The original of tlnis 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/cu31924022200186 Cornell University Library PS 3069.T58H4 Heart's ease or. Poems of rest and unre 3 1924 022 200 186 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF THEODORE TILTON IN TWO VOLUMES Vol. I. Heart's Ease OR , (j)oem0 of Q^eci an^ (iJlnteef ' I have immortal longings in me.' Cleopatra^ Vol. II. The Chameleons Dish 3. (f oeft of i.ixm ani (gaffftia FOUNDED ON THE HOPES AND ILLUSIONS OF MANKIND King. How fares our cousin Hamlet ? Hamlet. Excellent, i' faith : of the chameleon's dish : I eat the air, promise-cratomed : you cannot feed capons so. Act \\\ Scene 2. The price of each Volume is, in England, 6s.; in France, ^k francs. BonJott T. FISHER UNWIN II Paternoster Buildings 0«fevJ B. H. BLACKWELL 51 Broad Street MESNIL-DRAMARD ET C" 45 rue JACOB, 45 HEART'S EASE €>)cfoti HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY Heart's Ease POEMS OF REST AND UNREST THEODORE TILTQN ' I have immortal longings in me.' Cleopatra Boitbott T. FISHER UNWIN II Paternoster Buildings B. H. BLACKWELL 51 Broad Street (parte MESNIL-DRAMARD ET C'e 45 RUE JACOB, 45 1894 u ft. A-3^^\o6a. DEDICATION •ymS gift, O Lady, which I offer thee, Though slight it be. Is for a service which no gift, though great. Could compensate : One night, when I lay gasping for my breath, The Angel of Death, — Whom men call Azrael, — (Terror of the Land !) — Came, dart in hand, And stood beside my bed, and called my name, And took his aim, — As if to bring me, with a single thrust. To bite the dust ! Moreover, with his weapon dire, he brought, — With grim forethought !— Some snow-white linen, — which, as he avowed. Was for my shroud ! — And also, — to my horrible surprise !— Coins for my eyes ! — And candles to be lighted round my head ! — As for the dead ! vi Dedication. 'Then why, O murderous Azrael,' whispered I, ' Do I not die ?' 'Because,' quoth he, 'a woman hath come here To interfere, Who watches me with such a wary gaze That when I raise My never-faihng shaft, — elsewhere so keen, — She springs between ! — And makes herself a barrier to the blow 1 — And hence I know That here I come untimely, and in vain ; — Nor can remain ; — For since she thus keeps warding off my dart, I must depart ! ' Depart he did ! — And I was spared the tomb ! — And all through whom? — O would I had some better gift for thee 1 — For thou art she! PUBLISHERS' NOTE T^'HESE Poems, ^ — here collected for the first time into a single volume, — were originally published in the Atlantic Monthly, the Cornhill, the Dublin University Magazine, the Galaxy, the Nation, the Independent, the Golden Age, and other periodicals. In 1867, about thirty of the pieces were gathered into a small volume (the author's first book) entitled 'The Sexton's Tale.' In 1879, a second and larger volume followed, called 'Thou and I'; and in 1882, a third volume appeared, under the title of ' Swabian Stories.' The contents of all these three separate collections are given, in full, in the present edition, and a few pieces are added, of later date. This copious volume (which, for convenience, has a new title) is published as a companion to 'The Chameleon's Dish,' which appeared in 1893. Accord- ingly, ' Heart's Ease' and 'The Chameleon's Dish,' taken together, constitute in two volumes the Author's Complete Poetical Works. TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Proem xiii Thou and I i The Chant Celestial 52 The Grave on the Prairie 59 Toll, Roland, Toll ! 65 The Fly 69 The Mystery of Nature 72 The King's Ring 75 The Cloud of Witnesses 77 The Strange Preacher of Padua 80 The True Church 84 A Layman's Confession of Faith 90 The Sexton's Tale 91 A Good-Bye Hymn 99 Maltby Chapel 100 The Captain's Wife 105 The Fisherman's Child 108 No AND Yes 113 Lyra Incantata 114 The Wanderer's Love-Song 116 Among the Reeds 118 Lonesome 119 Flown 120 The Victory of Life 121 X Contents. PAGE The Joy of Grief 125 The Three Fates 130 The Two Hungry Kitiens 140 The Parson's Courtship 142 The Flight from the Convent 147 Cross and Crescent 149 St. Philip Neri's Litany 150 The Mother's Prayer 153 Sir Marmaduke's Musings 155 The Prayer of the Nations 157 Dying and yet Living 158 In Memoriam 159 Friendship 159 God save the Nation 160 Serenade 161 The White Ass 162 The Duke of Campo Santo 178 To the Bride Isabel 182 Pierre Cardinal's Faith 184 Red, White, and Blue 185 A Woman's Letter 186 The Lotus- Planter i8t The Silver Bell of Stuttgart iqo Margery's Beads 212 The Maids and Wives of Weinsberg 214 The Trysting- Place 2jq The Romance of the Rothenberg 221 Recompense ___ The Besieged Nunnery „„. The Dansker's Revenge „._ • • • • 345 A Friend in Need is a Friend Indeed a-S Shipwreck of the Heart g.^ Contents. x,i PAGE The Ragged Bard of Rambin 250 The Two Roads 265 The Bard's Burial 267 The Mystic Message 267 The Goatherd's Gift 270 The King's Courage 270 Cupid's Puzzle 271 Astray 273 The French Lesson 274 The Forlorn Hope 276 The Minnesinger's Wife 277 Bonaventura 279 The Fate of Frischlin 280 The Artless Art 287 Fritz Ottocar's Fellow-Huntsman .... 289 Flute and Lute 291 The King's Wager 292 Michel-Angelo to Princess Colonna 304 Eberhart im Bart 305 The Sailor's Wedding 309 A Ballad of a Baby 311 Expiation 314 Prince and Peasant 314 The Bard's Listener 319 The Four Seasons 320 In God's Acre 321 The Double Stratagem 322 The Chamois-Hunter 325 Dis Aliter Visum 331 The Two Ladders 332 The Phantom Ox 333 Prince Heinrich's Carving-Knife 336 xii Contents. PAGE The Harp of Andrew Marvell • 34° The Broken Vow 34^ The Pedagogue of Tipperary 344 Harlem Heights 34^ Cui Bono? . . 348 Queen Mary Tudor's Lament 35^ The Tomb at Tubingen 35^ The Clown's Chansonette 3^3 Le Jour des Morts 3^^ The Monk's Matin 375 Doggerel 376 To the Girl Graciosa 380 Carnot . 380 The Babble o' the Birds 383 Pyrrha 383 The King of Thul£ 385 Sir Olaf . 386 Secret Affinities 390 The Elysian Fields 394 A Venturesome Visitor 404 Finale 406 Appendix : The Fate of Frischlin 407 PROEM^ r^O, little book, a pilgrim through the land, And beg a minstrel! s welcome here and there; But be content, however thou shall fare, — In cottage lowly, or in castle grand! — And if, of those who take thee by the hand. Some bid thee enter where the hearth is bare, — Where love is slain, — where grief hath wrought despair, — Thou, too, the lore of pain dost understand! Thou, too, hast agonized when love was dead! Where sorrow dwelleth, there dost thou belong! Thou art not alien where a tear is shed! So they who love and weep may heed thy song — A song of sorrow not too sadly sung. — What bard can sing, except his heart be wrung? HEART'S EASE OR POEMS OF REST AND UNREST THOU AND I. A LYRIC OF LOVE-LIFE. I. 'yHOU and I!' Cried he, an urchin gay, ' Let us go forth to play. Just we ourselves, we twain ! ' Then, to the rock-bound main, Along the billow-beaten strand, Amid the flying spray, He led her by her tiny hand; — And, just above the water's reach, They sat together on the beach. And piled the shells and sand Into a palace grand. They built it like Aladdin's tower- Begun and finished in an hour ! ! B Heart's Ease. The builders thought the building A marvel to behold, For Fancy gave it gilding More golden than of gold ! The Caliphs of the days of old Held never such a royal court As did those children in their sport ! ' I now am King ! ' cried he ; 'And I am Queen!' said she. Then over land and sea They held imperial sway One livelong day : — A happy day whose sun Went down on love begun And twain made one 1 II. 'Thou and I!' Said he, in graver tone, — Man-grown, — Thick-bearded, — at her side ; A bridegroom by his bride; The twain more royal than before. Though King and Queen no more. Then forth from the cathedral-door They stept on flowery ground, And gazed around, — From south to north, — From east to west, — In sweet bewilderment profound Thou and I. At which of all the roads seemed best; Till, choosing one that led They knew not where, The never-parting pair, — Brave man, fair wife, — Began, with joint and jocund tread. Their pilgrimage of life. And though the path was never straight, But ever winding. And hard of finding, — ■ Yet on they went, with hearts elate; For Hope is not afraid of Fate. 'Dear love,' said he, 'the world is wide. But howsoever wide it be. It hath no land nor sea To sunder thee and me : So follow thou where I shall guide: 'Beyond the mountains is a dreamy spot,- A bosky dell. With many a shepherd's lowly cot: Arcadia, whereof poets tell: — 'A land where all is well; Where they who tarry sorrow not; Where happiness is each one's lot; — For all the realm is guarded by a spell Beneath whose magic charm No creatures dwell That hurt or harm : — ' No serpents in the grasses creep ; No wolves prowl round the sheep B 2 Heart's Ease. No hungry hawks molest The pendulous, wind-blown nest Wherein the oriole sways and swings ; No scorpion stings ; No thorn is rapier to the rose ; No deadly nightshade grows; — Nor wilt thou there — In all the plain — Find anywhere The troublous herb of Trebizond Whereof the bee (too fond) Makes honey maddening to the brain ; — Nor the prophetic tree of woe, The ominous mistletoe, Which the Blind Thrower flings At Balder, prince of kings. To end his reign ; — Nor wilt thou there, in some unguarded hour, Pluck by mischance a poisonous flower. Or bud of any kind of bane. To sting thy soft white hand, my sweet; — Nor wilt thou tread a flint or shard, To cut thy tender feet ; But safely shalt thou pass Through mosses and lamb-nibbled grass — Through shady glen and leafy lane Where all the rocks, however hard, Are piteous, as when Edda's bard Saw every pebble weep for Balder slain \ ' In the Scandinavian mythology, Balder (who is somewhat analogous to the Greek Apollo) was the god of sunshine and summer. His mother, to guard his life against all possible enemies, exacted from all things in Nature, both animate and inanimate, an Thou and 1. 'And though in other lands elsewhere The earth, that men call fair, Hath even in its greenness Some mildew, some uncleanness, — Yet in Arcadia's fairer zone No blasting blight is known ; Nor fades a blossom when it once hath blown; Nor has the Vale a wilderness or waste, — Like wild Sahara; oath that they would be friendly to Balder; pledging themselves that he should receive no harm from any source whatever — whether from fire, water, beast, bird, stone, or bush. All these took the oath, except only the mistletoe — a plant which was accidentally overlooked. Afterwards, when nothing (as was supposed) could kill or hurt Balder, it became a favourite amusement of the gods to hurl various of these oath-bound missiles at their smiling favourite, in order to see them fall harmlessly at his feet. In the midst of this pastime, Loki (or the Spirit of Evil) plucked up a mistletoe-tree, and carried it to Hoder (the god of winter) — who, being blind, had not joined in the sport. 'Why do you not throw something at Balder?" asked Loki. ' Because,' replied Hoder, ' I cannot see ; and besides, I have nothing to throw.' Loki then craftily put the unsworn mistletoe into Hoder's hands, and guiding the blind god's uplifted arm,, enabled him to take straight aim. The fateful branch violently struck Balder, who fell dead at the blow. After Balder's death, the Norns (or Fates) promised that if all created things would join in weeping for his untimely end, he should be restored to life and the world. All Nature tenderly complied with this request. Tears were shed by stones, trees, birds, beasts, men, gnomes, and spirits — by every creature save one — an ogress named Thok, who was Loki in disguise. This universal lamentation of Nature for the downfall of Balder (that is to say, for the extinguishment of summer) is aptly chronicled in a common expression in use among the Icelanders ; who, when the ground in the early autumn begins to be beaded with chilly dew. say — ' The stones are weeping for Balder's death.' Hearths Ease. Nor font of bitter taste, — Like Marah ; Nor bog Serbonian'; Nor ignis fatuus of the fen, To tempt unwary men ; Nor vapour Acheronian '^ ; Nor charnel odour foul ; Nor jackal's mournful howl ; Nor outcry of the owl 1 ' For, O my bonny bride ! To that half-earthly and half-heavenly seat There comes (as to Endymion's dale) No snow, nor hail, Nor rain, nor sleet, Nor wind — except the wooing gale That lulled and luUabied And kist Endymion' — till he died; ' Plutarch in his life of Antony says : — ' The Serbonian marsh (which the Egyptians call Typhon's breathing-hole) is, in all probability, water left behind by, or making its way from, the Red Sea ; which is here [i. e. near Pelusium] divided from the Mediter- ranean by a narrow isthmus.' Milton, in the second book of Paradise Lost, locates the famous marsh thus : * A gulf, profound as that Serbonian bog Betwixt Oamiata and Mount Casius old.' " Acheron, as a river of Hades, may be supposed to have en- gendered exhalations similar to those which Lucretius assigns to Lake Avernus. Thus, De Rerum Natura, lib. vi. 820 : ' The regions of Avernus send up, from beneath, a vapour destructive to birds — a vapour in such abundance as to poison the whole atmosphere.' ° The myth of the beautiful youth Endymion, who slept a long sleep in a secluded glen on the side (or top) of Mount Latmos, where he was watched over by Selene, has received many interpretations : one of which is, that Endymion was the sun, and Selene the moon. Thou and I. ; Or only feigned to die, instead, — Too godlike to be dead ; Asleep in love's sweet swoon, to wake For pale Selena's sake Who watched above him, open-eyed : 'A land without a winter's day, But where the year is always May, And where, O love, the lovely skies Are blue as thy blue eyes,— But not so tearless ! — for (they say) Those heavens, unwracked by thunderous storm, Unswept by rainy wind, Drip iris-coloured dews — Outgleaming all the pearls of Orm ', Outflashing all the gems of Ind'': 'Not dews that dry and disappear— Like these that wet the grasses here, — For there, in that Arcadian weather Neither the dog-star, nor the sun, nor moon. Nor all together, — At midnight or at noon, — Can suck, or drink, or dry, or waste away A single dew-drop of those blessed meads Whither, O love, our journey leads ! Those dews are deathless ! There, on plain anrf hill And pebbly shore. They sparkle evermore ! — Immortal ! — like the dripping ooze '■ ' See the opening of the second book of Paradise Lost, thus : ' High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind.' Heart's Ease. Of Helicon's twin-watered fount, — Or like the drops that fill Castalia's naiad-haunted rill. Once loved of every muse — Ere yet the truant Muses fled : ' For, darling, I have heard it said That now the Muses dwell — Not as they did In days of yore. Each in her chilly nook Upon the high Parnassian. Mount — But that their humbler hiding-place instead Is now the low Arcadian Vale, Wherein, according to the tale, (O sad to tell !) They climb no more, Nor drink from mountain-springs, — But from the valley-brook. 'And foolish folk suppose them to be dead!- But no, I say ! — The Muses are not mortal things — To moulder — or decay — Or pass away — Or suffer ban — For though they be not seen to-day, Yet they are only hid, — And by and by. Upon the coming of the Golden Year The Muses all will re-appear; For how or why Should any one of the Parnassian Nine, Being ethereal and divine, Thou and 1. 9 Consent to die? Some of the train Must still remain, Or Pan would blow his pipe in vain: Yet in Arcadia, goat-foot Pan — Down to this very hour — Pipes in his same old way — And with his same old power — Blowing his antique reed With such a skill indeed That all the Muses must inspire his strain : — Else he would lack for wit : — So let the Muses quit (If so they will) Their snow-clad hill, And let them leave all Helicon behind them, — Yet when we reach Arcadia we shall find them ! 'For there, my love (as I have heard), Each sound with which the air is stirred, Each note, though warbled, hummed, or whirred, Of singing bird, Or buzzing bee. Or the cicada's shriller key, Or cattle lowing. Or wild wind blowing, — All take their wondrous tunes From those immortal runes Which Odin uttered whilst He hung For nine days long Upon the Great Ash Tree^ — ' The world, with all its mysteries of life, death, and destiny — in other words, the whole problem which the universe presents to the lo Heart's Ease. Bound to its world-wide boughs — ■ Till, as His agony grew strong, And blood dript from His brows, He fashioned every kind of song To be thereafter sung By every living thing that hath a tongue ! — Songs for the birds in flight, Songs for the winds upon the mountain-height, Songs for the day, songs for the night, Songs which all Nature's voices evermore repeat With ever new delight : For Odin's pangs were bitter: so His songs are sweet. 'And fortunate, dear love, I deem Ourselves shall be, when we shall hear Those songs supernal and supreme, — Heard never (so it would appear) In our gross atmosphere, — But in Arcadia (as would seem) Heard oft, — For there the air is soft; And there the noisy, rude, mind of man — is boldly imaged by the Scandinavian poets in the form of a gigantic Ash Tree called Ygdrasil ; whose roots strike down to the very bottom of the earth, and whose branches reach up to the very top of heaven. On this majestic tree, the god Odin (who ranked next after the original Creator of all things) voluntarily hung for nine days — having first pierced Himself with a spear, in order that with sensibilities keenly alive, and through sufferings painfully protracted, He might hear the secrets of Nature, and learn and teach their subtile meanings. When He had thus mastered this mystical lore. He re-uttered it to mankind in rhythmic measures called runes: hence all the sounds in the world — whether of winds, waters, birds, or insects — together also with man's minstrelsy of harp and voice — - are all traced to a divine origin, and are but repetitions or re-echoes of Odin's runes, which He uttered while hanging on the Great Ash Tree. Thou and I. ii And boisterous mirth Of rougher mortals in the outer earth Can nevermore intrude ; And there the shepherds (when they meet For love-talk) use a tone More gentle than is elsewhere known; A speech like music — gay and clear — Yet falling lightlier on the ear Than when, by summer's heat, The lute is mellowed and unstrung — Not sounding, only sighing; Or when the lark, — aloft and out of sight, — Sings flying; Or when, at dead of night, Leaves rustle which the dews are sprinkling; Or when Titania's bells (The tiniest ever swung) Are suddenly set tinkling To call the fairies from afar To Candahar '. ' But, O sweet love, these words of mine Are harsh and grating, And fail in the relating How those Arcadian notes combine, — Now sinking, and now swelling, — With sweetness so excelling That /, to tell of it, would need (in telling) A voice as sweet as thine ! ' The frequent mention of this geographical name in modern military despatches somewhat rudely disturbs the old association which Thevenot refers to when he says, ' There is a part of Candahar called Peria, or Fairyland.' 12 Heart's Ease. 'A land, dear love, of perfect peace! — For as when Orpheus smote his shell, — The beasts, though dabbled all with gore, No longer one another tore, (But to the strain entrancing That set them dancing The lion did with leopard leap And did a concord keep) — So, in Arcadia, we shall find That all the shepherds there Are harmless as their sheep ; — For there, those wrangling passions, which elsevfhere Are hard to quell. Yield to the spell Of that enchanted place — And all are tamed to gentle grace. ' Now, darling, to that green immortal dell Its ancient goddess, still divine, Our Mother Mighty, Great Aphrodite, Bids every bride and groom, Ere yet their love be cold, To make a pilgrimage, as lovers did of old, — With homage due, — There to renew The ancient worship of her primal shrine ; — A still-unruined shrine — part bronze, part gold, Part ivory ; — and it stands Just midway of the plain ; — And thither, ever, from all lands, Go shepherdess and swain. And every happy pair Thou and I. 13 Just newly wedded; — to entwine Our Mighliy Mother's image there With columbine, And with red roses, and white lilies, And yellow daffodillies. And sacred ivy-vine : — 'That so Love's altar, ever newly-decked, May suffer no neglect. Nor wedlock prove in vain; That bonded hearts may beat With ever happy heat. And find their bondage to be always sweet ; That nevermore like sorrowing Clite', Or jealous Amphitrite "^ Or Ariadne, moaning by the main. Shall any woman pine With love-sick pain. Nor sigh through many a vigil long For love that came and went ; Nor grieve at passion's false intent ; Nor bear the world's disdain, Nor self-reproach, nor mutual wrong; For troth, re-plighted at that primal altar. Shall last life-long ; ' elite, a daughter of the sea, was in love with Apollo, god of the sun ; but as the god's affections were bestowed elsewhere, the dis- appointed maiden yearned after him with hopeless grief ; and she is symbolized by the sunflower, whose face follows the sun across the sky. " Amphitrite, wife of Neptune, grew jealous of her lord's love for Scylla, and to revenge herself on her rival, threw a handful of magic herbs into the fountain where Scylla bathed, which fretted the water, and transformed the beautiful and offending bather into a monster. 14 Heart's Ease. Faith shall continue ever strong; Duty shall never fail nor falter; Love shall have nothing to repent ; — Pride nothing to resent; And golden days in peace be spent, And silvery nights Bring pure delights. 'A land, dear heart, of heart's content; Where eyes whose tears once fell Have not a vs^oe to weep ; Where neither murmur nor lament, Nor discord nor dissent, Nor sob nor sigh, Disturbs the halcyon spell, — But life and love are sweetly blent, Harmonious as a marriage-bell. 'And look, my love, for now — To guess from what the bards all say (And who can know so well as they?) The Valley seems to lie Not far away but nigh — Just under yonder mountain's brow — Where yonder white doves fly. So let us, thou and I, Go thither and there dwell.' — Then, ere as yet the sun was high, Forth hastening over bank and brae. Albeit uncertain of the way. But simply toward Arcadia ' bent, — ' The original and real Arcadia (that is, the central region of the Peloponnesus) is far from justifying the ideal character with which Thou and I. 15 The lovers thither wandering went To pitch their tent. III. 'Thou and I!' Again to her quoth he. 'Come sit, my love, with me Beneath this mulberry tree. And watch our children romp and play. ' How wild they are, and gay ! How light and free ! O blessed is the children's glee ! Let them enjoy it while they may — It cannot last — it will not stay 1 ' Look, darling, look ! Now, eager for the race They dash away — With flying feet and glowing face — And leap and bound Like hare and hound, And hunt each other round and round; — the Roman poets and their successors have always invested it ; for it neither was, nor is, a paradise of shepherds — except in imagination. Instead of a region of lush meadows and blooming pasturage, Mitford calls it ' a cluster of mountains.' Grote says, ' It is high and bleak.' Modern tourists familiarly style it ' the Switzerland of Greece.' But however warlike or mercenary may have been the Arcadians of Strabo's day, — and however wild and desolate their country is now, — nevertheless the poetic fancy of the world will probably always cherish Arcadia as the spot where Hermes invented the lyre ; where Pan gave to the shepherds their syrinx or pipe ; and where a pastoral and musical people are for ever chanting of love and peace. x6 Heart's Ease. Now, weary of the chase, The bonny band All panting stand ; — And now, like busy elves, Each digs and delves And builds of clay A palace as we did ourselves, — On that far-off and happy day Beside the rock-bound sea ! 'O thou and I, once young as they. How now is life with thee and me ? When first we started forth together. The morning dews were on the heather ; But now the lark has done his tune; The dial vergeth to the noon; And yet, despite our breezy weather, The midday sun fatigues us soon, — Fatigues us more than when we crossed Those mountains where our way we lost 1 So let us rest a little now. ' I just discover on thy brow An ornament so passing fair That not the like did Venus wear, — A single thread of silver hair ! — As silvery as if finger-frayed Or wind-plucked from Diana's braid ; Yea, silvery more than silver bright, — As if, at very zenith-height Apollo's chariot in its flight Had crossed, at noon, the orb of night. And jarred its rays and loosened down Thou and I. 17 Upon thy sunlit tresses brown A moonbeam also for a crown ! ' Dear wife, there is a rhyme that sings How Time, with the keen Scythe he swings, Cuts down all living things; But false is every fable That vainly so pretends — For Time is never able. Though keen the blade he wieldeth. To pierce what honour shieldeth, Or wound what faith defends : His powerful stroke May fell the century oak, But faithful love he cannot kill — Assault it as he will. ' O sweet companion, tried and true ! There is a love that soon or late May turn to anger, or to hate. Until the heart unmates its mate And cuts the cord in two : But thou and I, who loved of yore, Love on for ever, as before, — Not less and less, but more and more. 'So though we sought but never found The fabled and enchanted ground Where bloom Arcadia's happy bowers. Yet see what pleasant fruits and flowers Grow in this garden here of ours ! ' Our orchard is not grand, — And yet in all the land c i8 Heart's Ease. What fairer apples can there be Than here are golden on the tree? — They are as round and ripe and splendid As those that goddess Idun tended, Which in that Hyperborean clime, Where gods grew old before their time, The goddess with her heavenly hand ^ Fed to the hoary-bearded band Till each regained his youth and prime. 'What purpler grapes have ever blushed Than ours — just ready to be crushed ? They have as lush a look As if they grew by Eshcol's brook '■, Or ripened red in serried ranks On old Engeddi's^ terraced banks, ' The Northman's goddess Idun (or Iduna) personated the spring- time. During tlie long Norwegian winter, the gods (namely, the vital powers of Nature) languished and declined ; and had it not been for the care with which Idun (or the ever-recurring spring) revived and refreshed their wasted energy, they would have perished. The pretty story that, on one occasion, Idun and her apples were stolen and carried away, and that the gods were thereby left to grow wrinkled and hoary until she and her fruits could be found emd brought back, is told with great vivacity in the national poetry of the Icelanders. See the Second Edda. " The grapes of Eshcol are, to this day, the wonder of the vine- yards of Palestine ; and Dr. Tristram says : ' Clusters weighing ten or twelve pounds have been gathered. The spies doubtless bore the clusters between them on a staff. With judicious pruning, bunches weighing nearly twenty pounds can be produced. Not only are the bunches remarkable for their weight, but the individual grape attains a size rarely reached elsewhere.' ' Unlike the vineyards of Eshcol, those of Engeddi are now extinct, — or nothing but the terraces remain. Thou and I. 19 Or burst and bled Beneath the tread Of Judah's wine-press', flowing still On ancient Zion's vine-clad hill, Whose crimson clusters Hold all the lustres Of all the summer suns that shine To flush the wine. 'What whiter lilies ever blow Than here outgleam th' Iberian snow^? Or frosty wind-flower of the spring ' ? Or crested waves that whiten When blown by trumpet of the Triton ? Or Jove's white wing When he, a swan in Leda's arms, Outblanched their charms? ' What myrtles yield a sweeter bloom Than thou and I have here entwined? — None since that doleful day of doom When (as the Arab maids relate) The exiled Adam and his mate Bore with them, out of Eden's gate, A myrtle-flower*, to keep in mind The sweetness they had left behind. ' The ancient richness of Judaea, in the production of wine, is attested in Genesis xlix. ii : ' Binding his foal unto the vine, and his ass's colt unto the choice vine, he washed his garments in wine, and his clothes in the blood of grapes.' ^ Iberia is the Russian Georgia. ' The white anemone. * It is a tradition in Medina (the home of Mahomet) that when Adam and Eve were expelled from Paradise, the guilty pair were C 2 20 Heart's Ease. 'So, as for thee and me, what though (As in the sacred Hebrew tale ') The Nile forget to overflow, And Egypt's harvests fail? Yet still, of all our sunny fields, Not one but yields A laden wain Of golden grain To threshing-floor and flail ! For all the dews of night and morn Are garnered' in our corn. And all the showers that come and pass Are treasured in our grass. ' Let Famine, wan and pale, Thin-visaged and forlorn, Sit wasting where she will : But here is Plenty's Horn, Which as of old, so still, She empties but to fill, And fills to empty, each in turn, Until, Like Neptune's Urn, Through which the endless rivers roared, It ever full is stored. Yet ever forth is poured, With ever-emptying, never-emptied hoard. 'So, for th' abundance on our board We praise the Lord. allowed to carry with them but a single flower as a souvenir of the Happy Garden ; and this flower was the myrtle. ' Genesis xl. et seq. Thou and I. 21 ' Or, if the skies bring hurricanes, Till oak and vine uprooted lie, And harvests mildew in the rains, And fig and olive fail and die, — Who is it murmurs or complains ? 'It is not thou — it is not I. For God Who takes, like God Who gives, Is God the same — All glory to His name ! So if He gives, or if He takes, It still is for our sakes. ' From the high Heaven in which He lives. To the low Earth on which He reigns, He to the sons of men ordains That ills (as mortals call them) Shall evermore befall them. ' For God in His eternal plan Gives Good and Evil unto Man, — No less of evil than of good : Strange mystery, never understood ! But if the wind that bloweth So Cometh and so goeth That whence or whither no man knoweth, Who then shall understand The counsel dark, the purpose dim, And all the secret ways of Him Who holds the winds within His hand? ' Of all the gifts that Heaven bestoweth. The rod of God's affliction Is man's best benediction. 23 Hearts Ease. ' If first there cometh laughter — Or jest — or jubilation, — Then, swiftly after, God sendeth lamentation ! ' Good is not good, if single ; So good and evil intermingle. The gold hath need of the alloy. Is Heaven a place of perfect joy? Not if, of joys, it lacks the chief — The joy of grief 'Had Heaven to such an earth as this Decreed a perfect bliss, Then men, unmanned by such a scheme, Would say, "Now we will doze and dream And indolently wait While bounteous Heaven, for us, fulfiUeth Our happy fate." ' Instead whereof, God willeth That men shall labour long and late, — With struggle, sweat, and groan ; For not a field he tilleth Is man's to reap except as he hath sown. 'O gentle wife. The world is full of woe and sin — Of blood and strife : Fresh griefs invade it day by day: How dare they thus intrude therein? By what strange warrant tarry they ? For how could miseries come or stay Were Heaven to will them once away? Thou and I. 23 ' If God be God, And if there be no God but He, Then how — against His high decree — Could such things be ? Or how, upon the Cassia- tree, Could cankers grow? Or locusts gnaw the lily-leaf? Or how could rotting rust Despoil the harvest-sheaf While Hunger crieth for a crust ? Or how could Plague stalk to and fro, Or graves be dug, and hearts laid low? 'And yet, dear love, men little know, While they to Heaven are suing For all the blessings of the blest, That oft the miseries they are ruing Are God's own doing, Who knoweth best. Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right? Not only are His judgements just But also kind : Or if indeed, to our too narrow sight They seem not so, We take an erring view, For we are worse than blind — We see as moles and earthworms do — Without a single ray of heavenly light : 'So what the Heavenly Will Bestows as good we take as ill. ' Should the great Giver give us grief and woe (As at some future day He in His mercy may) 24 Heart's Ease. We may be sure that still, Whatever drops of sorrow flow, Whatever spear into the soul is thrust, Whatever fiery bolt the bosom sears With heat unquenchable by tears, — Whatever may befall, God's love is in it all. 'God's love, I say, — But not His peace : His love — He gives us day by day : His peace — He often holdeth back. As if to keep us on the rack 1 ' For it is Heaven's behest That every heaving human breast, Instead of finding rest. Shall thrill with joys — shall throb with aches- Until it glows — until it breaks ; — That good and ill — that weal and woe — Like equal forces, foe to foe — Shall in .the bosom strive and strain. Each its own empire to maintain, Till, wearied, panting, out of breath. The fainting heart at last shall feel, — Whichever triumphs, woe or weal, — Be fortune high, or fortune low, It matters not how goes the strife Since Love, and Love alone, is Life. " For I am fickle," Fortune saith, " But Love is faithful unto death." ' In all our losses, all our gains, In all our pleasures, all our pains, The life of life is, — Love remains. Thou and I. 25 ' In every change from good to ill, — If love continue still, Let happen then what will ! Come wildest storm that ever burst ! Let the tornado blow! Come crash and overthrow 1 Let fate, accurst. Fulfil its worst, — Heaven's bolt without Heaven's bow ! Be all our treasures scattered wide, — Till joy, and pride, And hope, and all beside Be to the wild winds strown, — All tempest-blown To coasts unknown, — All swept beyond recall, — All, all save love alone, — Yet love alone is all in all 1 ' If love abide, If love endure, — Strong through its sufferings bravely borne. And through its chastening sorrows, pure, — O then, whatever other precious thing Should prove unstable — insecure — Or like an Emperor's crown or signet-ring Which we have found in sleep — Not meant for us to keep ; Whatever cup of pleasure — Filled high, to overmeasure — Be spilled and wasted Ere it be tasted ; Whatever plume the Fates have shorn 26 Heart's Ease. From Fortune's crest ; Whatever be the prize — the treasure Whereof our souls are dispossessed ; — Whoso hath love can then lose all the rest And still be blest! ' Love, be it homeless and forlorn ; Love, be it beggared, tattered, torn ; Love, be it robbed by fate Of all its fair estate Till nought remains its own ; — No pillow for its head Except a stone, — Whereon, from night till morn, Its temples beat With fever heat; No sandals for its feet,^ Till, naked to the thorn, The trail they tread Be tinged blood-red ; No pilgrim's scallop-shell, — Nor wayside well Wherein to dip To cool its parching lip; No wild-bees' honey sweet, — But only bitter bread to eat, With wine of gall ; — ■ Yet love still changes not, O gentle dame, But ever is the same — the same — the same ! ' Love, even all distraught, Love, stript of all things, — love, bereft Till only its own self is left, — Thou and I. 37 Love, faithful still, And fearing nought. Though losing all, — Love, love, — which no despair can kill. Nor misery can appal, — Love from its deepest depth of woe shall call. And shall of Heaven a boon implore ; And what shall be Love's prayer? ' No plea of empty palms For beggar's alms ! — No golden dross For recompense of loss ! — No sheltering hut nor hall ! — No goodly heritage, no stock nor store, No shred of all it had before Save only its own touch and thrill To work its wondrous will And knit two hearts together still. Twain one for evermore ! 'O winsome wife, we soon shall know, — As onward into life we go, — There is no power on Earth below. No power in Heaven above, No power of all the powers of Hell, Where all the powerful passions dwell, — No power to do, no power to bear. In bliss, in anguish, in despair, — No power omnipotent as love. 'O marvellous was the might sublime Which mighty minstrels chanted of 3