=o in i Wi 2 el Bia ae —-—aa j Si es SB 18 i ni Vu rev oe uit Laat eT a Te y % y J i t Tr wi li fbb ’ Mr aa i! f a a f is * ¢ bs : r ” J > -_ -" ~~ 2 S$ BS a. i \ “ : Lie aie bites. wis Baad iat | hy « . 7“ . ve. uv i" ' i # ne = i wy ci: ie i may vw! + $3 to gRS ot es | 2 ia > 8 the: otter sore i Bey = — : ae A ac “FS TeMET Pre: FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY , ; a. oe, ia z | me qatar, SS ee entices OR ee tl eee lee ~ Mee DISCIPLE ANT OTHER. POEMS And other Poems Y 4 By GEORGE MAC DONALD SUTHOR OF “‘ WITHIN AND WITHOUT,” “‘A HIDDEN LIFE,” ETC. SEmAHAN AND. CO., PUBLISHERS 56 LUDGATE HILL, LONDON 1868 Sanson & Co., Printers, Edinburgh. CONTENTS. The Disciple : : : Songs of the Summer Days - Songs of the Summer Nights . : Songs of the Autumn Days Songs of the Autumn Nights Songs of the Winter Days Songs of the Winter Nights Songs of the Spring Days Songs of the Spring Nights | PARABLES. The Three Horses n ; . 3 The Golden Key : . Somnium Mystici The Sangreal . SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. PAGE a SSS vl CONTENTS, The Failing Track : ° Tell Me Brother Artist ! Sir Lark and King Sun The Owl and the Bell ROADSIDE POEMS. He Heeded Not The Sheep and the Goat The Shadows : An Old Sermon with a New Text The Wakeful Sleeper A Dream of Waking ORGAN SONGS. A Meditation of St. Eligius Hymn for a Sick Girl A Christmas Carol for 1862 A Christmas Carol The Sleepless Jesus The Children’s Heaven Rejoice ; e + The Grace of Grace Antiphony Dorcas Marriage Song ———_S——— 179 183 189 192 194 197 199 202 205 207 209 212 214 Autumn Song CONTENTS. Blind Bartimeus Come Unto Me Blessed are the Poor in Spirit Blessed are They that Mourn Blessed are the Meek : Blessed are They that Hunger and Thirst Blessed are the Merciful Blessed are the Pure in Heart . Morning Hymn Evening Hymn The Beauty of Holiness VIOLIN SONGS. The Thankless Lady . The Sea-Shell . An Autumn Wind Days of Old The Waters are Rising and Flowing A Song of the Sea - ° . FOR CHILDREN. What Makes Summer? The Mistletoe Wild Flowers “What the Owl Knows Whai the Birds Said and What the Birds Sung Vill CONTENTS. BALLADS. The Unseen Model Legend of the Corrievrechan The Dead Hand SCOTCH SONGS AND BALLADS. Annie she’s Dowie O Lassie Ayont the Hill! A Song of Zion Gaein’ and Comin’ The Waesome Carl The Earl o’ Quarterdeck The Twa Gordons The Last Wooing Time and Tide : All Souls’ Eve . Tosa, 2. 2UN. 3B: To Garibaldi - af ar RN 7 et Gen Sane a ici . Pe Set a .) PAGE . 277 281 285 289 290 293 294 296 301 308 318 323 : 326 ae . | Baa fiat DISCIPLE. B : Bs i bm a2! aa wee tS” ee ne See.) ee aes! © THE DISCIPLE. I. LAS ! in ages far away, The good, the heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when here, Did love it more than this ; They enter in, are filled with cheer, And pain expires in bliss. Oh! fairly shines the blessed land ! Ah God! I weep and pray : The heart thou holdest in thy hand Loves more this sunny day. THE DISCIPLE. I see the hundred thousand wait Around the radiant throne: Ah, what a dreary gilded state! What crowds of beings lone! I do not care for singing psalms ; I tire of good men’s talk ; To me there is no joy in palms, Or white-robed, solemn walk. I love to hear the wild winds meet, The wild old winds at night ; To watch the star-light flash and beat, To wait the thunder-light. I love all tales of valiant men, Of women good and fair: If I were rich and strong, ah! then I woula do something rare. I see thy temple in the skies On pillars strong and white ; I cannot love it, though I rise And long with all my might. THE DISCIPLE, Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, And I am speechless then ; Almost a martyr I could be, And join the holy men. Straightway my heart is like a clod, My spirit wrapt in doubt: “A pillar in the house of God, And never more go out f” No more the sunny breezy morn ; No more the glowing noon ; No more the silent heath forlorn ; No move the waning moon! Ah God! my heart will never burn, Will never taste thy joy ; Even Jesus’ face is calm and stern— I am a hapless boy. THE DISCIPLE. I read good books. My heart despairs. In vain I try to dress My soul in feelings lke to theirs— These men of holiness. Some times a gentle sympathy With long-departed saint, Dawns, feebly radiant, over me— Experience old and quaint, As of a church’s holy night, With low-browed chapels round : No common sunshine dares alight Upon the sacred ground. One glance at sunny fields of grain, One shout of child at play— Discordant melodies again Drive all the good away. My spirit will not enter here, Or fill this holy gloom ; THE DISCIPLE, I look into a mirror mere, A mirror, not a room. For as a bird against the pane, I strike, deceived sore ; I know no reason, yet remain Outside it as before. My thoughts, like birds, abroad I fling Into a country fair : Wind-baffled to their nest they wing, And I am in despair. Oh! it will cost me many a sigh, If this be what it claims— This book, so unlike earth and sky, Unlike my hopes and aims. To me it 1s a desert bare, O’er which a spirit broods Whose wisdom I would gladly share At cost of many goods. THE DISCIPLE, ITI. O hear me, God! O give me joy, Such as thy chosen feel. Have pity on a hapless boy, Whose heart 1s hard as steel. I do not love that which is good ; Even thee I do not love; I do not like this bible-food ; My heaven is not above. Thou wilt not hear. I come no more. It is no use, I see. My bosom aches with weeping sore. Thou carest not for me. THE DISCIPLE. 9 IV. Once more I kneel. The earth is dark, And darker yet the air ; If light there be, ’tis but a spark Amid a world’s despair— A hopeless hope that there may be A God somewhere to hear: To him once more I bend the knee, The God with open ear. He knows my tale. Ah! men may say, And saying say the truth, “Tt is a tale of every day— The weakness of his youth” ; But when his love is dead and gone, Silent is even the lark ; The sun goes down all nights, yet none Sees therefore in the dark. The world hath melted from my sight ; In life no grace is left. 1fe) THE DISCIPLE. I cry to thee with all my might, Because I am bereft. What matter that my sorrows rest On ills which men despise! More hopeless heaves my aching breast, Than when a prophet sighs. There’s love enough upon the earth, And beauty too, they say: There may be plenty, may be dearth, I care not any way. In vain I cry. The earth is dark, And darker yet the air. Of light there is not one poor spark Amid my world-despair. % # * * = ——— ee THE DISCIPLE. V. I sit and gaze from window high Upon the noisy street. No part in this great coil have I, No fate to go and meet. My books long days untouched have lain ; The lecture-hour is slow ; Far other thoughts go through my brain, Than those gowned bosoms know. Knowledge, it may be, glads the mind— Grave men the lure repeat ; For me, I seek some rarer kind That makes the pulses beat. Old books, new facts, they preach aloud— Their tones like wisdom fall: I see a face amid the crowd, Whose smile were worth them all. * * * * I2 THE DISCIPLE, VI, But something is not right within. Are old hopes all gone by? Is it a bootless aim to win A vision of the sky? They preach and preach that men should pray, Pray on until they find ; But God is very far away, Nor is his countenance kind. Yet I remember one who prayed, Withdrawing every night : He had some answer, and it made Him able for the fight. Once more I'll seek the God of men, Redeeming childhood’s vow.— I failed with bitter weeping then, And fail cold-hearted now. THE DISCIPLE. 13 VII. Why seek for God? A man I tread This old life-bearing earth ; In me rise thoughts and lift my head— My being gives them birth. Men say—he must the good ensue, Because a Christian : I say—he must be noble, true, Because he is a man. They say that he must wake and keep Lamp burning, garments white, Else he shall sit without and weep When Christ comes home at night: I say, his manhood must be free ; Himself he should not stain ; He must not soil the dignity Of heart and blood and brain. Yes, I say well! for words are cheap. What action have I borne ? THE DISCIPLE, What praise will my one talent reap ? What grapes are on my thorn P Have high words kept me pure enough ? In evil have I no part? Hath not my bosom “ perilous stuff, That weighs upon the heart” ? I am not that which I can praise ; I do not that I say; I sit a talker in the ways, A dreamer in the day. Vill. Some of their words are true, I know: A man may lose his life ; I grant that all men downward go Without the upward strife. ’Twere well my soul should cease to roam, Should seek and have and hold. It may be there is yet a home In that religion old. THE DISCIPLE, Again I kneel, again I pray: Wilt thou be God to me? Wilt thou give ear to what L say, And lift me up to thee ? Comes it at last! A vision high! The clouds of heaven dispart ; An opening depth of loving sky Looks down into my heart. There is a home wherein to dwell— The very heart of light! Thyself my sun immutable, My moon and stars all night! I thank thee, Lord. It must be so, Its beauty is so good. Up in my heart thou mad’st it go, And I have understood. The clouds return. The common day Falls on me like a V0; But I have seen what might be—may ; And with a hope I go. 16 THE DISCIPLE, IX. I am a stranger in the land, It gives no welcome dear ; The roses bloom not for my hand, The lihes for my cheer. The sunshine used to make me glad, But now it knows me not ; This weight of brightness makes me sad— It isolates a blot. I am forgotten by the hills, And by the river’s play ; No look of recognition thrills The features of the day. Then only am I moved to song, When down the darkening street, Before it vanishing the throng, The driving rain I meet. The rain pours down. My thoughts awake, Like flowers that languished long. THE DISCIPLE, 17 From bare cold hills the night-winds break, From me the unwonted song. xX. I read the Bible with my eyes, But hardly with my brain ; Should this the meaning recognize, My heart yet reads in vain. These words of promise and of woe To me are tinkling sound ; As through an ancient tomb I go, With dust-filled urns around. Or as a sadly searching child, Afar from love and home, Sits in an ancient chamber piled With scroll and musty tome ; So I, in these epistles old From men of heavenly care, Find all the thoughts of other mould Than I can love or share. 18 THE DISCIPLE. No sympathy with mine they show, Their world is not the same ; They move me not with joy or woe, They touch me not with blame. I hear no word that calls my life, Or owns my struggling powers ; Those ancient ages had their strife, But not a strife like ours. Oh! not like men they move and speak, Those pictures in old panes, Unchanging in their aspect meek For all the winds and rains. Their thoughts are filled with figures strange Of Jewish forms and rites: A world of air and sea I range, Of mornings and of nights. THE DISCIPLE. 19 XI. I turn me to the gospel-tale. My hope is faint with fear That neediest search will not avail To find a refuge here. A misty wind blows bare and rude From the dead sea of the Past ; | And through the clouds that halt and brood, Dim dawns a shape at last ; - A sad worn man who bows his face In might of gentleness, To suffer for an abject race, That else were shelterless. Kind words he speaks; but all the time As from a pathless height , Where human feet can never climb, Half-swathed in ancient night. 20 THE: DISCIPLE, Oftenest he seems a weary saint, Embalmed in pallid gleam, Listless and sad, without complaint, Like dead man in a dream. Yet sometimes, to a gentle heart, His words unkindly flow ; Surely it is no Saviour’s part To speak to women so. Far rather would I refuge take With Mary, dear to me, To whom those rough hard words he spake, “What have I to do with thee?” * Surely I know men tenderer, Women of larger soul, Whom gentler, homelier feelings stir, Who always would make whole. And at the best he is uplift A spectacle, a show: *The poems called Zhe Gospel Women, printed in a preced- ing volume, were intended to form part of Ze Désczple. —* THE DISCIPLE, 21 To me, an old, an outworn gift, Whose worth I cannot know. I have no love to pay my debt— He leads me from the sun. Yet it is hard men should forget The kindness he has done: That he, to expiate a curse, Upon that altar-hill, Beneath a sunless universe, Should suffer, patient, still. But what is he, whose pardon slow At so much blood is priced p— If such thou art, O Jove, I go To the Promethean Christ, XII. My conscience says I am to blame ; I must go to the man, Confess the deed by its own name, And make what peace I can. eee 22 THEY DISCTE LE. “‘ His triumph thus I cannot bear, For he did ill to me.” “ But thy wrong 1s alone thy care, Not what he did to thee.” “ To do it right, my heart should own Some sorrow for the ill.” “* Plain, honest words will half atone, And they are in thy will.” The struggle comes. Evil or I Will gain the victory now. I am unmoved, yet wish to try: O God, to thee I bow. The skies are brass; there falls no aid ; No wind of help doth blow. But I bethink me :—T am made A man: I rise and go. THE DISCIPLE. XIII. To Christ I needs must come, they say, Who went to death for me: I turn aside; I come, I pray, My unknown God, to thee. He is afar; the story old Is blotted, worn, and dim; With thee, O God, I can be bold— I cannot speak to him. “Pray”? At the word a cloud of grief Doth fold me in its pall: How can I pray without belief In anything at all? I know not if a God be there To hear my crying sore, If in the great world anywhere An ear keeps open door. 23 24 THE ‘DISCIPLE, ’T were vain an unborn faith to nurse ; To search, an endless task ; Therefore into the universe I call aloud and ask. Is there no God—earth, sky, and sea Are but a chaos wild ; Is there a God—I know that he Must hear his calling child. XIV, I kneel. A fog-like misery dumb Rises and spreads in me, As for a friend that will not come, A face I cannot see. It is not fear of broken laws, Or judge’s damning word ; It is a lonely pain, because I call and am not heard. THE DISCIPLE. A cry where there is none to hear, On hill or desert plain, Returns in silence on the ear, In torture on the brain. No look of love a smile can bring, Or kiss bring back the breath To cold lips: I no answer wring From this great face of death. KV. Yet sometimes when the agony Dies of its own excess, A deep repose descends on me, A rain of gentleness ; A sense of bounty and of grace, A calm within my breast, As if the shadow of a face Did fall on me and rest. 25 26 THE DISCIPLE. ’Tis God, I say, and cry no more, But rise, and am content To sit for ages at the door Till answer more is sent. XVI. But is it God ?>—Once more the fear Of Vo God loads my breath ; Amidst a sunless atmosphere, I rise to fight with death. Such rest may be but that which lulls The man who fainting lies ; His bloodless brain his spirit dulls, With darkness veils his eyes. But even this, my heart responds, May be the ancient rest, Swelling again from broken bonds To flow and fill the breast. = ae THE DISCIPLE. 27 The o’ertasked will falls down aghast, In individual death ; Then God takes up the severed past, And breathes the primal breath. For Torture’s self can breed no calm, Nor Death to Life give birth ; No Labour can create the balm That soothes the sleeping earth. So I will hope it is The One Whose life is life to me, Who, when my strength is overdone, Inspires serenity. XVII. When the hot sun’s too urgent might Hath shrunk the tender leaf, The dew slides down the blessed night, And cools its fainting grief. THE DISCIPLE. When poet’s heart is in eclipse, A glance from childhood’s eye, A smile from passing maiden’s lips, Will clear a glowing sky. Might not from God such influence come The spirit to uplift ? Could he not send, in trouble, some Unmediated gift ? My child is moaning. Far in dreams, Oppressed with visions ill, A universe that hopeless seems She wanders, moaning still. I lay my hand upon her breast ; Her moaning dies away ; She waketh not; but, lost in rest, Sleeps on into the day. And when my heart with soft release Grows calm as summert-sea, Shall I not hope the God of Peace Hath laid his hand on me? ee nh THE DISCIPLE, 29 XVIII. But why should doubt from thought result, And best belief imbue? Why should I not with joy exult, Knowing my visions true? God will not give a little boon To turn thee from the best ; A granted sign might all too soon Rejoice thee into rest. Yet could not any sign, though grand As hosts of fire about, Though lovely as a sunset-land, Secure thy soul from doubt. A smile from one thou lovest well May glad thee all the day: All day afar thy doubt may dwell— Return with twilight gray. THE DISCIPLE. For doubt will come, will ever come, Though signs be perfect-good, Till face-to-face strikes doubting dumb, And both are understood. IE I shall behold him though not now. One day, in God’s light keen, Thy blossom bursts, my heart, and thou Seést as thou art seen. Of nothing canst thou, heart, be sure. Except the highest, best When God thou seest with vision pure, That sight will be thy Rest. So I will look with longing eye, And still my hope renew ; Still think that comfort from the sky Comes like a falling dew./ THE DISCIPLE, 31 XX, But if a vision should unfold That I might banish fear ; That I, the chosen, might be bold, And walk with upright cheer ; My heart would cry: But shares my race In this great love of Thine? I pray, put me not in good case, Tf others lack and pine. | Nor claim I thus a place above Thy table’s very foot ; ’Tis only that I love no love That springs not from the root ; That gives me not my being’s claim; That says not chz/d to me; That calls not all men by the name Of children to His knee. For if to all thou didst not give, But gav’st to me the word, 32 THE DISCIPLE. It would not be because I live, And thou didst make me, Lord. XXI. And little comfort would it bring, Amidst a throng to pass ; To stand with thousands worshipping Upon the sea of glass ; To know that, of a sinful world, I one was saved as well ; My roll of ill with theirs upfurled, And flung in deepest hell ; That God looked bounteously on one, Because on many men ; As shone Judea’s earthly sun On all the healed ten. No; thou must be a God to me, As if I stood alone ; I such a perfect child to thee, As if thou hadst but one. THE DISCIPLE. XXII. = hen, O my Father, hast thou not A blessing even for me? Shall I be, barely, not forgot ? Dwell none at home with thee? Hast thou no care for this one child This thinking, living me? Or is thy countenance only mild, Not tender heartily ? Art thou not, by infinitude, Able in every man To turn thyself to every mood Since ever life began? Art thou not each man’s God—his own, With secret words between, As thou and he did live alone, Insphered in silence keen? Some awful joy I need alway To make me strong and free: 34 THE DISCIPLE. Yea, such a friend—oh ! all the day— As thou alone canst be. Ah God! my heart is not the same As any heart beside ; Nor is my sorrow or my blame, My tenderness or pride. | | ] My story too, thou knowest, God, Is different from the rest ; Thou knowest—none but thee—the load With which my heart is pressed. Hence I to thee such love can bring, As other none can do; Hence I to thee a song can sing Which must be, shall be new. XXIII. Nor seek J thus to stand apart In thee, my kind above ; THE DISCIPLE. Loe) wi a ’Tis only that my aching heart Must rest ere i: can love. If thou love not, I have no care, No power to love, no hope. What is life here or anywhere ? Or why with darkness cope? I scorn love’s every motion, sign, So feeble, selfish, low, If thy love give no pledge that mine One day divine shall grow. Strong men may hold a festival Even at the gates of death: I am too weak to live at all, Except I breathe thy breath. But tell me thy love cannot fail, Is deep, is tender, near: Gehenna’s gates shall not prevail To turn me back with fear. Once let me know thou lovest well, My love will rise and flow, THE DISCIPLE. Forth on my kindred gush and swell, My kindred—all below. Then, brothers, sisters, fellow-men, By love my life were healed ; In each of you beholding then My God anew revealed. XXIV. Nor can I brook that men should say— Nor this for gospel take— That thou wilt hear me if I pray. Asking for Jesus’ sake. For love to him is not to me, And cannot bless my fate ; The love is not that is not free, To each immediate. Love is salvation. Life without No moment can endure. Those sheep alone go in and out, Who know thy love is pure. ; / ) THE DISCIPLE. 37 XXV. But what if God requires indeed, For cause yet unrevealed, Assent to moulded form of creed, Such as I cannot yield ? The words may have some other sense, Or we be different From what we seem when thought intense Is only one way bent. Or what if all-distorting pride Shows me the good thing 111? For man, they say, hath God defied, And walks with stubborn will. Or God may choose to give a test To try man’s earnest aim, That only he may win the best, Who conquers pride and shame. THE DISCIPLE. Alas! the words I cannot say With the responding folk ; I at his feet a heart would lay, Not shoulders for the yoke. “ And wilt thou bargain them with Him ?” Some priest will make reply. I answer: “Though the sky be dim, My hope is in the sky.” XXVI. But is my will alive, awake ? The true God will not heed If in my lips or hands I take A half word or half deed. Day follows day wherein I dream Amazed in outwardness ; The powers of things that only seem The real things oppress ; THE DISCIPLE. 39 Till in my soul some discord sounds, Till sinks some yawning lack: I turn me from life’s rippling rounds, And unto thee come back. Thou seest how poor a thing am I; Yet hear, whate’er I be; Despairing of my will, I cry, Be God enough for me. My being low, irresolute, T cast before thy feet ; And wait, while even prayer is mute For what thou judgest meet. XXVII, My safety lies not, any hour, Tn what I generate, But in the living, healing power, Of that which did create. 40 THE ‘DISCIPLE. If he is God to the incomplete, Fulfilling what they need, Then I may cast before his feet A half-word or half-deed. I bring then to his altar-stair, To the love-glorious, My very lack of will and prayer, And say: Behold me thus. Oh, gladness! Are not these words his-— My heart brimful they fill— “That man shall know the truth who is Willing to do His will” ? XXVITI. What is his will ?—that I may go And do it now, in hope That light will rise and spread and flow As deed enlarges scope. THE DISCIPLE. 4! There is no need to search the book To know my duty clear ; Scarce in my heart I need to look, It lies so very near. I know one thing aside to lay: I’ll watch my action’s door. One thing I’ll go and do straightway I did not do before. Alas! these are such little deeds! No glory in their birth! Grave doubt their common aspect breeds, If God will count them worth. But then I am not left to choose ; He maketh such my lot; And mightiest deeds much glory lose, If small ones are forgot. I am not worthy great things yet; I’ll humbly do my own ; Good care of sheep may so beget A fitness tor the throne. THE DISCIPLE. But ah! why should I reason thus, Ambition’s very fool? Through high and low, each glorious, Shines God’s all-perfect rule. ’Tis God I need, not rank in good ; "Tis life, not honour’s meed ; Breathing his breath, in every mood, I am content indeed. XXIX. Will do: shall know: J feel the force, Completeness of the word ; His holy boldness held its course, And claimed divine accord. It may be I have never seen The true face of the Man; The named notion may have been A likeness vague and wan ; 1 eye =e > = THE DISCIPLE. Or bright with such unblended hues As on his chamber wall The humble peasant gladly views, And Jesus Christ doth call. The story lay with open page Before my open eyes: It never seemed the heritage Of my waste childhood’s cries. The tale I never sought to scan With inward vision strong ; I have not tried to see the Man, The many words among. Some faces that would never please With any sweet surprise, Dawn, ne’ertheless, by slow degrees, A very home of eyes. And if [ ponder, day by day, O’er this dim-featured space, The mist mayhap will melt away, Disclose a human face. 44 THE DISCIPLE. ————_—— ee = A face! Yea even, exalting thought! That face may dawn on me, Which Moses on the mountain sought, God wou!d not let him see. XXX, I read and read the ancient tale. A gracious form I mark ; But dim and faint as wrapt in veil Of Sinai’s cloudy dark. I see a man, a very man, Who walks the earth erect, Nor stoops his noble head to one From fear or false respect. He seeks to climb no high estate, Or lowly praise secure, With high and low serenely great, Because his ends are pure ; THE DISCIPLE. Nor walks alone, beyond our reach, Our joy and pain beyond: He counts it joy divine to teach, When human hearts respond ; And sorrow’s night arose in him From human souls that slept : ‘“‘ How often, O Jerusalem !” He said, and gazed, and wept. Nor love’s return for end he put ; His own love was his dower ; This joy it was his being’s root, That joy his being’s flower. Some hidden well flowed full of grace, Within his spirit blest, Reflecting still the Father’s face, Beheld from Mary’s breast. OC Life of Jesus, the unseen, Which found such glorious show ! Deeper than death, and more serene Such life I too must know. & / THE DISCIPLE. Into that living well to gaze, Kneeling upon its brink, Be my returning thought always— To see what thou didst think. ’Twill be to find thy heart above— Obedience deepest still ; Seeking not even thy father’s love, Seeking alone his will. XXXI. Years, years have passed since thus I sought To picture out the strife, When Death, in young and fearing thought, Stands face to face with Life. —_—— —————SESee— THE DISCIPLE. More of the tale I tell not so— One thing alone would say: My heart is quiet with what I know, With what I hope, is gay. And where I cannot set my faith, Unknowing or unwise, I say “If this be what He saith, Here hidden treasure lies.” Through years gone by since thus I strove, Thus shadowed out my strife, While at my history I wove, Thou didst weave in the life. ‘Through poverty that had no lack For friends divinely good ; Through pain that not too long did rack ; Through love that understood ; Through light that taught me what to hold, And what to cast away ; Through thy forgiveness manifold, And things I cannot say, 47 48 THE DISCIPLE. Here thou hast brought me—able now To kiss thy garment’s hem, Entirely to thy will to bow, And trust thee even for them Who, lost in darkness, in the mire, With ili-contented feet, Walk trailing loose their white attire, For the sapphire-floor unmeet. Lord Jesus Christ, I know not how— With this blue air, blue sea, This yellow sand, that grassy brow, All isolating me— My words to thee should yet draw near. My thoughts be heard by thee; But he who made the ear must hear. Who made the eye, must see. Thou mad’st the hand with which I write. That sun descending slow Through rosy gates, that purple light On waves that shoreward go, OO se ~ THE DISCIPLE. Bowing their heads in golden spray, As if thy foot were near: I think I know thee, Lord, to-day, Have known thee many a year. I know thy father—thine and mine— Thy mouth hath spoken so: If thy great word the words combine, I will not say JVot so. Lord, thou hast much to make me yet— A feeble infant still : Thy thoughts, Lord, in my bosom set, Fulfil me of thy will, Even of thy truth, both in and out, That so I question free: The man that feareth, Lord, to doubt, In that fear doubteth thee. 49 oe es SO ae ane LS Ta Ts A aR tet netteEe “~~ - A eam _— om ~ ~~ -—- 7 —2 — RTO I Ga RET al a SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. @ i i@ fi ve ms Lee iT eaae SONGS OF THE SUMMER DAYS. A GLORY on the chamber wall! A glory in the brain! Triumphant floods of glory fall On wood, and hill, and plain. The earth lies still in hopeless bliss : She has, and seeks no more ; Forgets that days come after this, Forgets the days before. Each ripple waves a flickering fire Of gladness, as it runs; They laugh and flash, and leap and spire, And toss ten thousand suns. 54 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Hark! in the human world within, One low zolian tone: * But shall we ever, ever win A summer of our own ?” II. A morn of winds and swaying trees, Earth’s jubilance rushing out ; The birds are fighting with the breeze, The waters heave about. White clouds are swept across the sky, Dark shadows o’er the graves ; Purpling the green, they float and fiy Athwart the sunny waves. The long grass—an earth-rooted sea— Mimics the watery strife. | To boat, or horse? Wild motion we | Shall find harmonious life. But whither? Roll and sweep and bend Suffice for Nature’s part ; SONGS OF THE SUMMER DAYS. 55 But motion to an endless end Is needful for our heart. TE, The morn awakes like brooding dove, With outspread wings of gray ; Her feathery clouds close in above, And build a sober day. No motion in the deeps of air, No trembling in the leaves ; A still contentment everywhere, That neither laughs nor grieves. A shadowy veil of silvery gray Bedims the ocean’s hue ; White-winged feluccas tear their way, In tracks of gorgeous blue. Dream on, dream on, O dreamy day! Thy very clouds are dreams ; Yon child is dreaming far away, And is not where he seems. 56 — SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. The lark is up, his faith is strong, He mounts the morning air ; The voice of all the creature-throng, He sings the morning prayer. Slow clouds from north and south appear, Black-based, with shining slope ; In sullen forms their might they rear, And climb the vaulted cope. A lightning-flash, a thunder-boom— Nor sun nor clouds are there ; One universal aching gloom Pervades the heavy air. A weeping, wasting afternoon Weighs down the aspiring corn: Amber and red, the sunset soon Leads back to golden morn. if — SONGS OF THE SUMMER NIGHTS. i. HE dreary wind of night is out, Homeless and wandering slow ; O’er pallid seas it sweeps about, O’er islands waste and low. Gray ghosts of dead thought sail aghast Hither adown its tide: It blows from out the helpless Past, Where doleful things abide. It brings no message unto me, O’er wide moors billowing ; Tis not a flowing wind, I see— An ebbing woesome thing. —- 58 SONGS OF “THE DAYS AND NiGHes: Nay, come to me, sweet wind of night! The death is all in me; Blow on and on, with gentle might, Until I wake and see. Il. The west is broken into bars Of orange, gold, and gray ; Gone is the sun, come are the stars, And night infolds the day. My boat glides on the gliding stream, Whose flitting, flowing breast Is lighted with one fading gleam, The death-smile of the west. The river flows: the sky is still ; It hath no ceaseless quest ; Sad hearts and eyes may flow and fill To think of such a rest. The stream flows on. ‘The skies repose All night the starbeams play. SONGS OF THE SUMMER NIGHTS. 59 In clouds and gleams the river flows. The sky is clear alway. III, I hear a lone wind, lost amid The long luxurious grass ; The bats flit round me, born and hid In twilight’s wavering mass. The fir-top floats, an airy isle, High o’er the mossy ground ; Harmonious silence breathes the while In scent instead of sound. The flaming rose glooms swarthy red ; The borage gleams more blue ; And low white flowers, with starry head, Glimmer the rich dusk through. Woo on, with odour wooing me, Faint rose with fading core ; For God’s rose-thought, that blooms in thee, Will bloom for evermore. os 60 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. What art thou, gathering dusky cool, In slow gradation fine? Death’s lovely shadow, flickering full Of eyes about to shine? When weary Day goes down below, Leanest thou o’er his grave, Revolving all the vanished show The gracious splendour gave ? Or art thou not she rather—say— Dark-browed, with luminous eyes, Of whom is born the mighty Day, That fights and saves and dies? For action sleeps with sleeping light ; Calm thought awakes with thee: The soul becomes a summer night, With stars that shine and see. SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS. K. WE bore him through the golden land, One early harvest morn, The corn stood ripe on either hand— _ He knew all about the corn. How shall the harvest gathered be Without him standing by? Without him walking on the lea, The sky is scarce a sky. The year’s glad work is almost done ; The land is rich in fruit; Yellow it floats in air and sun— Earth holds it by the root. SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Why should earth hold it for a day, When harvest-time is come ? Death is triumphant o’er decay, And leads the perfect home. II. Yet shines the sun as bright and warm ; All comfort is not lost ; Both corn and hope, of heart and farm, Lie hid from coming frost. The woods are mournful, richly sad ; Their leaves are red and gold: Are thoughts in solemn splendour clad Signs too that men grow old? Strange odours haunt the doubtful brain From fields and days gone by ; And sad-eyed memories again Are born, are loved, and die. The morning clear, the evening cool Foretell no wintery wars ; SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS. The day of dying leaves is full ; The night is full of stars. III. "Tis late before the sun will rise; All early he will go; A vaporous frost hangs from the skies, And wets the ground below. Red fruit has followed golden corn ; The leaves are few and sere; My thoughts are old as soon as born, _ And gray with coming fear. The winds are still; no softest breath Floats through the branches bare : A silence as of coming death Is growing in the air. But what must fade, can bear to fade, Can stand beneath the ill: Creep on, old Winter, deathly shade! We sorrow, and are still. 63 64 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. There is no longer any heaven To glorify our clouds ; The nsing vapours downward driven, Come home for palls and shrouds. The sun himself is 11] bested A heavenly sign to show ; His radiance, dimmed to glowing red, Can hardly further go. An earthy cold, a churchyard gloom Pervade the moveless air ; The year is sinking to its tomb, And death is everywhere. But while dark thoughts together sweep On sad sepulchral wing, God’s children, in their beds asleep, Are dreaming of the spring. SONGS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHTS. t. NIGHT, send up the harvest moon To walk about the corn ; -To make of midnight magic noon, And ripen on till morn. All in the yellow land, Old solemn kings in rustling gowns, The sheaves moon-charmed stand. Sky-mirror she, afloat in space, Beholds our coming morn : Her heavenly joy hath such a grace, | | I | | | | In golden ranks, with golden crowns, ' | | It ripens earthly corn ; | | —— 66 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND Wicume: Like some lone saint with upward eyes, Lost in the deeps of prayer: The people still their prayers and sighs, And gazing ripen there. li, So, ike the corn, moon-ripened last, Would I, weary and gray, On golden memories ripen fast, And ripening pass away. In an old night so let me die; A slow wind out of doors ; A waning moon low in the sky; A vapour on the moors ; A fire just dying in the gloom ; Earth haunted all with dreams ; A sound of waters in the room ; A mirror’s moony gleams ; And near me, in the sinking night, More thoughts than move in me, SONGS OF THE AUTUMN NIGHTS. Forgiving wrong, and loving right, And waiting till I see. Ill. Across the stubble glooms the wind ; High sails the lated crow ; The west with pallid green is lined ; Fog tracks the river’s flow. My heart is cold and sad. I moan, Yet care not for my woe. The summer fervours all are gone ; The roses—let them go! Old age is coming, frosty, hoar ; The snows of time will fall; My jubilance, dream-like, no more Returns for any call. O lapsing heart! thy feeble strain Sends up the blood so spare, That my poor withering autumn brain Sees autumn everywhere. 67 68 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. IV. Lord of my life! if I am blind, | Be thou my eyes to see; | Live on within my heart and mind; Be life and truth in me. | Z made no brave bright suns arise, Veiled up no sweet gray eves; Z hung no rose-lamps, lit no eyes, Sent out no windy leaves. f said not “I will cast a charm | These gracious forms around” ; My heart with unwilled love grew warm ; I took but what I found. When cold winds range my winter-night, | Be thou my summer-door ; Keep for me all my young delight, Till I am old no more. Se ey, co SONGS OF THE WINTER DAYS. I. HE earth 1s black and cold and hard. Thin films of dry white ice, Across the rugged wheel-tracks barred, The children’s feet entice. Dark flows the stream as if it mourned The winter in the land; By frosty idleness adorned That mill-wheel soon will stand. The blue sky turned its heart away, The earth its sorrow found ; The daisies turned from childhood’s play, And crept into the ground. 70 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. Draw closer, friends ; we will not part ; That would let in the cold; We'll make a summer of the heart, And laugh at winter old. II. With clear dead gleam the morning white Comes through the window-panes ; The clouds have fallen all the night, Without the noise of rains. Like a departing, unseen ghost, Footprints go from the door ; The man must long ere now be lost Who left those footprints hoar. Yet follow thou. Tread down the snow. Leave all the road behind. Heed not the steely winds that blow, Heed not the sky unkind. And when the glittering air grows dark, The snow will shine like morn ; 7 rm ae ae et a gw i a ee SONGS OF THE WINTER DAYS. ia Till from thy cot one radiant spark Shall laugh the night to scorn. IIl. Oh wildly wild the winter-blast Is whirling round the snow! The wintry storms are up at last, And care not how they go. In wreaths and mists the frozen white Is torn into the air ; It pictures, in the dreary light, An ocean in despair. Come, darkness! rouse the fancy more— Awake the silent sea ; Till, roaring in the tempest-roar, It rave to ecstasy ; And sheeted figures, long and white Sweep through the driving spray, Fading into the ghastly night, With death-cries far away. 72 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. | | IV. A morning clear, with frosty light From sunbeams late and low; er They shine upon the snow so white, And shine back from the snow. ee PR Down icy spears one drop will go— Nor fall. It shines at noon A diamond in the sun, to grow An opal in the moon. And when the bright sad sun is low Behind the mountain-dome. A twilight wind will come and blow All round the children’s home ; | And puff and waft the powdery snow, | As night’s dim footsteps pass. | | But waiting in its grave below | Green lies the summer grass. SONGS OF THE WINTER NIGHTS. ie FROM my window look. My fire Burns outside in the snow, "As peace in hearts that still aspire Lights grief of long ago. The dark is thinned by snowy light— A moon of snow outspread ; The stars must see us well to-night— Dressed like the holy dead. In the white garden hes a heap As brown as deep-dug mould ; Some fifty partridges that keep Each other from the cold. 74 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. With sheaves my father took their part— With shelter and with food: No marvel is my hoping heart— My tatker was so good. I]. The frost weaves dreams of torrid climes Across my lattice-pane ; The frost weaves dreams of childhood’s times Across my manhood’s brain. Quiet ecstasy fills heart and head: My father’s in the room: The very curtains of my bed Are fuil of sheitering gloom. They melt. My father is away; I am a child no more; Work rises from the floor of play, Duty is at the door. But if I face with courage stout The labour and the din, 4 Pins oe ie —— ee ee ee SONGS OF THE WINTER NIGHTS. Thou, Lord, wilt let my mind go out, My heart with thee stay in. III. The ear can see without the sun, An eye that needs no spark, The door to which the soul doth run When other doors are dark. I hear the dull unheeding wind Blow over heath and wold; I leave my body, and my mind Floats out into the cold. Still as a dead man’s face forgot, O’er which the vault is bowed, Earth smiles not, water mirrors not; The earth is in its shroud. O’er leafless woods, o’er cornless farms, Frozen rivers, silent thorps, I brood, the heart, still throbbing, warm Within cold Nature’s corpse. 3 76 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHEs. IV, As blind as Milton here I lie; My “drop serene” is—night, With vapours piled on vapours high, And snows that fall and fight. ’Tis but a cloud that comes too nigh; The awful, simple stars Beyond are shining carelessly : These elemental wars Reach not to them. And when I climb Above the storms of life, I shall behold the lord of time, The ruler of the strife. © Ah! Lord, I cannot stay till then— Nor find I thus my goal. Homeward I turn; no alien, J find thee in my soul. SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS. I, GENTLE wind of western birth, a’ From some far summer sea, Wakes daisies in the wintry earth, Wakes thoughts of hope in me. The sun is low; the paths are wet, And dance with frolic hail ; The trees, whose spring-time is not yet, Swing sighing in the gale. Young gleams of sunshine peep and play; Thick vapours crowd between ; "Tis strange that on a coming day The earth will all be green. 78 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. The north wind blows, and blasts, and raves, And flaps his snowy wing: Back ! toss thy bergs on arctic waves, Thou canst not stay our spring. Il. Up comes the primrose, wondering ; The snowdrop droopeth by ; The holy spirit of the spring Is working silently. Sweet-breathing odours gently wile Earth’s other children out ; On nature’s face a hopeful smile Is flickering about. When earth lay hard, unlovely, dull, And life within her slept, “Above her heaven srew beautiful, And forth her beauty crept. And though tears fall, as fall they will, Smiles wander into sighs. es CE Eee E ERIN OS tee ae WORE SE OEES WaeseTe ee : SONGS OF THE SPRING DAYS. Yet if the sun keep shining still, Her perfect day will rise. III. The sky is smiling over me, Hath smiled away the frost, Clothed with young green the patient lea, With buds the wood embossed. The trees yet shut not out the sky, It sees down to the flowers ; They lift their beauty fearlessly, They hide in leafy bowers. This day is yours, sweet birds; sing on; The cold is all forgot ; | Ye had a dream, but it is gone: Pain that is past, is not. Joy that was past, is come aga’n ; And if the summer brings New care, it is a loving pain, That broods instead of sings. 79 Se So SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. ees IV. Blow on me, wind, from west and south ; Sweet summer-spirit, blow! Come like a kiss from dear child’s mouth, Who knows not what I know. The earth’s perfection cometh soon ; Ours lingereth alway ; We have a spring-time, have a moon, No sunny summer-day. Rose-sprinkled eve, gold-branded morn, May still poor Nature’s sighs ; To us a higher hope is born— We rest in that we rise. But at the last a sapphire day All over us will bow; And man’s heart, full of sunlight, say, “ Lord, ’tis thy summer now.” SONGS OF THE SPRING NIGHTS. 1, HE flush of green that dyed the day Hath vanished fn the moon; The strengthened odours float and play A soft unuttered tune. The tideless sea lay in my view, Once, under such a sky ; The moon hung half-way from the blue, A globe to every eye. Light-leaved acacias, by the door, Stood up in balmy air, Clusters of blossomed moonlight bore, And breathed a perfume rare. 7) 82 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. The gold-flakes of a southern sky Fell flashing on the deep : One scent of moist earth floating by Had almost made me weep. II, Those gorgeous stars were not my own; They made me alien go ; The mother o’er her head had thrown A veil I did not know. Those dusky fields that seaward range, Behind, those moonlit glades, Were full of flowering grasses strange, Not slender, spear-like blades. I longed to see the starry host Far-off in paler blue ; For grass to he in and be lost, And see them glimmer through, ‘Phe homely glories of my birth Lay far across the foam : SONGS OF THE SPRING NIGHTS. 83 Then came that odour from the earth— I knew the world my home. III. The stars exult in darksome space ; Friendly is night to them ; From day’s deep mine, with growing grace, The night lifts every gem. A thing for faith mid work and war, The blinding day-flag furled, To us then shines a distant star, To God, a home-filled world. ‘“‘ What boots it in this busy scene For such a fancy grope?” Revealing darkness comes between— It dawns a star of hope; Yet but a star with glimmer and glance Down stairless deeps to shine: A hope to our poor ignorance— To God a truth divine. ae $4 SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. iv. The night is damp and warm and still, And full of summer-dreams ; The buds are bursting at their will, And soft the half moon gleams. My soul is cool, as bathed within | By dews that silent weep ; Like child that has confessed his sin, And now will go to sleep. A childhood new, Lord, thou dost set, Each season for a sign ; Lest, old in this world, we forget That we are young in thine. A child, Lord, make me ever more - Let years fresh sonship bring, Till, out of age’s winter sore, I pass into thy spring. WV ie ara =< fae < Ay THE THREE HORSES. ae shall I be ?—I will be a knight Walled up in armour black, With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might, And a spear that will not crack ; So black, so blank, no glimmer of light Will betray me on my track. Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, Which Ravenwing I call; The night is rising from the fen, And the sky is like a pall ; Bad things are creeping from the den, And down the darkness fall. Let him go!—let him go! Let him plunge !— Keep away ! He’s a foal of Night’s own brood. PARABLES. Like a skeleton-charger, in gaunt array Of poitrel and frontlet good, With clang and clatter he bounds away Straight for the evil wood. Woe to the thing that checks our force That meets us in career ! Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse, He goes down before my spear. I and Ravenwing on the course— Hearken, wicked, and fear! Through the trees clanking I nde. The goblins flit to and fro. From the skull of the darkness, deep and wide, The eyes of the dragons glow. From the thickets the silent serpents glide. But I pass—I let them go. For I shall come ere the morning light, On some child that cries alone ; On some noble knight, o’ermatched in fight, Outbreathed, and all but gone ; ~~ eee Oe ae eee eer ee e+ THE THREE HORSES. Or spur to a half-seen glimmer white, And a half-heard lady’s moan. I shall bear the child, as in a nest, Between sheltering wings of steel ; His tiny form, to my hauberk prest, Like a trembling bird will feel, As I bear him home to his mother’s breast, For her lips to kiss and heal. And spur in flank, and lance in rest, On the old knight’s foes I flash ; And scatter the knaves to east and west, With clang and tumult and crash ; And leave them the law, as such learn it best, In bruise, and breach, and gash. And the lady I lift to my saddle-bow, And gently sinks her wail, And her heaving heart grows quiet and slow. Slumbering against my mail, As home to my mother’s bower we go, Where a welcome will not fail. PARABLES. Home through the fog of the evil night, Where glow the dragons’ eyes, Where wander the lawless men of might, And the goblin-things arise ; Home with a knight that loves the right, And will mount for it till he dies. Alas! ’tis a boy’s wild dream—that is all! In the fens no dragons blow ; Into giants’ hands no ladies fall ; Through the forest wide roadways go. If I love a maiden, and ever shall, No deeds my love can show. I will not saddle old Ravenwing ; IT will not ride by night ; No spectre would cross my galloping, But the moonbeams long and white ; No goblins—but birds from their slumbering Flitting an arrow’s flight. Bridle me Twilight, my dapple-gray, With broad rein and gentle bit ; Let a youth bring him round to the door, I say, THE THREE HORSES. gI As the shadows begin to flit, Just as the darkness dreams into day, And the owls begin to sit. And all the armour I will wear Is a sword, like the first blue-gray That to right and left doth mow and share The grisly darkness away From the gates of the morning, still and fair, By which walks out the day. I leave the arched forest grim, And into the broad land ride. The torrent is deep: we plunge and swim. The cold light wets the tide, From the opening east, like the plashes dim On my Twilight’s dappled side. We pass like morn o’er dale and hill, O’er desert, moor, and beach ; In the markets Twilight standeth still, And I lift my voice and preach : Men hear and come and gather, until Ten thousand men I teach. PARABLES. I tell them of justice, I speak of truth, Of law, and of social wrong ; My words are moulded by nght and ruth Into a solemn song ; And the upturned faces of age and youth Gather the cadence long. They bring me causes from all the land, That strife may be forgot ; The balance swerves to neither hand ; The poor I favour not. If a man withstand—outsweeps my brand— I slay him upon the spot. But is this wy calling? Dare I slay Another such as I? | My hands have not been clean alway, My own sin is too nigh. I will not ride the dapple-gray, Nor lift my voice on high. 1 dare not judge; I dare not kill; The sword I will not wear. One ministry remaineth still— THE THREE HORSES. 93 Good tidings I will bear. As the sun looks over the eastern hill, Bring out my snow-white mare. Take heed, my men, that from crest to heel She has neither spot nor speck. No curb, no bit her mouth shall feel, No tightening rein her neck ; No saddle-girth, with buckles of steel, Her mighty breathing check. Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen ; Bring me a robe of white ; That all our course we may be secn By the shining of our light— A glistening glory in forests green, A star on the mountain-height. Like an angel-horse, with a winged bound Forth to the wind she leaps ; Full-filled of light, she skims the ground Into the forest-deeps, Where a torrent of shadows without a sound, Over her ripples and sweeps. 04 PARABLES, And the sun and the wind are life and love. Where the serpent slimed the bark, Broods the silent, the shining dove. Where dragons breathed the dark, Glad troops of children, below, above, Gather with hollo and hark. It is joy, it is joy to ride the world With a message such as this— That the flag of war is for ever furled, That peace and righteousness kiss. See! the mane of my mare by the glad winds curled, Is the white flag of coming bliss. And maidens with eyes of light look up From the infants about their feet, ) With lapfuls of green blade and golden cup, A weaving of garlands sweet ; But on I gallop—I dare not stop— Good news should ever be fleet. And I bear a message of might and mirth— The dawn of another morn. I carry abroad the news of birth —_—_—————- Sa ee THE THREE HORSES, 95 Through city and land of corn. Gracious gladness shall clothe the earth, For a child, a child is born, Strange message! What means it?—A child is born ! It means the old earth grows young ; That the heart, with sin and its sadness torn, Grows whole and happy and strong ; No more the fountain of fear and scorn, But a fountain of praising song. I will tell, I will tell what the message saith : That the spirit no more shall pine ; That self shall die an ecstatic death, And be born a thing divine ; That God’s own joy and God’s own breath Shail fill us with living wine ; That Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, And Pride lower and lower lie ; Till, for very love of a living thing, A man would forget and die, If very love were not the spring That all life liveth by. 96 PARABLES. Saith it this ?—all this p—I dare not ride. T am a fool—a beast. A labour for which God’s kings have sighed ! Anointing myself a priest !— In the worst of all pride—to sit beside The Master of the feast ! Alas! alas! Lead her back again. No radiant courser I need. I am overweening, ignorant, vain. Yet, Lord—I will take good heed— Let me wash the hoofs and comb the mane Of the shining gospel-steed. tl THE GOLDEN KEY. N IGH'1"S drooping flags were slowly furled ; The sun arose in joy; The boy awoke, and all the world Was waiting for the boy. And out he ran. Lo! everywhere Was full of windy play ; The earth was bright and clean and fair, All for his holiday. The hill said “ Climb me;” and the wood, ““Come to my bosoni, child ; I’m full of gambols; they are good, My children, and so wild!” wr 98 PARABLES. He went, he ran. Dark grew the skies, And pale the skrinking sun. ‘“ How soon,” he said, “for clouds to rise, When day was but begun !” The wind grew wild. A wilful power, It swept o’er tree and town, The boy exulted for an hour, Then sat with head bowed down. And as he sat the rain began, And rained till all was still: He looked, and saw a rainbow span The vale from hill to hill. He dried his tears. ‘Ah! now,” he said, “The storm brings good tome: Yon shining hill—upon its head I’ll find the golden key.” But ere, through wood and over fence, He could the summit scale, The rainbow’s foot was lifted thence, And planted in the vale. THE GOLDEN KEY. 99 ‘“‘But here it stood. Yes, here,” he said, Its very foot was set; I saw this fir-tree through the red, This through the violet.” He sought and sought, while down the skies Went, slowly went the sun. At length he lifted hopeless eyes, And day was nearly done. Low radiant clouds of level red Lay o’er a sun-filled tomb ; And all their rosy light was shed On his forgotten home, “So near me yet! Oh happy me, No farther to have come! One day I'll find the golden key, But now away for home!” He rose, he ran, as yet in play, But rest was now before ; And as the last red streak grew gray Opened his father’s door. 100 PARABLES. His father stroked his drooping head, And gone were all his harms ; His mother kissed him in his bed, And heaven was in her arms. He folded then his weary hands, And so they let them be; And ere the morn, in rainbow lands, He found the golden key, SOMNIUM MYSTICI. A MICROCOSM IN TERZA RIMA. UIET I lay at last, and knew no more Whether I breathed or not. Worn out I lay With the death-struggle. What was yet before ~ I cared not to meet, nor turned away. I knew my being only in its rest After the torture of the bygone day, And so would linger, painless, nearly blest. Followed a dreamy pause; and then the sound As of a door that opened—in the west Somewhere I thought it was. The noise unbound The sleep from off my eyelids, and they rose, And I looked forth; and, looking, straightway found It was my chamber-door that did unclose ; 102 PARABLES, And by it came a form into my view, Tall, silent, bending almost with repose : It was my brother—brother such as few— Bowing in kingly wise his noble head. Then, when I saw his countenance, I knew That I was lying in my chamber dead ; For to my side I saw this brother move, Whose face from me and his and mine had sped, Like a lost summer, leaving only love, Years, years ago, behind the unseen veil. But though I loved him, all high words above, Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, Knowing that here we live but in a tent, And that our house is yonder, without fail. And now I had him. ‘Towards him I bent— I too was dead, so might the dead embrace— But he stooped not. Silent his hand he lent Me to uplift. I was in feeble case, But growing stronger, stood up on the floor. Right glad I looked upon my own dead face, Leaving it there. ‘I shall not suffer more,” It seemed to think. I turned me away, My brother leading, to the open door. And out we passed, into the night blue-gray. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 103 The houses stood up hard in limpid air, And the moon hung in heaven in the old way, And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. Il. Now I had suffered in my life, as men Must suffer still, that children they may grow ; Suffered to rid me of that self again Which I had made and chosen and turned to—so Forgetting the angel-self that evermore, Moveless, while phantom things flit to and fro, Beholds the Father’s face, and stands before The throne of revelation, waiting there, Till we shall find it, far beyond the roar Of vain report, that hides the world’s despair, And lose ourselves in living: I had borne Not one pain more than I had need to bear ; And thus to speak of suffering I would scorn, Even in rhyme, but for what next befell : The trouble all had ebbed lke night from morn, Dissolved and lost in the absorbing swell Of some sirange peace, a marvel, to me unknown. ties Leah atte Fe 104 PARABLES. As the moon dwelt in heaven, so in me dwell Did this essential calm. Earth’s wail and moan Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part In human griefs, my part with them that groan? “Tis weariness,” I said; but with a start That set it trembling, and yet brake it not, I found the peace was love. O my rich heart! For in the blue night every glimmering spot Of window-pane behind which lay a room Where human being slept—in that soul’s lot I had a part—I cared for that one, whom I knew not, had not seen, and might not see. And scarce had love drawn after it its gloom, Ere a yet mightier love arose in me, As in a sea a single wave might swell, And heaved the care up to the centre : we Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell ; And then it sank, and all was godlike calm: I gave each man to God, and all was well. On my left hand my brother, with one palm Half-stretched out, open and upward, went One step before, leading: a heavenly balm Flowed from his presence—soon with sadness bient. SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 105 Ill, No softest murmur through the city crept ; Not one word had my guide unto me spoken, Or I to him: no sooner had we stept From forth the city, than the spell was broken. A cool night wind came whispering. ‘Through and through It made me blessed with the pledge and token Of that sweet spirit-wind which blows and blew In human nature’s heart since evermore. And now beneath my feet the grass I knew, Which was love too, and with the love I bore Held mystic sympathy, silent and sweet, For it had known the glad secret of yore. So now I long’d my brother’s eye to meet, My brother’s voice to hear. Upon the grass Sudden he stood. I stayed my following feet. He turned. The face that in the old time was Again smiled on me. Lord of Life, that smile Was full of thee, and from me will not pass. Fulfilled of strength, and childlikeness the while, 106 PARABLES. It was the same old radiance of the soul, Able my selfish passions to beguile Unto their gladsome death, and on them roll The happy stone of the Holy Sepulchre. ‘“‘ Brother,” he said, ‘now thou art like me—whole And sound and well; and all the pain and stir Uneasy, and the grief that came to us all Because we knew not how the wine and myrrh Could ever from the vinegar and gall Be parted—all is sunk and drowned in God, Who on the past doth let no darkness fall, But a sweet blast of light from light’s abode, That slays the false and bringeth out the true ; And in the dreariest path which men have trod, Shows prints of saving feet, both old and new, Going before them and each weeping friend ; Yea, through the desert leading to God’s view The desert souls in which the hons rend And roar—the passionate who to be blest Raven as bears, and do not gain their end, Because that, save in God, can be no rest.” SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 107 iY. Something my brother said to me like this. Like this, I say ; and what more can I say, Seeing his eyes, face, and that smile of his, Yea his whole presence spoke—each word alway Fringed to a star with radiant verity Of absolute utterance, making a day Of truth about him speaking solemnly? Followed a pause; and after that there came A brothers’ talk—a gentle ecstasy, Of which a part I keep, but keep the same Shut in my mind; another is all a mist, With a strange motion, as of hope in flame; As when a vapour by the sun is kissed Into a tune of colour, fear beguiling With hope of beauty born, which none resist. It was a glory full of reconciling, Of wisdom, and God’s faith, and love, and pain ; Of tenderness, and care, and mother-wiling Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. 108 PARABLES. How long the time I have forgotten quite ; Only no sun arose, and fell no rain. It was a pale, moonht, and starry night, Long as the night of some great spongy stone That turns but once an age betwixt the light And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown ; It seemed such at least—before my face So many visions passed, and veils were blown Aside from the vague vast of Isis’ grace. I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep Right willingly, for in my vacant place The Love of God was watching, in their sleep Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades’ steep. Through lanes and streets I followed, undismayed ; Saw brother-men by men despised and cursed ; Saw how smooth men on rough men fed and preyed And thought themselves thus nobler; saw the worst Of all that looks remediless and waste, Savage and cruel, of hatred born, and nursed By pain and need, to action urged and chased By dim recallings of the now unknown. I saw it all. But he shall not make haste Who knows that God may give a seed just sown SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 109 A thousand years to grow ; a world that lay Wombed in its sun, a moment—one alone, From his red rim to drop, and spin away, Librating ; to take thought, and weary wheel Home in the close of heaven’s aeonian day. Who knows God’s day, God’s thousand years, shall feel No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand ; But keen-dividing, as the sword of steel That from His mouth went forth in Patmos-land. Shall do his work fearless—obedient As He unto the Father’s good command. So with a heart of hope, I onward went, Drinking his words, like dew to summer-lea, Filling my heart even with my heart’s content, And came at last upon a lonesome sea. Stayless of foot, he turned not from the sea— Went on, crushing the bubbles at its brim. I followed,.and so walked, cool-footed, free, Out on the water, fearless following him. nn i re iro PARABLES. And like a sea of glass the water, lo! Lay ever vanishing ; nor shorn, nor dim, The starry host made all as glorious show Under our feet as o’er our heads. When this I saw, a terror to my heart did go. Think : we were moving in a vast abyss Of world-ingulfing blue; no floor was found Of seeing eye, though the foot met the kiss Of the cool sliding waters, crisping round The edges of the footsteps. I did close My eyes for fear. Then once again the sound Of my guide’s voice on the still air arose. “ Think’st thou that we no longer walk by faith, Because earth lies behind us with its shows ? Open thine eyes; take a full valiant breath ; Be fearless ; dare the terror in God’s name ; Step wider ; trust the invisible. Can Death Hearten no more the burning of thy flame?” I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, And strode on the invisible sea. ‘The same Moment had vanished all my cowardice, And God was with me. A hollow sphere of stars, All round about me lay the gulfy skies. Silent we walked across the broken bars SOMNIUM MYSTICI. Fit Of moonlight at our feet ; until my guide Turned, stood, and looked at me. No human scars, No furrows of earth’s battle I descried On his pure countenance. A peace age-long Brooded upon his forehead fair and wide. Yet with the sight there shot, clear, keen, and strong, A pain into my heart: I saw him stanc Though in the void as close as in a throng— Far on the border of some nameless land Beyond my call; his face’s mystery Caught him whole worlds away, though in my hand His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, Searched in his countenance as in a mine For jewels of contentment. Satisfy My heart I could not. Sure he did divine My hidden trouble, for he stooped and kissed My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, And held me to his bosom. Still I missed The ancient earthly childhood, when we shared One bed, like birds that nestled in one nest; Roamed through our father’s fields; together fared Along the dusty roads of the old time. He stood—as if my soul he just had bared— 112 PARABLES. Reading it. Up the heaven unseen clouds climb— So in his eyes tears gathered like the dew That settles on the earth in hoary rime, But makes the clear stars goldener in the blue ; And on his lips a faint ethereal smile Hung trembling, like the mist of its own hue That hangs about a purple flower, the while That eve is growing brown. “ Brother,” I cried ; But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, And in my bosom all the utterance died. “‘T know thy pain; but this sorrow is far Beyond my help,” gently his voice replied Unto my speechless tears. “See’st thou yon star Half-way to the horizon, all a-blaze? Think’st thou, because no cloud between doth mar The lightning peace that from its visage rays, Thou therefore knowest well that world on high, Its people and its orders and its ways ?” ‘But I love thee,” I said; ‘and therefore I Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee. Thou art not near me. For my friend I cry.” “Not the less near that nearer I can be. I have a world within thou dost not know: Would I could give it thee! But all of me SOMNIUM MYSTICI. II3 Is thine; though thou not yet canst enter so Into possession, that betwixt us twain The frolic homeliness of love should flow As o’er the brim of childhood’s cup again : A deeper childhood first away must wipe The consciousness which was our manhood’s pain The godlike then will in thy breast grow ripe, And make thee like me—sons of man once more, The children of one father—noble type Of the great father all fathers before.” Something like this he said, nor ceased, for still His voice went on like spring from hidden store Of wasteless waters. But I wept my fill, Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. At length he said: ‘‘ When first I clomb the hill— With earthly words I heavenly things would reach— Where dwelleth now the man we used to call Father—ah, brother, how he used to teach Us children in our beds! A temple-hall, Became, when he sat there, the common room-— Prone on the ground before him I did fall, So grand he towered above me like a doom ; But now I look into the well-known face, And feel my heart grow younger in the bloom I 114 PARABLES, Of his eternal youthfulness and grace.” ‘But something separates us,” yet I cried, “And I shall ever be in evil case Till that begin to melt and to divide, Making a way for vision. In old time, To break the bonds by which our souls were tied, Some holy means lay at the door. To climb, One foot must rise and lift the other higher : Teach me some lesson of the eternal prime.” Thereto he answered: “ Hearts that will aspire, Must learn one mighty harmony ere they can Falter a perfect note in true love’s quire. But thereto am I sent. Come unto one Who is at hand to teach thee everything, Opening all doors that sever man and man, Till to Love’s homely palace them he bring.” VI. I said no more. For thus he gave me hope, And hope had ever been enough for me— Sufficient to the day: it gave me scope, From bonds of fear and custom set me free, ‘ ait SOMNIUM MYSTICI. II5 And let my life go working. On we went Over the ocean and its stars, till we Came to a level shore of sand and bent. Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed, Silent ; I, for I pondered what he meant, And he, that sacred speech might not be lost. At length we came upon an evil place. Trees lay about like a half-buried host, Each in its desolate pool. Some fearful race Of creatures was at hand; for howls and cries And gurgling hisses came. With even pace, “Be not afraid,” he said, “for this way lies Our journey.” Wewent on. And soon the ground Slowly from out the waste began to rise; And tender grass, here, there, now all around, Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge Of gentlest green cold-flushing every mound ; At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe. a 116 PARABLES, Vil. And last a wildered forest world we find, Not open to the sun: through all the year, Its branches sunder not in any wind ; A world so still, that all its trees appear Pondering on the past, as men may do That see God’s finger quench the sparks of fear. I know not if for days many or few, Pathless we threaded the thick forest, for No sun at branch-built windows peeping through Made shadows on the tender mosses, or Warmed my cold feet; and yet I saw—as men See in a vision—to the vision’s core. We reached a glade, soft with deep grasses, when, “Took round,” he said; and I obeyed him, but Saw only great trees stand away—and then, In the free midst, a little lonely hut, By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. ’Twas built of saplings yet erect, long cut, Clearing the space where since it lonely stood ; Nowthick with ancient moss, it seemed to have grown SOMNIUM MYSTICI. Ii7 Thus from the old brown earth, and ever to brood How to go back, nor any more be known. Up to its door my brother led me. ‘“ There, There is thy school,” he said; ‘there be thou shown That which thou wouldst. Awake a mind of prayer, And praying enter.” ‘ But wilt thou not come, Brother?” I said.’ ‘‘ No,” said he. And I, “ Where Go then thy steps? Thou wilt not leave me dumb Amidst a press of thoughts unuttered ?” With half-sad smile, and dewy eyes, and some To-and-fro motions of his kingly head, He pointed me to the half-open door. Entering I turned: his form a radiance shed All round—one holy smile was at its core, He looking after me. Then parting slow He went like one whom I should see no more. Nor heard I any footsteps from me go. He drew the clinging door unto the post; No dry twigs crackled ‘neath his going; no Waftings of wind rose round my brother-ghost. He was not. And I laid me down and wept. And what from following held me back the most Was fear I should not see him if I swept | | | 4 c > hee ee 118 PARABLES. Out after him on wings of famished love. To the foot of the wall, hopeless I crept ; And cool sleep came, God’s shadow, from above. Vill. I woke, with sacred calmness glorified. Such peace I used to have, waking, when f Lay in my mother’s bosom: since I died, The past, even to the dreams, fleeting and shy, That shadowed over my yet unborn brain, Was all uncovered. From a window high, Nearly head-high—a little oval pane— Dimm’d by night-fogs that rise from out the core Of withered leaves, and give an earthy stain— A forest light fell brown upon the floor, And made the hut faintly and softly glad. A little too came in beneath the door ; And I remembered in old years I had Seen something like it: white-veiled women gloomed Upon an earthen floor, with eyelids sad, In a low barn-like house, where lay entombed Their sires and children ; only there the door Was open to the sun, which entering plumed SOMNIUM MYSTICI. 1i9g With shadowed palms the stones that filled the floor, Set up like lidless coffins. ‘Thus I find, That Memory needs no brain, but keeps her store In hidden chambers of the eternal mind ; And from the floor of that remembrance, I Went back to years all full of mystic signs Unreadable, while yet my soul did lie Closed in my mother’s; forward then through bright Summers of being, glad with hopes that fly Bird-like beneath their doming blue and white ; Through days of passion, down to low sad eves Of drizzling rain, fierce dark, and hopeless night ; Up to slow dawns in weeping easts, and leaves Windy with morning ; twilights of content, And worship such as sorrow itself bereaves Of half its pain. And ever as I went, I knew the odour of a something near Which yet I had not—like a letter sent, Not yet arrived ; a footstep I could hear | Upon the threshold—no hand on the latch; A sun on the hill’s edge, ready to peer, Yet peering not; a gazing breathless watch Over a sleeping beauty—flitting rhymes About her lips, no winged word to catch. 129 PARABLES. Thus had I grown; but in eternal times Shut up I lay, a hopeless evermore In low dull gleams of moveless autumn climes. Was it the prison of my sins so sore— A gentle hell compassion dear foredooms For such as I whose love is yet the core Of all their being? ‘The brown shadow glooms About me, warm, persistent, faded, wan ; I lie as in a hearse horrid with plumes, To dream, and be no more a living man. Meet thus the earthy floor and skyey cope? Is this the sepulchre of daylight? Can This be the folding of the wings of hope? IX, That moment through the branches overhead, Sounds of a going went.