y^' S.3 J ^f 3. u /isr/af Cornell University Library PR 6029.S63P7 Poems and lyrics. 3 1924 013 660 539 The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013660539 POEMS AND LYRICS VOLUMES OF POEMS BY THE SAME A UTHOR. SPRINGFIELD AND CONCORD. CROMWELL, A DRAMA. To he Published shortly — DRAMATIC RHAPSODIES. VORES LACRYMARUM. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner & Co., Ltd. POEMS AND LYRICS BY F. P. B. OSMASTON LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd. DRYDEN HOUSE, 43 GERRARD STREET, W. 1907 CONTENTS Carmen Musarum ...... PAGE I Speculum Eternitatis . . . . . 4 Limitations I. ..... . 8 Limitations IL . 13 Limitations IIL . 17 Solatium Vitae ...... 19 Orion's Prayer . . . . 20 A Spirit's Birth ..... 26 Mother and Babe :— L Mother ..... 27 IL Babe 29 IIL Mother and Babe .... 30 Martha Blunt on Child-Bearing 32 A Confession ..... 39 Juventus Mundi:— Prelude ... 42 I. A Child's Memory 44 II. A Boy's Voice .... 45 III. Scene from a Last Act 47 IV. Boy and Girl .... SI V. A Maiden ..... 54 VI. Jupiter Tonans • 56 VII. School • 58 VIII. Hero- Worship .... 60 VI POEMS AND LYRICS IX. Youth and a Wedded Woman 62 X. Importunity 63 A Blackbird's Song 65 Apparition . 74 Shadows on the White 76 The Waking 79 The One Presence 80 The Piping Shepherd 81 An Epilogue 84 A Pastoral Symphony 85 Lumen Vitae 90 Afflatus 94 Space and Time 100 The Open Field los A Ballad of Kisses 107 A Certain Laugh . no MULTUM IN PARVO . 112 A Soul 113 One of Nature's Voices 114 Love at the Window 116 Love and Art 118 White Heather 120 Love's Tenderness . 122 Dona Amoris 124 Tarn and Fountain 129 Our New Atlantis 130 A Picture . 136 Old Violins . 138 A Landmark in Two Live s 15 CONTEN TS vn PAGE Omnia Mutantur . . . . . -153 Old St James' Hall IS7 Jenny Lind . i68 Helen Abercrombie 171 Browning Demolished . • 177 O Utinam 184 A Rhapsody on Music 186 A Man of Genius :— I. Meeting on the Hills 198 II. The Poet's Letter . 199 III. A Certain Manuscript 200 IV. Nemesis . 202 V. Reverberation 204 VI. The Night- Watches 205 VII. The Summer Hills 206 VIII. The Plea of Blindness 207 IX. Ely Cathedral 208 X. Incidental . 211 XI. Looking Back 213 XII. A Grave . 213 XIII. Another Grave . 215 A Man of Honour . 217 To A Lady . 220 A Proverb of Hell 221 A Strange Fancy . 222 A Reflexion 223 A Field-Marshal of our Times : — I. A Hill in France 225 II. A Hill in Silesia . 228 III. In La Sua Voluntade 234 Bismarck's Entlassung . 23s VUl POEMS AND LYRICS The Wreck of the Rothesay Castle Only a Dream Gounod's Confession A Tale of the Crown Prince Frederick Plaudite, Amici The Worst of it . Stella Vitae SoLiTUDiNES Vitae . The Garden at Sundown The Lark Descending Meditation after Sundown A Hymn for our Latter-Day Psalter Jam Datur Otium , . . . PACE 238 241 249 251 254 262 263 266 268 273 280 282 CARMEN MUSARUM There in the blue Shines his gate ; He passes through Inviolate. Only the Night Winnows pure Pathways for the white Star-light. As trees in forest depths, where shades abound, Launch skyward from decay, where falls no sound, We rise through Darkness to the Clear, are crowned. From the simple in heart, A wondrous birth, Love's flower has flown Where the Dawn's gems start On the young Day's throne ; To the meek alone CARMEN MUSARUM All is shown ; The humble alone Inherit the Earth. The valley lilies leap up round the bare Feet of the maiden Spring whose Joy they share ; We turn from soilure to make quick the Fair. Life that has risen Through veil of the leaf, Through fire of the star Revealed afar, Night's open sheaf; Life that has risen Through swelling pain Of the heart in the grain Above the rock prison. Gathers Love's jewels in chief. Soars where the song-notes are. Strong as the mighty sun to renovate And lift the Earth from all her old dead weight, We children of the heaven-born Muses mate The dazzling choirs, who sing and dance elate Before the windows of God's court-house gate ; And there with Love and Faith insatiate CARMEN MUSARUM Our bridal songs, bursting the bars of Fate, Adorn the Spirit's one divine estate Wherein we stand as Earth's noviciate ; Whose Life our songs are given to sublimate. Whose Joy our paeans dare to celebrate, Whose Tears our anthems yearn to consecrate. SPECULUM ETERNITATIS (John iv. 24.) Why will ye thus for ever stare Into the vaulted cloud away From Earth and all the globed life there ? O visionary, stay ; In vain ye seek thus earnest through the air. Why will ye ever winnow more fine Your dream of vague setherial things, Rather than the clear draught divine Which from your own flesh springs. That vase which slow matures or spills the wine ? He made us in His Image : was The Word that went forth then His own ? Shall we, who prophesy, surpass The wonder of that tone ; Discover aught more fair than Earth's life glass ? Here is the old faith, here the new. Here is the slope of Love's ascent. SPECULUM ETERNITATIS Here is the landscape all in view ; From the root's travail rent Here is the flower of Spirit breaking through. Where shall the lightning of His glance Flash if it be not from Truth's eyes ? Where shall the still voice ever entrance Our sense with more surprise Than where it moulds the music of a man's .' Hides not His Beauty under all The Fairness of our days asleep ? Doth not His Night of Wonder call Our souls from deep to deep, Rending the frosted world of custom's thrall i O sphered exuberance of life, Pillared as Morning on the cloud, — Majestic Eve ere the great strife Of Spirit was allowed To blossom in the wealth of earthly wife ! O hands and eyes, O gesture sweet, O countenance, which pain's caress And sorrow's garland made more meet For Love's secure recess : What with thy vision here shall ever compete ? SPECULUM ETERNITATIS dignity, no wrongs could mar ! O manly courage, which onward passed Patient and royal as the star Which all the heavens amassed. Unfolding wide the glory where .we are. What is yon unknown by the lens Of that which most doth live and move ? This mirror of all intelligence, This opened heart of Love, This counterfeit in flesh of one essence ? 1 saw Love scatter stars through Space His jewelled treasury to win ; In vain he soared from world's disgrace : He found the wealth lit in His Paradise on Earth, — a woman's face. He sought the choir invisible, The angelic lark of heaven's own joys ; Spirit that floated free of shell ; A maiden's voice, a boy's. Unfurled the drops, which from the white Dawn fell. Where shall we seek Him if not here ? What other world more strained beyond SPECULUM ETERNITATIS 7 With efflorescence still more clear Shall to our soul respond More nearly, draw His infinite more near ? Eye hath not seen ... O let us see The ideal vision that is ours ; Make that Truth ours which sets us free : Here are Spirit's live flowers ; Here blossoms to our face eternity. The glory to be . . . Even so The wonder flashed we may not yield ; Rather exalt it as we grow : Here is the harvest-field, That Spirit enters Spirit here we know. Behind the veil . . . Are ye so sure The very Presence ye have caught In such wise ye can now endure The whiteness of Truth's own retort, Washed of all sense, pure as the stars are pure ? LIMITATIONS I A Butterfly's Wing " Only a peacock butterfly " ! Most true. Simply perched there on thistle somehow Beauty emparadised. Such is my view, — Or rather a certain painter's, who Ravished with love and wonder was Wont to read much you pass, — Of this the fair creation you Have frighted with your, — nay, you must allow Such was your meaning, — well, the thing's gone now. " Only a butterfly ; " observe then this Caged pinion of a rival caught Beneath my wonder-glass ; enjoy the bliss Of once achieving all eyes miss ; And let me soft behind you bare All as it meets your stare, — To fire the grace of clearer eyes. Intensify at least the march of thought When next you probe through Nature's pure retort. LIMITATIONS I < That is the wing's bare verge ; those tapering scales, Which overlap, like a bird's plumes Or tiles on some old roof-top, are the shales Of powdered dust from Colour's bales ; Tranquil at first ; the softest brown Is all waved on that down : Move inward, see, a glow exhales With iridescent sparkle on those glooms : And now, O what a black ! The full Night booms. On, the least inch, — ha ! what is this that fires The firmament with blazing flow Of spangled diadems, superb sapphires, Then brimming o'er those damasked tires. Tender as the Dawn's waking mist. Inlaid with amethyst. See how your flower of pearls suspires. With unbleached whiteness : last, for an overglow. Sheer topaz gleams to fence in our rainbow. What jewelled crown, — ^jewels alone express This scintillating heap of stars, — Ere matched this Light from Nature's bounteousness On these her humblest ones, — a dress By human vision wholly blurred Of half the wealth preferred By Beauty veiled in thatcaress : 10 LIMITATIONS I O Nature, thou who strikest thy scimitars Of golden dust from e'en the Earth's lost spars ! Thus in this crescent of the full moon's shell, Flashing the lustre of the lawn Of royal velvet or a tiger's fell, Look, the pure eyelet's citadel Through dusky reds and darker shades Which dapple all those blades Of feathered bloom, begins to swell, Mysterious as the slumber of the Dawn Brooding upon the largess still unborn. Well, there's the whole complete ; no more defies : My star is here and star's Cincture, Which folds its blossom in Light's argosies ; A rare succession of surprise. Revealed upon this midget thing As from an angel's wing, Such is the depth that underlies Life's heyday presence : friend, be not so sure E'en now you have the world there all secure. Dive deeper with your lenses, while I place Before you one plume from this crop Of Colour's fans which closely interlace As you have seen with such a grace LIMITATIONS I ii Ay, let you mark now one form-flower Beyond the magic shower, In the beauty native to its race : What ! eyes are weary : good, then we will stop Here on the threshold of God's own workshop. Here at the shrine's first entrance ; little more Has passed as yet across your sight ; To-day, it chanced, a butterfly's bare ore Has loosed your wonder from the shore That bound it fast to the abject Orbs of the man insect ; To-morrow possibly the spore Of deeper mysteries will make you quite ' Enamoured of your loss, — the infinite ! The Infinite, — ay, thus to you and me. Creatures beholden to our sense ; But scarce the Infinite that crowns the sea, The earth and sky with majesty ; Which, breaking from the illumined soul, Unites with flame the whole, Giving to each its own degree ; That, with Love's grace, hereafter shall condense. Despite all flaws in mind's omniscience. 12 LIMITATIONS I This winglet ! Who shall plumb all to be scanned ? While all that human art has won, This picture of Vinci's, say, or Durer's hand, Evades such scrutiny of sand : These whisper : " I am shown alone Where I am found and known." Are we then come to a poorer land ? Answer this first, — for answer I give none, — Which has the seal of Spirit most thereon ? LIMITATIONS II The Wings of the World Beyond the great orb of the Earth, where she leaps as a crystal for whiteness Clear to the Morning's embrace and the clouds which encumber Day's brightness, Straight to the fountain, which wells as a wine from the rim of her chalice, Arching the choirs where Colour has roofed on her house-top a palace ; Beyond all the ways of the Earth asleep or exultant in motion, The mountainous chains of her giants, her multitudinous ocean, Her forests, her meads, and her rivers, her lakes and her wan wildernesses ; Beyond the wild creatures begotten, the myriad growth she caresses, All the fullness of Life revealed there, her cities, the map of the nations, 14 LIMITATIONS II Spirit's shine and darkness unsounded, the rhythm of all her vibrations, Her sorrow, her gladness, her labour, ay, all that her children are breasting, As on with her brood in her bosom, soft-pillowed, on, ever unresting, On through the Night's anti-chambers she surges, but whither, O whither, Handmaid of Powers despotic, which framed her and wafted her hither ; On through the waters of Silence, unseen by the myriads ferried. On with her lady attendant, fair Luna in solitude buried, Wreathed with her sisters, the planets, yon maidens which share in her story. The largess of birthright, which linked them as dancers around the one glory ; Beyond the Earth-mother, the realm of the sun, the halls intervening, Wash of the desert inane, the waste which the world bales are gleaning ; On to the first dazzling jets, whence the flow of the palpitant starlight. Journeying soft through the years, an invisible ghost with its far light. LIMITATIONS II 15 Drops as a snowflake on water through eyes which en- gulf it, the rover, Loosing the passion of Earth to soar through the heights throned above her ; Beyond the impalpable cradles whence Vega, Arcturus, Orion, Dawn from the ambient hollows, or swept from their watch-tower die on The armour of Day, where he stands full-mailed with his plumes on the splendid Crags of the iron-helmed hills, which the Night with her mantle had blended : Beyond all the camps of the Way, where Earth reads the long tale of heaven's muster. The thrill of hushed armies beyond them, which, ever receding in cluster. Melt into zones of pure jewels ; superb as the ocean's star-laughter. Tingling with strokes from the sun as he breaks through heaven's storm-shadowed rafter; Pale till they ebb the mere ash on the Night's enormous embrasure, Like the soft fleck on a wave, or a white cloud's weft on the azure. Hide there the secrets of heaven like dreams to a child in its slumber. i6 LIMITATIONS II Fall the far tents that are veiled, as the Autumn leaves, in their number ; Beyond the strained measure of man, all his resolute watch through heaven's clearing. Shines the lost fruit of Time's forest for ever shut off from his shearing. Rounds the one vast evanescent, the kingdom and pro- cess of Nature, Bare to the outermost circle of Spirit's supreme legislature ; Beyond the full sweep of Earth's eyes, and all her mind adds to their fleetness, Orbs the one Fold of the suns in the shepherding All- Completeness. LIMITATIONS III Dis Aliter Visum Above, — the azure vault of space, Beneath, — a wilderness of heads ; A human outcast forced to face The great Unknown and all it weds. A murder ? Ay, sir, so they say, — A murder proved right to the hilt ; The deed is clear, — as clear as day, — I stand to see the Death scales tilt. A smart-dressed woman whispers low Between her set teeth to a friend, — My God, — the buck is handsome though,- 1 hope he'll face it to the end. A student mutters, — crime again, — Which was it, parents or disease ? A comrade laughs, — ay, egg or hen, — Which wins the prize, — Hippocrates ? i8 LIMITATIONS III A flash of steel ; the lopped head rolls ; A momentary shudder dies ; Nature smiles calm as ever : shoals Of happy swallows swim the skies. A ragged woman, — whose great stare First tumbled in upon that red, — Cries sharp, — look how God's sunshine there Plays with the curls on my boy's head. SOLATIUM VITAE The mercy of our Lord is shown in this, That underneath this curtain of the stars, Cradled upon the bosom of our Earth, Things lie of equal or profounder worth Than all the uncounted secrets heaven supplies In the ungarnered cornfield of the skies, — All that we know not and shall never know, — Things born at least to wake our fairest wonder,- Which flash upon us as we come and go Through every hour of each Day that passes, — Yet do not shake the beauty from the grasses, Yea, are not clothed with terror as His thunder : It is as though God sheathed His scimitars, And heaven was graduated to heart sense. Softened from its sublime magnificence : The awful dearness of a loved child's kiss. The unconscious shyness of a bird, a daisy, — Without such things, and things that are akin, I scarcely see how Love could well begin. So many hearts would stiffen or turn crazy. ORION'S PRAYER It was the hour when all the world lay still Imbrowned in darkness ; it was the hour of Sleep ; Save where the savage creatures of the forest Do roar and prowl upon their hungry errands, Or bats do flicker through the tongue-tied trees, And here and there a lonely owl doth hoot With melancholy wail : it was the hour When Night leans heaviest with sable wings On all Earth's habitations. Deep in a cavern hewn out of the hills That clustered round a vale their marbled teeth Orion lay and moaned in sore distress And bitter isolation, who had lived Among the ancient giants of that land, The sons of Night and Chaos, brutal souls. Who lived in hollow caverns of the Earth, Working foul deeds of violence and shame, — Long he had lived with them and worked their will, Moulding the unwieldy substance of the mountain, A mighty hunter too he was among them, ORION'S PRAYER 21 But recked as nought great Zeus or any god Reigning in high Olympus, — now he lay Robbed of his eyes, most ruthlessly obscured Of that he had most ruthlessly abused. Robbed thus by treachery and cunning wiles ; So evil men will ofttimes fall to strife When booty is the aim that binds them one : Troubled at heart he was and Sleep forsook him ; And even as a man who is cut off From all most fond to him and near his heart May wail with bitter tears, so proud Orion Wailed without let and hindrance through his travail, Deeming himself but as a castaway Upon strange shores and hostile ; thus he moaned : And when the frenzy of his sorrow waned He stared into the Dark with eyes of stone, — Long while he stared, waiting for sullen Death. And as a man in utter woe may feel Some pitying god draw near and all the cold Melt into comfort and a patient heart, — So in Orion suddenly there grew Fresh resolution : lo, within that cave He rose, the mighty giant with loose locks, Standing like some great oak the bands of heaven Have buffeted, but still it holds on fast Deep-rooted to the mountain ; thus, like a man, 22 ORION'S PRAYER Orion thrust away his bitterness, Resolved to probe the Future and to see If any god would hearken to his prayer, Or aught avail the pleas of suppliants To assuage the wounds by awful Fates assigned : Forth from that cave he stumbled with his hands, Feeling his way, or to some prick divine, — Wherein the god was leading. And now the East Shuddered as though just waking to heaven's largess, The forest loomed in shadow ; here and there A dazed bird cheeped half waking, half asleep, — The multitudinous pines with one accord Sharpened their spears over the mountain's head. Breathless with expectation. Step by step Orion rose until the morning airs On that hill-top breathed tenderly around him, Soft as a maid's kiss on the man she loves ; Then did Orion, with a deep-drawn breath. Stretching both hands forth to the incumbent Dark, Invoke the goddess of the Dawn with prayer. Pray on his knees according to his heart. Or as Athene wisely gave the word. O Eos, maiden of a heavenly birth. Come near me now, the afflicted wight of Earth, Come near me now, stepping over the grave Wherein I stand deep nested, the bondslave ORION'S PRAYER 23 Of treacherous Night who hath devoured her stars, And left me caged within most pitchy bars, Aloof from Life, tortured as with a sense Of an obscure distract intelligence : Come near me now, — touch me with Thy dear hands That I may move with Thee beyond my bands, Look upon Nature purely as a child Looks on his mother, not as one exiled. But even as Thou dost, yea, Thyself secure From any harm or hurt. Thou maiden pure ; Lead me beyond the thorns that goad my mind To make it mad even as I am blind ; Join me with my dear mother, add her Light That I may walk with her not in despite And foreign to her uses, but as a part Of her in truth, near to her own warm heart ; Touch me with power to heal my crystalled eyes That they may catch the virgin love that lies Upon Thy lips, upon Thy every glance. And know the mountain glades, where joyful dance The chorus of the Muses, stand up hale To hear Apollo's singing down the gale ; Instruct me with Thy heavenly confidence And sweet compassion for my frozen sense ; O, come to me and heal me all I pray That I may walk with Thee into the Day, 24 ORION'S PRAYER That hastens, hastens, though with steps removed From where I kneel as one now to be proved. That wealth Thy Presence bares like a soft seal Of tender Beauty, which Thine eyes reveal. Touching Earth's flowers with Thy translucent star. And with Thy breath removing every bar For the great god to rise where he is throned Magnificent with flaming wonders zoned. Strong in his chariot moving o'er the seas That even now grow larger to the breeze That freshens to his coming. Hear my prayer. Thou gracious One, that I may greet Him there ; Ay, with the glory of His train rejoice, Adding my shout to Earth's thanksgiving voice. Thus prayed Orion, and even as he prayed An emanation of grave heavenliness. The beauty of the maiden he besought Passed o'er his bandaged eyes their efflorescence, A mighty salve to heal them ; as through a mist The glory of her Presence starred its blossom ; Then faded in the austere illumination Attendant on the Sun-god where he rose Over bare hill and valley. Her he saw not As men do see the handmaids of the Earth, So strangely fair her presence moved his heart, ORION'S PRAYER 25 So awed he was with the vision of her coming ; Yet knew right well it was indeed the goddess ; And a great wonder seized him as he gazed Upon the opened eyelids of the world ; E'en as a man whom love may touch with fire Sees old things new, who had not guessed their worth Or fathomed half their meaning ; thus he gazed, Blessing the godlike gift. Long while he marvelled ; And then passed down and lived old life again In other ways than he had lived before ; Excelling in brave deed and stout of heart, Yet holding fast the mercy that was given ; God-fearing man he was ; and when he died Was taken up by Zeus, purged of all taint, To live for ever high among the stars. A SPIRIT'S BIRTH A star's in the sky, The red's on the morn, The dew's on the bower. The bird's in the nest. The sun's in his place, His spear's on the hill. Night hangs half furled. The thunder's gone by. The bud's on the thorn, The mother's in flower, The babe's at her breast, A light's on her face ; Love's angel stands still. He smiles on the world. 26 MOTHER AND BABE Mother My heart had wandered far away Through mists that grew up day by day, Mists, which the years had drawn across The firmament of blues Which fuse With all the gloss Of the child's roundelay : When, lo, the mercy of the Lord Awoke in me, a living sword ; And looking down, out of my pain. On Earth the windowless again, For such Earth seemed before ; Behold, I saw Two orbs of heaven's untainted hue. The purest eyes In all its skies, My maiden dream quite true. 28 MOTHER AND BABE I looked into grave tree-tops near, But all stood outlined sharp and clear : Ah, churlish Spring, leapt forth the moan, What, fled, nor left for dower One flower To call my own, Making all months so dear. When swift behind that passionate cry A flame gaped vivid in the sky, There crashed the awful thunder-clap, And straight below, into my lap. Out of, — not those tree-tops ! A moss-rose drops. The sweatest rosebud ever awake ; O, the beauty furled In this new world At my side just ready to break. I lay there eager listening For some wee bonny bird to sing. And charm away all sense of ill ; But not a note would come ; All dumb Nature lay still. Nor stirred there any thing : When from the shadow of that hush MOTHER AND BABE 2g A muffled shudder grew — a rush Of music from some nestling's throat, Which through and through me smote ; And when I turned to see What it might be, Breath stopped for very joy ; For every note Had bubbled out Of my own dear bird, my boy. II Babe I was folded asleep In the unlit keep Of an inland sea, O, so deep : When with sudden rush The mighty hush Of that ocean seethed And fearfully broke : Out of the bath Of the starless night ; Out of the swathe Of my cradle there, In a sheet of flame 30 MOTHER AND BABE The glory came : Into the air I breathed ; Into the light I awoke : And, lo, I saw Through the open door Of the newborn skies, Above the cloud, A spirit's eyes, As clear as could be : And I babbled aloud, And laughed to see That angel stooping to smile on me. Ill Mother and Babe What the shower is to the grass. The daisy unto the field ; What the blackbird is to the copse. The lark to the cloud. The robin unto the Winter ; What the burnie is to the hill. The blue to the sea. MOTHER AND BABE 31 The stars to God's great heaven ; What the morning is to the day, The Spring to the year ; What all these are to the Earth; Such is her own sweet babe To the mother's heart, My babe to me. MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD- BEARING Thankful I should be his it,— should I though ; I don't quite see it where the thanks comes hin : Give thanks to Gawd from 'oom all blessins flow Is heasy smirked and hanswered with a grin : But ere we sort of folks planks hup for debt 'Tis p'raps as well to run your figures through ; There har some things as makes one mosly fret, — And now I'll wait, — as not so sure nor you, — And see exac'ly 'ow the Lord 'as blessed Afore I pin your chorus to my chest. This is not sure my fust — nor yet my second, — No, — blame it, — not by your long 'arf a score, — Afore I cash the bill you've kindly reckoned I'd like to see my boat's keel dry on shore : Five lads and now five gurls, — not countin one As good as throwd away for hall we know, — Excuse me, if I do hopes now we'll run Without a further hentry to the show, MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING 35 For hall Jim's power of work, — ee's strong enough, — We've 'ad to cut on cruel through the rough. I'm not for blamin no one, leastways Jim, — Ee's a good 'usband, long as ee's in work ; With Bert and 'Arry right agen the swim, And only Tom a-doin' 'is best to shirk : There's our Jess lame ; I says no fault of 'ern, — A coster ran 'er straight down hin the street ; If some on 'em don't 'ardly their salt hern It h'aint for wanting hall they gets to heat. We've done our summat to lift 'em, but the weight Has worn me sharp, and 'arf knocked hout my mate. I think I knows Gawd's mussies as they har, — Though hoften they do 'it you hon the back ; With my boy 'Arry a-going to be a star But one month hafter your school give the sack : We've buried none as yet, though there har some As don't think that much, till you see your 'and ; You never know be'ind what things may come And leave you staring wuss off where you stand. We'll 'ope it turns a mussy Jess is lame, — There's Nan too, — that I doubt's a finished game, c 34 MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING I don't say but as 'ow I took my fust, — It chanced for hall my soft to be a gurl, — With summat of real 'eat, — I bore my wust As you might take on Ramsgate beach the swirl Just going to swing you from the drift as seems Life to your pals ashore, — that's not the thing, — Gawd knows my feelins best, — I guess your dreams Must go if you would play the woman's string Real strong and meanin it, — and what is more I've never as you may say sulked back to shore. To grand folks such as shop down your West Hend Things may take on another tune from 'ere ; I've know'd some as ud find one a godsend To popinjay up 'andsome to a peer : But your rich ladies far as I can see Are mothers most by proxy, if at all ; What do they know of just the likes of me As 'ave to lump hall troubles has they fall, — With only Mrs Potts to pull un through When there's your last week's washin still to do. I bought to know their fancy ways as was In service long afore I took my Jim ; 1 think's I see's the glitter of your glass Where life's just hall a bubble hon the swim ; MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING 35 When you're laid hup your breasts won't give no suck, Then you must 'ire a nuss to rear by 'and, Not countin some sharp fool to sauce your duck, — Just as though you were Buckingham Palace grand. If you do see your pippin once a day 'Twas more than my real countess hever could say. I 'ope I've paid off most as I have howed, — Leastways I've tried to steady my old man : Who blooded this your flesh ? Gawd must have know'd What it was darned for when He once began. A married woman the Halmighty made Fit to grow big and shies off from the post Is nobut a bashed fool as never played His game at all ; she'll find for hall she boast That sort of rat-tail puss to be the cuss It is down Regent street; no better nor wuss. That should be safe enough if you've your eyes To see what touches females to the quick : Babes we must 'ave, — however they may size, — A light within your 'ome, or just a wick As never runs to flame, for all you snuff". Flares up in smoke, and then the dip is out : Leastways your kids are all the bloomin stuff As makes this world run bigger or to nowt : 36 MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING Ay, makes yourselves grow, ay, whatever they do, Till your own bit of a candle drops it too. The wust of children his you never can tell What Gawd may 'ang up for 'em in 'is sleeve ; Those that shape plaguiest from the chipped egg-shell, Round plumpest in the hend, — for hall you grieve, — While your more quiet ones as you may think Would never do haught else but run on straight, — Like dotty fools just daub themselves with hink : There's our poor Nan, — not 'arf so flighty as Kate,— Well her babe was a still-born, — that's one blessing As she might kneel for now you har so pressing. What flops me flat is where the reason comes When you can't help no reason with your mind ; That we should go on jamming up these slums May look to Gawd like adding fools to grind : We're water and milk, no doubt : but why should He A grow'd-up pussen, — 'ead screwed on all fair, — Make the mess wuss : there's our poor Mrs Lee, — As clean a woman as hany, — is it square, — With her bad cough too, — why should she have twins ? Don't tell me now this comes agen 'er sins. MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING 37 I know as 'ow your Book says children stand Like holive-branches stuck around your table : O, yuss, of course the ship will come to land However far you may run hout your cable : I'm sure its pleasant talking hifyon've got King David's horchards grand to plant 'em in : But when this Tite Street Court is your bad lot I must say it shades hoff a trifle thin : Branches, — good luck, — call 'em your Joseph's coat As you must cut to cloth, — or leave the boat. The knot's a terrible twister any'ow, As sets my brain a-bustin to unloose ; And when you've got the tag-end seems to grow And leave you waddlin round it like a goose : But that's the question, marm, as 'its us women, — Swallows most everything like your sea-dragon, — If it don't find us 'ead and 'eels a-swimmin Why then I just suppose we'll 'ave to scrag on : But some on you should find a key to fix The lock and 'elp us females where we sticks. You tell me once as 'ow the mighty Gawd Numbered your spadgers soon as they fall down ; I wish as I could think some'ow the Lord Counted the brats as dropped off in this town : 38 MARTHA BLUNT ON CHILD-BEARING I'd know at least 'ow women folk could best 'Elp 'im a trifle more to make hends meet : Redooce the heggs maybe of hall as nest, Leavin less strays and dead uns down the street : Leastways I knows there must be summat wrong To think of nobut 'ow to scramble along. Don't worrit me with 'ome Rule and such fads Till you've showed 'ow we'll put our coppers by ; What I want is the Bible's sense as hadds No more of mouths than poor folks can supply With food and such like, let alone the spice As brings you down so smart from Salem Chapel ; Just tell us 'ow to set things more a-splice Since Heve was fool enough to split her happle : This world's go-cart don't trapsey down on silk, — Lor, — there's Liz screaming for her mother's milk. A CONFESSION You know the dear Sistine Madonna, The wistful solemn child, Gazing from luminous depths and large : I used to think our poet here Had improvised on Nature's charge, Marked something never seen upon a Babe simple and undefiled. I used to think this long ago, Ere God did us allow. But I will tell you : Youth is strong In obdurate judgments, which appear So very true, yet prove all wrong : How once again I found this so. This shall be your truth now. He used to ripple in a cot Close to my dame's bedside, — Our dear boy Lionel I mean, — He was a restful child, thank heaven ; 40 A CONFESSION For scribbling makes us scribblers lean : And sleep's a blessing, — is it not ? It cannot be denied. But he slept sound : if I woke up, Our lad was not to blame : Well, one June morning, early too Say still three long hours short of seven. The old dog yawned upon the view : When there alongships sat the pup, Staring the very same. Or so I thought at first. The sun, Close at the heels of Day, Had scaled the downs and broken through The common's fringe, a trembling host : While there above him in the blue The heavenly roses one by one Were dying slow to grey. One golden sheaf delivered there Through window-blinds, some chink Or other, waved toward the bed, Then, shattered by the tall bed-post. Shone, brooded o'er the mother's head, A breath of silver in her hair ; She slept on, never a wink. A CONFESSION 41 And there my boy, in his white gown, — Thus Samuel heard the Lord, — Stared at the halo, which did move Soft as a spirit on the wing : Slowly the rapturous kiss ebbed off : Then he lay down, and I lay down, — Neither uttered one word. I used to think brave Raphael For once to Earth's truth blind, — Had somewhat overleaped his tether : Of course I love the choirs of Spring, Know how the children cabins feather With wonder, joy, — but worship ? Well, Are you of Raphael's mind ? JUVENTUS MUNDl Prelude We lie and dream in a little cot, Or we awake ; The world comes wholly for our sake : We have no sister, No, nor brother, We have not even a father ; We are as birds, but do not know the birds : The only flower we know Is a forget-me-not : Our speech totters without words ; We stretch blind hands and gather The milk-fruit of our birth. One day our mother Bends softly full of mirth Over our trembling isle : We see that it must be so, We cannot resist her. We smile. JUVENTUS MUNDI 43 We grow up in our father's house, We gambol round his knees and play, And like the importunate mouse We hear behind the wall. We learn the ways of our betters, Learn to dare ; But also to take care. Lest suddenly a frown Open tremendous bars. Turn joy into dismay: And now our patient mother Leads us through our first letters. On a dark night, Standing in naked gown, We peer forth from our bed. Stare through the window at the stars, And full of wonder at the sight. Still unafraid. We whisper to our brother, — " God's candles must be very tall Sparkling around the throne.' 44 JUVENTUS MUNDI A Child's Memory I can remember a green lane Which led me once hard by a park To a wicket gate : there might and main A most importunate pug would bark : Children, — it cannot be gainsaid, — Are often curiously afraid. I can remember an old hound, Gelert himself was not more prized ; By lamplight he would run to ground The hidden toy : then I capsized. Dogs often love the young and weak. Less rarely take to hide-and-seek. I see a brook, a rumpled wood, A sleeping pond : there in shirt-sleeves A young squire floats an Autumn flood, I cheer across November's leaves. More than these things I cannot now Wake from the memory somehow. I crossed at last, but yesterday, One who had known her years ago ; JUVENTUS MUNDI 45 I happened to ask her, by the way, What it then was that she did know. She was my dearest friend, indeed I almost worshipped her, she said. There hangs a drawing (no mere print) A sweet, a very thoughtful face ; Of her warm heart it gives less hint, Mainly her tact, her exquisite grace. But there, O frail remembrancer, I look on all I lost in her. I also have a letter sent To a dear sister ; in the same A mother's laughter gives free vent, — Pours music over a boy's name. She wrote me none ; but then she died Ere to three years I was allied. II A Boy's Voice The notes of a bird, dropped straight through the clear From the sky, flung out as the spray Of a woodland's Carol, why do we never, Never that voice forget ? 46 JUVENTUS MUNDI What dream is this half lost in the blue Of the distance behind us, a pearl On the aether globed, as the sparkling gem-drops On flowers the dew made wet. What dream is this of throstles awake, Singing songs, with a somewhat heard Beyond them, yet through them, the spirit we know them. The seal where our soul is set ? What dream is this of two brothers of old Shouting joy in a primrose dell. Of comrades devoted, of lovers eternal. Of life where youth's ardours met ? " O, for the wings, the wings of a dove." Nay, on Earth we received it, on Earth it was given, To treasure within us, the wonder-trove. Day took from the Dawn's own heaven. " O, for the wings, the wings of a dove." O, for the race, the uprise of a lark, That a thing as rare, nay, rarer than love May strike from beneath a spark. JUVENTUS MUNDI 47 The voice of a boy, the voice of a boy, I hear it, it is the voice of my son ; Why am I filled with a great deep joy As it entered my heart for one ! Ill Scene from a last Act Father paints Richard^ s throat, his sick child of four years old. Father. Come, steady, Richard, steady : try and be One of the red-coats kneeling in the squares For England and the Duke at Waterloo ; You've not forgotten them now, have you ? well. Stand firm as they did now. Richard. I will try, father ; But, O, I think that I should like to be That dear old soldier you once told me of, When we were sitting close there on the beach, Who marched with a great army, O, so far. Right through a big, big country, where there was Nothing to eat or make them comfortable ; O, I forget all that you told me now : O, father, what was that big country's name ? 48 JUVENTUS MUNDI Father. Russia, my boy. Richard. Well, I remember, that you said, When they were coming back again once more, And every day seemed to get colder, colder, And there was no one else to fight away, — He had won many battles, hadn't he, father ? And all his coat was beautiful with medals, — But though you told me, many of the soldiers Got angry and quite disobedient, Marched bravely on the road like a brave soldier. Because he loved his, — what was he called, father ? Father. Napoleon, lad. Richard. No, no, another name, That is not what the soldiers always called him ; Father. Vive I'Empereur, perhaps. Richard. Yes, that was it ; Because he loved Vive I'Emperer : but why Did the Vive I'Emperer, if he was good. Lead all his army into that cold country, Where there was no one left to fight at last, And all they did was to lie down and die, — Many, I think you said, upon the way, Because even their dear Vive I'Emperer Had nothing more to give them ? Father. Ah, Dick, lad,— You've asked me something now I cannot answer ; JUVENTUS MUNDI 49 Perhaps this Emperor for all his greatness Was there a bit to blame. Richard. Well, that's what I Was thinking also, father ; anyhow The soldier loved him, and I love the soldier ; And, — well, one day they came to a big bridge Over a river to a town on fire, — What was the name of the great river, father ? Father. Well, Berenzina, if you wish to know ; But, Dick, you must not talk on at this rate, Or you will quite shock mother when she comes. Richard. Please, father, let me finish just this once ; As I was going to say this soldier got So weak and cold he could not march at all, But fell down on that bridge to die ; and yet He was so brave he crawled right to its side And sat up straight, as I am sitting now ; Sat up quite straight to see his general pass And give him a salute for the last time ; And when the general really passed, you said, Ah, but you did, the soldier even smiled : He asked no bread or water, did he, father, But sent one message back to his dear country That he had not been beaten by, — what were They called, I quite forget, — Mother {here enters). O Henry, Henry, so JUVENTUS MUNDI How can you let the child run on this way ? My darling, you must not talk any more, But keep quite still and be my own brave boy. Richard. Yes, mother, I will sit just as he did. {Painting proceeds. All at once sounds pro- ceed from the patients throat obviously intended for certain domestic animals. The result is irresistible to both mother and father. Richard. There, mother, you are smiling too this time ; ( With coaxing whisper'). Please, let me speak again only this once ; That is the way I thought that I would smile ; Do you remember, father, how you told Me once about a funny gentleman Who made you laugh so when you were a boy By showing you how cats really speak English When they make all their horrible noise at nights ; How they are telling stories all the time. How this has lost a father suddenly And that dear mother cat a girl or boy, — Father. (Hush, Margaret, one moment.) Richard. Tell me, father, What was his name, who told you ? Father. Well, my boy, His name was Tennyson ; he had a brother JUVENTUS MUNDI 51 Even more wonderful for making folk Speak better English than they could alone. Richard. And could this brother imitate, — Mother. Hush, Richard, Now if you speak another single word, I really shall be angry, — there my darling. (Kisses him.) [Father once more gravely proceeds with his task. There is also one further faint attem,pt on Richards part to repeat his former fancy. It fails signally in a cough. Mother hastily leaves the room. Shortly after he is gently settled among the pillows. Kichard. {Faintly, as from a distance), — I think that that will do now, thank you, father. Father. My boy, I think it will, and I have done. And you have smiled upon your general. IV Boy and Girl Do you still remember that long ago, O, the light of the Spring's first greens. When I was a schoolboy learning to grow. You a girl more strong in your teens ? 52 JUVENTUS MUNDI We were scrambling along by the steep rock's edge. When sudden beneath our feet, But a grown man's length, on a burnt grass ledge. Waved the thing you thought so sweet. It was nothing so rare this time that drew ; On the bare how the least touch tells ! Ah, the exquisite grace of that delicate blue. Just a bunch of pure harebells. I stooped to the cliff, sloped body down. Hung feeling the ledge in a trice ; When I found your patch of solid brown Had sunned to sheer sheet of ice. My arms were stretched full up the face. How the smoothness seemed to mock ! As each foot pressed on the grassy base It slipped clear away from the rock. There I dangled a helpless captive, in short. Holding tight on rock's edges like a stoat ; This shadow beneath for my shy support, A heart growing thick at the throat. JUVENTUS MUNDI S3 You were soon peering over, saw all my plight, But .you leaned there tender yet cool ; remember the tones of that courage quite. Sweeping soft through my heart like wool. On the brink of that frowning wall there grew A slip of young mountain-ash ; Stout enough for its age, yet such, it is true, When they give tear off with a flash. You never swerved one jot from that "if" Where you stood as you best could stand ; Seized the only vantage for feet on the cliff. And quietly called for my hand. That, too, was hardly a pleasant reach ; If you missed it, the worse for me : But I liked your voice, had nothing to preach, So stretched where I could not see. Then you tugged, as I never was tugged before ; I wriggled with all my might : The ash-roots trembled, but nothing more, — , We rolled on the top all right. 54 JUVENTUS MUNDI There were tears in your eyes when you sat up straight But you laughed through the haze all the same ; I asked you half foolish about my weight, You added no word of blame. So we babbled a bit ; ere we set on the tramp, Gave each other one more rare hug : Not a word of that drama we dropped in camp ; Such episodes lovers keep snug. V A Maiden I went into a tiny shop There by the lake ; I have forgot What trifle or other made me stop To buy in truth I know not what. But in I went and peered about ; The shop was empty as it chanced. When, through an opened door stepped out,- Well, all I know, my senses danced. A maid, sir : no, friend, something more. The incarnation of surprise ; So dear she was, so clear she bore Dewdrops and sunbeams in those eyes. JUVENTUS MUNDI 55 how they sparkled ; Light itself Shone there translucent as from heaven ; Health, goodness, with a touch of elf, All in that look of hers was given. An oval face, ripples of hair, Auburn or lightish I recall : Movement as of a something rare. An apparition, — that tells all. My heart was in those eyes, that face ; My wits I know not where they fled ; It was the miracle of grace, Her bodice passed with my poor head. Dainty and sweet it was no doubt. Bit of her own dear motherland ; The thing that moved me put that out, I cannot bring it now to hand. 1 stared, I stammered as I live The thing I, — O, but why ask more, — Whatever it was shop could not give. This grieved her too as I quite saw. 56 JUVENTUS MUNDI And so she smiled and stared the same, I still can hear that shy " adieu " ; And I went, ah, much as I came, And strange to tell all is quite true. And now I think upon it, well, I hope we never once more meet ; Just for the fear I lose the spell Of all I then took so complete. The Spring she was, that darling maid Who kisses though we do not kiss ; And yet I love to think indeed That she was human, she was Swiss. VI Jupiter tonans We strummed beneath the manor's tower, A Jack danced lonely on the skies : Our clocks all stood at an early hour, Stood, ah, how swift Time flies. It was some festival or other ; Outside a tumbhng fountain played We four, — two sisters, and a brother Seraphic music made. JUVENTUS MUNDI $7 Or so we thought it, we were young, We drew from Helicon undefiled ; Hearts were all brimming : when the song Grew flurried Madame smiled The morning had been July's best, But close on twelve by the big clock A storm waved mountains from the West, Massed sable plumes en bloc. First rumbled forth the giant's moan, Then the huge chariot wheels, the flame ; Who cared at all ? With Mendelssohn We sang on just the same. The Titan blazed, he smote the flag Which glittered, — smote the tall flag-staff" ; Changed both into the spilth of rag, Thundered an awful laugh. But there he stopped : the terrible spark Plunged vainly at us through the lead : We saw the ribands, heard the bark. Felt, — silence overhead. S8 JUVENTUS MUNDI Some one, in some pathetic speech, Which crowned the later festal board, Hugged the event, and made it preach A moral straight from God. We boys, such was our garden lot, What should we know of Nemesis ? We saw Earth's shadow take a shot At our leg stumps and miss. VII School The heart of all A grey old chapel, — an Eastern window, — The wonder of heaven to behold, Blue, crimson and gold : A cloister where honoured names greet you. Soldiers who fell at Inkerman, Balaclava, the Alma, the Redan : College, — two courts, — the big school. Therein this writing to plead or appal, — Disce aut discede, Manet sors tertia, — a birch to beat you, — JUVENTUS MUNDl 59 As we now more simply restate it, — " Learn, depart hence, or the thing dolts need, eh ? " Beyond, quiet grass, a honeycombed wall ; Then a larger meadow, — for still Like the nation this nursery grows : Out yonder a sugar-loaf hill. With a Roman camp for its crown ; To the sea a crystal-clear trout stream flows : What garden on Earth can mate it ? O magnanimous Hughes, Add the mint of your metal that stays With the thunder of old Tom Brown, — What a strife of tongues, — what a battle of thews ; How it all blows fresh through the mind, O Ye gods of Olympus what days, — What days were those ! You have heard of that ride To Johannisberg town ; How your patriot Englishman cried, — " In the book of endeavour Live once and for ever." May I add, by the way. Ere the big book closes. And the curtain rings down On warrior or clown Who starts the dull world as it dozes, 6o JUVENTUS MUNDI One word shall we say more legato Than this of our friend Barnato. In that fight of Doomkop Two men at close range Levelled rifles point blank at each other. Face to face there, brother to brother. All at once barrels drop ; They nod, they smile, — how strange, — Were these crouching tigers at play ? Did an angel look down and cry, — " Stop ' What made both flash the white feather ? The reason was this. And simple it is ; Both had been boxers at school together. VIII Hero-worship This was the frame ; in the ocean above Ran billows of white on blue. Fair as the fountain of cherries wild : Beneath, down the slope of a grave chalk hill Trooped stately firs and still ; Last, among them enisled, Like a ship in sea-cove, JUVENTUS MUNDI 6i Peered the peaceful roof of a mountain chalet, Which rose from a garden's coloured crew- Like the wash of straits between Dover and Calais. You were a captain, adrift on land, Wedded some weeks before ; Delighted for once you were not at sea ; Swerved to my whim, stopped cart and horse. Ay, a full ship's length from your course, Strolling there with me Up the hill-path bland : You thought it no doubt divine good-nature To help me worship, I asked no more. The idol thus carved from a fellow-creature. The Immortals smiled : on the chalet's path. With a strangely preoccupied stroll, A figure moved, — a sage perchance bent On something remote. O he seemed to you To have little or nothing to do ; Achilles in tent, — What a sun though for bath ! A poet once picked up an eagle's feather ; But poets and eagles are scarce wild-fowl, I melted the firs and swan-sky together. 62 JUVENTUS MUNDI IX Youth and a Wedded Woman Her husband pitied him — who would not ? He stared up hard as a stone, — Poor Caesar robbed of his bone ; Mute as a Hottentot He sat there the drone : What a sister that sister Clarissa was, — Her husband's sister, to toss Her head in the air and demurely pass With never a thought of his loss. The classical friend gave a heave Of remote apprehension. Feeling the tension, And shortly took leave. Her husband stalked from the room, Left this troublesome bee near the bloom Of his own flower-garden : There the lady stood for a warden ; She smiled, — Then gave him a portrait to hang in its place : He looked straight into her face. And wondered if she knew all ; JUVENTUS MUNDI 63 How the full heart waved like a water-fall. He tried to think of her as might a brother, — She began to think of him as might a mother, A mother and something more. He had felt that something before ; He stared amazed, — She calmly gazed ; Then her eyelids suddenly dropped, — His pulses stopped : O, fickle beginnings of men. Where was the faithful Caesar then, — Where was your lover exiled ? And, O, ye blackbirds, and larks singing yonder Deep in the yew there. Up in the blue there. Reflect on my lay and ponder. X Importunity A youth looked up at my window one day ; I smiled when his voice struck me : He tried his very best to say, Dear maiden, I love thee. 64 JUVENTUS MUNDI I pitied the youth, for his sudden dart Broke short on a muffled wing ; " Take friendship ; but leave a wild bird brave heart On the old elm branch to sing." A man looked strangely into my tree, Well I knew what his heart would say ; For I felt my own wide awake in me — Ah, the light through the woods that day. Was it word or breath hushed soft in a kiss Which fettered the bird erst free ? O, the joy that one may know what this Same loss has given to me. A BLACKBIRD'S SONG Written for E. D. O. Up, Dorothy, if you're alive, Would see the eyes of freshness dawn Out of that host the heavens hive, A rose without one stain or thorn. See it break clear the ripened fruit. Or hear it rather I should say ; It was the Morning's champion flute Which broke my sleep off sudden to-day. The blackbird, yes, I hear him now Close by the garden's fountain jet : We'll listen awhile, maybe somehow He'll give us what we shan't forget. He does not always pipe like this. But now he's, well, quite at his best : He knows the day he sees it is, One of this wild June's loveliest. E ^S 66 A BLACKBIRD'S SONG The rose itself is still to see, I heard the Spiez clock just strike four ; But what is that to you and me, Who would have the whole dream and more. Over the Niesen's shoulder-blade The big moon still in full strength shines ; But as a goddess who has strayed Out of her temple's true confines. For, look, the light already warms The mountain there above her face ; The lake drinks up all Beauty's forms, Adding a soft mist to their grace. Hark to the prelude, there it flows, Soft, tender, almost plaintive too ; That is the budding of the rose. He tries his voice as something new. {Blackbird singing) Whee tUh her, Hdyefev ver. Twit ye treefev ver. A BLACKBIRD'S SONG 67 {Speaking quite seriously) Geordee, High ho, Geordalee {Geordalee, like Bobalee in other blackbirds, most beautiful). ( Warbling again) Ray her ho, Twit oyeafev ver, Twit ay {inexpressible twitter of s's and r's). Ho whee ter rayfero, Tweet, tweet, tweet ; Heu, keeyd teetewd tweet I Wah keen wcerewH phee, {quick) phee, phee 1 Geordee t Wdh keeii wcerewd phee I [Inexpressible general clearing up with x^s and s's before beginning again) The rhythm's that, as for the words Or tones, I mark them as my ear Follows as best it can the bird's Flutings which melt sphere into sphere. The prelude that is ere he flings His heart into the Morning's bliss ; With all the rapture that he brings, All the abandon such as this : 68 A BLACKBIRD'S SONG Witk a mad blackbird and a mad black, — Weetz I O, blackbird, is it really weeks You've waited thus for what to-day Flushes upon your dear Earth's cheeks ; And so at last you'll have your say ! With a mad blackbird, and a mad black, — Oh ! That flourish once more foils me quite ; Where did you get it from this flow Of liquid velvet washed in light ? Judy, Judy, Judy I A call ! as clear as words can give it ; And there again, and yet again, With half a smile, if you'll believe it ; Judy Judy I Chuck, Chuck I Well, now he's broken all my rhyme, And quite content I am to leave it : But, hark, he calls another time ! Judy, Judy ! Wee ! Judy ! Cluckle, luckle, luckle, (What a chuckle !) Wradid, Judy. ( This is Jollowed by another clearing up in which w's and e's shine along with ids and z's.) A BLACKBIRD'S SONG 69 Ha ! radiate ; that is the bird ; Truth's petal spot, the poet's word ! Could anything be flung more true As Life's great word to me and you ? With a mad blackbird and a, — ah ! he's stopped : And thrown us just a star instead ; And, well, the sky at last has dropped ; Is the poor bird gone off his head ! A Keever, with a Keever, Keever, Keever, Keeverbee ; Ho, yer prettee ver ! jady, Judy, Judy I Wradia Judy ! Judee tied, Jiidee tied I Wradia, Wrddidl (last word with great em- pressment. Here another blackbird, who has made the word " Wradia " his special study and, taking some liberties with its accentuation, has formed a kind of beautiful chant of two dactyls, the second being a softer echo in a rather lower tone than the first, is moved in his own rather priestlike fashion to address the morning). {Second Blackbird) Wradtd, Wrddtd 1 Ah, that is quite delicious though, A second blackbird joins his friend ; 70 A BLACKBIRD'S SONG A mystic too, the mystic's glow, Our Earth with Heaven he would blend. {Here a small bird suddenly wakes and finding the blackbird has apparently appropriated his only song, which is short and uttered very quickly, seizes the moment to enforce his rights of property.) {Small Bird) Wrdny, wrdny, wrany I Ah, a small bird rubs his eyes ; And finds he's something to insist ; Something he caught from other skies : Doubtless he is a pessimist ! {Second Blackbird, as before) Wrddia, Wradia t {Small Bird again) Wrdny, wrdny, wrdny ! {Second Blackbird, still quite remote) Wrddia, Wrddia I {Here the first Blackbird, who has listened rather amused, but thinks the invocation requires an objective, throws in the same.) {First Blackbird) Wrddid Judy I {but adds by way of generous alternative) Wrddtd Herve I {Second Blackbird, as before) Wrddia, Wrddid ! {First Blackbird tries again, but this time humorously, almost speaking, and quite slowly) Geordee ! {Second Blackbird, mystical as ever) Wrddid, Wrddid I A BLACKBIRD'S SONG 71 (Small Bird here breaks in quicker than ever, possibly aiming at interruption) Wrany, Wrany, Wrany, Wranyf {First Blackbird, also this time evidently aiming at surprise, perhaps with the slightest suggestion of yawn at what is so foreign to his own variety and the usual talent of blackbirds, throws in one of his improvisa- tions) kee vert (Second Blackbird, semper idem) Wrddtd, Wradid I {First Blackbird, so much surprised that he can no longer sing, but speaks and that with a palpable stammer) Er,-er,- O kee verl {then repeating himself, but re- collecting his talent for variety) kee ver, kee t {Here there is a pause, or rather a chaffinch, with a great rush, breaks up a conversation, which for a long time has conveyed to him little or no meaning.) Ah, there's a chaffinch sings instead, And little enough thereby is said ; Bttt that Blackbird, The tones too underneath each word ! And, ay, the one which you preferred ! Ah, well, this Dawn's a special treat, 72 A BLACKBIRD'S SONG Worthy of anthem meet, Ay, rocks you somehow off your feet : And now they both have had their fill, Or take at least three minutes' rest From all the flood beneath their breast, Well, for myself the plea is still What is this key you give, dear brothers, That I am seeking much put out That my request your music smothers With all the prose of half a doubt. The sunshine's sparkle, where is it ? No words of mine touch that one bit. What is the key your notes express With such a sheer deliciousness ? Is it that words are nothing at all If Light is there to float the ball ? Is it that half our human bells Are little more than empty shells ? Or would it say how much we miss By losing somehow, well, just this Abandon to the wondrous hour When Colour lifts the Earth to flower > Say it I mean, with no alloy, The song as fresh as the heart's Joy. Whatever it is at least I see It is a most symphonic key ; A BLACKBIRD'S SONG 73 And now your silence leaves me bare I'll finish what the world can spare, A commentary of the mind On what, I fear, is mainly rind, Leaving the essence, O, so far From all we break ofif from our star ; The world I mean which loves the flight Of rapture pure as the Dawn's light. APPARITION Beyond me lay the BlUmlisalp, Above me rose the Niesen's might, I broke out of the beechwood's heart, And all my own flushed with delight. For there beneath those apple trees, Still bare with never the tiniest leaf, Out of their myriad companies The heavens had dropped a glorious sheaf. They brimmed, they trembled far away, That upland lawn was just alive, White, gold and purple, ray on ray, The crocus suns, a countless hive. Beyond me stretched the plains of snow, Above pine glades a crown of white, But Spring had touched the world below, Her footsteps flashed as stars of light. 74 APPARITION 75 O Winter, thou hast long delayed Thy passage from the frozen Earth ; But she is with us, the dear maid, It is our own, the heart's new birth. SHADOWS ON THE WHITE I STOOD on the marvel of white, Which billowed over The mountain height, A crystal-starred dazzling cover, A raiment of light : High over my head Was strewed and strewed The unfathomable nude Of the azure's face : No shadow's trace On that wreath beneath But drank of the blue, As the sky drained through. I stood there alone In the sweep of a glorious sun ; And the distances spread, Ever beyond with a snow-white head, Rising up apart. Unspeakably pure in repose : And I thought at the heart ; In solitude only man grows. SHADOWS ON THE WHITE jy I stood on the silver below, Where the evening shadows' Invincible flow, Moving swift through the meadows, Over the chilets. Dots in the valleys. Broke down on the snow. No less than before The world loneliness Waved round me, over me. Had I hearkened : No less the blue floor Of the sky's openness Spread out to cover me, Though it darkened ; But the twilight's thrill Drew with it a chill, Which crept to the heart With a start : Then I glanced above : Lo, the cream-white fold Of that mountain's crest Lay beaten gold. As the hues of sunset Illumined the vest In victorious onset : 78 SHADOWS ON THE WHITE As only Love Will flood, transform A heart with light, Giving it new strength, Making it more tender, Turning all green fruit mellow ; That sun seemed to say As he kissed more warm The snow's clear white. In the breadth and length Of the peak's last splendour : " What would the heart be without its fellow? THE WAKING Once you lay nestled in the Igdrasl tree ; Twilight held dumb my world ; Something hopped near : piped through the hush to me: Up flew the lark unfurled. 79 THE ONE PRESENCE " He treats me always as a lover, And I am never, never apart. But I wish the old world back again " ; Thus a sick angel to the heart Of the woman she loved best : An angel soon taken to nest Beyond the earthly cover : O life, not lived in vain Under the blue : O heart most true, O lover. THE PIPING SHEPHERD What is that reed ? What is it makes This prelude of the pipes of Pan So passing sweet ? What is it breaks The bread most wonderful to man ? Is it Love's essence and reflex Revealed to Spring's first snowdrop plain ? Earth's mystery profound of sex Globed in a dewdrop without stain ? Is it the rush of worlds aloof Which swept off from their islands far, Meet, tremble together on one woof, One incandescent flowered star ? Is it the wonder of two soul strings Strangely becoming tuned and set To one clear melody which springs Fair as a crystal fountain's jet? 82 THE PIPING SHEPHERD Is it, — O hush philosophers, — Is it, forsooth, you know not what,' Whatever it is, 'tis his and hers, It is the Blue's forget-me-not. A fairy's dream ; nay, more, far more : The azure Light on Earth descends : Time listens from a distant shore ; The opened Bud with Radiance blends. Colour's unveiling through the Dawn ; Is my world yours, and your world mine ? Love wakes ; it is the babe newborn ; It is for Youth the voice divine. O exquisite intricacies Of soft approach and shy retreat ; O haven found of the first kiss, Love's kiss Time never shall repeat. O miracles of self-reproach. Love's argosies of awe, surprise ; Though half that bread-fruit Life shall poach, Here is Love's Eden in Love's eyes THE PIPING SHEPHERD 83 O Richard, O, — hearts melt in names, — No sigh but droops as jewel dropped : The soul in each through silence flames, The world without their world has stopped. Crash viols the full orchestra. Flash the storm-music of Love's world : You cannot touch it, yonder star, Those waking eyes of Dawn unfurled. Pipe, sweet monotony, at will, Like you the brook has one flute stop ; But then the Day strikes on it till All laughs as daisies through dewdrop. Pipe, happy swains, pipe gentle youth, Pipe all your one note shall express ; Love's songs are many ; here in truth She speaks the song that dies speechless. AN EPILOGUE Poor foolish heart thus to apprise Love's shepherd as I heard him now : I who was never so made wise With all my fancy dreamed somehow. Or if I was made wise it was, — I will not ask who gave it me, — With somewhat I have missed, alas. Though I have long pushed out to sea. A sense, — O Love how strange thy youth,- A sacred sense of secret loss ; Or was it ours : no, no, the truth, — Those gaps of Life we never cross. 84 A PASTORAL SYMPHONY O, THAT day in the Crystal Palace, Those hours some fairy planned ; The song that beat all ever Alice Piped in her Wonderland. I had an August afternoon To give you if you wished it ; Oddly enough you joined the tune, — Neither pooh-poohed or pished it. Punctual the concert broke at three ; We struck the Palace later : But somehow, — we were two you see, It did not seem to matter. What we did wish was a lone place. Lone as the one God planted : Not without care we searched : God's grace A benediction granted. The hall was packed ; but close outside, Above the nave's dim chorus, 85 86 A PASTORAL SYMPHONY A gallery of chairs defied The world that loved to bore us. And there we dropped, — doves in retreat, Could only hear the many, Ourselves unheard : O, it was sweet ; No one asked even a penny. Gladly we listened through the glass ; Inside fumed like an oven ; The fiddles strode away ; it was, — It was indeed Beethoven. It seemed, — remember, all the time We were perched close together, — The Earth was married to her prime, — It was the true Spring weather. It started all so easy too, The moment barely shivered. When Life's dull pane was broken through. And we looked out delivered. Or rather thought, — it seemed to both — We were simply out walking In the green fields, and, nothing loth, Quite suddenly stopped talking. A PASTORAL SYMPHONY 87 We stopped and listened, caught instead Low babble of brook and daisy ; A pure blue sky shone overhead, If just a trifle hazy. The more that quiet speech was given, The more to my heart's seeming, Our earth turned half a bit of heaven, Half a world of dreaming. The birds of course were prattling sweet, The smells were of the May-time ; Some thing there was still more a treat, — A fresh scent as of hay-time. And, O, how glorious to hear Such things sung seven times over ; Quoth Nature : " Here's my best of cheer. Drink once again, O lover." The simple feeling we both felt Pushed through the music's awning : Hark how the blackbirds pelt and pelt The woods of an April morning. 88 A PASTORAL SYMPHONY Nature stooped down on us and kissed, The world stared open-hearted ; Did the grand woes of earth persist ? For us they had departed. Well, no, I think not even then ; With all that bird-like laughter" Ever there was a thrilled refrain Suddenly let in after. A pause, a stress behind a stress Bared us the struggling human ; A close of marvellous gentleness, The love of man — of woman. The human, did I say ? — we soon Were tumbling in a meadow ; O, the rare life and dance of it. Which stopped before the shadow. Up came the storm out of the West The thunder filled the woods ; The nightingale hushed close to nest, The world came down in floods. A PASTORAL SYMPHONY 89 And when that July hurricane Died out, died with its fullness, Who would but dare to chant again The clearing shower's coolness. Thus it was, and thus it went Down to the sweet thanksgiving ; We drank our fill, wholly content With the delight of living. Is it a foolish whim of mine, That peal and melting glory, Bared us at least in pure outline Love's own immortal story ? I know not what flutes flashed beyond ; The gods walked out ; and after. It seems that some one grew too fond Of quite another laughter. At least we showed no haste to quit Those chairs we had escheated ; I hardly know what happened one bit ; An old tale was repeated. LUMEN VITAE Life is not length of days but soul Stung to ignition with such rare An incandescence of the whole, The bush of God lies bare. Spirit's reverberating lyre, Stirred through the strings with such a tone, A harmony so vivid, entire, We claim all as our own. A dewdrop sweet with the whole sun And treasure of the azure's lift ; A glance, a touch, our wreath is won, A momentary gift. Once to be able as we kiss The throne of Light beyond all words, Ay, with a rush purely for this To thank Him as the birds. 90 LUMEN VITAE 91 Once to have felt so near the Best, The Sweet we never can repay Whatever may follow, however possessed By future grief, dismay. Ay, there it is the trembling star, Impearled upon the springs of light, We know the wonder that we are. Spirit revealed to sight. Whatever the revelation there That leaps through us, a joy intense, We are as we should be in prayer. One with Beneficence. Life's miracle has come to pass In this the flower's uprising In all its fullness, breath, it was Colour upon the wing. We entered somehow Nature's heart. We entered the walled souls of others. The life we felt was ours in art. The love lay shrined in brothers. 92 LUMEN VITAE There where we came upon the hill And bowed before the harps of heaven, And heard the sparkle of the rill Chime with Earth's bells at seven. Nunc, nunc dimittis : still He gave The evanescent starry burst, The aperture that loosed our cave, And still we slaked our thirst. Or no, the glory we once saw Passed from the earth and sky and sea ; Our Winter found the glow once more Hallowed in memory. Or no, the ecstasy, ah, yes. But afterward in one massed peal The thunder of Life's tragedies, Broken seal after seal. The rapture plucked the flower of Dawn : Only the lightning and the strife Revealed the battered plains of corn. Bared the blank depths of Life. LUMEN VITAE 93 The shadows of the evening shamed The lustre of soul's bridal song, But still from deaf Beethoven flamed The soul tears have made strong ; '^ O, to have lived a thousand times "; The haven this through all Earth's bars ; Thus Spirit gazing upward chimes In union with the stars. AFFLATUS Spirit globed, the Muses' chorus, Inspiration's flower glassed ; Poet, if you can propound me How the dewdrop held you fast ; How it was you sang before us Songs which gave Earth speech at last. How you gave the blossom to grow there, Burst as seed on alien ground ; Rise with yet more yolk in promise, Rarer beauty, ampler bound, Than yourself could ever bestow there In the wonder your heart crowned. Hear yon ravished blackbird singing Through Spring's first white pear-tree's spray. What is that superb abundance Which half chokes his pipe to-day, As of the whole Earth up-springing, More than all that harks away. 94 AFFLATUS 95 What has dazed him, flung him breathless Skyward with a warrior's cheer ; What is this that through his rapture Brings the blue so very near; What has yoked his carol deathless To the fountains of the Clear ? Is it Morning's lute and tabor Mock the strings which Eve possessed ; Is it Life before the noonbeams Silenced many a heart oppressed, Is it, ay, because some neighbour Dares to beat him at his best ? Ah, the mood of Nature's something, Something more the songs we heard, Linnet, blackcap, lark and whitethroat. Nightingale, — the darkness stirred : All that struck soul first the dumb thing With the sweet, translucent word. All that charged us ; is that merely All Life's wonder could impart ? Nothing more to loose a kindred Passion in the folds of art ; Nothing more to bring more nearly Grace and beauty to Earth's heart ? 96 AFFLATUS O'er the loved notes as one dreaming Sits young Felix and for what ? Something veiled as yet in silence, Something yearned for he has not : Who will set the white milk creaming, Give him art's own petal spot ? Children play near, one free lancer, Sportive, eager, careless too, Jogs her loved mate by the elbow. Calls him frank to pastimes new, Nay, good Felix, answer, answer, — Straight the bolt drops from the blue. Notes are blurred, she sets them straying Jewelled strings on ocean strands ; Branches dipping through sweet waters, Brooklet's flowers the breeze commands. Sunshine on the hill-side Maying, Fairies dance beneath his hands. Hark, he hears them, though the merest Hint from fairy footsteps blown ; Faintest tremble of their anklets, All their secret thus is known : Not this morning, playmate dearest. Girls shall romp with Mendelssohn. AFFLATUS 97 Star is ours for which we waited, Arrow on its path has sped ; Motion as of summer moonlight, Rings of foam, the Ariel's tread : Shakspere's dream of Joy is mated To Love's music ; bow the head. Lightest touch, but then we sought it, Who seeks nothing finds the same ; All God's house is banked with windows But we must peg out our claim ; Blue sweeps o'er us ; swift we caught it. From that weft rushed Art to flame. Caught it, — rather like a lover Shaped it, fondled it and toused With each facet as our fancy- Fed thereon, ay, browsed and browsed, Till the most veiled we discover And the pearl of pearls is housed. Ay, the least thing oft may win us Rarest treasure known to Earth, If we will but wed the spirit Of the great creative mirth. If the passion sleeps within us Which brings Love the babe to birth. 98 AFFLATUS All this heap of big and little Clasp it pure, but as a sign, Touch which cleaves the human matrix, Spark delivered straight to mine, Blind shall thus see through the spittle Of bare waters changed to wine. Postman's knock, no less than sunset Through us shall reverberate, If despite all Darkness staunchly We march onward mate to mate, If Beethoven's fearless onset Is our own salute to Fate. Who shall prophesy what graces Shall revitalize the lean. When our life is washed to freshness. Nothing clean there or unclean, When the world of commonplaces Fades as though it never had been. Patience first, then perseverance, — How calm Nature bares them both ! Reverence we cannot measure As with Faith we pledge our troth ; Only thus souls make the clearance Which reveals man's perfect growth. AFFLATUS 99 Vision, — who would vainly seek for Horeb's rock or Delphi's cave ? Thunders voice indeed the lightning, Never heal a land or save ; Hear the valley lilies speak for All the mystic Silence gave. Not the deepest, not the highest Comes with Night and all her stars ; Not the last breath of man's insight Breaks with musing on Earth's scars ; Only Love that crowns the nighest All the wealth of Spirit unbars. SPACE AND TIME A SIMPLE dress of russet cloth, A dress she made, if I dare to breathe it : Wooden sabots which oft underneath it Twinkled, of course, and clattered ; I mention these things, once more, nothing loth,- And smile to myself the while. As if on earth it mattered. A certain spot on a steep hillside, Sheer from a shadowed lake. Covered now by a trailing vine : Planted, no doubt, for an intimate sign Of a soul when it bled, — stared wide awake, — This also will abide. Something that half like a bird unaware, And half like a lover's kiss. Leaned over a piano's ivory keys, — Then brushing the fringe of a maiden's hair SPACE AND TIME lOl Soft edge of a vagrant curl, Refused in its flight to unfurl, Rather seemed in its shyness to miss, — Let us say in the sunshine to melt, Like a starry weft of snow in the air : A thing that was wholly unseen, unfelt By the mortal touched. O wonderful belt Of a soul's confounded seas. A certain step on a stone staircase That winds, like the fabulous beanstalk, slowly Higher and higher an old church tower, Till it suddenly opens on bells : A slit of glass through which you look To the mighty sea across the Humber : What a place for a pair of sitters, What a crabbed sort of bower A couple of hearts to encumber ! And yet what a word it spells : O fool, what cannot Love christen holy ? Even now I linger And dream of a certain finger, — How each star glitters ! Turn one more page of my Book. t02 SPACE AND TIME I saw it about The hour of seven : O'er reeds and a willow The train rushed by : Under a cloud-capped sky Ran a scarlet thread, Then a jet of flame spread, Swept from that firth, Like an angel's ladder Of gold and madder. Straight to heaven : Under the mighty pillow Of mother Earth The sun sank to bed : Soft the stars came out. A feeling of patient wonder ; A silence that seems to have The concussion of thunder : Suddenly bloom Of the world of Night in a room : Two swimmers beneath one wave ; Two birds in a nest. Albeit paired, Half strange to each other : Two spirits bared : SPACE AND TIME 103 A hand stretched out to a hand, A closer band, Nearer, nearer ; With a gentle god for steerer : A tale that is told As the treasures of heaven unfold On the bosom of Night, drop by drop Then fall, then fall, — Then quietly stop Are lost on the wall, Are lost in the great increase Of that city of Peace. Sister and brother. Under the silent deep Of Nature their mother. These children are hushed to sleep. An infant's cry, A mother's sigh, A sister's kiss. Her own, not his. Bold on unheeding lips ; Kiss never given before. And nevermore ; A kiss like the thunder of cheers Through eyelids of tears : 104 SPACE AND TIME What things are done, what strange things given, When a soul right cut of all tether slips ; How the world breaks to sparks When up go the larks And Joy laughs awake in wide heaven. THE OPEN FIELD Though she was quaintly curious To peer back from the other side, She held his zeal most marvellous, Their world was all so very wide. A thought, no more, the faintest smile Hinted such arrowy shadow passed ; Then quick to fdllow over stile. She waited for the bugle's blast. Alack, Love rode a mettled horse ; With him the strange was her delay : Swift she was carried down the course,- To find a rose-bush in the way. But just as she had slipped the cry So cruel pricked the briar's teeth ; A look of cheer within his eye Lifted her well beyond that wreath. io6 THE OPEN FIELD Ay, at the instant of her qualms, Nature came running with her kiss. And whispered, " These are lover's arms, And this I give to seal your bliss." And, lo, they clasped in a green field. Babbling among a host of flowers. Crowned with their mother's charm, unsealed Each sense, alive to all her powers. And as she ga2ed, — where she would be, — Blessed now with all the true mate shares, Some one laughed soft ; " Ah, now I see Why half the world struts with such airs." A BALLAD OF KISSES See here my chaplet of kisses chosen With never one single taint Of all Earth loves to drown her rose in, So love has sighed when faint. With not one soiled half-petal like Your crocus heeled in mire ; Stars of the wholesome Earth that strike An answer to heaven's fire. A mother's first to her own child, — The bubble in return, — Both equally the undefiled Chrism of one pure urn. The maiden star that fellowships Manhood in bud or bloom ; The softness never sealed on lips Where a sister s love has flown. 107 io8 A BALLAD OF KISSES The lover's kiss ; we mark but two Among the lost host crowned ; We now are gazing at the Blue, We stand on holy ground. The first seal of the maiden's Trust Upon her Dearest, Best ; The pearl of Truth ; all the Bird must Winging straight to her nest. The kiss of wedded manhood's start Before soft waking skies ; The solemn wistful touch of heart On all-sealed lips and eyes. If there be still at heaven's gate For lovers of pure fire Kisses more deep, more passionate, Love, take them to your choir. The kiss of a true man on the brow Of her who gave him life ; More peerless in its grace somehow Than any known to wife. A BALLAD OF KISSES 109 The kiss of women who have loved Each other as souls that share Tears of the heart, joys that have moved, But never a word may bare. The kiss of Duty on the Sword, Of Honour on the Book, The kiss of poets on the sward That all the world forsook. Last, and indeed a strange one this For an English man to tend ; I mean that one of Nelson, — " Kiss Me, Hardy " — at the end. A CERTAIN LAUGH It dates its birth among the golden days When urgent Love was still out travelling With pilgrim's scrip and staff toward a shrine, And all the path lay dashed with buds of Spring : When hearts glowed deep in halo and in haze Of mysteries each longed in turn to probe, Yearning and ever yearning to divine The ultimate glory of the soul's great gift, — That truth of truths, relieved of the last robe And veil of gossamer the heavens uplift For lovers to shrine safe where silence is, And hold apart for ever : this flower-bell Which blossomed in the world of tenderness Quickened from no mere passing smile's expanse. Nor yet with the full-blown laugh, but seemed to lean Half-way between them both, full of the spell Of either ; such a hallowed radiance And thrill as though somehow intent to mean Far more than either ; just the sweetest stir Of melody, which gave the hush a curl A CERTAIN LAUGH in Of joy that rippled after it was through : It must have been the unexpected sense Of a new ravishment which came to her, And thus upon those airs did so condense, Or rather with soft wings seemed to unfurl. Blessing her lover with its sweet surprise ; Which, though it brimmed dew-like and broke the blue That veiled the deeper language of her eyes Into the wonder of the morning's grey, Had such a treasury of things to say In fain must seek an outlet otherwise. And so it hovered birdlike in mid air : You know the way sometimes Albani's notes Will nestle in the silence unaware. And leave you at a loss how they stole there ; But there they hang suspended none the less, Sound crystals, shall we say ? — electric motes ; To shade off then so finely from the sky. You only know they cease by suddenly Perceiving the dull shock of emptiness Which shuts them off for ever. Sphered like this Her sunbeam bubbled up, clearly unfurled Its music in the confines of his world : O, moment exquisite of lover's bliss ; Eclipsed at last, as all earth-glories are. But christened in his heart of hearts a star. MULTUM IN PARVO A LITTLE blade of grass, Any wild flower ; The Beauty of the World is laid Within that bower. What is is as it was, Kingdoms rise and pass ; Each petal here has stored The glory of the Lord. Only the visionary eye divines All that is covered by these lines. A SOUL This soul was simple as a mountain flower, The winds of God rushed through it ; She flagged before an unknown power And sinned before she knew it. ONE OF NATURE'S VOICES Three years they lived in that quiet house Tucked safe from a city's thunder ; Both shared the cat-nature, both shared the mouse, With a slice for each of soul's wonder. Three Springs danced over the happy pair, Nodded joy to her human faces ; Of the million seeds each flung through the air None burst where the Life-spring's place is. The man went forth to his work, thus blessed We haply may grow the braver ; But the mate behind him, it must be confessed, Grew surely a trifle graver. The winter came, the winter went. The brown turf ceased to harden ; Stiff' worms crept out of their tenement, Snowdrops stood up in the garden. ONE OF NATURE'S VOICES iiS One morning close on a calm daybreak, The young man lay there sleeping ; The woman woke ; a hushed voice spake, Then hid in her own safekeeping. The dawn swept nearer its rapier of light, It struck off a sleeper's fetters : John stared at his wife, sitting bolt upright, Had she met in a trance with her betters ? He looked at her, she gazed at him, Through smiles that bubbled after : He caught the word as it flashed on the brim. The room waved soft with laughter. Somewhat within that nest had stirred. Which gave Spring's voice to the summer : The home throbbed, — was it a shadowy third ? She worked as though for a comer. Late Autumn ripened the apple's fruit, Those knocks on the door grew louder ; At last the shell gave, a chirp followed suit. Was ever bird-mother prouder ? LOVE AT THE WINDOW He was looking on to the public way, — The breakfast over littered the table ; The day was just like any day That sparkles in Florence April or June : Such are a few facts of my fable : He stood by the window, — ^yes, you may Mark that as the key to my tune. She had left him a moment, when suddenly The room thrilled soft with a foot's pulsation, His soul ebbed back from the outer sea, And he turned to welcome — to kiss, perhaps, — When he heard a voice close behind his station ; Don't turn, dear, take, — this, this from me, — If you do not like it, just tear it in scraps. Saying which, she pushed in the flap of his coat Her bundle of paper, — flew to her hiding, — Poor bird, — not even waiting to note How he took the burden she added to him : lie LOVE AT THE WINDOW 117 Then slow through the lilt of her cadences riding He read and re-read what her dear hands wrote, — His hands growing faint, eyes dim. There he bled with the prayers and burned with the praise, Throned high in the heart his angel's rapture ; How she loved him. Who could endure the gaze Of this nightingale's anthem, this starry increase ? Who ever again such beauty shall capture ? As easy to match it, one of these days, With outlandish songs from the Portuguese. LOVE AND ART Yellow was always my colour. Why ? Well, the truth is as I state ; And it always will be till I die, For it brought my soul a mate. Yellow's the sheen upon the wing Of the sun when he stands up, — Or better, the colour helps to bring Back the world of the butter-cup. At least it's the choice of England's flowers. And somehow the choice was mine, — Though I never thought one bit of the flowers,- Primrose or celandine. Ah, Ruskin, what did you preach that day To your little band of Hope ? Was it how artists all should pray Before you as their Pope. LOVE AND ART 119 You cursed, no doubt, the fools we are. And blessed the saints men were ; Nay, more, — your lecture flashed the star By which my soul I steer. You finished at last, — and I broke out Quick to my friend's short laugh, — Who is that girl who dares to flout Her face through a yellow scarf Who is she ? Ah, — we wait awhile, — Then meet where no John reigns ; Leap straight together over the stile, — Straight into Love's domains. WHITE HEATHER We crossed a moor, my friend and I, A moor, which many a burn had hollowed ; But all this happened months before The grave events which our walk followed. And as we walked by chance he dropped Or was it stumbled on a letter ; I merely marvelled all the more Who wrote so much and how he met her. Ah, will the long time ever pass E'er Hymen crown the pair who tarry ; Eight summers gone, and still they go, And still our secret thoughts we parry. Which shall it be, dear friend, say which, The low flight or the stretch more lofty ? Whose house is shaking to and fro, What melts the clear eye in the soft eye ? WHITE HEATHER 121 I only know that I espied A sprig of absolute white heather ; The same I plucked, while we conversed On classic books and Autumn weather. The ling was mine, luck flashed my way, At least as such it seems he thought it ; Vainly he peered for what I first Had found though truth to say scarce sought it. A waste of bloom I crossed that day Far into purple depths receding ; No man or woman upon it scored, Not even one babe on white breast feeding. And never that walk comes back to me. But through my heart the vision courses. Of one who bridged a certain ford And while he bridged the same swopped horses. LOVE'S TENDERNESS When Love first entered my faint heart I knew him not the King he was ; My Life still ambled, — so I thought, — The old jog trot of Balaam's ass. And when the ass turned round and broke In awful speech, — still wide astray, — I only caught the stern reproof, — Quick back again, — you've lost the way ! But when I heard an angel's voice Speak yet more strangely out of you, I quite forgot all I had heard, — So wonderful Life seemed and new. And after that the fear was mine, I only loved your love for me ; Only possessed the half of you, — The other half still failed to see. LOVE'S TENDERNESS 123 Little by little, — all came out ; A thrill, — a pause, — a hasty knock, — Doubt upon doubt, — the voice that made My soul the aspen winds do rock. As wise physicians when they give A poor blind man his sight again, Colour the windows of his eyes Lest all their wonder prove in vain. As Nature with huge tenderness. When morning heaves above the hills, Tempers, — grey, purple, red and gold, — The sunrise through a thousand rills. So fears and tears and marvel great Prepared the ground-work of my soul For that which folded up in flower The gist and essence of the whole. So I perceive Love worked in me, — Had mercy when he warmed at last ; Slowly the veils were moved away That I might live, — yet hold him fast. DONA AMORIS When first above the wilderness of souls Who strive for the mastery with Life on Earth, And here and there flash sudden through the mist An open window to the stairs of heaven, Each struck on the other, as an eagle may Strike on the courses of a stranger's plumes, Circling athwart the mountain's lone abyss. It was as though each faced an imaged spirit. The disembodied essence of a soul, That fragrance of the blossom Art received, Fusing the same within the ideal world That is the house of Beauty, — counterfeits, Which, howsoever fashioned to the vision,— Rounding the gold ore to the perfect ring. Encrusted on the shield in shapes which leap To vivid life beneath the goldsmith's hand, — Reveal alone to natures in accordance, (Thus Love awakens Love to clasp the prize) The soul of the craftsman, which Art's veil conceals, If to some few a witness. In this wise, 124 DONA AMORIS 125 s Though alien to sense, each loved and Worshipped The other's craftsmanship, the jewels inlaid Upon Life's casket, seeking there no less The heart o' the mine, whose orbed precipitate, Sealed with the signet of soul's approbation, Thrilled like the hail of a comrade through the battle. And when at last these threads of gossamer Fell off and every bar was snapped asunder, When he stepped nearer to behold this lady Through magic gates, which arched an avenue Straight to the unseen temple : when amazed She looked at him and saw another there. Another in the way to fling wide doors, And beckon her to follow : when he stood Before her in the tents of that same twilight The notes of her heart's lustrous nightingale Had long since presaged, face to face with all The suffering which had inscribed on her A wintry Earth's endurance : when before The light which gathered in this lady's eyes The largess of a sudden exaltation. Which is Love's sentinel to trumpet forth The spreading marvel in a royal breast. Seemed to grow round her ever and increase Upon his countenance ; then she, whose strength Was perfected in weakness, who looked back Most wistfully unto her past refrain. 126 DONA AMORIS That daring herald of her present lover, The voice which ebbed away so faltering now, The voice of one who trod Life's bitter verge, Awake to his vast shadow, ay, betrothed To the approaching dark, — e'en while he moved To lay her sinking flower on the dawn, — Essayed to shut all petals, nor to let A man, herself gave up most willingly To the more perfect mate, coequal in All outward gifts and ripeness of the soul, — That soul she hailed God's bounty to the world, — Swerve from the appointed task, to waste the strength Of Spring's flood-tide perchance as menial To her infirmities : humbly she leaned Against the billowed salutation there. Waving the same with benedictions from Her vestibule of Sorrow : yet in vain : Rather in that she smote the tremulous skirts Of Life's ascending seas with sharp recoil, She stirred the sense which has no means to weigh Or measure out its own munificence ; Ay, woke the invading wonder at its depth. Clearing the advance of powers invincible To fold her utterly. Thus sorely matched She must fain bear her now as any child Cleaves to the mother's bosom, waiting as one Who watches in grave peace a holy thing DONA AMORIS 127 Predestinate to happen. Then it was The dower of these kisses, flake on flake, In pure succession trembled through her life ; Birth of the morning radiance in his soul, Sweet as the vivid dew upon the vales, Unclustered from night's darkness, opening The jewels of the dawn, therewith to crown The drooping grass and flower of the field ; Sweet as the mercy of the Lord to her. She garnered each to have and hold for ever : The first dropped soft as any weft of snow Upon that spirit hand, which once penned clear Songs of pure rapture, leading him aside To listen to their flutelike utterance. Seraphic, birdlike, rich with faith and praise, And deep with solitary travail held Crushed down beneath masked silences, the power And mellow tone of all. The second swept Light as a whispered breath of April on The open brow, yet barely grazed the mark. Shot to a grander height, and dying off" Among the tendril whorls of loosened hair. Which are the glory of a woman's head, Came to him with a wondrous tenderness. Most winsome to the touch, softly uncurled As mist upon the mountains. Thus they fell These gracious harbingers of Love's estate. 128 DONA AMORIS Then passed in breath away, leaving the sense Of hidden greatness, the full height and depth Of man's most simple reverence, which made Her work of love a missal unto him Whereon to read the letters of a soul, And gather all their secret : thankfully, With joy exceeding she took up her gifts ; Yet waited at her post, intently armed With pregnant admonitions for the boon Nearer to her than all, more inly dear To the reverberant headstrings. Only when Behind the muffled pause, — which after them Filled like a thunder cloud before its sheer Deliverance of flame, — she felt through all Her quickened sense the entire pulse and flow Of Love's tumultuous armies touch her there, Clad in Earth's fairest womanhood, — ay, then Her inmost being rose to clasp that wave And consummate its glory, heart to heart With his soul's insurrection. Sovereignly He laid the enflowered seal upon the lips Of a woman wholly wed and bound to him, Standing in Nature's temple, the whole man Discovered with Love's presence ; and from gates Whose barriers fell off, fell off for ever. He caught this heart's confession on the wing, — A thrill of ecstasy, — my love, my own. TARN AND FOUNTAIN Deep in the heart of hills Where the silence spread More dense for stray bells and rills Down the rough fells shed, Lay a tarn : overhead Hung the blue all day or clouds that spun White and gloom in the path of the wheels of the sun. Darker than night's own face, When the moonlight died, It slept in that mountain place. Then most allied It seemed there to hide ; Lit alone by the stars which out of the comb Of heaven flashed down to find here a home. Deep at the mountain's heart, Where the silence burst Pure through the thunder's start ; Unmoved, unamerced By the city's thirst. Lay the tarn, holding on to life's depth through veins Which rose in the storm and winter's rains. I '29 OUR NEW ATLANTIS Host. It is the English Sabbath. I regret The distance of the little village church Precludes that chaste diversion of the town At least for my foot's paces. Walden. No excuse, — Friend, no excuse to mar this April morning, When the wise blackbirds out there in your garden With not one shred of shame have formed a choir To pipe us all to matins : no excuse To make us think one moment we poor mortals. Who dare to claim the plenitude of Spirit, Must enter first a house erect of stone Before we stand at peace within the Temple ; Ay, suffer us to fear that in ourselves This lustral gift, — this one emancipation We cherish from the heart of Christendom Has fainted from its fulness and its courage ; Not an excuse I beg. Cardew. For my own part I will confess with frankness, to relieve you. OUR NEW ATLANTIS 131 I do not go to church, how much I wish Good luck to all who meet God by that way. And even if I went there, I could wish To learn from any priest of the Most High, Our friend here, for example, how his folk Across yon briny scoop of the Atlantic Propose to build their palace of the sun Without the ancient straw that passed for roofing. To keep a fold where the young lambs may thrive Rather than feel thrust out into the frost For any wolf to swallow. Host. Excellent : We stand on old legs here upon this island, — Set in its crystal sea of fair report, If somewhat too contented with the setting. So our friends chaff us yonder o'er the Channel : It may be your America reposes More amply to the Present : it may be She takes a larger keyboard to instruct The silence of the Future : willingly We'll listen to the tuning. Cardew. You mentioned courage, — Point me your New York's bravest. Walden. Ah, good friends, Our royal instrument is still the trumpet No bigger than your own and possibly 132 OUR NEW ATLANTIS With even less of theme to blow your way : Our Congress : 'tis the same the rough world over, — Frankly our politicians pick the bones Of dry old phrases till they scarce can pluck The goose quill from the eagle's, — yours again : Our churches, as your own, still seek a voice To make the angelic laughter of their Jesus As native to their lips as once to his : Yet on this day most consecrate to vision Which dares to rest and contemplate the_^Good Affianced to the process of His sphere, I should halt strangely if I did not mark The little band of faithfuls still among us Who can possess their souls in confidence Those ends the world's own childhood, let me add The ever-green Messiah in our own. Took to its heart and substance, — I select Chief of them all, — the power to enjoy, — Are still as handy to the use as ever If we will only break the calf we worship, And woo this planet sagely through our Edens : The theme will sound eccentric and it is For all who vouch the bullet and the truncheon Quite indispensable to thrust hard Fate Back to that lone abyss which none may fathom ; Their diet will taste thin to such as batten OUR NEW ATLANTIS 133 With zest upon the world's great slaughter-pots : Think of them as you may they are Earth's children, Who only ask that each may share her dower Dressed in the modest white that most becomes them, The banquet of the hour undisguised By any priesthood save the priest of Truth, — The vestal of clear Love, — her honoured temple, — The mirror all untarnished in man's soul. You ask me for the courage I bring over From the huge continent which flashed the last In union with the Life yourselves uncover : I know no gospel but the grace to live In such free wise the darkest soul that meets us Shall mark that we have pierced behind the veil ; Smile at the ready faith, — dispute its valour, — It is the only gust that takes my vote. Cardew. To be or not to be, — that is your question ; To do or not to do, — that, sir, is mine : You brandish non-resistance as your beacon, — I crown the antagonist, ay, to the death. Fill your life-cabinet with choicest sweetmeat. Bury your hermit wonder in a wood, I honour him the most who with his broom Sweeps one least block of London or New York 134 OUR NEW ATLANTIS Clear of its spume and palsy for an instant, — Purging the raw with something less uncouth, — I care not for your tranquil constellations, Smiling beyond the ocean, — heaven knows where, — Walden. Unless it be above us ; friend, the stars Fling out their traces further than you think ; Who shall contain Orion in a thimble Or measure out his bondage ? By your leave You lack the one thing prized more than all else, — The patience of the monumental moment ; The difference you clutch is but a shade, — A shadow you have watched and puffed away As often as myself; to think, to feel, — To fold within the chalice of a heart The beauty of this morning, — to brave in earnest The buffets of the Past, — the Future's eyes, — That surely is a deed as stout and honest As any we are called to bear beneath The veil of Him whose earthly robe is Reason : A deed that shall exalt us to ourselves, Ay, and the fruit we bear out of our loins. Let it but truly ripen : every day The old gods die, the sons of God are born Shouting for joy if we will walk among them And hearken to their language. Host. The dinner-bell OUR NEW ATLANTIS 135 Calls us, I fear, to something less proficient, — The music of the spheres must fall to Earth A dying emanation. Cardew. Our friend has Tucked him so well within the new saint's mantle We sinners would do well to walk behind ; Proceed, sir, to the banquet. Walden. I decline ; Only the great gods clench priorities ; That right I yield to no one. Host. Have your whim, sir ; As the one most compact of earthly leaven I'll point the compass now, and possibly You, sir, will follow, who have forced the pace : Our friend, I know, with equanimity Will front the rearguard as he led the van. Walden. With pleasure, sir, I bow to your direction. A PICTURE I SAW a picture the other day, A lovely thing which came to me As a masterpiece in its own way : Two women, a strip of sky and sea. One naked woman sprawled on the sand, A bit tired perhaps of the waters she Faced like that flower of white cloudland Which lay God's riband over the sea. Her sister, well-nigh clear of the foam Erect as an angel walked straight at me : Like a true-born goddess she stepped safe home And fresh as a maiden of the sea. How delicious it was, I wondered, I stared. How that woman's soul came forth, how free Her eyes, her features, locks all dared To dance with the music of the sea. '36 A PICTURE 137 I gazed at the face, she drew me there ; She seemed to hold me as by decree : With that face and its laughter, all windows bare, What more could I wish to take from the sea ? So I must have thought, so at least the thought Comes often with pleasure back to me ; Yet somehow I hear you blurt out short. Ah, the goddess, the subtle Aphrodite. A woman painted that picture, my friend, Painted both women as women see ; And to fling you the truth I've found at the end I love each and all, ay, love all three. OLD VIOLINS Now that the silent evenings lengthen slowly Their shadowed plumes athwart the Day's white vest; And Autumn, like a mother calm and holy, Draws Earth, her drowsy infant, to the breast : Now that the mellow sunsets of October Reveal at last the granaries of heaven ; And ere December takes us chill and sober, — We marvel at the wealth that has been given. Now that the solemn Year looks back half wistful To Proserpina's largess of the flowers, — And glebes are shorn which grave Demeter kissed full, And heaven watered with her rainbow showers ; Now that the whole wide world seems to be thinking, Or is it, — ^just like man, — only pretends ; And all the pastured multitudes are drinking That deep enchantment which the far haze lends. '38 OLD VIOLINS 139 Now that all Nature seems half wan with growing, And waters steal the langour of the woods ; And Earth among the seeds the winds are sowing Breathes Colour's last ripe kiss on household goods : Ere we forget the Maytime's resurrection, — Losing ourselves in sorrow for dull sins, — Let us muse how God planned one small perfection, Working through man's sweet labour violins. A thing of Beauty is a joy for ever. Ah, yes, — if Earth's weak hands can hold it fast ; But how much more a joy the grand endeavour Which slowly, slowly all the wonder glassed : The anthem of a Giotto still throbs under His Campanile shining through its grace ; The Parthenon, — your old world's supreme wonder, — Where is the flower, — where is Athene's face ? If our weak hands can hold it, did I venture ? If hearts no less I should have added too ; Shall not the poet with his loved indenture Hold the star shining still upon the blue ? What though his song can but in part recapture The Beauty of the vision ere it fades ; The joy that gave it lives to keep Earth's rapture Pure as the air above the mountain glades. I40 OLD VIOLINS Earth's nightingales shall laud great-souled Robusti Though all his crucifixions peal away, — And warm the Earth, — when Time that eats all rusty Crumbles the world's last Titian in decay : When the one Paradise we hold from Venice Is that she opens wide in every heart, — The eternal shrine where great Art's upper Ten is Safe, ay, till all Earth's timbers crack and part. How was it then in Italy's Bologna, — In Brescia, if you love best fair Salo, — (How busy the bees were then, — was all Life sunnier ?) An artist struck the rare seed long ago ; Which grew until it left each old survival. Rebec and dulcimer, viol and lute. Disconsolate before their magic rival, Birds in a cage locked up, — for ever mute. Gasparo was the name of both these worthies, Who claim the glory of this double star We cannot now divide, — so great our dearth is, — Gaspar of Salo, — Caspar Duiffoprugcar ; So Fame has trolled the tale, — so we will keep it, — The stars smile without envy on their road ; The seed was sown, — the Earth was left to reap it, — Gasparo, let us call the man who sowed. OLD VIOLINS 141 A child of Italy, — a brother Teuton, — Sweetness and depth we thus see well combined ; What fairer stock than this to graft our fruit on, What rarer blend of heart made whole with mind ? And how did Gaspar wake up one fine morning. And mark his golden apple on the bough ? That is what I would tell, — without adorning, — All who have ears to hear the plain tale now. Now Gaspar was an earnest soul and pious, — And so one day it happened, — ay, this is Truth at the centre, though all else slip by us; While hard at work he struck his wife with this : " Come, wife, do you remember that last sermon With which the padre shocked the town in Lent, — Saying we all might stand upon Mount Hermon, If only we would make our instrument, — " He meant these souls of ours, — a habitation Fit for the God to dwell in, — shape the walls Responsive to each royal undulation, Which like the dew of Hermon round us falls : How we should find the face of men transfigured As those three found the face of Him who saves ; And even the Earth would meet us strangely biggered, As we walked one by one out of our caves. 142 OLD VIOLINS " But no, — we will not, — women dote on dresses, — A brave hat or a ribbon in your hair : As for the men, — a fig for priestly guesses. Sufficient this, — we have no time to spare : And thus, — however we deck humanum corpus, — The soul half throttled gives a saucepan's sound ; While Beauty, — such I mean as would not warp us, — Is barely looked for where it might be found. " Now it is odd I've often thought out something Much like it when upon my work I dream ; This scroll for instance, — ay, the pretty dumb thing, — My carving's quite first-rate, — ^just like your cream ; But then an instrument of music surely Is not alone a thing all to admire : And that's what beats me, — while I gaze demurely, — The thought strikes, where the deuce is the soul's fire ? " To which the wife responded with wife's reason ; Gaspar remember God's work is not man's, — The thought itself stands very close to treason ; And if you fail, — who'll fill my pots and pans ? Carve if you will ; but not to speak too nicely. Construct what lets Cordelia's voice pass through, — Flames Gaspar, — ' Wife, you've hit the nail precisely, — That is my aim and what I mean to do.' " OLD VIOLINS 143 And so he worked, — thought less of fair scroll's flourish — The inlaid wonders all the world admired ; And most of what the player's soul might nourish, The answering soul ; to that he now aspired : When strings are trifles any dunce may tether. We may have six vibrating, — nay, a score ; When each from bow must sing like stars together, Just three, — or perfect fifths, — add one string more. Thus he moved forward ; heaven is not jealous : The work of Love is never thrown away ; The higher the aim for which the soul is zealous. The longer the result will come to stay : A violin is born : man stares astonished To find the lovely plaything of the knife The passion of a soul, — which ever admonished As much experiment as his own life. Maggini took the problem from those fingers ; Ha ! that is better, — something like a scroll ; But life is short, — and still the old love lingers For decorative craft, — we miss the goal : Greatness suggests itself ; but not completeness ; Fullness and breadth, but not the starry clear ; No, — we must wrestle through the ways of sweetness Ere we arrive before the perfect sphere. 144 OLD VIOLINS First, we must court perfection of the lesser Ere that is won which weans manhood entire, Baring the world apart from all confessor, One with the heart of Things, the Good, its Sire. Deeper Amati dipped the pinewood's belly To make the distilled music flow more soft ; First, we must sing the Carol of Corelli Ere Bach's tremendous Passion flames aloft. O, but the song was sweet ; consummate the scroll was, Flawless the purfling, — finished to a hair ; If sweetness was just all, — why here the goal was ; But what then of old Gaspar's morning prayer : " Give us a full tone. Lord, — ay, where Thy grace is Add something of an edge upon the teeth : Our violins rush up, — but let our bases Roll out the thunder of Thy wrath beneath." At least a Beauty fuller and a stronger Was Nicholas Amati's magic doubt ; Wisely he wrestled with the soul's new hunger, — And when Earth seemed to hear the triumph shout. When that was almost his, the dream he slaved for, — Why then God took him, — took the man from us, — But left his work, — the grand Amati saved for His own great pupil Stradivarius. OLD VIOLINS 145 Antonius Stradivarius of Cremona ; Read the old label, read it to the end : The man who worked, till the Ideal had grown a Thing to be handled, if we dare amend. The treasure-trove that in the heart has nested, — Ay, Albert Durer, you have given the word, — To shadow forth in fair shape manifested. This work the fit example shall afford. We see him working calm no fleck or spot on The apron white he worked in year by year ; The tall lithe figure capped in wool or cotton. Orbing fair Sound and Beauty in one sphere : The art of Nicholas he learned to love it, — It was the shrine from which he faced the hill, — And there he toiled to reach the star above it, And hale at fourscore years was toiling still. " God grant me health and years," — prayed the stern master, " And all that careful art of man can do. Working with Nature, till you have surpassed her. Prizing all honest work before yours too. That shall be mine " ; in truth he never rested Through seventy marvellous years of work and more, — Years in which failure vanished, — nobly breasted, — Until he passed behind the Whole he saw. 146 OLD VIOLINS He knew his worth, or he had never tasted The loveliness that crowned the complete whole : Kings issued their commands ; he never hasted Until each miracle from button to scroll Was worthy of the palace, worthy of singing To hearts maybe more worthy of the throne : Ay, kings must wait for what the months are bringing ; Thus the great artist works, — and thus alone. Perchance he never guessed the full song hidden Beneath those treasuries of rare design : He worked his Best as he by Art was bidden, She added more than his soul could divine : The Beauty that we now thereon discover. He moulded to the sound waves of each plane ; But churlish Time for once has proved a lover, — And mellow Age has kissed mature the grain. Antonius Stradivarius Cremonensis, — Our Rafael at last : must all then stop ? When all Art aimed at as it were condenses. Is the time reached to shut up Earth's workshop ? There lies the master's scroll, — trace every letter, — Copy the whole book through, — repeat the same, — At least our Stradivarius knew better, Or we had never thought to sing his fame. OLD VIOLINS 147 Nature moves fearless onward : who forecloses The Beauty of each sunrise still to break ? If Earth has lilies, has she then no roses, — Who shall forbid their speech when buds awake ? Ay, infinite as Nature to the poet Is Art's reflection of the Beauty there ; It is the task of genius to show it, — Ay, most when all believe the cupboard bare. Dear Rafael is dead and Rome sits weeping, — But Michael paints and Albert Durer draws ; Though the dull world thinks only now of sleeping, Orion and his hounds are out of doors : With both the wonder born of fair Urbino Was but a flame that fanned their flame for us ; So Stradivarius worked in Seraphino, And struck the jewel from Guarnerius. Or did the latter muse, — " this making fiddles Has reached the crown of Beauty it may be ; But still among our craft's yet unsolved riddles Is there then nought unsounded still to see ? Nothing my handiwork may still deliver Concordant with a music all my own ; No majesty, — whereof solely the giver I too may wave my challenge to Art's throne ? " 148 OLD VIOLINS " These violins of Anthony, — alas, — sir, — Are quite seraphic in their grace of line ; Greece once again, — that who shall now surpass, — sir ; The best of them, — by heaven, — superb, — divine ; But mark the stamp well, — or you still may blunder ; Your classic frieze, your godlike all-complete. Stops just where Nature's all-surprising thunder Slips out beyond, — man's Art admits defeat." " Perfection absolute, entirely flawless May do for angels, but leaves out old Nick ; Give me, — O Nature, — a frank trace of your lawless, A scroll like this now, — somewhat more of chic ! " Once more to Caspar's Prelude he growled " Bene," Worked hard when his soul-daemon worked through him ; And hatched the egg that hatched out Paganini, Leaving his rival, — whom but Joachim ! And they who caught the best their master's lesson, Out of the workshop where he plied his art, Bergonzi, — Montagnana, — each in season, — Albeit they loved him, watched him heart to heart, — Knew that their work must stand up lone and stately, If they would make it live, a thing as real As vital as that star they saw shine greatly, — As fresh an utterance of soul's Ideal. OLD VIOLINS 149 Ay, we must all give something, — add some merit, — E'en if we lose somewhat in giving that ; Or that we give will prove no gift of Spirit, — No art, — but merchandize we now stare at : The woods of God gave sycamore and maple, — It was their all — they gave a life that fled ; Man gives the gifts of Art as he is able, — That heaven's own music may therewith be bled. That is the lesson these old viols teach us, — Love gave them working hand in hand with law ; Fresh courage they would clearly then most reach us, When we shrink back from gods that went before ; Slowly they die, — harsh Time has not escaped them, — But ever as they die they sing more sweet ; Chiming their tribute to the hearts that shaped them ; And ever as they die they thus entreat : " Ye men of Earth, who lift so high our praises. The day will come when our voice shall be mute ; Have you worked aught as loyal to fill our places, Sowing the seed and glory of our fruit ; How hard it is ye know, — therefore ye love us,— Yet Gaspar dared his fathers to excel ; Look through our mirror to the Idea above us,- So shall ye learn with him to break the spell. ISO OLD VIOLINS Only work on undaunted as our makers, Work for the Future, — scorn the present need ; So shall ye find Earth's busy undertakers May lop the fruit but cannot mar the seed ; Who works for love, — with steadfast and a pure eye,- Through him all secrets of the Past shall flow : Viva fui in sylvis, — sum dura occisa securi, — Dum vixi tacui, — mortua duke cano. A LANDMARK IN TWO LIVES We paced the quay of Havre, and in advance A new world rose out of that old of France We had just worshipped standing side by side In Amiens cathedral and the pride Of Rouen, Chartres, and, queen of all, Beauvais, — Beauty's apotheosis day by day : And, suddenly, I know not how it came. The seed within us both rushed to a flame ; We swore one oath together, he, — my friend, — Those master builders of the choir to blend With his life-work as builder, — I, in turn, As painter such my meed of praise to earn As Fra Angelico among the blessed Might sing to his last pupil most possessed With the pure joy and wonder he worked for And gave to all meek spirits who adore ; The coronation of our virgin love That vow appears to me I here speak of: And thus in truth the strange thing came to pass. The world we saw that old world presage, — was ; 152 A LANDMARK IN TWO LIVES He toiled to roof the earthly paradise To which he vowed his soul in a sacrifice My own ne'er matched as his heart's wealth waS given With not one reservation under heaven, — I dared at least the little I have done Down to this last day where I stand alone Before the close of all in Avalon. OMNIA MUTANTUR What's the truth, dear? Think, think hard,- Wholly free, — one minute : Is that sunshine on the sward, — Why are we not in it ? Let's have truth, — we ask no grace, — Truth, — Life's old enchanter ; Where has God concealed His face ? Omnia mutantur. Poets might from hearts that bled Moan, — pour your flagons, — Bacchus ! Would our pains were not all dead. Leaving this void to rack us. That's the strangest change of all The changes in our diet ; We face imperturbable This everlasting Quiet. 153 IS4 OMNIA MUTANTUR Tranquilly we walk alone, Before the world's face mated : We were such had we not known Lovers when separated. Once the surface life all shared Was nought to that weaved under Soundless depths still twilights bared Where we alone could wonder. Thus it was ; the time — I know, — When heaven rained down star-kisses ; Now the bare touch, chaste as snow, Gives us the ghost of blisses. Once a single word would mar The happiness of hours ; Now a jar is but a jar, The Earth has lost her showers. Once your body shone like mine A part if more of heaven ; Now I seek first for a sign And no sign shall be given. OMNIA MUTANTUR 155 How far venture dare we, — how Far slip the door, — unlatch it ; Life's at best a problem now To hide a rent or patch it. Once I thought as lovers think Love made life immortal ; Now I mark the grave stars wink Doubts back from heaven's portal. Once the sense was mine to feel Open an unseen presence; Now the senses all must peel ; No essence melts with essence. Some one entered through a crowd, I saw not but I knew it ; Thus it was Love laughed aloud At matter — looked right through it. O, there's nothing base to kill, Would we both were sinners : Then we might have lovers still To eat with us our dinners. IS6 OMNIA MUTANTUR No, it's better not to fret, We have still our Horace ; Life's mean commonplace regret, My race is not your race. Shut the book up, lay it by, Thumbed from cover to cover ; However we may live or die It won't be now as lover. Christ, — it surely can't be this ? No, — dear, — who believed it ? Swear it's not once more and kiss,- Ah, — but I conceived it. OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Close up that book, Love : help me to break ground In broader acres where we both may strive for Fruit that hangs mellow from quick walls of sound ; Gather some truths musicians work and live for, Feel a few matchless moments they have found. See, patience is rewarded ; well, I know That muffled stir of startled expectation : Some one has caught the glitter of a bow. Scattered the first chance tremble of elation ; Soon the full flood will leap, and all will glow. Ay, there they are, — our heroes, — filing past, — Dropping like veterans into their places : Fiddles and tenor, your 'celo wheels the last ; We front them now, four simple, earnest faces, — Bright with the welcome on their entry cast. Mark each man there ; first, who but Joachim, — Lord of the bow, the violin's anointed ; 158 OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Head, heart and hand, wholly brought under him, Yield flawless service : nothing here disjointed Weighs on this rival of the Seraphim. In those deep eyes, that contour leonine Lies stored the strength which is the stafFof lightness ; Those nervous fingers, exquisitely fine. Are porous to each shade, each touch of brightness Wherein rare force and gentlest spirit combine. A genius catholic, he takes free part In all his skill our human life enhances. But drives his base deep in Teutonic art : Like star-drops flash his own Hungarian dances, But rare Sebastian holds this warrior's heart. How quietly he waits, meanwhile apoise Between his knees glistens Cremona's wonder ; Trust him to treasure safe above all noise The waking into life Beethoven's thunder : No silence like the mountain's mates that voice. All know Piatti's forehead, soaring high ; Little he cares for popular caprices ; Such is his art ; such his the mastery Wherewith he smooths expression's finest creases Even Love's eyes will often pass it by. OLD ST JAMES'S HALL 159 Herr Strauss abjures the captain's post to-day, Speaks through the tenor's voice the wise endurance Of Art's illustrous soldiers on the way Where Ries, with steadfast face and rare assurance Shall help his comrades all as one to play. There, — you have all the magnates on your list ; The stir is ceasing fast, — has almost settled ; That nod is a sign to crash out through the mist Chords wherein each steed rides off fairly mettled : The bows are up in the air, — are down, — have kissed. Stop, ere the heart of the tempest round you flows. Note how the troop superbly, without hurry, Marches its colour through the dusk's repose. Ranks well together, no waver and no flurry : Then gauge the strength of the art that union shows. The temple's walls are shattered with the burst, — From the priest's trumpet there is no escaping ; In the fine drench of the sound we are immersed, Nor look at first for what the sounds are shaping ; Simply our being leaps to slake its thirst. The leader springs aside, — waves off the chord, — Opens impetuously the poet's rapture ; i6o OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Opens the treasure our musician stored, The melody which tracts of life recapture, Rending the chains of Time as with a sword. And as the strong bird's singing mounts the skies The brothers softly fill the lower spaces ; Form a hushed cadence, whence the soul may rise ; Thus, soaring up above those tender bases, This song of life the sullen world deiies. Yet deeper tones are roused, throb into view ; The leader's voice slips under them half broken ; Stands veiled aside, to let a current through Of sorrow by the troubled bass strings spoken. The grief of one, who suffered here as few. Thus by each instrument love's eloquence Is moved to some fresh mystery of meaning ; Each nobly bears aloft the torch intense. Then drops below the withered embers gleaning, Or holds aloof, patient, in mute suspense. Each soldier has a danger-post to guard. Where the least shrinkage of a nerve's precision Leaves a rough ripple on the surface scarred ; Where only flawlessly combined decision Gives consummated passion's full reward. OLD ST JAMES'S HALL i6i And in this magic bond of harmony All are attuned ; work out through one probation Deliverance, as though the master's eye Were over them ; feel lifted to his station, Feel his ideal grasp of unity. All are attuned, — do know themselves more strong ; Ay, even as all who fight for love or duty Feel linked with the world's triumph over wrong, These warriors in the battle of art and beauty Join in the contest of immortal song. We, too, who listened, still somewhat apart. Are drawn up now, with art's fair world included ; Widen, — meet manfully the poet's heart. The ampler one ; old limits are denuded ; Secrets are borne to us from which we start. Nay, as we dwell upon the tiniest ducts, The least of all the touches of a master. How strangely everything the mind instructs. Raising it to the focus of that vaster, Which with such means the rounded sphere constructs. As with the first theme so the second theme ; Then all wheel back upon the chords corrosive. i62 OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Swim stoutly once again the former stream : Then a great change : the chatter grows explosive, Eccentric as the horse-play of a dream. After that freakish tumbling the old light Returns, but now enriched with novel graces ; Broken at last its falling colours smite The twin sun warm again ; each interlaces, Blends with the other for one last grand flight. Onward they rush together and their rain Lamps the Night's silence growing ever in lustre, A shout of joy it waves, this golden strain, Which seems the whole of the artist's powers to muster ; Then all dies off in the air; we breathe again. Who may expound the Allegro's utterance ? What does it mean, — the heart of it, — I wonder ? Is it a glove hurled at the Moirae's dance, The cry of one who shivers bars asunder. Feeling the bay's wreath crown him in advance ? All hail to the voice that calls us from our sleep ; We hear the rustle of an eagle's pinion ; OLD ST JAMES'S HALL 163 Discern the march of a majestic sweep Rolled, like an ocean's swell, from that dominion Musicians sway, — breathing upon a deep. And now with eyes upon the distant goal, Leaving the surface-world of common-places. Our wrestler bares the vistas of the soul. Probes to the depths, opens the hidden bases, Writing this prelude first upon the scroll. Brothers, you saw my spirit mount and win A name among the stars, the singers peerless : Such is the life you know ; now look within The life which I have known, awful and cheerless. Where no voice spake, of man or violin. Face that last bolt of God, the shaft which hushed The mingled tones of Nature, bird and maiden ; Which robbed m.e of the wine my winepress crushed : Face the lone world, the happy world I played in When all the morning stars to singing rushed. When you have seen that sorrow blow on blow Closer and closer round the heart-strings quicken, — As on a mountain's side the soundless snow Deep through the muffled solitudes will thicken, — Then staunch your thirst with my Adagio. i64 OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Follow just as a brother might this strain, Which drew out of my grief its core of fire ; Where the soul, purged with its travail, seemed to gain So mightily it lost the pent desire. Transposing into music all the pain. And all life's burden, ay, the thousand frets Which make its little trance so frail and meagre, — Delivered thus as through divine outlets. Were wholly merged, — this is no empty figure, — In thf abundant life that never sets. We too afar have heard the poet's sigh, Baring a world within a world, — uplifted Over its deeoest suffering on high : Up the voice smote, the veils of gloom were rifted; Through the assembling flame the chant swept by. How each musician rallied heart and nerve To voice submissively, with pure devotion All that lay there, anxious simply to serve The master's aim, renew his rare emotion. Each face the while a face of strong reserve. It dies at last in gentlest speech that hymn : The angels pass : plaudits rain thick on shoulders ; OLD ST JAMES'S HALL 165 And here and there a heart sighs on the brim Of fountains which hide soft beneath stout boulders ; Matchless Beethoven, — matchless Joachim. But ere we will have time to catch a breath The birds are round us ; swift, with never a warning, The scherzo starts away, hurling a wreath Of twitters, brood of the beams that kiss the morn- ing. The brighter for the depths hushed now beneath. And while the delicate feet weave fairy rings Their heavier comrade adds a plea all ruffled. Gruff protest urged against those gossamer wings ; You trill and trill, — listen how I half muffled Am forced to pick up scraps of what each sings ! What do they care, — these swallows of the skies ? You must obey our whims, sir, like the lover Who suits his face to his dear lady's eyes : We will repeat our dance at least twice over. If that will help those legs on stilts to rise ! Nay, when the trio's triplets soft entwine They seem to mock outright : " Hist, there, be humble, i66 OLD ST JAMES'S HALL Your place is the low shade, ours the sunshine." The halting grumbler scarce can help a stumble The ether up above him hangs so fine. Mark the superb recoil : this is the stamp Of genius that it knows the depths of laughter : The world's big hearts have not the poor world's cramp ; However Life may scar them, surely after Life's sweet breath mounts again, no fire-damp. Even when the last movement's lightning starts Its ceaseless interchange of fitful guessing ; Its emphases, blunt pauses, aimless darts. As though life's medley notes were now expressing, We feel the hand which furls in all the parts. So our musician thought : bone of his bone. Flesh of his flesh they were; no youth loved maiden More tenderly. These quartettes life enthrone : Thus Mozart on his twelve inscribed to Haydn ; ' They are my children, love them as your own." And deaf Beethoven too : did he not choose, Ere he laid down on earth his godlike forces. OLD ST JAMES'S HALL 167 In this consummate form of art to fuse, — Piercing through art to the soul where art's deep source is, — The highest his art gave, — his noblest Muse ? Did he not crown the achievement of his hand ? That music left to the after-world's deep mining ; That cavatina, — the greatest ever planned ; That sweet laudamus like pure Vesper shining, Where the soul looks into a sunnier land. Those poems where the more we tune our ear With senses trained to what they have to tell us, The more all that seemed too occult rings clear ; Nay, life itself has little left to spell us, So spacious is the scale, — so grand the sphere. Enough ! Beethoven flings his fireworks, Swift stream of rockets to the mighty dominant ; Darkness sets in : scarcely a pale star lurks Among our crude day senses all too prominent ; No hurry, sir : or need for elbow jerks ! JENNY LIND How did you see her ? See her, I repeat : For though you went rather to hear her, Was not the sight as sweet, Or it may be, sweeter, dearer ? Like a mother-bird, — A grandmother-bird, I will say, — All the darling April days over : So she mused with herself, this lover, — This lover of song-birds, who. Serious in face as a Quaker, In her quiet black dress, her grey hair, — So very old-fashioned too, — With the little neat cap she drew Over the curls. Led each by a hand those girls, Bashful, adoring, there To sing — while she warbled between them,- With a note here and there in the blue, A note here and there just to screen them,- JENNY LIND 169 To sing as near to her way As might be : and that's to say To lift pure voice to their Maker : O, this woman, half angel, half bird • Not a heart but stirred To see her : Patet incessu dea. How did you hear her Singing that very last time Before the dumb world, With a voice which now Sleeps, sleeps all furled ? I cannot tell how : O words, vain words, — How can your breath bring nearer The song of the birds ? How can I ever recapture All you whispered to me, When you wrote, — still trembling, — aglow With her ecstasy ? But you said, — you know, — How suddenly, as without warning. Over the wistful cadence Of those two maidens, There broke 170 JENNY LIND One delicious dewdrop of rapture, — Fresh as a jewel scattered On harebell from hillside runlet, So lark-like, so single, so sunlit The flower awoke : No more it mattered That Spring and Summer were over. And all the sweet prime : You had heard The voice of the lover, — The very bird That melted the eyes of the morning With tears of gladness : Which startled the hills With an angel's jubilant madness : You had caught the thrills Of the song which was given From heaven : " Lift thine eyes to the hills." HELEN ABERCROMBIE Keiffoi d'ipdxvvs iv iight, Scorning soul's bars. He had lived beneath Earth's larger case : We left him in death, Face to face with the blue Face to face with the Day, 2i6 A MAN OF GENIUS Face to face with the stars, Face to face with the Night, An open place. Out of the sin. The city's smart, With flowers to guard. And a green which waves As the winds brush past. Or gently thrill O'er the silent graves Of honoured kin ; This strenuous heart. In a Scotch kirkyard. Is laid at last. For ever still. A MAN OF HONOUR I FLIRTED ; why should men not flirt, Who feel, who know how good life is ; Ay, married men, I here assert, Though I have reaped some difficulties. My wife objected : it is strange How women thus should strive to pin A man's thought to their own close range, Look on good spirits as half sin. The course she steered was rather bold. She did not argue in the least ; She simply left me in the cold. Acted as though herself released. Ah, flirted too ! Well, not quite that ; It was not thus the door she slammed : She gravely smiled beneath her hat. Treated me gently as one damned. 2i8 A MAN OF HONOUR She made me think so I confess, When off she flashed white sails to sea ; It seemed both more and somewhat less, Or so at least it first touched me. Thanks to a young fool, true, sir, true. She hit me, ah, it stung that knife : When she was down I hit her too, But then, ah, well, she was my wife. In this I erred and something more, A bad mistake, and, well, well, well. It never happened thus before, I felt half, you know, half in hell. My rule of Life is when causi Honoris I put down my fist. To do it the immaculate way. Arms folded, ay, good friends enlist. The reason is not far to seek. If you the fact will bear in mind, We may, must surely strike the weak To spear the fool ensconced behind. A MAN OF HONOUR 219 This time unluckily for me I fired my guns too hotly ; yes, You smile as though a fool you see, I pinned the real fool none the less. My wife was quite correct ; my aim Ought to have marked, say this Jack Horner ; So giving up that dangerous game, I once more kissed her from my corner. All's well that ends well, ship in port, The world of men removes its hat ; Thus ends, — but ah, my drift you've caught — The duel old of tit for tat. TO A LADY One thing you lacked and only one To keep your soul free from all scathe ; Which of us always keeps it, — none ; Truth to soul's finest instincts, — Faith. Faith stedfast through each dark appearance, God still is the one perfect clearance : What you did after, eyes ablaze, I dare not blame, I will not praise. A PROVERB OF HELL Omitted from W. B.'s Collection The wonder of heaven's sphere of gold Is lost to eyes which cannot see ; Yet oft the blind, with eyes all cold, Do hear the more amazingly. A STRANGE FANCY Life's flower from leaf I saw unfurled, Beauty I saw, but still shall shout The honour worn by half the world Is Pride's own vest turned inside out. A REFLEXION From a Good Angel's Notebook One of the hardest things I think On this strange Earth which Love's regard Alone can break out of the barred Matrix and bare as jewel starred, Is not to feel God's very light Tingle across your naked sight, But when from that pure flask you drink, And, facing that, your eyeballs blink Before the one thing Life has found Most lifts her head above the ground, And your light shows to the attack But one shade less than outer black ; And all the distances resound With awed cries, " Fool, quick on the track,'' Is just this truth to comprehend The Wisdom by which Earth makes blend All lights together in one whole. The dullest facets, and the clearest, The furthest from us and the nearest, 224 A REFLEXION Gathered as one from pole to pole, Gathered as pieces, bit by bit, Dovetailed, there lies the strength of it ; Perceiving this wise to admit That in despite of Truth's support, Or even what Earth may eke have caught From glints of our angelic sense. The world from slow experience. Has gained what bares a flower to Thought, The open presence in Life's tree Of Spirit's solidarity ; A truth which shines for all as true Though a white cloud upon the Blue. A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES A Hill in France They stood upon a little knoll that pushed Sharp through its wreath of solemn firs and thence Peered on the lovely valley and its fortress, Over the shining meadows, over the bridge That clutched in shreds and patches to the Meuse ; Over the swift Givonne, whence silently The multitudinous pines of the forest rolled Dusk masses up the northern Ardennes Hills, Like a huge gathering of Gothic braves Keen for King Alaric's shout to swoop upon The softening might of Rome. He had a way Of standing by himself, as one who wished To muse alone — the right hand gently raised Up to his wrinkled cheek, right elbow propped By the left hand laid across the thigh, — in short A loose and careless posture : thus it was We marked him at the first when all at once p 225 226 A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES The king and his famed warriors broke to view In brilliant cluster there : now and again The king, who looked more restless in his mien, And twitched his beard at times half nervously, Would drop a word or two with him and Roon, — Or haply him alone, — and he would give Instant reply, or gaze maybe a moment At the outstretched map, then wheel for an eagle glance Through the great tripod-mounted telescope Which focussed all that circle : oftenest He stood, however, as we noticed first. At least so long as we stood by to watch : They had been there, it was close on mid-day, Since early seven o'clock, and now the sun Had melted all the mists the morning waved About the bated breath of that doomed city : Swift as the Night stole off with jewelled tents. The heavens beamed clear, translucent as pure glass. As though the dazzling window-pane of blue Stared with amazement at the sights which stormed Through horror's gaping mouth : even as Dante Stared at the pitcher of Bertran de Born And all the grisly crew bedevilled with him In Hell's most awful gullet ; wondrously The shining landscape glittered, and the steel Of closing armies flashed like mirrored moonlight ; A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES 227 Save where some whitened crest whirled through the air From the host of circling shells, or where at last The pitchy snakes of Tartarus leaped up, And conflagration in tremendous coils Writhed from dismantled villages and homes : Or where above the ashes of Bazeilles Bellona trampled with her bloody hoofs, And deluged iron hail remorselessly Round all the fair approaches of the town, Which gave to France the genius of Turenne. 228 A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES II A Hill in Silesia Ever when Spring moved soft o'er the Earth, and her smile on the meadows Broke for innumerable blades to push through the lost multitude buried ; Million-hued javelins of green, and the snow which had covered the valleys Died from the feet of the hills, from the flanks of the blue giant mountains, Like a pale army in motion before the attacks of a stronger, Ebbed like a wraith from the dells and lay like a crown on their summits. White on the drear Hohe Eule, and stainless on king- like Schneekoppe, — Ever when March — richly dight in her glory of daffodil flowers, Crimson of roses in Argos, soft mantle of snowdrops in England, — Danced for pure joy through the fields, and the voices of chattering swallows Whispered once more round the eaves of many a garrulous village A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES 229 Held in the fertile embrace of those spacious Silesian uplands, Stretched like a Titan's big palm there, — the eminent forehead of Europe, — Ever when Spring shyly called, he was eager to follow her footsteps Far from the town and the cares he had nursed through laborious Winter, Far from all councils of state-craft, he loved to revisit the homestead, Bought in the days of his Spring, a delight to the woman who loved him ; Bought in the days when she lived, one beautiful summer they spent there, Shrined in his bosom by Love, and by Grief ever close to her sister : Twenty-six years of sweet blessing these two had lived humbly in wedlock, It was the wane of the mouths, cold Winter lay hoar on the furrows, All the tree-stems stood up mute, gaunt and leafless against the grey heaven : It was the day when the Christ came to shepherds with songs on the mountains. Gently she passed from the village : he laid what God left of his dear one 230 A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES Peaceful to rest in the chapel he built for her safe on the hill-top : Close to that manor it sloped from the banks of the murmuring Peile, Fronting the genial champaign with the Zobtenberg purple beyond it, — There on the crest of the knoll he planned it himself, — a year after Took her and laid her at last where he hoped in his age to be gathered : Noble and fair it was planned, and a bed of white flowers swept round it, — Last, for a watch-guard of honour, stood fir-trees in dense solemn cluster : Noble, yet simple in form, and ever the sun through veined windows Filled its recess with the blue that is seen on the thresholds of heaven. Sweet, every year more sweet to his soul came this manor of Creisau, Welcome as any pure shrine may appear to the eyes of a pilgrim, — Sweet, ay, surpassingly sweet to this heart grew the hill and its chapel : Never a Spring would slip by but it found the lord near to his own there : A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES 231 Morning or eve without fail would he mount through the firs and the garden, Visit this chapel of silence, a spray in his hand, or some flower ; Something of beauty to leave there, and ever he brought with him from it Something that rose through his eyes of blue steel and softened stern features : Dear to him lay all the park stretched beneath it : with genius untiring, Compass in hand, year by year, he endowed it with beauty and order, — Raised princely roads from the marshes, turned desolate wastes into pasture. Tended his woods like a lover, hale oaks in superb constellations Planted, for chief among timber he held them, and surely they stood there Nearest of kin to himself at the kernel, — O glory of England : Close to him, close it all lay : much he loved too the word on that pillar Hewn like a giant of stone where the Oder whirls headlong to Briesen, — " Others made roadways for us : we make them for others who follow: 232 A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES Christ made a road for us all to the stars:" all the strength of this warrior Came to him nobler through tears, as his wife's was made perfect through weakness, — Words deep enscrolled on his heart and inscribed by his hand on her Scriptures, — Gift, her last gift to himself : thus year after year calm and steadfast. Waiting to follow her feet, quite in love with his country vocations, Oft the man might have been seen, as the days drew him nearer his twilight. Watching young stems as they grew, — his children, — she left him no others, — This was denied them, this only, a sorrow made sweet in the sharing. Wonderful ever is love, with his shears and his stick for a grafter. Humming an air of Mozart, hard by the ubiquitous sketch-book, Sitting on some grassy rise, — his years have run close ninety summers, — Lamped by the plumes of some chestnut, a grand one stood under the hill there, Spider legs crossed, slender hands on each knee, one tight on silk kerchief. A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES 233 Dusty black coat, tie askew, grey trousers, felt hat very broad-brimmed, Kneaded to softness of dough, most famous of marshals in Europe ; Thus would he sit at his ease ; beyond him sweet corn- land and meadow Stretch far away with soft ripples to Zobtenberg blue in the distance. Country of Frederick's battles, he knew every stone where he fought them, Leuthen the prize of his strength, — had he never stood there on the Scheuberg, Praised as Napoleon before him, last, MoUwitz, the first of mad onsets, Caught from the teeth of the fight, when our Fritz tumbled off into dreamland : Thus would the veteran muse, looking round on the world and its battles, Rossbach, Sadowa and Sedan, ay, muse till it seemed that he also Hied far away like a bird to the haven of some treasured dreamland. Dream that lay nearest his heart, and a light would spread over worn features Soft as a sunset of flame on the bark of an oak tree in winter, Standing snow-bound in the field, rugged hero of many a tempest. 234 A FIELD-MARSHAL OF OUR TIMES III In La Sua Voluntade Quietly he left us, fell asleep, say rather, Like a weary child upon the mother's bosom, Crowned with splendid honours, his life-work completed, Crowned with acclamations by his king and country : Over ninety summers round this heart have blossomed. Over ninety winters round this head have whitened, Ere the silver cord is loosed, the pitcher broken. Ere the wheel is shattered, broken at the cistern. Ere this soldier spirit passed to Him who gave it : There he lay the last time in his hushed bedchamber, One last look we saw him try to give her portrait, Turning on his arm with effort to the wall there. Tenderly we laid him in the fair hill chapel, There the two sleep once more side by side together : Round them both the Spring pours whiteness on the garden. All the year the fir-trees stand in solemn stillness : Underneath the hill-slope thrills and gleams the Peile Circling down the plains to meet the pathless ocean : Overhead the Day helm-barred with plumes of glory, Standing with her shield before Night's habitations, Canopies their couch with curtain of pure azure. BISMARCK'S ENTLASSUNG Three roses on the master's tomb The master's friend and servant lay, Three roses to make sweet the gloom And speak mute thoughts as flowers may. Within that Mausoleum bare The strong man bowed a whitening head ; The heart which honoured him slept there, And still that radiance warmed and fed. Where is the Past ? Youth turns the page Of history resolved to prove Himself the focus of the stage, Himself the soul which all shall move. Another Kaiser, young and bold. Has waved him from all cares of state ; A silent world salutes him cold, Where he must silent walk with Fate. 2JS 236 BISMARCK'S ENTLASSUNG Must wait and suffer; such the r61e Left him whose lust was statesman's craft ; Must wait while others drain the bowl Of that world force wherein he laughed. A soul of iron to the world, Love still's a graft beneath this breast ; And all the granite crust uncurled But veils a passionate core suppressed. O Solitude, how close thy wings Hover around Earth's giant race ; How strange the tenderness which springs From depths that hide the soul's bare face. What feats of strength, what rich-veined strife Must there have flooded o'er the cup Of memories which rushed to life. Like frosted stars as each rose up. What buffets borne in fierce debate, What thunders shared on many a field, As he looked back, now isolate, And to his master's shrine appealed. BISMARCK'S ENTLASSUNG 237 Sadowa, Schleswig, there each passed Like race-posts, whence his triumph ran Straight to the goal, the crown he cast Forth from the flame-jets of Sedan. An Empire gained, an Empire lost, The Empire gained his master's own ; The grace his master's, his the cost. And now with Death he stands alone. He stands the last time : nevermore This iron man by his lord's grave ; Majestic in the grief he bore, Imperial in the thoughts it gave. Silent he stands there ; then moved out To brave the morrow's blast which blew. When Berlin swept with a great shout Her banished Prince to Friedricksruh. Darkness with roses for a pall, So sets on Earth in flames the sun : Silence and solitude is all Left to this warrior's work-day done. THE WRECK OF THE ROTHESAY CASTLE Two men|plunged headlong into the sea As such have dived before, When a sinking ship groans, — " down with me Or strike like a man for shore." One man beyond his prime, alas ; The other with youth at his side To help him mount the breakers and pass Secure on that mad sea ride. As they flowed like a couple of straws on a wave Close together they struck one plank ; An estray of the ship as she went to her grave Deep down on the Dutchman's bank. The plank was a buoy sufficient for one But not enough for the pair ; If safety for either was now to be won The other must nobly dare »38 WRECK OF THE ROTHESAY CASTLE 239 Thought one I have had my lease of life The rest to this youth I give ; Thought the other to youth belongs the strife I must fight for the right to live. Not a word between them but quick to the thought They dropped both together their hold ; And away they flashed from the one support, Though each guessed what each had not told. And went to the bottom together no doubt, — Paid for their folly its price ; They might have settled the matter without Such a Spartan sacrifice. Not so, sir ; miracles thunder still If the tale that runs in my head Rings true, — ay, both out of that huge swill Came somehow to land instead. Were saved, — and met once more below, — No plank between them this time ; Though how they met we do not know So cannot put here in rhyme. 240 WRECK OF THE ROTHESAY CASTLE But stop, — did the old man smile as he gave The other his hand to wring, — While the youth laughed back, — " We both had a shave, — That plank was a slippery thing ! " ONLY A DREAM (Vtde the life of Richard Marston, American Edition^ I DREAMED a dream ; I know not well How all rose up, but there I was Within that world's intricacies, Where strange things happen, strange to tell, Yet cause no wonder when they pass Like shifting clouds before our eyes, Yet oft so foolish, when the spell. That half-dazed moonlight's vision dies. Strange house of wizard gleams and shades, Of tumbled fragments torn ruthless Out of that Past the soul inwound. Shuffled together like loose blades ; Which when they add some star's impress. Which they do rarely I have found, Do so with a magic which invades Us as the sea's symphonic sound. Q =41 242 ONLY A DREAM Truth speaks to us, just that I mean ; It is revealed, somewhat unsought. Some truth of soul's most sacred springs ; Which in the way it now is seen Strikes at the centre and is caught Waved forth to you like a bird on wings ; Much as the artist bares you clean The vital, intimate heart of things. So in the dream I now explore, Confusion reigns at first ; there was Some right or other at stake, someone Had fared most grievously ; nay, more, I had to free him, ay, compass And lift the weight so thrust upon A fellow brother outraged sore, Clear him and set him in the sun. Were these the pleadings which I vexed My soul to master as I could ? It may be so : but if they were How strange to find them a Greek text ! Yet as I strolled forth through .that wood Striving to grasp the sense they bear. Their guise at least no whit perplexed Provided I could such declare. ONLY A DREAM 243 Greek letters all : perhaps you've known The charm of reading with a friend, A friend whose love outstrips your zeal, Some classic poet years enthrone, Ay, Sophocles from end to end, Or iEschylus, the man of steel. Have heard together gods intone. Can still remember, still can feel. My very case : friendship's a rare. Too rare a pearl some even have said To last life's voyage ; once at least Methought I grasped the jewel fair, That reflex of one heart and head. Which raised life's promise and released A flower of growth, ingrafted where Each soul with amplitude increased. A subtle union, this of kind. Rather than sentiment or fashion ; It is our virtue come to fold Within the ideal sphere enshrined : It is the leap beyond Earth passion, The penetration through her mould To Spirit's truth by soul divined. Ever most pregnant when most bold. 244 ONLY A DREAM Bracing, it is the atmosphere Of mountain slopes which skyward run ; Though based on silent sympathies That know so much the depths lie clear And nothing is asked for by the one But what the other signifies ; A jointure this, but not too near To blur one jot life's mysteries. A zealot he was for causes long Lost to the world, and souls forsaken ; Weakness in him could trust ; the tide Of danger only made him strong : A man, who loved to be mistaken For somewhat less than all his pride Sought for, which hailed him like a song, For which he doubtless would have died. Though a Bayard through and through he could Be adamant to souls which thrived On meat less strong than his own fare, Content with less than moved his blood. Nay, certes, many a salt contrived Within this restless soul to bear Fruit pungent to the taste, a food Which only friends would ask to share. ONLY A DREAM 245 This was the friend I once called mine, All this and more I now have lost ; It matters little how as on oath I came this friendship to resign : If breach of vows is there engrossed Upon those articles of troth, Myself alone did stamp the sign, I bear the blame of loss for both. I bear it, must do, — no, indeed. His the suspense; he still remains Just as he was ; it is my pride To know him all the old strong breed, Worthy of all my dream explains : But, ah, the dream which on one side I flung to help you brood and feed On notes which soft beneath it hide. Somehow I passed then from that wood, Deep in that strange text I perused. And suddenly all doubts dispersed, I saw, I heard, I understood : Some spirit had touched my wits confused, I knew all now from best to worst ; My task shone clear : O, if I could But right this soul by Fate amerced. 246 ONLY A DREAM And there, as I moved hastily Across the open I perceived Two ladies exquisitely dressed, Standing as though to speak with me. Right in my path, as I conceived To help me where my spirit pressed ; So courteous was their smile and free I could not doubt that I was blessed. The strange thing was that when I crossed These ladies which my dreamland chose, I thought of Mm, and did compare, — O fool, — all eyes I must have lost To think his wife and daughter those Imperial dames saluting there, Whom in the very first accost 'Twas clear I knew not anywhere. Was it that something I once saw To my amazement years ago, Which is linked fast to my main theme. Interprets somewhat how that flaw Of prescience could cheat me so That in despite of Truth's own beam One face at least I half looked for, — But, ah, how gracious was the dream. ONLY A DREAM 247 Most like a royal dame I class That lady with the strong arched nose, And clear cut mouth so tense and fine, Princess Ottilia's self she was ; Features which did but recompose Themselves with grace more feminine In that fair maid who seemed to pass As her own child, if more divine. I gazed, as one before two thrones, And then, as in some freakish play, The vision was gone and I discern My old friend on the wayside stones, Sitting just in his old loose way When he had somewhat of concern To lift upon the strength he owns, Somewhat the world had yet to learn. He saw me too, and smiling rose As one who just had waited for this ; Greeted me there with never one glance At Time's rude barriers and its snows ; Rather as one who had business Of weight to settle and by good chance Was able now to fitly close The orders for his troops' advance. 248 ONLY A DREAM Of course he knew all that engaged My anxious heart's solicitude ; Each crafty wile which in a wall Its victim like a bird had caged : Each thread which I had slow pursued Down to their secret founts of gall, On legal fictions equipaged ; Cool and collected he knew all. Those pleadings, why himself had planned The answer there to every lie : One thing was wanting to uncloak Truth in the shape all understand, To give the worldling his go-by, With flame to swallow up all smoke ; A leader born : I felt his hand. And with the sweetness I awoke. Old friend, long while world- wanderer. Thou gipsy scholar I once drew Into my heart of hearts, and take To wed once more my spirit, where Art thou this morning ? What labours new To foreign pastures call thee, wake Thoughts of Ancona's lover, — here, Here too are mountains, here a lake. GOUNOD'S CONFESSION When I was tout un enfant, — but a lad, And used to dream of all that I should do : All that should make the mother proud and glad, Would make her cherub, O, so famous too. When I looked down upon my conquered realm, Bethought me how to stride the ocean's gate, I was the pilot, I stuck fast to the helm. One big " I " stood for skipper and first mate. And afterwards when she had told me tales Of this and that great prince of art and song : When 1 had tugged in vain at stout main sails. Wished to push through the surf a bit more strong : Whatever the cause, one day I mused apart. Why not have Mozart there to chum with me. Lend us a hand while I prick out the chart : " I and Mozart " set forth across the sea. 250 GOUNOD'S CONFESSION Thus armed I met the world : I joined the race : The length of my mate's life was soon run out : Somehow I failed to master his great pace, The jealous world at least refused to shout. And so to raise no cavils, be quite frank, I changed the order of our fellowship : Consented cheerfully to waive first rank 'Twas now " Mozart and I " who made the trip. The years roll by : bon Dieu, how swift they run : The day began to ebb where flashed the morn : Still half that I had hoped remained undone, Mozart's immortal twin remained unborn. Yes, here you see at last your veteran : Famous, — ay, famous at the Frenchman's heart : Content to know what one God-gifted man In half my years can do for perfect art. I've reached that mighty kingdom, — not alone : Have won my share of laurels, — lost my dream : Here I stand up a subject : on the throne Mozart sits crowned sole monarch and supreme. A TALE OF THE CROWN PRINCE FREDERICK He had to pass a certain village That famous morning when he drove Through the dense Teutoberger forest To the strange colony of Love : He wished himself to see and praise That homestead carved out of the sand : Which gave the lost and workless toiler Sweet, honest labour of the hand : Beacon of light on lone bare ways. And when he now had come and halted, The village people begged he would Listen awhile to the school children. Singing as loyal children should : Ay, some two thousand boys and girls Were gathered close as on parade ; Drawn up in lines upon the meadow, In festal dress most bright arrayed, — A princely necklace strung with pearls. 252 TALE OF CROWN PRINCE FREDERICK Long they had known that he was coming, For weeks the children had rehearsed : And so they sang and so he listened, Filling with gladness their outburst. They sang to him about the Spring, They warbled of the Fatherland, Standing before him like brave soldiers Before their general might stand : How a child's voice indeed can sing ! And while they sang the Crown Prince watched them, Much as a father quietly Will watch a group of his own children : Then something pricked his eagle eye : It was a little girl he saw Standing behind as in retreat From the gay throng that stood before her : She had no shoes upon her feet, — And what a patched old frock she wore ! She held a bunch of sweet wild-flowers, Flowers which she had picked that day : She would have thrown them to be trampled When the fine carriage rolled away. TALE OF CROWN PRINCE FREDERICK 253 The singing stopped : and with much grace The Crown Prince thanked them all : then he Strode up to the poor lass and whispered, — " I know those flowers were picked for me, — " A father's smile beamed on his face. And when he took the nosegay from her. How the wan little cheeks ran red : Blushed with pure joy at such a wonder : How many an envious heart there bled. Thus with a flash into the blue Those songs the children sang broke off: Then the Prince waved good-bye and swiftly Whirled through the pines to Wilhelmsdorf : Such is my simple tale and true. PLAUDITE, AMICI As I stare at the ranks, thinned before and behind me, There is One, whose sword ever doth challenge the host, — I am held by, — all now that is left to remind me Of a voice that has led us, a face that is lost. When thoughts, like a wind over shattered seas feeding. Stirred Life at its depths, he was given us here In this Island that looks to hep, songs for a leading Across the dark ocean we plough to the Clear. The wise pilot he drew on hearts fearful of danger, Who adrift in the shallows had shortened their sail, And blew the great breath of a boundless sea-ranger. With his own craft poised clean like a bird to the gale. If the faith of fore-fathers still shone round this spirit It shone, was transfigured in mind that is free ; With his eyes on the Future, we saw him inherit The vision ne'er struck out of earth, sky or sea. Though he never swerved back from the desolate spaces Where the glory is wreathed in the thunder and cloud, He nursed at the heart the grave weather-stained faces Of all who bring light from above to the crowd. =54 PLAUDITE, AMICI 2SS He came to us just as we faltered, seemed wanting The glow of the battle, which gives the fight worth ; How he fought through his own, without stress, without vaunting. And waited for fame with the peers of the Earth. With the mien of a god among frail and warped creatures, With the heart of a man, who is brother to all ; With an intellect pliant to Truth's rarer features, And a faith which struck home to the Spirit in call. We were crowned with no friendship ; but ever to cheer us His challenge struck clear as it swept us along ; We caught that eye's measure ; his spirit shone near us In music which flashed from magnificent song. With the tenderness, if the rough humour of Nature, He heaped up the jewels broadsown in his heart ; With a bounty that widened our own usurpature He fashioned Love's temple, the works of great art. To this knowledge Earth woke up alive with her wonder. The smile of his master lit up the great whole ; While the motion majestic of Milton's pent thunder Pealed again when he strained to the full height his soul. Not an essence he touched but he beat it out clearer, Had he nothing to give to the god-like of Greece ? For an ore of such richness must needs prove the nearer, And the blue of his shining lay open, a fleece. 256 PLAUDITE, AMICI Few as he have e'er laid the infallible finger On all that lies deepest we hold from the Past : Few as he shall strike root in the heart of the singer Whose strength shall add strength to Earth's hope in the Vast. He has gone from us now: though we ring with pulsations His soul in us nourished, we move on our way To the spirit that dawns from the freedom of nations, Through the mightier truth to the fulness of day. On we move with his faith to the world's future holdings, He has helped us to fathom the great present sleep ; On we look for the bursting of rinds and unfoldings, He has bared a fruit's blood in the wine-press to keep : He has marked the whole radiance which waved still above him, He has unbared the wealth of a mint that is old. Heed ye, all who bow to his praises and love him, Lest in spurning Earth's dross ye be filched of his gold. He is gone : slow that presence fades soft down the twilight With its masterful gesture, its music and grace ; But the love of the minstrel holds surely in Thy light, Renewed with his song at the heart of the race. Jan. I, 1890. THE WORST OF IT I COULD have followed, I dare not, cannot think My heart had failed through feebleness to soar ; Failed the dread fulness of that cup to drink, Failed in its swell of passion to adore, Shrining the nakedness from which I shrink. How could I fail, bethink ye of the claim, That awful majesty which Love's defence Spread over me to cover with pure flame ; Which only Life's amassed experience Should realise and round beyond all shame. How could I fail when once my spirit saw The truth I held in fee was burning fact. To take his every word for Life's whole law, To feel his virtue raised in every act, Nor once again review the less and more. How could I fail, ah, still the memory stays Of that superb tradition which light youth 2S8 THE WORST OF IT Received so simply from the old worn ways ; The trite possession I had still as truth To rivet as heaven's pole before my gaze. That was the worst of it ; had I abjured All quickening of soul with never a qualm Or question how my truth was first secured, The counterfeit I looked upon so calm, Or how those artists once their faith assured. Had I stopped short, ay, we who now, alas. Have lost the intense secret of the face ; Nor wondered how each bare thrill came to pass, Or how the glory blossomed in the grace, Had I just taken all I heard it was. Ah, it was not to be ; I might have borne The cynic's laugh, the cold or vacant stare That meets the tears of reverence with scorn, I might have never known that it was there. With such a rose who thinks about the thorn. Many have done this, many, I thank God, Will live and die secure in this alone ; Walking as angels clothed with Love's ephod : All things are possible as I have known. We are not all delivered with one rod. THE WORST OF IT 259 In me the Spirit entered otherwise As many things and more my soul perplexed ; As one by one I crossed each new surmise The thought of man splashed up athwart my text, Uniting only to disturb my prize. How could I do aught less to save my friend, My more than friend from wrong, if such there was ; Make him my own completely at the end, Knowing the darkness I could thus surpass, With Truth his own live spirit my Godsend. How could I know that when I sought to hive The truth which gave him back beyond all change, The eye which caught that wonder would contrive To grow into a new world and a strange, Where the old wonder failed as such to thrive. Ah, never dream it was the A, B, C Of this or that soul's vision differed from The rapture of his brother loaned to me ; Rather it was the Truth that I saw come Expounded all as part of one Life-tree. Rather it was the Present as it grew Fresh in the radiance by Love amassed 26o THE WORST OF IT Became so marvellous a thing and new It swallowed up that most strange of the Past, Save as one flower of the self-same Blue. The truth of faith and vision cannot be The same or how were ever faith then found : True, friends, we know in part and dimly see ; Still faith's the flower that leaps from Life's own ground ; Thus only shall Faith set Earth's vision free. I shall go softer all my days. No, sirs, My reading of the print doth not appal ; The book of Life has many interpreters ; The writing though I mark upon the wall To judge me there, that is the ghost which stirs. Ah, but the friendship, have I lost it then Now that I do not share with such the same. For whom, — nay, rather the truth as thus distrain, — For whom he is the One — Love's absolute flame, — Life and life's overplus bared all to men ? Certes, I dare not boast as once thereof; And yet if he was that he must have known What his own friends would suffer through the love That sought to crown him absolute, alone, — And found the Comforter could not approve. THE WORST OF IT 261 And if he was not then most sure he is Still more a friend by just the mode I state For Truth's own sake all simply what I miss ; Believing so, ay, through this very gate. Most humbly thus I do his own hands kiss. But stay, before I move where I now plod Are you then sure I lose the bare sunlight In claiming bold the lost world's Ichabod ? Are you quite certain here beneath the night I have not seen him as the unveiled God ? STELLA VITAE I DO not much care what may happen to me, Whether I float or swim or it may be, After a world of flounder. Battered with tempest founder : I am not much in love with my body ; And as for this soul-vessel I call myself, Which is my body on the tree Of Life and all it brings to me, O let it run its passage, line the shelf Of dusty leaves marked by oblivion, If only ere it passes dispossessed, The fruit there ripened in the sun May bring refreshment to one new way-farer, Make any wight in soul or body sounder, If in my joy Fate grant me but one sharer, Help one lost bird to find a nest ; Most willing then I rest, Commensurately blessed. 96s SOLITUDINES VITAE Lady, the solitudes which you have said Close with an ever growing sound, — Though I have only the coarse bread Of this my life that I have found ; Yet if, — where angels hardly dare to tread, — I may salute the ground. Bear with me so far, — is not this the crust Of the God Himself that makes you shrink And who would break it, — nor in dust Slowly, irrevocably sink, — E'en as your Master warned you clearly, — must - Such is the cup I drink, Pass to a solitude, — greater or less, — Precisely as our soul's demand Is great or small to exceed the stress Of children playing on the sand, — To let a spirit's light with our excess Illumine the veiled hand. 363 264 SOLITUDINES VITAE To reveal Light in Darkness ; yes, it seems, We must know darkness and the scorn Of such as toss aside May-dreams : Must look on hills and valleys shorn. Ere we can touch the glory which redeems The windows of the morn. Our Easter fragrance : such the Hebrew scroll : If you or another find the Greek More rarely flush the founts of soul, — The great gods still from Delphi speak, — The bud has ever the blossom's diastole In germ, — that we must seek. Lovely the tale is ; ay, the old tale how Persephone, the peerless maid, — Daughter of Earth, — was snatched from the bough Of her dear mother, while she played, Carried to Hades bosom, — albeit now Suffered to bring Earth aid. With light and healing when the first smile passes Over the wintered glebes and fells, — There where her feet move soft the grasses. And set a-dance the flower-bells, — Making the silvery laughter of the lasses Shine as heaven's stars on wells. SOLITUDINES VITAE 265 So must each soul be carried to the pit Ere she mount up the Dawn with wings ; In labyrinthine dark must sit, Before she voice the world that sings ; Must grasp Earth's nettle, crush the juice of it, — Ere she ope wide rock springs. Our Patmos may not be the isle Saint John Immortalised for hearts that weep ; Nor with the plunge of Dante's sun May we strike hell's throat ere we leap Straight to the triune rainbow of the One, — Face the whole world asleep. But all must sink as dead seed in the ground. Who to Love's holiest would come ; I wait to hear your soul resound On barren hills, through forests dumb ; I wait to hear your symphony confound Earth's tedious pipe and drum. THE GARDEN AT SUNDOWN The chariot of the sun rolled down the West, And as the wheels charged where the clouds were massed In all their multitude to celebrate The oriental king on whom they wait, A breathless wonder, lifted high in view A thousand silver clarions pealed a blast Which struck the roof of heaven's inviolate blue And woke the Earth to music : thereupon A choir of angels rose, armed with tense fires, And smote the royal standards, plumes and gyres To a sheet of dazzling glory exceeding clear With colour even as glass Venetian hands Have subtly moulded : a million cherubs pressed Their pouting lips against the crystal sphere Aurora kisses soft and then unfurls. Like a maiden loosening her auburn curls To wash them in the sea, — a rosy shower, A delicate fruit more fair than ever graced The gardens of the four Hesperides : iC6 THE GARDEN AT SUNDOWN 267 Nectar more sweet and luscious to the taste Than ever bubbled from Methymna's vines, Than ever bee sucked from Hymettus flower, A passionate conflagration : slow the sun Swept his sublime procession through those bands Toward the coral-reef of Earth's confines, His secret chamber : a storm of crimson shells Burned into agate and chalcedony : A gold harp lost its strings : huge saffron piles Frosted with snow : immeasurable seas. Bathed with the lovely dew of opal wells, Paved like a palace floor with ministering isles Of emerald and ruby drowned in the race Like the phantoms of a dream : and in the place Of all that eagerness and ecstasy, After the inundation and the flame, The twilight spread its wings like a soft bird, A mother-bird that settles over its young. And loves and knows them there the leaves among, A voice more wonderful than all is heard. The peace that passes understanding came. THE LARK DESCENDING Since the first spray, Mysterious as the sign Of a birth divine, Sprang from the opening East, Priming Apollo's cup With a nectar of lilacs and sweet dog-roses, And the garland of lilies enwreathed about it Was dashed with the dew incarnadine, Flung down as the pageant increased Which the Dawn's procession discloses, — Punctual as priest or nun, Blythe as a great king's daughter, The lark has been up. Striving the psalm of the Dawn to recapture. The apparent image of stainless rapture, As it showed through Nature's walls, — Striving with heart, like a seraph, to shout it To heaven with equal salutations : As a fountain of fresh spring water, Which rises and falls In the arms of crisp breezes, 168 THE LARK DESCENDING 269 In the royal smiles of a sun, Which turns all the drops to pearls And diamond constellations, The song of this herald of minstrels unfurls, And through the long day The hymn never ceases. The swallow twitters from eaves, The solo of the thrush, Sparkling against soft April showers, Electric flames and flames : The blackcap with a marvellous lute. Perched on the pear-tree's spray. Calls to him with a rival's claims : Straight from the laurel bush The blackbird flaunts his impudent phantasia On a mad delicious flute : After the twilight's thrilling floods, Long hours by hours, The melancholy nightingale achieves His lone appassionata under moonlit woods : Thus between choric buds and leaves Each little songster had his say, Each is the Earth's dear guest, Close to her breast : Only the lark, 270 THE LARK DESCENDING From early morn till even, Shining above, like a star. Soaring ever on wing, Soaring above the Earth to the light, Soaring until he is lost to sight, Soaring with many a slur and shake. With many a silver round Of constellated sound. Which seem, as it were, to take The very skies with perfect joy's pulsation, Soaring ever doth sing. O spirit of the airs of heaven, Climbing up to the blue With rapturous exultation, Teach us, poor dwellers of Earth to be More as thou art free In felicity. Quite possessed with thanksgiving and praise ; O bird, who singest but for the song, Who carest nought for a hearer, Fresh as the morning sun is and strong, O voice of Earth's vital iridescence. Come to my soul with thy song, come nearer. Speak again, — O, speak through me With the music which stays. With the spirit which is Love's essence. THE LARK DESCENDING 271 Through the edge of the wood The emblazoned sun at his falling strikes Refulgent spears, — magnficent spikes Of a giant sunflower, — His conquering chariot's shower As it nears the Day's post : When all is lost. And the twilight kneels on the hill, Still in the purple above it, still For an instant the ebb of that flood Transfigures the poising lark To a weft of pure gold. As he carols the evening's prayer, — Then the glory of heaven dies away, Nought doth the hymn uphold, — Then softly from azure stair to stair, With a strange kind of flutter and quiver, A circling motion, a tremble That most doth resemble A bird that has taken a wound, A warrior caught in retreat. The face of a falling river, This voice at heaven's mercy-seat Like an Autumn flower drops To Earth's little isle. Singing ever the while : 272 THE LARK DESCENDING Then the song of the twilight stops : He sweeps like a bolt to his mark, And darkling waits Till the sun-god storms at the starry gates, Like the bridegroom seeking his bride, Like a king in his pride, When he calls at the marriage feast to his side The minstrel most renowned, — Then a lark on triumphant wing Once more to the blue shall ascend and sing. MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN Tell me not that the stars whose glory we know Doth oft so much excel the solar flame, — Whose numbers are uncounted as they flow In the appointed orbit each doth claim ; Drawing the retinue which each doth tender Ministrant to the train of their own splendour : Tell me not this august magnificence, This universe wherein our Earth is shown One of the least gems on the jewelled throne Where the King rules who is her Life's defence, Her source of Beauty, — ay, that this has failed To beget children yet more gracious than The globe that is apportioned here for man To fertilize with Spirit for a season, — Planets which are more native to the Light Which stirred our own to strike the flint of reason, — Whose conscious beings have yet more inhaled The breath that is their substance and their sight ; Spirits more worthy of the environment The house that bred and framed them doth present, - S =73 274 MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN Whose rival evolutions through the bands Woven by Space and Time do nearer run To the Ideal purpose realised Beneath the incandescence of a sun, — A flower of life unknown to Earth's weak hands, A dignity that she has scarce surmised ; Albeit they too are fretted with the old Suspense before a Darkness which still hides, — That consummated vision of the Fold, — That final resolution, whose great orb Spirit shall only, if at all, absorb Beyond the bourn that now all sense divides ; Where Soul released from Nature's cradle-bed. Embraces her own Bridegroom, wholly wed. Tell me not that the consigns of this Earth, We, tiny creatures of so narrow a sphere. Who live but a day's life to fall asleep, Witless of half the glory of our birth. Witless of all the secret of our bier ; Who mark for a moment heaven's gates ajar Before the unsounded amplitude of Life, Clustered, we fain would presage, in that ark. To whose fierce flaming tresses our eyes leap With the motion of an arrow to its mark, — Bared, it may be, in one supreme ascent MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN 275 Through absolute gradation star by star, — Yet learn no whit whereto this nobler strife Of ambient worlds is set upon the screen Of the One eternal Presence and His Truth, For Spirit's sons with consciousness to glean In fulness of maturity or youth ; Tell me not that mankind thus hedged and barred In structure and endowment may presume To penetrate the oracles of Space, Or know how much of Spirit doth find room To encompass more of Life than we regard, Surpassing ours in loveliness, a face With power to grasp yet fairer fruit than ever We come by here through our supreme endeavour : Romance of worlds, forsooth, the one romance Is that which springs from fountains at our feet. Not the lost vision of the grander fleet, And all their aggregate inheritance. If such there be that sails beyond our tons ; Only by nourishment of our soul's heat, Only by nurture of Love's photosphere, Only by building slow the mercy-seat Of Life and Beauty we shall shed the trance Of brainless stupefaction at the mere Turmoil of molten gases and the waste Of what alone we break out of those suns 276 MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN And Science carves with her lean millions, Which touch no jot the essence of the show ; Become assured, by virtue of the glow We gather from the fulness which is ours. That incubus whose arms we calculate, In measures which for us have lost their weight, Is but a finer sward for Spirit's flowers. Is the extension of the palace wall Which gave to Earth her own pure coronal, Here in the valleys where the lilies shine, Here on the mountains where ascends the pine To meet the clouded marvel over all. Not through the empty spawn of globes magnetic ; Poor reeling atoms flashed to ken at last, Shall ever a verdict on Earth's Life be passed. Or that whereon our own sun's starlight falls ; Not with the braggart's dole of our invention, Which builds from the bare stucco of Earth's walls. Shall we unfold the history which gave The travail of cell-growth to planes synthetic. The focussed sphere of Spirit's own concave, Of Life, of Art, of Reason and of Love, Rounded for us or in those silent halls, If otherwise, perchance, that we wot of ; Never shall matter thus support God's woof. And Force unconscious prove His strange emetic. MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN 277 Earth's Life is ours, her growth is ours, — no more ; The Life that may be lived beyond this shore By Beings of another soul-extension We can no more with certainty divine Than Earth's dumb creatures whence ourselves have risen Can look beyond the precincts of their prison And quaff with man the goblet of his wine. We must be humbler where we cannot probe Beyond the fabric of our mortal robe ; Nor think that we the bondsmen here of Space Can intimately plumb the measure of grace Vouchsafed upon the threshing-floors of Time, Or with the bells of absent steeples chime ; Career victorious on the chariot wheels This universe unrolls had we the power To loose the same of all its starry seals ; Know all that vital Spirit thinks and feels In the heart and bell of the pomegranate flower Our vision fails to pierce through : we must rest With that which is revealed as Spirit possessed. So much the stars do always to us preach As they flow patient onward, mate by mate. Gazing with quiet calm into the breach, — The womb that bore each there so isolate. 278 MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN We may indeed trust Nature, and we must If we would raise ourselves to breathe that Spirit That is the leaven of all we here inherit, — The Goodness that supports us in the dust, — The Wisdom that orbs Life beyond the crust : We may trust Nature, and the more we strive To think of her as a mother all alive With wonders in her lap surpassing even The treasures we have gathered for our heaven. The more we shall grow tutored to the sense That is of such the fairest evidence, — Most foreign to the pride that is puffed up. Most able to drink deep from our Earth's cup, — Grow to the temper that can draw the sweet Clear through the bitter edge of our distaste For aught but blunt assurance, — ay, the thirst Which would have every thundercloud dispersed, — Grow to the Wisdom that is more restrained, Moving with joy within Life's path contained, E'en as the stars with never undue haste Seek for the ultimate chalice of their fire. Singing through all their progress as in choir ; Thus may we move still cherishing at heart The vision of the Dawn that did entrance, The wonder that we held to be a part Of Spirit's smile upon our own advance ; MEDITATION AFTER SUNDOWN 279 Content that as we move we still are fed With that which raised us, nay, our eyes has led To look serene beyond the antique story Into the Presence of the starlit glory. A HYMN FOR OUR LATTER-DAY PSALTER A Re-setting of Old Music from the East O Thou, who winnowest all time Past, present, and to come ; Eternal Spirit, who dost sublime Depths which no rod shall plumb. Before the morning stars aflame Shouted for joy, before The sons of God sang to Thy Name, Praises for evermore ; Before the hills stood up, or heaven Covered with light the sea ; Before the Dayspring's flood was given The invisible knew Thee. Under Thy everlasting arms We live, move, and are sure ; To Thee alone, out of all harms, We pass : Thou dost endure. 380 HYMN FOR OUR LATTER-DAY PSALTER 281 Though all the Earth be rocked with strife And mountains shake and run, Thou art the fullness of our life, Thou art our union. There is a river which makes glad On Earth Thy dwelling-place ; Here we behold as in a glass Thy glory face to face. Builded on one great corner-stone This city of radiance stands ; Mercy and Truth lift up the throne And Righteousness the bands. Decked with Thy jewels as a bride That waits upon her lord, Faith, Love and Beauty here abide. And here is Spirit's reward. O Thou, the soul's Omniscience, The Light of all our vision. Hold us till through Thine own Presence We consummate fruition. JAM DATUR OTIUM A Harmony of Two Voices from the West Over the hill Is rest ; All the birds, all the things That hide in covert and nest Are still : Under the deep. The far off firs All's asleep : Not a movement stirs Under Night as she folds her wings. As the Autumn leaves One by one Gently drops On the place which receives, Even so. Till the song is done, It doth go, Then it suddenly stops. NOTES P. 4. Fresh from a reading of Ruskin's " St Mark's Rest," not for the first time, I am sorely tempted to quote the words, in his translation, that are written on the circle enclosing the Christ enthroned on a rainbow in the central dome, not as a complete illustration of this poem, any more than I should accept Tennyson's poem " the higher Pantheism " as a fully complete illustration of it, but as an illustration great in itself, and all the more remarkable when we reflect upon the source from which it proceeds. The words as given by Ruskin are these : — "Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye and gaze ? This Son of God, Jesus, so taken from you, departs that He may be the arbiter of the earth : in charge of judgment He comes, and to give the laws that ought to be (debita jura)." Ruskin adds : " Such, you see, the central thought of Venetian worship. Not that we shall have the world, but that our Master will come to it : and such the central hope of Venetian worship, that He shall come to judge the world indeed, not in a last and destroying judgment, but in an enduring and saving judgment, in truth and righteousness and peace. Catholic theology of the purest, lasting at all events down to the thirteenth century, or as long as the Byzantines had influence (St Mark's Rest, the Requiem). In conclusion I will only add that in the view of our profoundest living exponent of the theory of Art it is interesting to note that even with Plotinus, more positively than Plato, there was at least the conditional admission that material beauty is divine, if rightly and purely seen " (" History of Aesthetik," Bosanquet, p. 132). 383 284 POEMS AND LYRICS P. 6s. In this poem I have committed myself undoubtedly to an experiment, an experiment, moreover, which so far as I have seen it attempted with the nightingale by English writers or by American writers with the bobolink or the mocking-bird, has appeared to me little short of absolute failure. Perhaps the consciousness that I could not do much worse than writers of estabhshed reputation have done in the same field has induced me to try. But a more rational ground rests in the fact which impressed itself on my mind almost immediately, and remains after what is, I regret to say, as yet but the introduction to a real study of this bird's exquisite song, namely, that there are few birds, or rather there are none with which I have any acquaintance, whose song can be so readily interpreted by the tones and articula- tion of human speech. Of course there is much in the blackbird's song that cannot be so readily interpreted, but on the other hand, and especially is this the case with particular songsters, you will find absolutely precise phrases or themes not merely repeated again and again so that you can verify your attempts at reproduc- tion with so much accuracy as is at least possible for your ear, but repeated with variations and omissions that lend themselves equally to imitation. At the same time having studied the speech of blackbirds with intelligence, only just sufficiently long to gain a notion of its extraordinary variety, for two months in fact of one year, though of course I have always loved it with the love that is not keen enough to penetrate to its object, and surmising that for all I know to the contrary the song of blackbirds may be differentiated not only by particular birds in particular places and in particular moods of the weather, but also in particular seasons of their singing, I should like to emphasise the exact limitations of my own experiment. The song I have endeavoured to express in this poem is the song primarily of one blackbird I heard morning after morning in the garden of my hotel at Merligen on the Lake of Thun. There were indeed generally two birds, but the second was for the most part an imitator. On one occasion the garden was visited by what I can only believe was a stranger, for I never heard him again, and he is my second blackbird — in the poem. He did not give us much, but what he did give impressed NOTES 28s me as the contribution of character ; at any rate he offered a fine contrast to the versatility of my friend. In the matter of interpre- tation I have followed one rule, and that is I have only expressed the song in English words where I was entirely unable to resolve them into equivalents which seemed to strike the sounds heard with more directness ; and I have throughout aimed at such directness. No doubt such an attempt must lose half its interest to those who cannot recall the bird's music behind, and I am quite prepared to hear that I have failed as completely as my pre- decessors. At least it has been to myself, and I trust will remain for some time to come, an engrossing study. To give the barest idea how entirely different is the song of these birds I may say that just across the lake at Spiez, where there was a glorious beechwood full of them, and where I have listened for hours, I never heard once that call of " Judy, Judy," a call as clear, nay, clearer, than the cuckoo's well known cry, though it was one of the most ordinary recurrences in my special friend's repertoire, and of course I need not add that I did hear much that my friend's song, rich and varied as it was, entirely omitted. I shall not easily forget one refrain at least of that Hundrich Wald that was almost always to be found there in the latter half of the June of this year, echoed with exquisite modulations through its most distant recesses by a hundred throats, until it rang only as an echo on the last two notes ^ Wah-ver-hee. And I venture to think a very great composer long ago heard it before me, and has used it with gratitude in his own great manner. P. 138. George Hart in his most excellent book on the violin and its makers (" The Violin," by George Hart, revised edition, p. 23), while admitting the influence of German artists over the Italian Viol manufacture at the end of the fifteenth century, and con- sidering that Duiffoprugcar may have contributed with Gasparo 286 POEMS AND LYRICS da Salo to the final evolution of the model of the violin as vpe now see it, in the present shape of the f — sound holes, the freeing of the fingerboard from frets (which was probably the condition of all stringed instruments up till the year 1520 or thereabouts), the reduction of the number of strings to four tuned in fifths, and the acceptation of four drawn-out corners, generally concedes the palm of invention, at least with reference to the strings, to Gasparo da Salo (p. 25). In fact he says (p. 63), "There may be some- thing in common between the early works of Gasparo da Salo and Gaspard Duiffoprugcar, but the link that connects these two makers is very slight, and in the absence of further information respecting the latter as an actual maker of violins, the credit of authorship must certainly belong to Gasparo da Salo." This is no doubt the usually accepted view, though it is admitted on all sides that we really have not arrived at sufficient data to decide the question. What has induced me to attach more importance to the claims of Duiffoprugcar than Hart and others have done is the consideration of some interesting evidence which he does not appear to have possessed. M. Henry Coutagne has only quite recently, in an exceedingly interesting monograph (Gaspard Duiffoproucart, et les luthiers Lyonnais du xvi" Si^cle, Paris, 1893), published what is practically all that is known, or sup- posed to be known about this artist and his work, and, supported by his own researches in the archives of Lyons, has thrown addi- tional light on the concluding years of his life. But by far the most significant bit of evidence contained in this monograph is the reproduction in the frontispiece of an old engraving of Duiffoprugcar surrounded by a number of the instruments manu- factured by himself, an undoubtedly genuine engraving of the engraver, Pierre Woeiriot. From this engraving alone we ascertain the following facts, that at the date of the engraving, namely 1562, Gaspar Duiffoprugcar was an instrument-maker at Lyons, that he was forty-eight years of age at that date, and that among the instruments he then made were two, one closely resembling the present violin model by its possessing the characteristics of having four drawn-out corners, four strings and an unfretted fingerboard, though the old crescent-shaped sound- hole ; the other, though still oval-shaped at the top end and NOTES 287 showing five strings and a fretted fingerboard, yet possessing the elementary form of the final sound-holes. This is important. For according to Hart and other authorities it is not likely that Caspar da Salo, who made violins somewhere between 1550-1610, could have arrived at any final determination of his model much before this date : and yet here we have an artist situated as far off as Brescia is from Lyons already with the main points of distinction from the old model of the viol in his grasp. M. Coutagne does not attempt (p. 59) to decide the question whether Duiffoprugcar may be regarded as the sole, or a rival inventor of the violin ; but he points out that at least it is far from improbable that the same discovery may have been made practically at the same time by independent workmen both in France and Italy. I have no room in this note to go further into a question which still opens many points of interest to the inquirer with regard to this maker Duiffoprugcar. M. Coutagne is of the opinion that he died at Lyons in the year 1570, basing his conclusion on the results of researches which have revealed to him not only Duiffoprugcar's own serious misfortunes in the reign of Charles IX., but also those of his heirs. It may be so, it probably is so, but the point is not entirely free from doubt. That he was a man of quite exceptional power and ability is clear from the engraving. It is a magnificent head : that the poet's instinct was strong in him is sufficiently proved from the Latin words at the end of my poem, which he no doubt attached to several of his instruments, and which are written with the dates and a peculiar sign on the engraving. I possess a very fine instrument which seems in model to approach the instrument M. Coutagne mentions as being in the possession of the Paris Conservatoire (p. 40). The model is the grand model j it is a double-purfled instrument, with marquetry of a town on the back, a scroll carved apparently with the head of Duiffoprugcar as in the case of the Aix-la-Chapelle violin mentioned by M. Coutagne (p. 36), and a label attached, Gaspard diffoprugard N MiLANo. Anno 1600. And the old words " viva fui," etc., with a slight variation are 288 POEMS AND LYRICS rather roughly cut on the sides. An expert has given the opinion that it is one of J. B. Vuillaume's clever imitations of old violins ; but I am bound to say I am far from satisfied with that con- clusion. I have a fine Vuillaume, copy of the Guarnerius model, and it is difficult to believe the maker of the one could have made the other. There are absolutely no points of resemblance whether we look at the varnish or the workmanship. But without better knowledge of the finest work of Gasparo da Salo, and the best German makers of such imitations 1 have no alternative opinion to offer. The model also appears to resemble that of the latest work of Caspar da Salo if I may judge from one of the examples in Hart's book (Plate 20). The tone is far richer than that of the un- doubtedly genuine Vuillaume, though a fine example of that prolific maker. What I fail to understand is how the imitator, whether German or French, came to imitate such a model as the one we have before us. Vuillaume certainly possessed a violoncello which purported to be the work of Duiffoprugcar, but I am not aware that he possessed a violin of that maker, though he doubt- less may have seen such. Hart's book (p. 476) contains a variation of the Latin verses which was apparently carved on some Cremona violin : — In silvis viva silva ; candra jam mor'tua cano. P. 186. The compositions to which direct reference is made in this poem taking them in the order of reference are as follows : — Beethoven's Sonata for piano. Op. 10 1, A. Major. The opening movement. Mendelssohn's Overture to Midsummer Night's dream. S. Bach's fugue on the letters of his name. Beethoven's C minor symphony. First movement. Mozart's Requiem. The Requiem of Brahms, Op. 45. The fugue at the end of the third movement. Sterndale Bennett's unaccompanied quartette for voices, " God is a Spirit." I should add perhaps that the points emphasised from the two NOTES 289 last mentioned works but one are borrowed from the suggestive notes on the interpretation of music of Mr J. D. Rogers incorpor- ated by Professor Bosanquet in the 2nd appendix of his " History of Aesthetik." Edward Holmes in his essay on Mozart's Requiem also draws attention to the "deceptive harmony'' of the final cadence at the end of the Kyrie, and repeated at the close of the Sanctus, and observes that it is similar to the " passus et sepultus " in other compositions. P. 273. It may seem to many thoughtful minds that the question whether there are other worlds inhabited by a finer intelligence than our own, or at least a race of beings whose spiritual evolution is analogous to that of the human race, is so entirely a question for the solution of which we have no reliable data as to remain one that can only prove a fruitless and a vain thing to examine seriously. That it is one of great interest few would deny. What, however, strikes me personally as strangest in the little I have read upon the subject is the nature of the conclusions that have been arrived at in the particular cases where I have found it approached by men of real intelligence in modern times. Only quite recently a man as distinguished in scientific knowledge as Dr A. R. Wallace has elaborated an argument to prove precisely the thesis which hitherto hadfbeen held as quite incompatible with the Copernican hypothesis, namely that the Earth is the centre of the stellar system, and the development of its soul-life the primary object of creation. Such a return to the old Catholic doctrine by a man of science is at least extraordinary. And to take the thought of a man of very different outlook, whose writing, how- ever much on its philosophical side it may be open to criticism, cannot be reproached for lack of either seriousness or distinction, Mr John Davidson has, in one of his latest books (" Holiday and other Poems,'' p. 142) advanced an argument even more extra- ordinary than any brought forward by Dr Wallace in support of something like the same conclusion. The argument is strange enough as it stands, but it is still more unique if we regard it in the light of the poet's metaphysic. This writer is of the opinion, an opinion which certainly does not fail on the score of T 290 POEMS AND LYRICS patriotism, that our island has produced in blank verse the most articulate and comprehensive expression of human speech hitherto procurable on this Earth. He argues that because the Earth is to the universe what England is to the rest of the globe, therefore he leaps to the conclusion that matter nowhere in the universe has evolved anything transcending mundane man, or a nobler utterance than this very blank verse ! He also expresses the conviction, on the somewhat extraordinary ground that it is improbable that the elements which have gone to the fashioning of conscious life could have elsewhere been thus fused together, that matter has never even become conscious (such is the way he expresses it) elsewhere than on this Earth. The leaps involved in such saltatory logic appear to me heroic enough even for an English poet as vigorous and daring as Mr Davidson. But what is quite as puzzling to myself is the further question how our poet on his own principles was entitled to make them ; how in short the conclusion will fall in with his fundamental thesis that matter (we will not ask him here too closely for definition, shall we say that is any determinate and coherent substance in extension) is the one all-producing and eternal reality. If that were the case surely it seems remarkable, to say the least of it, that matter should arrive at its most articulate expression in one of the least important fields of its efflorescence, to wit, on this dotling of our Earth, and as the consciousness of a being, among whose char- acteristics extension is by no means a very distinguished feature. I readily accept his further statement that " bulk, spacial magni- tude, are not momentous, are in themselves neither significant nor efficient." But I must fain ask for what and wherefore in the apprehension of man are they so insignificant, and in contrast with what. For matter, at any rate, they are most significant, ultimately, in fact, according to its essential notion, the mainly significant. Lastly, there is the ipse dixit of a professor as popular and distinguished as Mr William James, who, in his last book "Pragmatism" (p. 299) thus expresses himself, "I firmly disbelieve myself that our human experience is the highest form of experience extant in the universe. I believe rather that we stand in much the same relation to the whole of the universe as our canine and feline pets do to the whole of human life." I read NOTES 291 this after I had written my poem, and I hasten to welcome its almost word for word corroboration of two of the lines. But then I stop hastily and wonder if I am not after all welcoming Danaos et donaferentes. Am I quite sure that I am not taking for my support a pious opinion which runs counter to the main conten- tion of this writer's entire book, which does not presuppose precisely that assumption of philosophical idealism, which he is most anxious to nullify or dispense with. Has he not also affirmed with equal alacrity of conviction in the same treatise that "Truth is made (p. 218) just as health, wealth and strength are made in the course of experience.'' I do not in fact feel assisted by him one whit more than I did by the two writers previously named. PKIKTED BT TUKNBrLL AND SFBABfi^ BDUTBURaTT