, or cause of offence. 
 Not for gain or for gold, for assault or defence : 
 
io8 Die Wacht am Rhein. 
 
 But for measures of mercy large sorrows to heal, 
 
 For all wrongs to see righted, for justice to deal, 
 
 And for peace and prosperity, wisdom, and weal, 
 
 To guard ! guard ! guard ! 
 
 With thy bulwarks of vine, O thou bravely-won Rhine. 
 
 O weep, weep, weep. 
 Full of blood and of brine, O thou wan-willow'd Rhine, 
 Where thy waters heave sadly 'neath Strasburg's tall 
 
 spire, 
 And thy Michaelmas daisies grow pale in the mire : 
 For the fair banks of France shall no longer be thine. 
 And Alsace and Lorraine their loved birthright resign. 
 
 O weep, weep, weep, 
 For the count and the cost, for the fire and the frost, 
 For the hearts that are broken, the wounds that 
 
 have bled, 
 Ah! for those who have fallen, for those who are 
 dead, 
 For the war, in which all except honour was lost : 
 
 Yet watch ! watch ! watch ! 
 Not for rays of revenge in the tear's glistening gleams, 
 Not for moments of vengeance, for future war-dreams, 
 
Die Wacht am RJtein. 109 
 
 But for strength to strike light, thro' the blackness 
 
 of night, 
 Until France shall resume her first place in the 
 
 fight, 
 Not for greed — but for science, and knowledge, and 
 right. 
 
 O guard ! guard ! guard ! 
 For a strife so divine, a long peace, O loved Rhine. 
 
 COBLENTZ, Sept. 2, 1871. 
 
How Love Glorifies. 
 
 HOW LOVE GLORIFIES. 
 
 A Translation from the German. 
 
 TTOW happy is the man who loves, 
 
 And happier still is he 
 Who is beloved ! — no monarch moves 
 In joy so pure and free. 
 
 Who loves will count a maiden's kiss 
 
 Above all gems and gold, 
 And while her smiles suffice for bliss, 
 
 He'll ne'er grow poor or old. 
 
 The world may run away, or stand 
 Stock-still, or stones may swim. 
 
 Fair heads may bow, and hand loose hand- 
 What matters it to him ! 
 
 "Ah ha!" he cries, "the wind and rain 
 
 Can do us little harm ; 
 No wind can blow our hearts in twain. 
 
 No rain our love alarm. 
 
How Love Glorifies. 
 
 And through his veins there flashes too 
 The crimson stream of health ; 
 
 He dances all his lifetime through 
 Glad nature's commonwealth. 
 
 By angels fed, he has no fear, 
 Sweet slumbers close his eyes, 
 
 And heav'nly messengers appear 
 With flowers of paradise. 
 
 In God's own joy that man shall dwell 
 
 Who' sees in earthly love 
 A type, a sign, a parallel 
 
 Of that "to be" above. 
 
Only a Word. 
 
 ONLY A WORD. 
 
 TS it so hard to say, 
 Dearest, my friend, 
 Only one word that may 
 
 Blunderings end? 
 Must that word be, my dear. 
 
 Dead ere its birth — 
 Ne'er to be uttered here, 
 
 Never on earth? 
 
 What is it holds its course? 
 
 Anger? or Pride? 
 Makes your lips mute perforce, - 
 
 Keeps your tongue tied? 
 Ah ! men have died, I fear, 
 
 Girls, so I've heard, 
 Just for the want of, dear — 
 
 Want of a word ! 
 
 London, July 24, 1875. 
 
Prosper Merim^e's Grave. 113 
 
 On Coming Unexpectedly upon Prosper 
 Merim£e's Grave in the Protestant part 
 OF THE Cemetery at Cannes. 
 
 T YING here— 
 
 Here, in the sight of the purple hills, 
 
 Within sound of the rolling wave, 
 'Neath the breath of the golden daffodils,- — 
 
 Can this be Merimee's grave? 
 
 Lying here — 
 
 Here, in the midst of a multitude 
 
 Of many a country and race, 
 Exiles asleep in a holy rood, — 
 
 Is this, too, Merimee's place? 
 
 Lying here — 
 
 He, whose whole life was gloomy and sad, 
 
 Who wearily drew his last breath j — 
 Do glories like these now render him glad. 
 As he lies underneath them in death? 
 
114 
 
 Prosper Merim^e's Grave. 
 
 Lying here — 
 
 He, who in life was a lonely man, 
 
 To an unknown, pledged his vow — 
 Does She ever come hither, his grave-stone to scan?- 
 
 An " Inconnue " stands by it now ! 
 
Patience. 115 
 
 P ATI ENC E! 
 
 "Oh! leave me alone — DO" 
 
 pATIENCE ! when the head is aching, 
 
 And the weary days drag on, 
 Patience, when the heart is breaking. 
 
 Crushed beneath its load of wrong. 
 Patience ! — oh ! a truce to preaching 
 
 Thus to souls whence joy hath fled ; 
 Moons won't fall for all our reaching, 
 
 Nor will watching wake the dead. 
 
 Leave me, then, kind friends and tender, 
 
 Leave me with my grief, alone. 
 Morning must to midnight render, 
 
 But the yesterday 's my own ! 
 And, may be, in days that follow, 
 
 I shall find, as ye have found, 
 Patience not an utterance hollow, 
 
 But a Peace by Silence crown'd ! 
 
 FONTAINEBLEAU, Sept. 25, 1875. 
 
ii6 An Impromptu. 
 
 AN IMPROMPTU. 
 
 T REMEMBER the day I first saw you, 
 *■ Dear friend, with the firank, tender eyes. 
 And I longed for an artist to draw you 
 As you stood there beneath the blue skies. 
 
 The sunlight was rippling all over 
 Your beautiful golden-brown hair ; 
 
 And the breath of the freshly-mown clover 
 Was scenting the tender spring air. 
 
 For your face has a history in it, 
 
 A story untold without doubt. 
 And perhaps you have yet to begin it 
 
 Or perhaps 'tis already worked out. 
 
 But whichever it is, I can read it 
 (Tearful eyes see so clearly, so well), 
 
 Though the words of a Poet were needed 
 The whole of that story to tell. 
 
 Whit Monday, 1873. 
 
Nur Blumen. 117 
 
 NUR BLUMEN. 
 Written on a Packet of Ws**»b*s5, sent to me 
 
 FROM Botzen. 
 
 ATUR Blumen — only Flowers, 
 
 Travelling thus o'er land and sea ; 
 Nur Blumen — yet strange powers, 
 Somehow, must about them be. 
 
 London vanishes before me 
 
 As their curling leaves I touch, — 
 
 And a fresh sensation o'er me 
 Comes with wUd impetuous rush. 
 
 Houses sinkj then swift uprearing. 
 Turn to glistening mountain heads, 
 
 And a silvery mist appearing, 
 Softly through the valley spreads. 
 
 Through the mist I hear the tinkle, 
 
 As it were, of cattle bells. 
 And a thousand blossoms twinkle 
 
 Many-hued adown the dells. 
 
ii8 
 
 Nur Blumen. 
 
 Through the mist — nay, halt, an end there. 
 
 Alchemy is dead and gone, — 
 But the magic of my sender 
 
 Lives for aye in kindness done ! 
 
 London, July i, 1876. 
 
 
The Happiest Day. 119 
 
 THE HAPPIEST DAY. 
 
 r\ GOLDEN Day! 
 ^ O silvery Night! 
 Gayer than gay, 
 
 Brighter than bright- 
 All my years count — 
 
 All my past bliss ; 
 Not their amount 
 
 Equalleth this I 
 
 FONTAINEBLEAU, Sept. 26, 1875. 
 
Bells at Christmas-tide. 
 
 BELLS AT CHRISTMAS-TIDE. 
 
 ■pv ING— ding— dong— 
 How the bells ring on 
 
 Through, all through the Christmas night; 
 Love, Love is sweet, 
 Thus the bells repeat. 
 
 Love is ever true and bright ! 
 
 Ding — ding — dong — 
 Now the bells go -wrong — 
 
 Always wrong since one sad day, 
 Since Love grew cold — 
 Hark ! the bells are tolled. 
 
 Dying spirit — pass away ! 
 
 D ing — ding-dong — 
 Yet the bells ring strong, 
 
 Strong to tell another tale — 
 Tale of truer Love, 
 To be found above, 
 
 Where no lovers ever wail ! 
 
A Sea- Gull on a Wet Day. 
 
 A SEA-GULL ON A WET DAY. 
 
 A LITTLE space he swims aloft, a little way he 
 flies, 
 With flapping wings that strive and strain to bear him 
 
 to the skies ; 
 But, sea-bird though he be, the mist, the billows, and 
 
 the rain, 
 All tossing, heaving, drive him back;— he soars to 
 sink again. 
 
 And so it is, it seems to me, that we go on in life, 
 We toil and moil, and love and lose, and fight our 
 
 way through strife, 
 Now getting on a little step, then slipping back once 
 
 more, 
 To work afresh, and do again what we had done 
 
 before. 
 
 It seems a faint and foolish thing, and yet it is not so, 
 For work is work, whate'er its kind, as birds and 
 
 angels know. 
 And if we only do our best until the waves are past. 
 The sky hath prizes — See, the bird is flying straight 
 
 at last. 
 I 
 
Only in Dreams. 
 
 ONLY IN D REAM S. 
 
 /^NLY in dreams, my love, only in dreams 
 
 We two may meet again here, so it seems ; 
 Death hath claimed thee, my love, — life still is mine. 
 Why could not Fate us the same fate assign? 
 
 Yet still be brave, my love, yet still be brave : 
 Faith must be stronger than death or the grave j 
 And when are ended all life's sorry schemes. 
 Love shall meet Love again, where are no dreams ! 
 
A Pancake- Maker, — in Paris. 123 
 
 A PANCAKE-MAKER,— IN PARIS. 
 
 UNDER an archway he stands, — every day he is 
 there, 
 The little old pancake-man, with his tins, and his 
 
 cooking-ware ; 
 Tossing his batter aloft, as he brays out many a yarn 
 Concerning the making of crepes, which he designates 
 d, la MacMahon. 
 
 " First, there are eggs to be sifted, — the country's 
 
 best silver and gold ; 
 Next, for some flummery-mixture, or else the matter 
 
 won't hold ; 
 Stir it about with sugar, then pop it into the pan. 
 And out comes a cr^pe for the Marshal, or — any 
 
 popular man." 
 
 The people around him laugh — " There 's wisdom in 
 
 that !" they cry; 
 For had not old Antoine seen the violets bloom and 
 
 die? 
 The lilies, too, — yet there, still there, with his " voix 
 
 d'Ane," 
 He praises now, and tosses his crepes, — d, la MacMahon! 
 
 Rue St. Honore, March 5, 1877. 
 
124 Something Beyond. 
 
 SOMETHING BEYOND. 
 
 "IT THAT! — is there still then something beyond — 
 Even for you who have scaled the heights, 
 Sounded the depths and counted the lights, 
 Numbered the moods that hold souls in bond — 
 Even for you is there something beyond? 
 
 Something beyond the world's esteem — 
 Somehow young hearts to touch and reach, 
 Somewhere fresh minds to train and teach ; — 
 
 This was a nobler work, you deem, 
 
 Than tracing out a life's whole scheme 1 
 
 Alp behind Alp still upward doth yearn — 
 And which is the highest we scarce can tell, 
 Save they who have climbed them, and they know 
 well ; 
 But a cry, it is said, each re-echoes in turn — 
 So speak from your Alp — we will listen and learn ! 
 
 Sept. 10, 1876. 
 
Aspirations. 125 
 
 ASPIRATIONS. 
 
 "T^IS hard to see that green is blue and gold, 
 That cloth is woven out of many threads ; 
 We hold one texture, and we see one hue, 
 And dream not of the mixture underneath. 
 'Tis hard to prove that what sounds right is wrong. 
 That doubt is not suspicion, and half truths 
 Are often more pernicious than whole lies : 
 And yet, my friend, these tasks are lighter far 
 Than one imposed on me ; I know not how 
 To hold aright these threads of diverse shades. 
 Nor how from cadenced feet to strike a chord 
 Of answering thought. The strings get mixed ; now 
 
 blue 
 Predominates — I seek, but find no gold 
 (And O for gold, so perfect, pure, and clean. 
 To ring its sharp metallic touch through life. 
 Excluding meaner metals) ; I 'm not sure 
 That I am right, but then I do not think 
 That you are either, though your words sound best. 
 
126 A sp.irations. 
 
 For if a woman, as you say, becomes 
 A nobler woman by a noble man — 
 If when a man is strong and great and good. 
 He takes and makes his own equivalent, 
 'Tis well ; but for the rest, not only those 
 Whose fair expectancy is never gained, 
 But they who think to gather while in truth 
 They lose, who dip their thirsty souls within 
 A broken cistern, waterless and dry — 
 Alas ! what profit bringeth life to them ? 
 Such dainty blossoms wind their tendrils round 
 The plants sown tall beside them, till they drag 
 Each other down, because they never learnt 
 To shoot their branches upward, making shade 
 For tender buds beneath. Or else their eyes 
 Had gazed together at God's clouds and skies, 
 And, sep'rate or united, they had strained 
 The fulness and perfection of all things. 
 
 For man who bears a woman on his arm 
 May touch the highest ceihng, and her breath 
 Shall blow the cobwebs back, and she shall grow 
 In stature, till her hands, stretched out, may reach 
 And raise her sisters ; for by woman best 
 
Aspirations. 127 
 
 Shall succour come to woman. There 's the truth, 
 
 The kernel of the matter. For this cause, 
 
 I say, is woman's, and by her alone 
 
 Can come redemption. Let the men 
 
 Be strong, and give us women larger thoughts 
 
 And nobler aims, and so the end shall be 
 
 A happier life to them; for good, like love, 
 
 Is never lost, but still rebounds in good 
 
 To him who gives. 
 
 My friend, forgive me if I breathe a thought 
 
 Too great for words like these — and yet I think 
 
 The primal recognition of this truth 
 
 Comes not amiss. If He, the Man of men, 
 
 Who knew not wedded love, but claimed and called 
 
 All women sisters, spake He not indeed 
 
 For time and generations yet unborn ? 
 
 God makes us sisters, man may make us wives. 
 
 The wide world's sisters, sisters of all time. 
 
 Each century of noble women lays 
 
 Its treasures at your feet ; the wise and good 
 
 Have lived that ye, their last-born sisters then 
 
 Might learn of them what hateful ways to shun. 
 
 Which way the light shines clearest, truth comes best, 
 
128 Aspirations. 
 
 Till, self-dependent, ye have learned to win 
 Rare freedom, courage, reverence, and peace, 
 And love enough to cheer your homely ways. 
 Ah, help then, living sisters, all who rise 
 Above your fellows ; let not dead mute mouths 
 Seem stronger than your loving lips and lives. 
 Let woman understand and know herself, 
 And then there shall be men to see and know, 
 And love and live for real things and true — 
 No longer for a creature warped and bent 
 By Use, Conventionality, and Time. 
 
 Yet there is one 
 Who, out of sorrow for the loss of her 
 His perfect wife, and for her honour claims 
 Equality for women. What if once 
 His voice hath trembled, tears obscured his sight. 
 At thought of her the symbol of her sex. 
 It matters not. Her mem'ry gives the world 
 A woman's champion, and through years to come 
 An angel woman with the torch of Love, 
 A large-brained man with skilful, keen-edged words 
 Shall stand for ever in the foremost ranks 
 Regenerating women. 
 
 March i, 1871. 
 
The Name of Kate. 129 
 
 THE NAME OF KATE. 
 
 "T^HE name of Kate — the name of Kate, 
 
 It was to him a name of joy — 
 Some names we love and some we hate, 
 This one he loved when quite a boy. 
 
 The years rolled on, to man's estate 
 He came, and fain would win a wife ; 
 
 He sought his fate, he found a Kate, 
 And swears to love her all his life ! 
 
 yanuary I, 1875. 
 
130 TJie Songs that were Sung Long Ago. 
 
 THE SONGS THAT WERE SUNG LONG 
 AGO. 
 
 "IT THEN morning is waking, and all things are 
 ^ "' thrilling 
 
 With music, and laughter, and sunshine, and glee, 
 When the voices of children come trickling and 
 trilling 
 Through a chink in the shutter to silence and me, 
 I wake too, but sighing, for never, I know. 
 Can I now hear the songs that were sung long ago. 
 
 When night closes round me, and daylight is fleeting. 
 And darkness is creeping all over the earth, 
 
 And the stars overhead are all silently meeting. 
 And hushed are the children, and mute is their mirth. 
 
 I sleep too, but sighing ; and ghosts come and go — 
 
 The ghosts of the songs that were sung long ago. 
 
The Songs that were Sung Long Ago. 13 1- 
 
 When daylight and midnight together have vanished 
 
 To visions of jasper, and jacinth, and gold. 
 When the sea is no more, and when sorrow is 
 
 banished. 
 When dark things are cleared, and all secrets are told. 
 I shall rise up, and, smiling, for there then, I trow, 
 I shall hear the same songs that were sung long ago. 
 
132 A Longing. 
 
 A LONGING. 
 
 r\ H ! that hearts could grasp, however faintly, 
 ^^ Just one fragment of the soul's desire ; — 
 Oh ! that hands could hold in rapture saintly. 
 Just one breathing of celestial fire ! 
 
 Bellosguardo, 1865. 
 
To Lisette. 133 
 
 TO LISETTE. 
 
 'T^HEYsay that the summer has left us, 
 
 That winter is coming apace, 
 That November's chill touch has bereft us 
 
 Of all the year's glory and grace ; 
 But somehow I cannot believe them, 
 
 While one thing remains to me yet, — 
 I suppose you were born to deceive them, 
 
 You little spring-blossom, Lisette ! 
 
 For the breath of the roses still lingers 
 
 About you the whole of the day ; 
 And the touch of your little pink fingers 
 
 Is softer than zephyrs in May; 
 And your voice has the notes of a starling, 
 
 All trickling and tender and clear : 
 But I don't think you'll guess yet, my darling, 
 
 What makes it so sweet to my ear. 
 
134 To Lisette. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis because you are merely 
 
 A dear little six-year old child, 
 Or perhaps 'tis because you are nearly 
 
 As tall as a reed, and as wild : 
 Or perhaps 'tis for cheating the seasons, 
 
 For making us winter forget. 
 Or perhaps — ^here 's the best of all reasons- 
 
 Perhaps 'tis I love you, Lisette ! 
 
A Farewell. 135 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 TTTE come and go — clasp hands and greet, 
 * Then let them drop once more ; — 
 Two hearts have hardly time to meet, 
 Two waves to reach the shore. 
 
 It's always thus, the kind and wise 
 
 Ne'er tarry with us long; — 
 The roses drop, — but, lift your eyes. 
 
 The weeds all round grow strong! 
 
 Cannes, December 10, 1S76. 
 
136 A Greeting. 
 
 A GREETING. 
 
 
 
 MUSICIAN, young musician, 
 Wherefore with light twinkling feet, 
 Dainty hands, and movements sweet, 
 Dost thou still before me fleet? 
 
 What have I to do with thee ? 
 
 What hast thou to do with me? 
 That thy soul with mine doth keep 
 Vigil, while with meanings, deep 
 
 Thoughts of thine my spirit thrill. 
 
 Striking strings that vibrate still, 
 Touching aye some hidden key 
 With the chord of sympathy. 
 
 II. 
 
 But, musician, rare musician, 
 I can never understand 
 Why thy larger heart hath spanned, 
 When with octave-stretch thine hand 
 Trembles 'neath its passion grand ; 
 
A Greeting. 137 
 
 Or when softer thoughts sublime 
 Echo back some childish chime, 
 Making musical each rhyme, 
 
 As the sea retakes bright the sand ; 
 Ah, musician, sweet musician, 
 
 That strange sea is still less far 
 
 From thee than my best thoughts are, 
 For its rippling voices tell 
 Back the song thou lovest well ; 
 
 And the birds know more than I 
 
 Of the joy of melody 
 
 And its power; and each star 
 Flings down thoughts that cannot jar 
 Harmony, nor music mar : 
 
 E'en the gold-dust-powdered bee 
 
 Hums thee many a catch and glee : 
 And the reeds and water-grass 
 Wordless songs in token pass 
 
 Of their kinship unto thee : 
 
 But my voice doth strive in vain 
 To call back one tender strain, 
 To ring out the still refrain 
 
 Of life's constant jubilee. 
 
 K 
 
138 A Greeting. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ah, musician, great musician, 
 Thou hast felt at least in part. 
 Through the beatings of thine heart. 
 
 What the Psalmist did of old ; 
 Tell me, dost thou ever hear 
 Heavenly music in thine ear. 
 
 Struck from angels' harps of gold ? 
 Do the winds not waft thee oft, 
 Fragments of that choral soft. 
 Chanted evermore aloft, 
 
 By God's singers manifold? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah, musician, my musician, 
 
 This is why I dare not tell 
 
 All my quivering thoughts to thee ; 
 For beyond earth's quavering glee. 
 Thou hast reached the treble key. 
 
 Trinity of music's spell : 
 
 Poet, bard, creator, thou, 
 Triple crown upon thy brow. 
 
 Yet with loving hands stretched out 
 
 Castest largesses about; 
 
A Greeting. 139 
 
 To this one a wider creed, 
 Yonder, tender help in need, 
 
 Raising hope and clearing doubt ; 
 
 For thine eyes, which catch God's light 
 Strongly through song's second sight, 
 Separate the wrong from right. 
 
 As thine ears false notes from true ; 
 And thine artist soul would fain 
 Cause sweet melody to gain 
 Many a grovelling heart from pain. 
 
 Thereby making this world through 
 
 Worthier of our Father's view. 
 
 V. 
 Ah, musician, God's musician. 
 
 Knowledge ceaseth, but thine art 
 
 Hath eternal counterpart 
 
 In all great things that are past. 
 In all sweet things fleeting fast. 
 In all God's things near at last. 
 
 Music's mystic evidence 
 
 Of our nature's highest sense. 
 Of our spirit's deepest need 
 From all discord to be freed ; 
 
140 A Greeting. 
 
 Music is omnipotent. 
 
 Symbol of perfection sent, 
 
 Joining earth and sky and sea. 
 
 As the symphony divine, 
 
 Makes from mingled sounds one line 
 Of unbroken harmony ; 
 
 Wherefore raise thine antiphon, 
 
 Loving, helpful, and anon 
 
 Miriam's timbrel, Asaph's lyre, 
 Joshua's trumpets, angels' choir. 
 
 Seraph's lute and mart5T:'s song. 
 
 Shall life's melody prolong, 
 
 Ringing back earth's semitone 
 In a full chord from the throne. 
 
 Filling every space and rest 
 
 With the chorus of the blest ; 
 Till the K5rrie'iS need is past, 
 And the Credo's known at last, 
 Till the anthem, with a blast. 
 Bursts from God's cathedral vast ; 
 
 Till the Sanctus need not soar, 
 
 For the singers go before — 
 
 Go before, and take their place 
 
 In God's temple, through God's grace 
 
 There to chant for evermore. 
 
Love-Song. 141 
 
 LOVE-SONG. 
 
 Translation from the German. 
 
 1\ TY baby-love, my little lover, 
 
 With fingers fair as flowers in May, 
 With eyes like stars that shine above her, 
 And fairy feet that flit away. 
 
 Come back, O baby, queen of beauty — 
 For slaves toil not without reward — 
 
 I've done your work, now do your duty, 
 And give the pay your lips aff'ord. 
 
 You will not ? Then I give you warning, 
 Your slave will be a thief — and more; 
 
 Come, kiss me ere to-morrow morning. 
 Or else a theft you will deplore. 
 
142 To F- 
 
 TO F- 
 
 "PIGHTING, yes, fighting, dear, 
 
 All the day long; 
 Truth against falsehood, dear, 
 Right against wrong. 
 
 Does one grow weary, dear? 
 
 Yes, now and then, 
 Weary of women, dear. 
 
 Weary of men. 
 
 What does one do then, dear? 
 
 Fight to the end, 
 God for one's helper, dear. 
 
 You for one's friend. 
 
In the Churchyard — Cannes. 143 
 
 IN THE CHURCHYARD— CANNES. 
 
 OLUE, blue is the sea, 
 
 But bluer still were his eyes — 
 Grey, grey it must be 
 Wherever the Shadow lies. 
 
 Red, red is the rose, 
 
 But ruddier far was his cheek — 
 Pale, pale are the snows 
 
 That drop on the mountain peak. 
 
 Straight, straight as a palm. 
 
 So straightly his course he ran — 
 
 Strange, strange is the Calm 
 That falleth on fallen man. 
 
 Cold, cold are earth's showers. 
 And colder is Death's dark wave ;- 
 
 Yet fair, fair are the flowers 
 That grow all over his grave ! 
 
 Cannes, February 15, 1878. 
 
144 The Widow's Son. 
 
 THE WIDOW'S SON. 
 A Ballad. 
 
 A CROSS the bay, at break of day, 
 
 Were cries of bitterness, 
 Upon a rock a brave ship lay, 
 
 A ship in dire distress ! 
 The people gathering on the shore, 
 
 'Mid clouds of driven sand, 
 
 Could hear above the tempest's roar 
 
 Strange gusts of wild command — 
 
 " Oh ! rotten ropes. 
 
 Ah 1 broken hopes. 
 
 Death falls on all our band !" 
 
 Then out stepped one, a widow's son, 
 
 A fair young fellow, he : 
 " What God hath set us must be done. 
 
 Oh ! who will sail with me ? " 
 He chose him one, he chose him two, 
 
 And ropes of strongest make, 
 
The Widow's Son. 145 
 
 And swift across the waves he flew, 
 And loud and clear he spake — 
 "Row, comrades, row, 
 Death yawns below. 
 And precious life 's at stake." 
 
 The ship they gain, the rock they reach, 
 
 And in the noontide sun. 
 The ship's crew, on the friendly beach, 
 
 Are standing every one. 
 But where, ah ! where 's the widow's hope ? 
 
 And where his comrades twain ? 
 The little boat, the trusty rope. 
 Were never seen again :• — 
 But still they say. 
 At break of day, 
 They hear the billows, sing, 
 "Row, comrades, row. 
 For death lies low, 
 And God rules every thing !" 
 
146 The Old Story. 
 
 THE OLD STORY. 
 
 DEYOND the hill, behind the mill, 
 ^^ In the days of long ago. 
 There lived a maiden fair to see. 
 
 But she was coy, you know; 
 And first 'twas "Yes," and then 'twas "No," 
 
 And then she 'd run away. 
 And so she'd flout the men about — 
 
 " For girls are girls," they say. 
 
 At last, it chanced, one sued her hand — 
 
 She looked at it, and said, 
 " I '11 give it to the best of you, 
 
 Or else I'll ne'er be wed. 
 The best of you, the worst of you. 
 
 What matters it to me? — 
 I'm sure to fret whate'er I get. 
 
 For girls are girls, you see." 
 
The Old Story. 147 
 
 Within each home, inside each house, 
 
 Such maidens blossom still. 
 And many a manly heart doth ache 
 
 With waiting on their will; — 
 For first they will, and then they won't, 
 
 Like the maid of long ago, 
 And then they flirt with ways expert, — 
 
 " For girls are girls," you know ! 
 
 June 12, 1874. 
 
148 A Lullaby. 
 
 A LULLABY. 
 
 QLEEP, my lady-love, smile and sleep, 
 ^ Softly, softly, 
 
 While the stars their vigils keep 
 
 Softly, softly. 
 Till the night's dark hours are past, 
 
 And the day begins to break — 
 When the birds their voices raise. 
 
 Then wake, my lady-love, wake. 
 
 Sigh, my lady-love, sob and sigh. 
 
 Sadly, sadly, 
 While thy lover is not nigh, 
 
 Sadly, sadly j 
 But when he returns to thee, 
 
 With his winning, wooing wile. 
 Let thy dismal fancies flee. 
 Then smile, my lady-love, smile. 
 
A Lullaby. 
 
 149 
 
 Dream, my lady-love, hope and dream. 
 
 Sweetly, sweetly; 
 Thy thoughts be brighter than now they seem, 
 
 Sweetly, sweetly. 
 For morn than night is more perfect and pure, 
 
 And the sun than the stars above, 
 And all that is sure while earth doth endure 
 Is, lady-love, only love. 
 
150 Good-Morning i 
 
 GO OD-MO RN IN G! 
 
 pOOD-MORNING, all ye birds and bees; 
 ^ Good-morning, all ye skies and seas ; 
 Good-morning, sun; — good-morning, day; — 
 Good-morning, all the sweets of May ! 
 
 Good-morning, friends; — good-morrow, foes;- 
 Good-morning, joys; — good-morrow, woes; — 
 Let every heart be blithe and gay 
 To welcome in the month of May ! 
 
 Good-morrow, all that's sore or sad; — 
 Good-morning, all that 's good or glad ; — 
 Earth flings her wintry shroud away. 
 For Heaven's self is here in May ! 
 
Floating. 1 5 1 
 
 FLOAT I NG. 
 
 ■pLOATING down the river, 
 Gleaming through the air, 
 Silver bubbles quiver. 
 
 Golden sun-motes glare ; 
 But when straining fingers 
 
 Would these glories grasp, 
 Water, water lingers 
 
 Only, in our clasp. 
 
 Floating all around us. 
 
 Through the spirit's mist. 
 Myriad dreams surround us. 
 
 Myriad hopes exist ; 
 We may hear them chiming, 
 
 Bell-like, each to each ; — 
 But to catch their rhyming 
 
 Is beyond our reach. 
 
152 Floating. 
 
 Waves o'er waves are curling 
 
 Back from weary feet ; 
 Winds are ever whirling 
 
 Rifts of vision sweet ; 
 But the music's meaning 
 
 Lost is in the sound ; 
 And a life's long gleaming 
 
 Seas of Time have drowned. 
 
 Oh ! this strange uplifting, 
 
 Oh ! this world of wings, 
 We ourselves are drifting 
 
 Unto higher things ; 
 Drifting clouds we sunder, 
 
 Singing as we soar, 
 Till we, filled with wonder, 
 
 Reach the heavenly shore ! 
 
CHRISTMAS, NEW YEAR, VALENTINE, 
 AND BIRTHDAY VERSES 
 
A Christmas Carol. 155 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL FOR MASTERS 
 AND MEN. 
 
 Dedicated to the Rev. F. A. J. Hervey. 
 
 r^VER the woods and their wailing, 
 ^ Into the hall and the hearth, 
 The sound of a song comes sailing 
 
 Thro' the laughter and dancing and mirth : 
 "Be gentle, be just. 
 For low in the dust 
 Lies the Lord of all Heaven and Earth." 
 
 Over the snow that is falling 
 
 Thick on the cottages white, 
 A message comes calling, calling, 
 To those who can hearken aright — 
 "Be loyal, be true, 
 For lo ! unto you 
 A King has been crown'd in the night!" 
 
iS6 
 
 A Christinas Carol. 
 
 Over the earth and the ocean, 
 
 Wherever, whoever we be; 
 There are meanings for all in each motion, 
 And carols for you and for me : — 
 "For a Babe was born 
 On this glorious morn, 
 Both Master and Man is He ! " 
 
A Christmas Greeting. 157 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GREETING. 
 
 'IPHE sands of Time are running out, 
 
 The Year is growing old, 
 A shroud of snow lies close about, 
 
 And all is white — and cold. — 
 Yet lift your eyes above the Earth, 
 
 Heaven's doors are set ajar; — 
 For Death is swallowed up in Birth, 
 
 Where shines the Christmas Star ! 
 
 "Let out the old, let in the new," 
 
 The Past is dead and gone; 
 " Ring out the false, ring in the true,'' 
 
 The Future strideth on. 
 Though all the world be dim with mist, 
 
 Yet starry are the skies. 
 And bells are ringing clear, I wist. 
 
 Above our sobs and cries. 
 
 There rushes out a tangled web, 
 There floats a twisted skein. 
 
 The waves are bearing on their ebb, 
 More than they '11 bring again ; 
 
158 A Christmas Greeting. 
 
 There whirls a host of doubts and fears, 
 
 The hopes of many a day ; 
 There rolleth out a tide of tears ; — 
 
 So flies the year away. 
 
 Here bloweth in, all fresh and free, 
 
 A strange, mysterious air; 
 With bursts of music and of glee, 
 
 With gusts of grief and care ; — 
 It bears a welcome on its wings, 
 
 A greeting on its breath; 
 It speaks to us of coming things — 
 
 Of Love, of Life, of Death ! 
 
 Ah, friends, good friends, the night is chill. 
 
 The stars their watches keep ; — 
 T 'were time I laid aside my quill, 
 
 'Tis time I fell asleep. — 
 Yet, ere I go where all are due, 
 
 I '11 wish with heart sincere, 
 A merry Christmas, sirs, to you. 
 
 And many a glad New Year ! 
 
A Christmas Card. 159 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CARD. 
 (With Heather-bell.) 
 
 TT grew across the purple moor, 
 
 ■*■ Beneath the wintry sky, 
 
 I thought, although the gift be poor, 
 
 It might some want supply; — 
 For who can tell, so far away, 
 How fares my friend this Christmas Day ? 
 
 I wish you all that's sweet and bright, 
 
 I wish you all that's best; 
 I hope your days are full of light, 
 
 I pray your prayers be blest ; 
 I wish you weal, I wish you well. 
 All this would say my heather-bell. 
 
 And if you should this Christmas-time 
 Look back o'er trodden ways. 
 
 Let me repeat that little rhyme 
 We made in other days; — 
 
 Oh ! Love is kind and suffereth long, 
 
 Where Hope is firm and Faith is strong ! 
 
i6o A Christmas Card. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CARD. 
 (With Forget-me-nots.) 
 
 T I THEN the year was young and fair, 
 
 Flowers about her blew, 
 O'er the meadows, everywhere; — 
 
 Some I saved for you. 
 Now the year is growing old, 
 Fields are bare and days are cold. 
 
 But beyond the darkest hour, 
 
 Christmas comes apace; 
 So was born my little flower. 
 
 Gloomy spots to grace; 
 Nor can breathe a heart so sad 
 But that love can make it glad. 
 
 So I wish you, dear, to-day, 
 
 Happiness and health, 
 Hope to cheer, and love to stay, 
 
 Wisdom, weal, and wealth ; 
 And whate'er may be forgot 
 At this time — Forget me not ! 
 
A Christmas Greeting. i6i 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GREETING. 
 (With Trefoils.) 
 
 THE days are dark and dreary, 
 The snow is on the wold, 
 Maybe we both are weary, 
 
 Mayhap we both are cold ; — 
 Yet this, dear Friend, remember, 
 
 Though we are far apart. 
 That love in chill December- — 
 True love will warm the heart. 
 
 I send you Christmas Greeting, 
 
 Good luck, good health, good cheer; 
 I wish that we were meeting, — 
 
 Oh, would that, you were here ! 
 I hope my love unspoken 
 
 Will reach your heart to-day; 
 Good fairies, guard my token, 
 
 And speed it on its way. 
 And as my three-fold blessing 
 
 These Trefoils will renew, 
 I think I 've set you guessing 
 
 Who sent these leaves to you ! 
 
1 62 A Christmas Card. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CARD. 
 (With Maiden-hair.) 
 
 TT grew within a mossy wall, 
 
 I pluck'd it, dear, with care ; — 
 I think that I alone, of all. 
 
 Will send you Maiden-hair 
 At Christmas-tide, at Christmas-tide, 
 
 When much is bleak and bare. 
 
 I think that it will well express 
 
 The wish I would indite. 
 The hope to cheer, the prayer to bless, 
 
 The message sweet and bright; 
 Oh Maiden-hair, oh Maiden-hair, 
 
 Be sure you say it right. 
 
 I think no mortal's eye may gaze 
 On Time's mysterious brow ; 
 
 But may our Love in future days 
 Be green as it is now ; — 
 
 Go, Winter Fern ! go, Winter Fern ! 
 And witness this my vow. 
 
A Christmas Carol. 163 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 (OM Style.) 
 
 LAST Christmas Night, when the stars shone bright, 
 We tramped away up to the Hall ; 
 There was Phil with his flute, and Bill with his lute. 
 
 And Dick, who sang best of us all. 
 And we sang — and we sang — and we sang — 
 Till the mistress peeped out, and the maids ran about. 
 
 And served us with wassail and cake — 
 Maid Moll, neat and wise, pretty Doll, with blue eyes, 
 
 And Bell, who made all our hearts ache, — 
 How they ran — how they ran — how they ran. 
 
 This Christmas Night, when the stars shine bright, 
 
 They will shine upon only me — 
 For Phil has won Moll, and Bill has wed Doll, 
 
 And Dick has the best of the three. 
 And they 're gone — and they 're gone — and they 're 
 
 gone — 
 Gone to travail and toil — to make the pot boil. 
 
 While I alone have not a mate ; — 
 Stay— there 's one at the Hall, who 's the fairest of all. 
 
 Why should I not there try my fate? 
 All alone — all alone — all alone. 
 
164 A Birthday Wish. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 
 (Spring.) 
 
 /^H ! sweet are the woods and the ways of Spring, 
 
 Oh ! fair is each thicket and thorn, 
 Where the daisies peep, and the linnets sing, 
 To welcome so gladsome a morn. 
 
 For ever for thee may blossoms blow, 
 
 For ever thy path be sweet, 
 For ever may roses around thee glow. 
 
 And blue-bells kiss thy feet ; 
 
 Till the day shall dawn when the flowers no more 
 
 Can awaken within thee a thrill — 
 Yet, dear, perchance on the other shore 
 
 Thou wilt keep thy Birthday still ! 
 
A Birthday Wish. 165 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 (Summer.) 
 
 /^H! welcome the morn when thou wast born, 
 
 Oh ! welcome the Summer's prime, 
 When first thy boat was set afloat 
 Across the seas of Time ! 
 
 Yet I do not pray for thy course to-day 
 
 An endless summer-tide ; 
 But that o'er each wave, with a spirit brave, 
 ■ Thy gallant ship may ride. 
 
 So trim thy sails to weather the gales, 
 
 Till every storm be past — 
 Till thou reachest the shore where the sea is no more. 
 
 And the ships are in haven at last. 
 
1 66 A Birthday Wish. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 (Autumn.) 
 
 /^LEAR against the autumn sky 
 
 Stands the purple hill, 
 While upon the tree-tops high 
 
 Leaves are clustering still; — 
 And around, the golden corn 
 Waves, to greet your Birthday morn ! 
 
 Dear, where'er your steps be bent, 
 
 May the way be light; — 
 Dear, howe'er your life be spent, 
 
 May its days be bright; — 
 Gleaning thus, where'er you roam, 
 Sheaves for Heaven's Harvest Home ! 
 
A Birthday Wish. 167 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 ( Winter.) 
 
 /^H ! bare and bleak are the woods and ways 
 
 In the dreary wintry time ; 
 Oh ! short and sharp are the snowy days 
 At the season of frost and rime. 
 
 Yet though all around thee be dismal and cold, 
 
 Still warm are the wishes I sendj 
 For where is the heart that can ever feel old 
 
 While possessing the love of a friend. 
 
 So, dear one, I send my best greetings to thee; 
 
 May these lines my affection convey ; 
 For I always must wish thee, where'er thou may'st be,' 
 
 Many happy returns of the day ! 
 
i68 A Letter of Good Wishes. 
 
 A LETTER OF GOOD WISHES. 
 (With Primroses.) 
 
 TV /TY friend, my sweetest friend, I write 
 -'■'-'■ These loving words to you, 
 To wish you every blessing bright. 
 
 Here and hereafter too ; — 
 The world, no doubt, is often sad, 
 
 Or we are hard to please, 
 For things are surely not so bad 
 
 Where grow such flowers as these. 
 
 I plucked them for their fragrant breath, 
 
 As well as for their bloom. 
 They speak to us of life in death, — 
 
 Of time beyond the tomb ; 
 For see, — when days are dark indeed. 
 
 When earth is dull and drear. 
 And just a grave for buried seed. 
 
 Then — primroses appear. 
 
A Letter of Good Wishes. 169 
 
 They come our longing eyes to greet, 
 
 Our yearning hearts to thrill — 
 They come to tell us life is sweet, 
 
 But love is sweeter still ; — • 
 To say all this and more forsooth, 
 
 These primroses I send. 
 And here I sign myself in truth. 
 
 Your fond and loving friend. 
 
lyo A Valentine. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 (To Marguerite.) 
 
 QHE leans against the meadow-gate, 
 
 She plucks the daisy-leaves, 
 She thinks thereby to learn her fate, — 
 
 The fate the Daisy weaves ; 
 Spring flowers blow about her feet. 
 
 Spring breezes lift her curls. 
 She is a flower herself, my sweet, 
 
 A pearl amongst the pearls ! 
 
 Oh, maiden of the kirtle blue, 
 
 Repeat your pretty task, 
 Though never any need have you 
 
 Of flowers your fate to ask ; — 
 You know I love you — love you well, 
 
 Not hard is that to see, — 
 Yet say once more your daisy-spell. 
 
 To see if you love me. 
 
A Valentine. 171 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 'T^ELL me where your secret lies — 
 
 In your lips, or in your eyes ? 
 In the smiles that sun your face ? 
 In your movements full of grace ? 
 In your words that come and go 
 Just like sledge-bells o'er the snow? 
 In your wisdom ? In your wit ? 
 Nay, I scarce can think that 's it. 
 Some day, though, I will divine — 
 Yes, some day, when you are mine. 
 
172 spring. 
 
 A GARLAND OF THE YEAR. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 /^H, welcome Spring, the year's young king, 
 ^^ Sweet lord of maiden mirth, 
 A lover true, who comes to woo 
 Our fair green-mantled earth ! 
 
 He gives her rings, and daisy strings, 
 He strews her path with flowers : — 
 
 Yet still she pleads, for still she needs 
 More sunshine, or more showers. 
 
 When April's smiles are vanished wiles. 
 
 When May is pink with pride, 
 Then may we know, — these tokens show 
 
 Young Spring has won his bride ! 
 
Summer. 173 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 'T^HE morning wakes all rosy-lipped, 
 
 From garden bud to bramble spray ; 
 The birds arise all dewy-tipped, 
 
 To herald forth the dawn of dayj — 
 So wake, my. darling, — leap, my love. 
 To mimic the starling, to answer the dove. 
 
 The rabbits scud adown the dale 
 To nibble woodland herb and root. 
 
 The bee, the fly, the nightingale. 
 Are busy with the ripening fruit ; — 
 
 For cherries are growing, and peaches appear. 
 
 Sweet music is flowing, for Summer is here. 
 
174 Atitumn. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 T\ USSET, and purple, and gold, 
 
 These are the colours to-day. 
 
 For the tale of the daisies is told, 
 
 And the roses are fading away ; 
 Yet Phoebus still lustily shines 
 
 O'er the glow of the harvest fields. 
 On the purpling grape of the vines, 
 
 By the fruit that the flower yields. 
 So tell me, my sweet little mate. 
 
 Which season is dearest to thee, 
 And glance, as thou spinnest thy Fate, 
 
 Once round on the Autumn and me. 
 
Winter. 175 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 T7EAR not thou the wintry wind, 
 Earth has flowers still for thee ; 
 Leave thy carking cares behind, 
 Home is full of homely glee ; 
 Peace and joy therein abide. 
 Doors of love that open wide. 
 
 After many rainy days, 
 
 After Summer's heat and glow, 
 After Autumn's golden blaze, 
 
 Comes the Winter pall of snow : 
 Comes the time when all must die. 
 Bud and blossom, thou and I. 
 
 Marcus Ward & Co., Printers, Royal Ulster Works, Belfast.