-. ■ . iStt§& ■: 1 lb ^Sla&ui^- ^JBI PO E M S OF MEMORY AND HOPE ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING, WiTll ILLUSTRATIONS KV HENNESS? ANO THWAITES, . ^ slim ■■ • N E W V R K : P r BLIS 11 E D B Y .1 A M E S Mil. L E K, 6 it BROAD W A Y . I s >[2. V Entered according ti» Act of Congress, in the year 1871, By .1 A M E S M 1 L L K R, In the Olliee of the Librarian of Congress, :it Washington. (CONTENTS. Pach 1. Memory and Hope 5 2. Change upon Change in 8. A (."nun's Thought o\- (ion 11 4. Little M urn: 12 5. Isok.ki.'s ('nun 1(5 (i. Tin: !'ir N*AME 89 7. The Mourning Mother ok the Dead Blind 43 8. Rhyme of the Duchess May 40 "Oh, THE LITTLE BIRDS BANG EAST, AND THE LITTLE BIRDS SANG WEST." 9. A Child's Grave at Florence 76 10. Only a Curj 81 11. The Romance ok the Sw an's N est 85 12. The Fourfold A.speot 91 13. Tin" Virgin M viiy to the Child Jesus 97 14. The Cri of the Children 105 15. Tiik. Deserted Garden 113 li). Hector in tiik. Garden 118 17. To Betttne, the Child Friend of Goethe 123 18. A Song against Singing 126 19. Sleeping and Watching 128 20. The Lost Bower 130 21. A Tale of Vili afranoa 149 22. A Portrait 15:; 23. Void in Law 157 24. My Child . Ml ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. Hope Hennessy Title. 2. Isobel's Child .Thwaitea 17 3. Rhyme of the Duchess May " 53 4. Tin-: Romance of the Swan's Nest.. " 85 5. " " " Hennessy 89 6. The Fourfold Aspect Clayton 93 7. The Cry of the Children Hennessy 109 8. Bettine " 123 9. The Lost Bower Thwaitea 135 10. " " " Hennessy 143 11. A Portrait Thwaitea 153 12. u Hennessy 155 POEMS MEMORY AND HOPE MEMORY AND HOPE. Back-looking Memory And prophet Hope both sprang from out the ground , One, where the Hashing of Cherubic sword Fell sad, in Eden's ward ; And one, from Eden earth, within the sound Of the four rivers lapsing pleasantly, What time the promise after curse was said — "Thy seed shall bruise his head." Poor Memory's brain is wild, As moonstruck by that flaming atmosphere When she was born. Her deep eyes shine and shone With light that conquereth sun And stars to wanner paleness year by year ; With odorous gums, she mixeth things defiled ; She trampleth down earth's grasses green and sweet, With her far-wandering feet. ftl E M K Y A M D HO P E . She plucketh many flowers, Their beauty on her bosom's coldness killing ; She teacheth every melancholy sound To winds and waters round ; She droppeth tears with seed, where man is tilling The rugged soil in his exhausted hours : She smileth — ah me ! in her smile doth go A mood of deeper woe ! Hope r ripped on put of sight Crowned with Eden wreath she saw not wither. And went a-nodding through the wilderness, With brow that shone no less Than a sea-gull's wing, brought nearer by rough weather; Searching the treeless rock for fruits of light ; Her fair quick feet being armed from stones and cold, By slippers ot % pure gold. Memory did Hope much wrong. And. while she dreamed, her slippers stole away : But still she wended on with mirth unheeding. Although her feet were bleeding; Till Memory tracked her on a certain day, And with most evil eyes did search her long And cruelly, whereat she sunk to ground In a stark deadly swound. M E M O B Y AND H P K. And so my hope were slain, Had it not been that thod wert standing near, Oh Thon, who saidest " live" to creatures lying In their own blood and dying! For Thou her forehead to thine heart didst rear And make its silent pulses sing again, — Pouring a new light o'er her darkened eyne, With tender tears from Thine ! Therefore my hope arose From out her swound and gazed upon Thy face, And, meeting there that soft subduing look Which Peter's spiiit shook, Sank downward in a rapture to embrace Thy pierced hands and feet with kisses close, And prayed Thee to assist her evermore To " reach the things before.'" Then gavest Thon the smile Whence angel-wings thrill quick like summer lightning, Vouchsafing rest beside Thee, where she never From Love and Faith may sever ; Whereat the Eden crown she saw not whitening A time ago, though whitening all the while, Reddened with life, to hear the Voice which talked To Adam as lie walked. U II V N Q K l PO N C 11 A N G K. C H A N G K PO N C U A N G K. Five months ago, the stream did flow, The lilies bloomed within the sedge ; And v* o wore lingering to and fro, — Where none will track thee in this snow. Along the stream, beside the hedge Ah, sweet, be tree to love and go ! For it [do not hear thy foot, The frozen river is as unite. The flowers have dried down to the root ; Ami why, since these be changed since May Shouldst thou change less than they f And slow, slow, as the winter snow. The teais have drifted to mine eyes; And my poor cheeks, five months ago, Set blushing at thy praises so. Put paleness on u>v a disguise. Ah, sweet, be free to praise and go ! For it' my face is turned to pah, I; was thine oath, that tirst did tail, — It was thy love proved false and frail ! And why. since these be changed enow, Should / change less than t/i- A C H I I. l> S T II V G II T o v G O D. 1 1 A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF They say that God lives very high. But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God ; and why ? And if you dig down in the mines You never see Him in the gold ; Though, from Him, all that's glory shines God is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth aeross his face Like secrets kept, for love, untold But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made. Through sight and sound of every place. As it' my tender mother laid On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure 1 . Half-waking me at night, and said "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?' 12 P O KMS V C H 1LDH00 I» """r^SK^"" 1 PSr\n\ ^^ srt ^ V J?^5 F§^53i 1 c&^rV^x^^ « ■ 1 ■\ vwsii)! By j-XttitJVK* ' ~ ~^^ ' ->?^k^m \Sf^iL^ CirWlJr mL \wk h» ^^rulffiw ^^ : ^S8ro»r*tf"-'rf a ^a ~'JlP. fl\ CsniSlritf^fflmk^i bmu^SH LITTLE MATTIE. Dead ! Thirteen a month ago ! Short and narrow her life's walk Lover's love she could not know Even by a dream or talk : Too young to be glad of youth ; Missing honour, labour, rest, And the warmth of a babe's mouth At the blossom of her breast. Must you pity her for this. And for all the loss it is — You, her mother with wet face, Saving had all in your ease? Just so young- but yesternight, Now she is as old as death. Meek, obedient in your sight, Gentle to a beck or breath Only on last Monday ! yours. Answering- you like silver belli 1. l TT I. I' M v T i' l E, Lightly touched ! an hour matures You can teach her nothing else She lias seen the mystery hid Under Egypt's pyramid. By those eyelids pale and close Now she knows what Khamses knows. Cross her quiet hands, and smooth Down her patient locks o[' silk, ("ohl and passive as in truth You your fingers in spilt milk Drew along a marble floor ; But her lips you cannot wring Into saying a word more, •• Yes" or " uo," or such a thing. Though you call and beg and wreak Half your soul out in a shriek, She will lie there in default And most innocent revolt. A.y, and if she spoke, may he She would answer like the Son, •'What is now 'twixt thee and me?" Dreadful answer ! hotter none. Yours on Monday, God's to-day | Yours, your child, your blood, your heart U P i: M s p 11 i i D II l>. Called . . . you called her, did von say, " Little Mattie" for your part ? \\>w already it sounds strange, And you wonder, in this change, What Be calls His angel-creature, Higher up than you can reach her, 'Twas a green and easy world As she took it ! room to play, * (Though one's hair might get uncurled At the far end of the day.) What she suffered she shook off In the sunshine ; what she sinned She could pray on high enough To keep sale above the wind, [f reproved by God or you, 'Twas to better her she know ; Ami, if crossed, she gathered still "Twas to cross out something" ill. You, you had the right, you thought, To survey her with sweet scorn, Poor gay child, who had not caught Yot the octave-stretch forlorn Oi' your larger wisdom ! Nay, Now your places are changed 80, L I I'T L E M \ IT ! 15 In that sarttC superior w;i \ Sho regards you dull and low As you did herself exempt Prom life's sorrows, Grand contempt or the spirits risen awhile, Who look back with such a smile! There's the sting oft. That, I think, Hurls the most, a thousandfold ! To feel sudden, a. I ;i wink, Some dear child we used in scold, Praise, love both Ways, kiss and lease, Teach and tumble as our own All its curls about our knees, l.'i ic up suddenly full-grown. Who COUld wonder such a, si-ht Made a woman mad i >u1 right ? Show me Michael with the sword Rather than such angels, Lord ! 16 MS [SOB£L'S rill! D s To rest tl - tsgoi An eight-da^? watch had watched - Si ill rocking I [sobel its ■ - fever waneth — wend to I For now the watch c wrilv the nnrse did thi Her pallet in the darkest | 0( that sick room, and slept an For as the gustv wind did blow night-lamp's glare across her ft saw, or seemed to see, but d That the poplars tall on th< - te hill, seven tall poplars hill, setting sum until [SOB E i.'s 11 1 LD 17 His rays dropped from him, pined and still As blossoms in IV" S 1 • Till he waned and paled, so weirdly crossed, To the colour of moonlight which doth pass 18 PO E M S F C H I L D H P. Over the dank ridged churchyard grass. ie poplars held the sun, and he The eyes of the nurse that they should not see. Not tor a moment, the babe on her knee. Though she shuddered to feel that it grew to be Too chill, and lav too heavily. She only dreamed ; for all the while Twas Ladj Lsobel that kept The little baby. — and it slept Fast. warm, as if its mother's smile. Laden with love's dewy weight, And red as rose of Harpocrate Drop! upon its eyelids, pressed Lashes to cheek in a sealed rest. And more and more smiled lsobel To see the baby sleep so well — She knew not that she smiled. Against the lattice dull and wild Drive the heavy droning- drops, Drop by drop, the sound being one — As momently time's segments fall On the ear of Cod, who hears throng Eternity's unbroken monotone. And more and more smiled lsobel To see the baby sleep 5 w ISO b el's child. 19 She knew not that she smiled. The wind in intermission stops Down in the beorlien forest, Then cries aloud As one at tlu v sorest, Self-Stung, self-driven, And rises up to its very tops, Stiffening ereel the branches bowed, Dilating with a tempest-soul The trees that with their dark hands break Through their own outline and heavily roll Slnulows as massive as clouds in heaven, Across the castle lake. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sloop so well : She knew not that she smiled ; She knew not that the storm was wild. Through the 1 uproar drear she could not hear The castle clock which struck anear — She heard the low, light breathing of her child. siirht for wondering 1 look ! While the external nature broke Into such abandonment, While the very mist heart-rent By the lightning, seemed to eddy Against nature, with a din, PO B M s P C H \ I D H P. A sense of sileuce and of steady Natural calm appeared to come From things without, and enter in The human creature's room. So motionless she sate, The babe asleep upon her knees, Yon might have dreamed their souls had gone Awav to tilings inanimate, In such to live, in such to moan ; And that their bodies had ta'en bark. In mystic change, all silences That cross the Bky in cloudy rack, Or dwell beneath the reedy ground In waters safe from their own sound. Only site wore The deepening smile 1 named before, And that a deepening love expressed ; And who at oiuv can love and ivst '. In sooth the smile that then was keeping Watch upon the baby sleeping, Floated with its tender light Downward, from the drooping eyes, I pward, from the lips apart. Own- cheeks which had grown white With an eight-day weeping. 1 BO B E I, s cm I, I). 2\ All smiles come in such a wise, Where tears shall fall «»r have of old - lake northern lights thai till the heart or heaven in sign of cold. Mol ionlcss she sale. Her hair had fallen by its weight Oil each side of her smile, and lav Very hlacklv on the arm Where the baby nestled warm, Tale as baby carved in stone Seen by glimpses ol* the moon [Jp a dark cathedral aisle. But, through the storm, no moonbeam fell [Jpon the child of [sobel Perhaps you saw it by the ray Alone ol" her still smile. A solemn thing il is to me To look upon a babe that sleeps ; Wearing in its spirit-deeps The undeveloped mystery Of our Adam's taint and woe. Which, when they developed be, Will not lei il slumber so ! Lying new in life beneath 22 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. The shadow of the coming death, With that soft, low, quiet breath, As if it felt the sun ! Knowing all things by their blooms, Not their roots, yea, sun and sky, Only by their warmth that comes Out of each, — earth, only by The pleasant hues that o'er it run, — And human love, by drops of sweet White nourishment still hanging round The little mouth so slumber-bound. All which broken sentiency And conclusion incomplete, Will gather and unite and climb To an immortality Good or evil, each sublime, Through life and death to life again. little lids now folded fast, Must ye learn to drop at last Our large and burning tears? warm quick body, must thou lie, When the time comes round to die, Still, from all the whirl of years, Rare of all the joy and pain ? — small frail being, wilt thou stand At God's right hand, Lifting up those sleeping eyes Dilated by great destinies, ISO B E l's child. 2'> To an endless taking? thrones and seraphim, Through the long ranks of their solemnities, Sunning thee with calm looks of* Heaven's surprise, But thine alone on Him ? — Or else, self-willed, to tread the Godless place, (God keep thy will !) feel thine own energies ('old, strong, objectless, like a dead man's clasp, The sleepless deathless life within thee, grasp, — While myriad faces, like one changeless face, With woe not love's, shall glass thee everywhere, And overcome thee with thine own despair? More soft, less solemn images Drifted o'er the lady's heart, Silently as snow. She had seen eight days depart Hour by hour, on bended knees, With pale-wrung hands and prayings low And broken, through which came the sound Of tears that fell against, the ground, Making sad stops :— " Dear Lord, dear Lord !" She still had prayed, (the heavenly word, Broken by an earthly sigh) — "Thou, who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessed in the blessed child, Which barkened in meek babyhood 24 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Her cradle-hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good ! Oil, take not, Lord, my babe away — Oh, take not to thy songful heaven The pretty baby thou hast given, Or ere that I have seen him play Around his father's knees and known That he knew how my love has gone From all the world to him. Think, God among the cherubim, How I shall shiver every day In thy June sunshine, knowing where The grave-grass keeps it from his fair Still cheeks ! and feel at every tread His little body which is dead And hidden in the turfy fold, Both make thy whole warm earth a-cold ! God, I am so young", so young — 1 am not used to tears at nights Instead of slumber — nor to prayer With sobbing lips and hands out-wrung ! Thou knowest all my prayings were 1 1 bless thee, God, for past delights — Thank God !' I am not used to bear Hard thoughts of death ; the earth doth cover No face from me of friend or lover. And must the first who teaches me ISOBEL'S CHILI). 25 The form of shrouds and funerals, be Mine own first-born beloved ? he Who taught me first this mother-love ! Dear Lord, who spreadest out above Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet All lifted hearts with blessings sweet,— Pierce not my heart, my tender heart, Thou madest tender ! Thou who art So happy in thy heaven alway ! Take not mine only bliss away 1" She so had prayed : and God, who hears Through seraph-songs the sound of tears, From that beloved babe had ta'en The fever and the beating pain. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well, (She knew not that she smiled I wis) Until the pleasant gradual thought Which near her heart the smile enwrought, Now soft and slow, itself, did seem To float along a happy dream, Beyond it into speech like this. " I prayed for thee, my little child, And God has heard my prayer ! 26 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And when thy babyhood is gone, We two together undented By men's repinings, will kneel down Upon His earth which will be fair (Not covering thee, sweet !) to us twain, And give him thankful praise." Dully and wildly drives the rain. Against the lattices drives the rain. " I thank Him now, that I can think Of those same future days, Nor from the harmless image shrink Of what I there might see — Strange babies on their mothers' knee, Whose innocent soft faces might From off mine eyelids strike the light, With looks not meant for me !" Gustily blows the wind through the rain, As against the lattices drives the rain. " But now, baby mine, together, We turn this hope of ours again To many an hour of summer weather, When we shall sit and intertwine Our spirits, and instruct each other I SO BE l's CHILD. 27 Iii the pure loves of child and mother ! Two human loves make one divine." The thunder tears through the wind and the rain, As full on the lattices drives the rain. " My little child, what wilt thou choose ? Now let me look at thee and ponder. What gladness, from the gladnesses Futurity is spreading under Thy gladsome sight? Beneath the trees Wilt thou lean all day, and lose Thy spirit with the river seen Intermittently between The winding beechen alleys, — Half in labour, half repose, Like a shepherd keeping sheep, Thou, with only thoughts to keep Which never a bound will overpass, And which are innocent as those That feed among Arcadian valleys Upon the dewy grass ?" The large white owl that with age is blind, That hath sate for years in the old tree hollow. Is carried away in a gust of wind ! His wings could bear him not as fast a 8 V K MS OK CHILDHOOD As he goeth now the lattice past Ho is borne by the winds ; the rains do follow His white wings to the blast out-flowing, He hooteth in going, And still, in the lightnings, coldly glitter His round unblinking eyes, '• Or, baby, wilt thou think it fitter To be eloquent and wise, — One upon whose lips the air 'Turns to solemn verities, For men to breathe anew and win V deeper-seated life within? Wilt be a philosopher, By whoso voice the earth and skies Shall speak to the unborn : Or a poet, broadly spreading The golden immortalities Of thy sotd on uatures lorn And poor ofsuch, them all to guard From their decay, — beneath thy treading, Earth's flowers recovering hues of Eden, - And stars drawn downward by thy looks. To shine ascendant in thv books " The tame hawk in the castle-yard, How it screams to the lightning, with its wot / OB EL 5 C J/ J J. i/. 29 Jagged plunu ov< rbanging the parapet ! And at the lady's door the bound Scratches with a i rand. ' : Bat, my babe, thy li'. 1 \ are laid Clo ipon thy check, — And not a dream of pc^n been Can make a pa isage np between ; 'I by heai I i of thy mother's made, '\'\iy looks ar< And it, will be their chosen place To f vne beloved face, < on thine and let the noise Of the whole world go on, nor drown The tender silence of thy j Or when that silence shall have groi i Too tender for itself, the same j ning for sound,— to look ab And utter its one meaning, l That He may hear Bis name !'' No wind, no rain, no thunder ! The waters had trickled not -lowly, The thnnder was not spent, Nor the wind near finishing. Who would hare said that the storm w diminishing ''. 30 V O K MS F CH1LDH L> . No wind, do rain, no thunder ! Their noises dropped asunder From the earth and the firmament, From the towers and the lattiees. Abrupt and eeholess As ripe fruits on the ground unshaken wholly— As life in death ! And sudden and solemn the silence fell, Startling- the heart of Isobel As the tempest could not. Against the door went panting' the breath Of the lady's hound whose cry was still. And she. constrained howe'er she would not, Lifted her eyes, and saw the moon Looking out of heaven alone Upon the poplared hill, — A calm of God. made visible That men might bless it at their will. The moonshine on the baby's face Falleth clear and cold. The mother's looks have fallen back To the same place : Because no moon with silver rack. Nor broad sunrise in jasper skies Has power to hold Our loving eves. IS0BELS CHILD. 3 ] Which still revert as ever must Wonder and Hope, to gaze on the dust. The moonshine on the baby's face Cold and clear remaineth. The mother's looks do shrink away, — The mother's looks return to stay, As charmed by what paineth. Is any glamour in the case t Is it dream or is it sight ? Hath the change upon the wild Elements, that signs the night, Passed upon the child ? It is not dream, but sight ! — The babe has awakened from sleep, And unto the gaze of its mother Bent over it, lifted another ! Not the baby looks that go Unaimingly to and fro, But an earnest gazing deep, Such as soul gives soul at length, When, by work and wail of years, It winneth a solemn strength, And mourneth as it wears. A strong man could not brook With pulse unhurried by fears, 32 P E M S F C H I L I> II D . To meet that baby's look O'erglazed by manhood's tears — The tears of a man full grown, With a power to'wring our own, Iu the eyes all andefiled Of a little three-months' child ! To see that babe-brow wrought By the witnessing of thought, To judgment's prodigy ! And the small soft mouth unweaned, By mother's kiss o'erleaned, (Putting the sound of loving Where no sound else was moving. Except the speechless cry) Quickened to mind's expression, Shaped to articulation, Yea. uttering words — yea, naming' woe. In tones that with it strangely went. Because so baby-innocent. As the child spake out the mother so. — "0 mother, mother, loose thy prayer ! Christ's name hath made it strong. It bindeth me, it holdeth me With its most loving cruelty. From floating my new soul along The happy heavenly air. ISOB EL'S CHILD. 33 It bindeth mc, it holdeth me In all this dark, upon this dull Low earth, by only weepers trod ! — It bindeth me, it holdeth me ! — Mine angel looketh sorrowful Upon the face of God.* " Mother, mother, can I dream Beneath your earthly trees ? I had a vision and a gleam — I heard a sound more sweet than these When rippled by the wind. Did you see the Dove with wings Bathed in golden glisterings From a sunless light behind, Dropping on mc from the sky Soft as a mother's kiss until I seemed to leap, and yet was still ? Saw you how His love-large eye Looked upon me mystic calms, Till the power of his divine Vision was indrawn to mine ? " Oh, the dream within the dream ! I saw celestial places even. * For T say unto you, that in Heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in Heaven. — Matt. eh. xviii., ver. 10. 9* 34 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Oh, the vistas of high palms, Making fiuites of delight Through the heavenly infinite — Lifting up their green still tops To the heaven of Heaven ! Oh, the sweet life-tree that drops Shade like light across the river Glorified in its for ever Flowing from the Throne ! Oh, the shining holinesses Of the thousand, thousand faces God-sunned by the throned One ! And made intense with such a love. That though I saw them turned above, Each loving seemed for also me ! And, oh, the Unspeakable, the He, The manifest in secrecies, Yet of mine own heart partaker, — With the overcoming look Of One who hath been once forsook, And blessed the forsaker. Mother, mother, let me go Toward the Face that looketh so. Through the mystic, winged Four Whose are inward, outward eyes Dark with light of mysteries, And the restless evermore 1 Holv, holy, holy' — through ISO b el's CH I LD. 35 The sevenfold Lamps that burn in view Of cherubim and seraphim, — Through the four-and-twenty crowned Stately elders, white around, Suffer me to 2*0 to Him ! " Is your wisdom very wise, Mother, on the narrow earth, Very happy, very worth That I should stay to learn ? Are these air-corrupting sighs Fashioned by unlearned breath ? Do the students' lamps that burn All night, illumine death ? Mother, albeit this be so, Loose thy prayer, and let me go Where that bright chief angel stands Apart from all his brother bands, Too glad for smiling, having bent In angelic wilderment O'er the depths of God, and brought Reeling thence, one only thought To fill his whole eternity. He the teacher is for me ! — He can teach what I would know — Mother, mother, let me go ! $6 PO E M S F C H 1 l. D H D. "Can your poet make an Eden No wiuter will undo, And light a starry fire while heeding His hearth's is burning too! Drown in music the earth's din, And keep his own wild BOul within The law of his own harmony ; — Mother, albeit this be so, Let me to my Heaven go ! A little harp me waits thereby — A harp whoso strings arc golden al And tuned to music spherical, Hanging on toe green life-tree Where no willows ever bo. Shall 1 miss that harp of mine? Mother, no !— the Bye divine Turned upon it. makes it shine : And when 1 touch it. poems sweet Like separate souls shall fly from it. Each to an immortal t'ytto. Wo shall all ho poets there, Gazing on the chiefest Fair. "Love ! earth's love ! and can wo love Fixedly where all things move : Can the sinninsr love each other : I s o I! E l.'s 11 I L I). ;>1 Mother, mother, 1 tremble in thy close embrace, 1 feel thy tears adown my lace, Thy prayers »1<> keep me out of bliss — dreary earthly love ! Loose thy prayer and let me go To the place which loving is, Yet not sad ; and when is given Escape to tkee from this below, Thou shall behold me that 1 wait For thoo beside the happy Gate, And silence shall be up in heaven To hear our greeting kiss." The nurse awakes in the morning sun, And starts to sec beside her bed The lady with a grandeur spread lake pathos o'er her face, — as one God-satisfied and earth-undone. The babe upon her arm was dead ! And the nurse could utter forth no cry, — She was awed by the calm in the mother's eye. " Wake, nurse !" the lady said ; "II care waking — he and I — I, on earth, and he, in sky ! 88 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And thou must help me to o'erlay With garment white, this little clay Which needs no mere our lullaby. "I changed the eruel prayer I made. And bowed my meekened Pace, and prayed That God would do His will ! and thus lie did it. nurse ! lie parted us. And His sun shows victorious The dead calm t'aee. — and / am calm, And Heaven is barkening- a new psalm. "This earthly noise is too anoar. Too loud, and will not let me hear The little harp. My death will soon Make silence." And a sense of tune. A satisfied love meanwhile Which nothing earthly could despoil. Sang on within her soul. Oh you, Earth's tender and impassioned tow. Take courasre to intrust your love THE PET-NAME. 39 To Him so Named, who guards above Its ends, and shall fulfil ! Breaking the narrow prayers that may Befit your narrow hearts, away In His broad, loving will. THE PET-NAME. the name Which from theik lips .seemed a earess. Miss iMitkokd's Dramatic Scenes. I HAVE a name, a little name, Uneadenced for the ear, I nhononred by aneestral claim, Unsanctitied by prayer and psalm The solemn font anear. It never did, to pages wove For gay romance, belong. It never dedicate did move As " Sacharissa," unto love — " Orinda," unto song. Though T write books it will be read Upon the leaves of none, 40 vo E U S K C H I 1. D 11 D, And afterward, when I am dead, Will ne'er be graved tor sight or tread, Across my funeral-stone. This name, whoever chance t<> rail. Perhaps your smile may win. Nay, do not smile ! mine eyelids (all Over mine eyes, and tool withal The sudden tears within. Is there a leaf that greenly grows Where summer meadows bloom, But gathereth the winter snows. And changeth to the hue of those, If lasting- till they come? Is there a word, or jest, or game, But time iuerusteth round With sad associate thoughts the same." And so to me my very name Assumes a mournful sound. My brother gave that name to mo When we were children twain, — When names acquired baptismally Were hard to utter, as to see That life had any pain. T J J E PBT-M A M K. 41 No shade was on us then, save one Of chestnuts from the hill — And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof. The mirth being done, He calls me hy it still. Nay, do not smile ! I hear in it What none of you can hear, — The talk upon the willow seat, Tlio bird and wind that did repeat Around, our human cheer. I hear the birthday's noisy bliss, My sister's woodland glee, — My father's praise, T did not miss, When stooping down he cared to kiss The poet at his knee, — And voice's, which, to name- me, aye Their tenderest tones were- keeping To some- 1 never more can say An answer, till God wipes away In heaven these drops of weeping-. My name to me a sadness wears, No murmurs cross my mind. 42 l'O K M 8 O F C H 1 L I» H O O D. Now God be thanked for these thick tears, Which show, of those departed years, Sweet memories left behind. Now God be thanked for years inwrought With love which softens yet. Now God be thanked for every thought Which is so tender it has caught Earth's guerdon of regret. Earth saddens, never shall remove Affections purely given ; And e'en that mortal grief shall prove The immortality oi' love. And heighten it with Heaven. T II E MOURNING MO T II E U . 43 THE MOURNING MOTHER (of the dead blind). Dost thou weep, mourning mother, For thy blind boy in the grave ? That no more with each other, Sweet counsel ye can have ? — That he, left dark by nature, Can never more be led By thee, maternal creature, Along- smooth paths instead ? That thou canst no more show him The sunshine, by the heat ; The river's silver flowing, By murmurs at his feet ? The foliage, by its coolness ; The roses, by their smell ; And all creation's fulness, By Love's invisible ? Weepest thou to behold not His meek blind eyes again, — 44 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Closed doorways which were folded, And prayed against in vain — And under which, sate smiling The child-month evermore, As one who watcheth, wiling The time by, at a door? And weepest thou to feel not His clinging hand on thine — Which now, at dream-time, will not Its eold touch disentwine ? And weepest thou still ofter, 0h T never more to mark His low soft words, made softer By speaking in the dark ? Weep on, thou mourning' mother ! But since to him when living- Thou wast both sun and moon, Look o'er his grave, surviving* From a high sphere alone. Sustain that exaltation. Expand that tender light, And hold in mother-passion Thy Blessed in thy sight. See how he went out straightway From the dark world he knew, — No twilight in the gateway T II E M l; K N J N g Mo T II E K . 1 5 To mediate 'tvvixt tlie two, — Into the sudden glory, Out of the dark he trod, Departing from before thee At once to light and God ! — Tor the first face, beholding The Christ's in its divine, For the first place, the golden And tideles.s hyaline ; With trees, at lasting summer, That rock to songful sound, While angels, the new-comer, Wrap a still smile around. OIi, in the blessed psalm now, His happy voice he tries, Spreading a thicker palm-bough, Than others, o'er his eyes ! Yet still, in all the singing, Thinks haply of thy song Which, in his life's first springing, •Sang to him all night long ; And wishes it beside him, With kissing lips that cool And soft did overglide him, To make the sweetness full. Look up, mourning mother, Thy blind boy walks in light ; Ye wait for one another, 46 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Before God's infinite. But thou art now the darkest. Thou mother left below — Thou, the sole blind, — thou markest, Content that it be so, — Until ye two have meeting Where Heaven's pearl-gate is, And he shall lead thy feet in, As once thou leddest his. Wait on, thou mourning' mother. RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. To the belfry, one by one, went the ringers from the sun. Toll slowly. And the oldest ringer said, " Ours is music for the Dead. When the rebecks are all done." Six abeles i' the churchyard grow on the northside in a row. Toll slowly. And the shadows of their tops rock across the little slopes Of the grassy graves below. On the south side and the west, a small river runs in haste. Toll slowly. R II Y M E F T II E D U C II E S S M A Y. 47 And between the river flowing and the fair green trees a-growing Do the dead lie at their rest. On the east I sate that day, up against a willow gray. Toll slowly. Through the rain of willow-branches, 1 could see the low hill ranges, And the river on its way. There I sate beneath the tree, and the bell tolled solemnly, Toll slowly. While the trees' and river's voices flowed between the sol- emn noises, — Yet death seemed more loud to me. There, 1 read this ancient rhyme, while the bell did all the time Toll slowly. And the solemn knell fell in with the tale of life and sin, Like a rhythmic fate sublime. THE RHYME. Broad the forests stood (I read) on the hills of Linteged — Toll slowly. 4S POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And three hundred years had stood mute adown each hoai \ wood, Like a full heart having prayed. And the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And but little thought was theirs of the silent antique years, In the building of their nest. Down the sun t dropt large and red, on the towers of Linteged, — Toll slowly. Lance and spear upon the height, bristling strange in fiery light, While the castle stood in shade. There, the castle stood up black, with the red sun at its back, — Toll slowly. Like a sullen smouldering pyre, with a top that flickers fire When the wind is on its track. And five hundred archers tall did besiege the castle wall, Toll slowly. And the castle, seethed in blood, fourteen days and nights had stood, And to-niffht was near its fall. RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 49 Yet thereunto, blind to doom, three months since, a bride did come, — Toll slowly. One who proudly trod the floors, and softly whispered in the doors, " May good angels bless our home." Oh, a bride of queenly eyes, with a front of constancies ! Toll slowly. 01). a bride of cordial mouth, — where the untired smile of youth Did light outward its own sighs. 'Twas a Duke's fair orphan-girl, and her uncle's ward, the Earl ; Toll slowly. Who betrothed her twelve years old, for the sake of dowry gold, To his son Lord Leigh, the churl. But what time she had made good all her years of woman- hood, Toll slowly. Unto both those lordh of Leigh, spake she out right sov- ranly, " My will runneth as my blood. 3 50 P O K MS OF CHILDHOOD. " And while this same blood makes rod the same right hand's veins," she said, — Toll slowly. " 'Tis my will as lady free, not to wed a lord of Leigh, But Sir Guy of Linteged." The old Earl he smiled smooth, then he sighed for wilful youth, — Toll slowly. "(rood my niece, that hand withal looketh somewhat soft and small For so large a will, in sooth." She too. smiled by that same sign, — but her smile was cold and fine, — Toll slowly, " Little hand clasps muckle gold, or it were not worth the hold Of thy soil, good uncle mine !" Then the young lord jerked his breath, and sware thickly in his teeth, Toll slowly. " He would wed his own betrothed, an she loved him an she loathed, Let the life come or the death." R II V M E V THE DUCH I. 3 8 MAY. 51 Up she rose with scornful eyes, as her father's child might rise, — Toll slowly. "Thy hound's blood, my lord of Leigh, stains thy knightly heel," quoth she, "And he moans not where he lies. " Bui a woman's will dies hard, in the hall or on the sward !" — Toll slowly. "By thai grave, my lords, which made me orphaned girl and dowered lady, J deny you wife and ward." Unto each she- bowed her head, and swept past with lofty tread. Toll slowly. Ere the midnighl bell had ceased, in the chapel had the priest Blessed her, bride of Linteged. Fast and fain the bridal train along- the night-storm rode amain. Toll slowly. Hard the steeds of lord and serf struck their hoofs out on the turf, In the pauses of the rain. 52 FOEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Fast and fain the kinsmen's train along the storm pursued amain — Toll slowly. Steed on steed-track, dashing off — thickening, doubling, hoof on hoof, In the pauses of the rain. And the bridegroom led the flight on his red-roan steed of might, Toll sloivly. And the bride lay on his arm, still, as if she feared no harm, Smiling out into the night. Dost thou fear ?" he said at last — " Nay," she answered him in haste, — Till slowly. Not such death as we could find — only life with one behind — Ride on fast as fear — ride fast !" Up the mountain wheeled the steed — girth to ground, and fetlocks spread, — Toll slowly. Headlong bounds and rocking flanks, — down he staggered, down the banks, To the towers of Lintesred. RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 53 High and low the serfs looked out, red the flambeaus tossed about, — Toll slowly. In the courtyard rose the cry—" Live the Duchess and Sir Guy !" But she never heard them shout. <~>4 r o E M S V C H 1 LD 11 6 D. On the steed she dropl her cheek, kissed Ids mane and kissed his neck, — Toll do trhi. "I had happier died by thee, than lived on a Lady Leigh," Were the iirsl words she did speak. But a three months' joyaunce lay 'twixt that momenl and to-day. Toll slowly. When five hundred archers tall stand beside the castle 1 wall, To recapture Duchess May. And the eastle standeth black, with the red sun at its back, — Toll .slowly. And a fortnight's Biege is done — and, except the duchess, none Can misdoubt the coming wrack. Then the captain, young Lord Leigh, with his eyes so gray of bice, Toll slowly. And thin lips that scarcely sheathe the cold white gnashing of his teeth, Gnashed in smiling-, absently, RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 00 Cried aloud, "So goes the day, bridegroom fair of Duchess May!" Toll slowly. li Look thy last, upon that sun ! ii' thou seest to-morrow's one, 'Twill be through a fool uf clay. " Ha, fair bride ! dost hear no sound, save that moaning of the hound I" Toll slowly. "Thou and I have parted troth,— yet I keep my vengeance- oath, And the other may come round. "Ha! thy will is brave to dare, and thy now love past compare," — Toll slowly. "Yet thine old love's faulchion bravo is as strong a thing- to have, As the will of lady fair. "Pock on blindly, netted dove! — If a wife's name thee behove," Toll slowly. "Thou shalt wear the same to-morrow, ere the grave has hid the sorrow Of thy last ill-mated love. .">(> POEMS OK CHILDHOOD. •• O'er his fixed and silent tnouth, thou and I will call back troth." Toll slowly, •• He shall altar be and priest.— and he will not ery at least ' 1 forbid you— 1 am huh !' " 1 will wring- thy fingers pale in the gauntlet el' my mail." Toll slowly. '• ' Little hand ami muekle gold' elose shall lie within my hold.' As the sword did. to prevail." Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. Toll slowly. Oh. and laughed the Duchess May. and her soul did put a wax- All his boasting tor a jest In her chamber did she sit. laughing low to think of it. — Toll slowly. •'Tower is strong and will is free — thou canst boast, my lord o( Leigh, Hut thou boastesl little wit." In her tire-glass gazed she, and she blushed right womanly. Toll slowly. RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. DA She blushed half from her disdain — half, her beauty was so plaiu, — "Oath for oath, my lord of Leigh !" Straight she called her maidens in — " Since ye gave me blame herein," Toll slowly. " That a bridal such as mine should lack gauds to make it line. Come and shrive me from that sin. Tt is three months gone to-day. since I gave mine hand away." Toll slowly. Bring' the gold and bring the gem, we will keep bride-state in them, While we keep the foe at bay. On your arms I loose mine hair ! — comb it smooth and crown it fair.'" Toll slowly. 1 would look in purple pall from the lattice down the wall, And throw scorn to one that's there !" Oh. the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west. Toll slowly. 3 * r B m S V C U i i D ll D, On the tower the castled lord loam in silence on his bv With an anguish in his breast. With a spirit-laden weight, did he loan down passionate. s 7;/. They have almost sapped the wall, -they will enter there- withal, With no knocking ai the gate. Then the sword lie leant upon, shivered, snapped upon the stone, — s !>/. •• Sword." he thought, with inward laugh, "ill thou Bervest for a si all* Whon ihv nobler use is done ! "Sword, thy nobler use is done ! —tower is lost, and shame begun !" — slowly, ■• li" wo met them in the breach, lull to hilt or speech to speech, Wo should dio there, each For one. ■• It' wo mot them at the wall, wo should singly, rainly tall." Toll slowly. R ii v \i i. I i ii i. DUCHE i \ V . ■>'■) But if / die here alone, then I die, who am but one, And ut her heart is young" in pain, and her hopes will spring- again By the suntime of her years. "Ah, sweet May ! ah, sweetest grief! — once I vowed thee my belief/' Toll slowly. " That thy name expressed thy sweetness, — May of poets, in completeness ! Now my May-day seemeth brief." All these silent thoughts did swim o'er his eyes grown strange and dim, — Toll slowly. Till his true men in the place, wished they stood there; face to face With the foe instead of him. " One last oath, my friends that wear faithful hearts to do and dare 1" — Toll slowly. "Tower must fall, and bride be lost! — swear me service worth the cost !" — Bold they stood around to swear. " Each man clasp my hand and swear, l»y the deed we failed in there," Toll dowly. 5a ro K m s F CHI1 D u ••Not for vengeance, not for right, will ye strike one Mow to-night !" — Pale they stood around to Bwear "One last boon, young Ralph and Clare ! faithful hearts to do and dare !" — sloirlu. " Bring thai steed up from lus stall, which Bhe kissed before you all ! Guide him op the turret-stair, •• Ye shall harness him aright, and lead upward to (l»is height/' . slowly, 14 Once in love and twice in war, hath he borne me Btrong and far, \\c shall hoar me far to-night." Then his men looked to and fro, when the} heard him Bpeak ing s.>. Toll slowly. •• 'l.as ! the noble heart,* they thought,—" ho in sooth is grief distraught. Would we stood here with the foe !" Bui a t"nv flashed from his eye, 'twixl their thought and their reply, — ' slowlv. ]', ii Y M h o » THE DUCH K 8 ri M A Y r,:; Have ye so much time to waste? We who ride here, must ride fast, Ah wc wi.-.li our foefl to fly." They have fetched the steed with care, in the harness be did wear, Toll slowly. Pa t the court, and through the dooi the rushes of the floors, But they goad him up the stair Then from out her bowet chambere, did the Duchess May i epa ir Toll slowly. "Tell me now what is your need f n said the lady, "of this i teed, That ye goad him up the stair." Calm she stood ; nnbodkined through, fell her dark hair to her .-.hoc, — 7'o/J, slowly, \)k\ the smile upon her face, ere she left the tiring-glass, Had not i ime enough to u f <>- ( "t thee back, sweet Duchess May! hope is gone likr yesterday," — Toll tlowly. 64 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. 11 One half hour completes the breach ; and thy lord grows wild of speech ! Get thee in, sweet lady, and pray. " In the east tower, high's t of all, loud he cries for steed from stall." Toll slowly. " He would ride as far," quoth he, " as for love and victory. Though he rides the castle-wall." " And we fetched the steed from stall, up where never a hoof did fall."— Toll slowly. " Wifely prayer meets deathly need ! may the sweet Heav- ens hear thee plead If he rides the castle-wall." Low she dropt her head, and lower, till her hair coiled on the floor, — ' Toll slowly. And tear after tear you heard fall distinct as any word Which 3 t ou might be listening for. " Get thee in, thou soft ladye ! — here, is never a place for thee !" Toll slowly. RHYME OF THE DUCHESS M A Y . 65 '• Braid thine hair and clasp thy gown, that thy beauty in its moan May find grace with Leigh of Leigh.'' She stood up in bitter case, with a pale yet steady face, Toll slowly. Like a statue thunderstruck, which, though quivering, seems to look Right against the thunder place. And her foot trod in, with pride, her own tears i' the stone beside. — Toll slowly. " Go to, faithful friends, go to ! — -judge no more what ladies do- No, nor how their lords may ride !" Then the good steed's rein she took, and his neck did kiss and stroke : Toll slowly. Soft he neighed to answer her, and then followed up the stair, For the love of her sweet look. Oh, and steeply, steeply wound up the narrow stair around ! Toll slowly. 60 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Oh, and closely, closely speeding, step by step beside her treading-, Did lie follow, meek as hound. On the east tower, highest of all, — there where never a hoof did fall,— Toll slowly. Out they swept a vision steady, — noble steed and lovely lady, Calm as if in bower or stall. Down she knelt at her lord's knee, and she looked up silently, — Toll slowly. And he kissed her twice and thrice, for that look within her eyes, Which he could not bear to see. « Quoth he, " Get thee from this strife, — and the sweet saints bless thy life !"— Toll slowly. " In this hour, I stand in need of my noble red-roan steed, But no more of my noble wife." Quoth she, " Meekly have I done all thy biddings under Toll slowly. sun ;" RHY M E OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 67 11 But by all my womanhood, which is proved so, true and good, I will never do this one. " Now by womanhood's degree, and by wifehood's verity," Toll slowly. , " In this hour if thou hast need of thy noble red-roan steed, Thou hast also need of me. " By this golden ring ye see on this lifted hand pardie," Toll slowly. " If, this hour, on castle-wall, can be room for steed from stall, Shall be also room for me. " So the sweet saints with me be," (did she utter solemnly) Toll slowly. " If a man, this eventide, on this castle wall will ride, He shall ride the same with me." Oh, he sprang up in the selle, and he laughed out bitter- well, Toll slowly. " Wouldst thou ride among the leaves, as we used on other eves, To hear chime a vesper-bell ?" (iS POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. She clang- closer to his knee— "Ay, beneath the cypress- tree !" — Toll slowly. " Mock me not, for otherwhere than along* the greenwood fair. Have I ridden fast with thee. "Fast I rode with new-made vows, from my angry kins- man's house. "' Toll slowly. " What, and would yon men should reck that I dared more for love's sake As a bride than as a spouse '! " What, and would you it should fall, as a proverb, before all." Toll slow I ft. " That a bride may keep your side while through castle- gate you ride. Yet eschew the castle-wall ?" Ho ! the breach yawns into ruin, and roars up against her suing. Toll slowly. With the inarticulate din, and the dreadful falling- in — Shrieks of doing and undoing ! RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 69 Twice he wrung- her hands in twain, but the small hands closed again. Toll do ii'hi. Hack he reined the steed — back, back ! but she trailed along' his track With a frantic clasp and strain. Evermore the foeinen pour through the crash of window and door, — Toll slowly. And the shouts of Leigh and Leigh, and the shrieks of "kill !" and "flee!" Strike up clear amid the roar. Thrice he wrung her hands in twain — but they closed and clung again, — Toll slowly. Wild she clung, as one, withstood, clasps a Christ upon the rood, In a spasm of deathly pain. She clung wild and she clung mute, with her shuddering lips half shut. Toll slowly. Her head fallen as half in s wound, — hair and knee swept on the ground, She clung wild to stirrup and foot. 70 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Back he reined his steed back-thrown on the slippery coping-stone. Toll slowly. Back the iron hoofs did grind on the battlement behind Whence a hundred feet went down. And his heel did press and goad on the quivering flank bestrode, — Toll slowly. " Friends, and brothers, save my wife ! — Pardon, sweet, in change for life, — But I ride alone to God." Straight as if the Holy name had upbreathed her like a flame, Toll slowly. She upsprang, she rose upright, — in his selle she sate in sight, By her love she overcame. And her head was on his breast, where she smiled as one at rest, — Toll slowly. " Ring," she cried, " vesper-bell, in the beech-wood's old chapelle ! But the passing-bell rings best." RHYME OF THE DUCHESS MAY. 71 They have caught out at the rein, which Sir Guy threw loose — in vain, — Toll slowly. For the horse in stark despair, with his front hoofs poised in air, On the last verge rears amain. Now he hangs, he rocks between, and his nostrils curdle in!— Toll slowly. Now he shivers head and hoof — and the flakes of foam fall off, And his face grows fierce and thin ! And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go, Toll slowly. And a sharp cry uttered he, in a foretold agony Of the headlong death below, — And, " Ring, ring, thou passing-bell," still she cried, " i' the old chapelle !" — Toll slowly. Then back-toppling, crashing back — a dead weight flung out to wrack, Horse and riders overfell. P O K M S () F CHILDHOOD, Oli, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slow!//. And I read this ancient Rhyme, in the churchyard, while the chime Slowly tolled for one at rest. The abeles moved in the sun, and the river smooth did run, Toll slowly. And the ancient Rhyme rang- strange, with its passion and its change, Here, where all done lav undone. And beneath a willow-tree, I a little grave did see, Toll slowly. Where was graved, — Here undefiled, lieth Maud, a three- year child, Eighteen hundred, forty-three. Then, spirits, did I say, ye who rode so fast that day, — Toll slowly. Did star-wheels and angel wings, with their holy win- no wings. Keep beside you all the way? R II Y M E F THE D D C HESS HAY, 73 Though in passion yo would dash, with a blind, and heavy crash, Toll slowly. Up against the thick-bossed shield of God's judgment in the field- Though your heart and brain were rash, — Now, your will is all unwilled — now, your pulses are all stilled ! Toll slowly. Now, ye lie as meek and mild (whereso laid) as Maud the child, Whose small grave was lately filled. Beating heart and burning brow, ye are very patient now, Toll slowly. And the children might be bold to pluck the king-cups from your mould Ere a month had let them grow. And you let the goldfinch sing in the alder near in spring, Toll slowly. Let her build her nest and sit all the three weeks out on it, Murmuring not at any thing. 4 74 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD In your patience ye are strong ; cold and heat ye take not wrong : Toll slowly. When the trumpet of the angel blows eternity's evangel, Time will seem to you not long. Oh, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And I said in underbreath, — All our life is mixed with death, And who knoweth which is best ? Oli, the little birds sang east, and the little birds sang west, Toll slowly. And I smiled to think God's greatness flowed around our incompleteness, — Round our restlessness, His rest. A CHILD'S grave 75 A CHILD'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE. A. A. B.C. Born, July, 184S. Died, November, 1849. Of English blood, of Tuscan birth, What country should we give her ? Instead of any on the earth, The civic Heavens receive her. And here, among the English tombs, In Tuscan ground we lay her, While the blue Tuscan sky endomes Our English words of prayer. A little child ! — how long she lived, By months, not years, is reckoned Born in one July, she survived Alone to see a second. Bright featured, as the July sun Her little face still played in, 16 POEMS K C U 1 l. D H D, Ami splendours, with her birth begun, Had had no time for fading*. So, Lily, from those July hours. No wonder we should call her ; She looked such kinship to the flowers, Was but a little taller. A Tuscan Lily, — only white, As Dante, in abhorrence Of red corruption, wished aright The lilies of his Florence. We could not wish her whiter, — her Who perfumed with pure blossom The house ! — a lovely thing to wear Upon a mother's bosom ! This July creature thought perhaps Our speech not worth assuming ; She sate upon her parents' laps. Ami mimicked the gnat's humming : Said "father," "mother," — then, left oil For tongues celestial, fitter. Her hair had grown just long enough To catch heaven's jasper-glitter. A CHI LD' I fl '• Babes ! Love could always bear and Behind the cloud that bid them. " Let little children coine to me, And do not thou forbid them." So, unforbidding, have we met, And gently here have laid her, Though winter is no time to get The flowers that should o'erspread her. We should bring pansies quick with sprinj Rose, violet, daffodilly, And also, above every thing, White lilies for our Lily. Nay, more than flowers, this grave exacts, Glad, grateful attestations Of her sweet eyes and pretty acts, With calm renunciations. Her very mother with light feet Should leave the place too earthy, Saying, "The angels have thee, Sweet, Because we are not worthy." But winter kills the orange buds, The gardens in the frost are, U 78 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And all the heart dissolves in floods, Remembering we have lost her ! Poor earth, poor heart, — too weak, too weak To miss the July shining ! Poor heart ! — what bitter words we speak, When God speaks of resigning- ! Sustain this heart in us that faints, Thou God, the self-existent ! We catch up wild at parting saints, And feel thy Heaven too distant. The wind that swept them out of sin, Has ruffled all our vesture. On the shut door that let them in, We beat with frantic gesture, — To us, us also — open straight ! The outer life is chilly — Are ive too, like the earth, to wait Till next year for our Lily ? — Oh, my own baby on my knees, My leaping, dimpled treasure, At every word I write like these, Clasped close, with stronger pressure ! a child's grave. 79 Too well my own heart understands, — At every word beats fuller — My little feet, my little hands, And hair of Lily's colour ! —But God gives patience, Love learns strength, And Faith remembers promise, And Hope itself can smile at length On other hopes gone from us. Love, strong as Death, shall conquer Death, Through struggle, made more glorious. This mother stills her sobbing breath, Renouncing, yet victorious. Arms, empty of her child, she lifts, With spirit unbereaven, — " God will not take back all His gifts ; My Lily's mine in heaven ! "Still mine J maternal rights serene Not given to another ! The crystal bars shine faint between The souls of child and mother. " Meanwhile," the mother cries, " content ! Our love was well divided. 80 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Its sweetness following- where she went, Its anguish stayed where I did. '•' Well done of God, to halve the lot, And give her all the sweetness ; To us, the empty room and cot, — To her, the Heaven's completeness. " To us, this grave — to her, the rows The mystic palm-trees spring in. To us, the silenee in the house, — To her, the choral singing. " For her, to gladden in God's view,— For us, to hope and bear on ! — Grow, Lily, in thy garden new, Beside the rose of Sharon. " Grow fast in heaven, sweet Lily clipped, In love more calm than this is, — And may the angels dewy-lipped Remind thee of our kisses ! " While none shall tell thee of our tears, These human tears now falling, Till, after a few patient years, One home shall take us all in. N L V A C I' R L, SI "Child, father, mother — who, left mil ? Not mother, and not father ! — And when, our dying couch about, The natural mists shall gather, " Some smiling angel close shall stand In old Correggio's fashion, And hear a Lily in his hand, For death's annunciation." ONLY A CURL. Friends effaces unknown and a land Lnvisited over the sea, Who tell me how lonely you stand, With a single gold curl in the hand Held up to be looked at by me ! — While you ask me to ponder and say What a father and mother ean do, With the bright yellow locks put away Out of reach, beyond kiss, in the clay, Where the violets press nearer than you 4* 82 P B M S K CHI I D H D. Shall 1 speak like a poet, or run huo weak woman's tears for relief? Oh, children ! 1 never lost one. But my arm's round my own little son. And Love knows the Becret of Grief. And 1 feel what it must be and is When God draws a now angel so Through the house of a man up to His. With a murmur of music you miss. And a rapture o( light you forego. How you think, staring on at the door Where the face of your angel Bashed in, That its brightness, familiar before, Burns off from you ever the more For the dark o( vour sorrow and sin. " God lout him and takes him." you sigh . . — Nay. there lot mo break with your pain ; God's generous in giving, say 1, And the thing which he gives, 1 deny That lie ever can take back again. lie gives what he gives. 1 appeal To all who bear babes ! In the hour n I. y a C U R L. 88 When the vail of the hody wc feel Rent round us, while torments reveal The motherhoods advent in power, And the babe cries, — have all of us known V>y apocalypse (God being there, Pull in nature I) the child is our own, — Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, Through all changes, all times, everywhere. He's ours, and for ever. Believe, father ! mother, look back To the first love's assurance ! To give Means, with God, not to tempt or deceive Willi a cup thrust in Benjamin's sack. He gives what he gives : be content. He resumes nothing given, -be sine. God lend ? -where the usurers lent In His temple, indignant he went And scourged away all those impure. He lends riot, but gives to the end, As He loves to the end. If it seem That He draws back a gift, comprehend 'Tis to add to it rather- . . amend, And finish it up to your dream, — 84 POEMS OF i' 1111. P HOOD. Or keep . . as a mother may toys Too costly, though given by herself, Till the room shall be stiller from noise, And the children more tit for such joys, Kept over their heads on the shelf. So look up, friends ! You who indeed Have possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the Heaven which men strive 1 for, must need Be more earnest than others are, speed Where they loiter, persist where they eease. Yon know how one angel smiles there. Then, courage ! Tis easy for yon To be drawn by a single gold hair Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair To the safe place above us. Adieu ! K M A N C E 01 THE - W A N ' « N E 8 '1 . 85 THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEgT Little Ellie Bits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, \\y a stream-side on the grass, ffi f WlV' And the trees .arc showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow, On her shining 1 hair and face. 86 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. She has thrown her bonnet b}-, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's How. Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro. Little Ellic sits alone, And the smile she softly uses, Fills the silence like a speech, While she thinks what shall be done, — And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach. Little Ellic in her smile Chooses ..." I will have a lover, Riding* on a steed of steeds ! He shall love me without guile. And to him I will discover The swan's nest among* the reeds. "And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be noble, With an eye that takes the breath. And the lute he plays upon, Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death. ROMA N C E I T HE S W A N ' S N E ST. 87 " And the steed it Bhall be shod All in silver, housed in azure, And the mane shall swim the wind ; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flush onward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind. "But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face. He will say, ' Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace.' "Then, ay, then— he shall kneel low, With the red-roan steed anear him Which shall seem to understand — Till 1 answer, ' Rise and go ! For the world must love and fear him Whom I gift with heart and hand.' " Then he will arise so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble With a 7/^.s I must not say, Nathless maiden-brave, 'Farewell,' 1 will utter, and dissemble — ' Light to-morrow with to-day.' P K M s K C H 1 1 D H Q, "Then he'll ride among the hills To the wide world past the river. There to put away all wrong ; To make straight distorted wills. And to empty the broad quiver Which the wicked bear along. "Three times shall a young foot-page Swim the stream and climb the mountain And kneel down beside my toot — ■ Lo, my master sends this gage, Lady, for thy pity's counting ! What wilt thou exchange for it V " And the first tinu\ 1 will send A white 4 rosebud for a guerdon, — And the second time a glove : Hut the third time — 1 may bond from my pride, and answer—' Pardon, If ho comes to take mv love.' "Then the young foot-page will run- Then my lover will rido faster, Till he kneeleth at my knee : ' 1 am a duke's oldest son ! Thousand serfs do call mo master,— Hut, Love, I love but thee." R o M A N i: E v T II i. B 19 a H S«J ' He will kiss me "'i the mouth * Then, and lead me as a lover Through the crowds thai praise his deeds : And, when soul-tied by one troth Unto him I will discover That swan's nesl among the reeds." 90 m s o k rim i» u o o .' i Little EUie, with her smile Not yet ended, rose up gaily, Tied the bonnet, dunned the shoe, Ami went homeward, round a mile, Just to see, as she did daily, What more eggs were with the two Pushing through the elm-tree copse, Winding up the stream, light-hearted, Where the osier pathway leads — Past the boughs she stoops— ami stops. Lo, the wild swan had deserted — And a rat had gnawed the reeds, Ellic went home sad and slow. If she found the lover ever, With his red-roan stood of steeds, Sooth 1 know- not ! but 1 know She could ne\ er show him never That swan's nest anions the reeds ! '1 if I. I '/ ' RKO i. fi III r " " " " jj^rr ;i jt *T ........«..^,.1«.1WJ 'i in. KOURFOLIJ AKPEi 'i Win i up in lie- I-' Wjtli youi little <:lnl PO E M S F C 11 1 I. I» H D. Ami how ye must lie beneath them Through the winters long and deep, Till the last trump overbreathe them, Ami ye smile ou1 of your sleep . . . Oh, ye lifted up your head, ami it seemed as if they said A tale of fairy ships With a swan-wing for a sail ! — Oh, ye kissed their loving lips m For the merry, merry tale ! — So carelessly ye thought upon the Dead. Soon ye read in solemn stories Of the men oi' long ago — Of the pale bewildering glories Shining farther than we know, Oi' the heroes with the laurel, Of the poets with the bay, Of the two worlds' earnest quarrel For that beauteous Helena. How Achilles at the portal Oi' the tent, heard footsteps nigh, And his strong he;irt. half-immortal, Met the keitai with a cry. How Ulysses left the sunlight For the pale eidola race Blank and passive through the dun light, I II i. I i R I I- i» A P i. C i . 1)3 Staring blindly in hi face. How that true wile said to Poet us, Willi calm smile and wounded heart, "Sweet, it hurts not !"' how Admetus Saw his blessed one depart. How Kin^; Arthur proved his mission, 04 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And Sir Ronald wound his horn, And at SangreaPs moony vision Swords did bristle round like corn. Oh, ye lifted up your head, and it seemed the while ye read, That this Death, then, must be found A Valhalla for the crowned, The heroic who prevail. None, be sure, can enter in Far below a paladin Of a noble, noble tale ! So awfully ye thought upon the Dead. Ay, but soon ye woke up shrieking-, — As a child that wakes at night From a dream of sisters speaking In a garden's summer-light, — That wakes, starting up and bounding, In a lonely, lonely bed, With a wall of darkness round him. Stifling black about his head ! — And the full sense of your mortal Rushed upon you deep and loud, And ye heard the thunder hurtle From the silence of the cloud ! Funeral-torches at your gateway Threw a dreadful light within. THE FOURFOLD ASPECT. 95 All thing's changed ! you rose up straightway And saluted Death and Sin. Since, — your outward man has rallied, And your eye and voice grown bold — Yet the Sphinx of Life stands pallid, With her saddest secret told, Happy places have grown holy. If ye went where once ye went, Only tears would fall down slowly, As at solemn sacrament. Merry books, once read for pastime, If ye dared to read again, Only memories of the last time Would swim darkly up the brain. Household names, which used to flutter Through your laughter unawares, God's divinest ye could utter With less trembling in your prayers ! Ye have dropt adown your head, and it seems as if ye tread On your own hearts in the path Ye are called to in His wrath, — And your prayers go up in wail ! — " Dost Thou see, then, all our loss, Thou agonized on cross ? Art thou reading all its tale ?" So mournfully } r e think upon the Dead. 9G POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Tray, pray, thou who also weepest, And the drops will slacken so. Weep, weep,— and the watch thou keepest, With a quicker count will go. Think, — the shadow on the dial For the nature most undone, Marks the passing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun. Look, look up, in stany passion, To the throne above the spheres ! Learn, — the spirit's gravitation Still must differ from the tear's. Hope, — with all the strength thou usest In embracing thy despair. Love, — the earthly love thou losest Shall return to thee more fair. Work, — make clear the forest-tangles Of the wildest stranger-land. Trust, — the blessed deathly angels Whisper, "Sabbath hours at hand !" By the heart's wound when most gory, By the longest agony, Smile ! — Behold, in sudden glory The Transfigured smiles on thee! And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said. " My Beloved, is it so ? VIRGIN M A K Y T T HE CHILI) J iS S U S . 97 Have ye tasted of my woe ? Of my Heaven ye shall not fail !" — He stands brightly where the shade is, With the keys of Death and Hades, And there ends the mournful tale. — So hopefully ye think upon the Dead. THE VIRGIN MARY TO THE CHILD JESUS. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her babe to rest. Milton's Hymn on the Nativity. Sleep, sleep, mine Holy One ! My flesh, my Lord !— what name ? I do not know A name that seemeth not too high or low, Too far from me or heaven. My Jesus, that is best ! that word being given By the majestic angel whose command Was softly as a man's beseeching said, When I and all the earth appeared to stand In the great overflow Of light celestial from his wings and head. Sleep, sleep, my saving One ! And art thou come for saving, baby-browed And speechless Being — art thou come for saving ? 5 C)g POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Wtf palm that grows beside our door is bowed j$ y treadings of the low wind from the south, A restless shadow through the chamber waving : Upon its bough a bird sings in the sun ; But Thou, with that close slumber on thy mouth, Dost seem of wind and sun already weary. Art come for saving, my weary One? Perchance this sleep that shutteth out the dreary Earth-sounds and motions, opens on Thy soul High dreams on fire with God ; High songs that make the pathways where they roll More bright than stars do theirs ; and visions new Of Thine eternal Nature's old abode. Suffer this mother's kiss, Best thing that earthly is, To glide the music and the glory through, Nor narrow in thy dream the broad upliftings Of any seraph wing. Thus noiseless, thus. Sleep, sleep, my dreaming One The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through my lips to mine heart, — to all its shiftings Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness In a great calm. I feel, I could lie down As Moses did, and die,* — and then live most. * It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God's lips. V I R G I X MARY TO T H E CHILI) J K S U S . 99 I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i' the sunshine ! I am 'ware. Ye throw No shade against the wall ! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of God appear to go, Like light's soul in itself. I bear, I bear, To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external shining testifies To that beatitude within, which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun. I fall not on my sad clay face before ye, — I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory. Yea, drop your lids more low. Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me ! Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One ! We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem. The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their horned faces To almost human gazes Toward the newly Born. . 100 P S M S O F C II I I. I' II !». The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yel iii their astonied hearing rung The strange, sweet angel-tongue. The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knell reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold These baby hands were impotent to hold. So, lot all earthlies and celestials wait Upon thy royal state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! I am not proud — meek angels, ye invest New meeknesses to hear such utterance rest On mortal lips, — "I am not proud" — not proud! Albeit in my flesh God sent his Son, Albeit over Him my head is bowed As others bow before Him, still mine heart Hows lower than their knees. centuries That roll, in vision, your futurities My future grave athwart, — Whose murmurs seem to reach me while 1 keep Watch o'er this sleep, — Say of me as the Heavenly said — "Thou art The blessodost of women !" blossodost. Not holiest, not noblest — no high name, V I R G I N M A R Y T THE CHI L I) J E 31 101 Whoso height misplaced may pierce me like a shame, When I sit meek in heaven ! For me, lor me, God knows that I am feeble like the rest — I often wandered forth, mere child than maiden, Among the midnight hills of Galilee Whose summits looked heaven-laden, Listening to silence as it seemed to he God's voice, so soft yet strong— so fain to press Upon my heart as Heaven did on the height, And waken up its shadows by a light, And show its vileness by a holiness. Then I knelt down most silent like the uight, Too self-renounced for fears, Raising my small face to the boundless blue Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears. God heard them falling after— with his dew. So, seeing my corruption, can I see This Incorruptible now born of me, This fair new Innocence no sun did chance To shine on, (for even Adam was no child) Created from my nature all defiled, This mystery, from out mine ignorance, — Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more Than others do, or /did heretofore?— Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, 102 PO E M s V C II I I- I) H O I). Not open with the cry " unclean, unclean," More oft than any else beneath the skies'.' Ah King, ah Christ, ah son ! The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise Must all less lowly wait Than I, upon thy state. — Sleep, sleep, my kingly One ! Art Thou a King, then ? Come, his universe, Come, crown me Him a King ! Thick rays from all such stars as never fling Their light where fell a curse, And make a crowning for this kingly brow !- What is ray word ? — Each empyreal star Sits in a. sphere afar In shining ambuscade. The child-brow, crowned by none, Keeps its unchildlike shade. Sleep, sleep, my crownless One ! Unchildlike shade ! — No other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as thou. — No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen, To float like speech the soeechless lips between. No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. VIRGIN MAIM' TO THE CHILD J i; SI'S. I0o Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Th Vtu, cv, ti TrpaoSepKtvde p' Ofifiaaiv. racva. Medea. Do ye hear the children weeping', my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing Avith the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the west — But the young, young children, my brothers, They are weeping bitterly ! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free. Do you question the young children in the sorrow, Why their tears are falling so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow Which is lost in Long Ago. 5* 106 PO E M S V C II l L D H D . The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost But the young', young children, my brothers, Do you ask them why they stand Weeping- sore before the bosoms of their mothers, In our happy Fatherland): They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their looks are sad to see, For the man's hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy. "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary ; Our young feet," they say, "are very weak ! Vow paces have wo taken, yet are weary — Our grave-rest is very far to seek. Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children ; For the outside earth is eold ; And we young* ones stand without, in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old. •• True," say the children, " it may happen That we die before our time. Little Alice died last year — her grave is shapen Like a snowball, in the rime. T II E C K Y F T II E CHILI) R E X . 107 We looked into the pit prepared to take her. Was no room for any work in the close clay ! From the sleep wherein she lieth, none will wake her, Crying, 'Get up, little' Alice ! it is day.' If yon listen by that grave, in sun and shower, With your ear down, little Alice never cries. Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her, For the smile has time for growing in her eyes. And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in The shroud by the kirk-chime ! It is good when it happens," say the children, "That we die before our time." Alas, alas, the children ! they are seeking- Death in life, as best to have. They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do. Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty, Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through ! But they answer, "An; your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine ? Lea^e us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows From your pleasures fair and fine ! " For oh," say the children, " we are weary, And we cannot run or leap. 08 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. If wo cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping, We fall upon our faces, trying" to go ; And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring Through the coal-dark, underground — Or, all day we drive the wheels of iron In the factories, round and round. "For, all day, the wheels are droning, turning, — Their wind comes in our faces, — 'Till our hearts turn, — our head, with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places. Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day, the iron wheels are droning, And sometimes we could pray, ' ye wheels/ (breaking out in a mad moaning) ' Stop ! be silent for to-day ! ' " Aye ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth ! Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth ! THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN ioy Lot them feel that this cold metallic motion Ls not all the life God fashions or reveals. Let them prove their living sonls against the notion That they live in you, or under you, wheels ! — Ill) P E M S F C 11 I L D H D. Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, Grinding life down from its mark ; And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward. Spin on blindly in the dark. Now tell the poor young children, my brothers, To look up to Him and pray ; So the blessed One who blesseth all the others, Will bless them another day. They answer, ''Who is God that he should hear us, While the rushing of the iron wheel is stirred? When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us, Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word. And we hear not (for tin? wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door. Is it likely God, with angels singing round him. Hears our weeping any more ? •• Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And at midnight's hour of harm, " Our Father," looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm * * A fact rendered pathetically historical by Mr. Home's report of his commission. The name of the poet of" Orion" and " Cosmo de' Medici" has, however, a change of associations, and comes in time to remind me that we have some noble poetic heat of literature still, — however open to the reproach of being somewhat gelid in our humanity. — 18-44. Til !•: C R V F I II I. C II J L D B EN. Ill We know no other words, except "Our Father,' 1 And we think that, in some pause of angels' song, Grod may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within his right hand which is strong. " Our Father!" If He heard us, Be would surely (For they call him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely. •■ Come and rest with me, my child." '" But no !" say the children, weeping /'aster, " He is speechless as a stone. And they tell us, of His image is the master Who commands us to work on. Go to !" say the* children, — " up in Heaven, Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving — We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, my brothers, what ye preach ? For God's possible is taught by his world's loving, And the children doubt of each. And well may the children weep before you ! They are weary ere they run. They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun. They know the grief of man, without his wisdom. 112 POEMS OK CHILDHOOD They sink in man's despair, without its calm ; Arc slaves, without the liberty in Christdorn, Are martyrs, by the pang without (lie palm,— Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly The harvest of its memories cannot reap, - Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. Let them weep ! let them weep ! They look up, with their pale and sunken laces. And their look is dread to see, For they mind you of their angels in high places. With eyes turned on Deity ! — " How long," they say, "how loug, cruel nation, Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart. Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ? Our blood splashes upward, gold-heaper, And your purple shows your path ! But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath. THE DESERTED GARDEN 113 THE DESERTED GARDEN. T mivd me in the days departed, How often underneath the sun With childish bounds I used to run To a garden long- deserted. The beds and walks were vanished quite ; And wheresoever had struck the spade, The greenest grasses Nature laid, To sanctify her right. I called the place my wilderness, For no one entered there but I. The sheep looked in, the grass to espy, And passed it ne'ertheless. The trees were interwoven wild, And spread their boughs enough about To keep both sheep and shepherd out, But not a happy child. 114 VO KM S V C II 1 L D B D. Adventurous joy it was for me ! 1 crept beneath the boughs, and found A circle smooth iA' mossy ground Beneath a poplar-tree. Old garden rose-trees hedged it in, Bedropt with roses waxen white Well satisfied with dew and light And careless to he seen. Long years ago it might befall, When all the garden flowers were trim, The grave old gardener prided him On these the most of all. Some lady, stately overmuch, Here moving with a silken noise. Has blushed beside them at the voice That likened her to such. And these, to make a diadem, She often may have plucked and twined, Half-smiling as it came to mind That few would look at titan. Oh, little thought that lady proud, A child would watch her fair white rose, T H K I) E 8 E BT ED G A It I) K N. When (juried lay her whiter brows, Ami silk was changed for shroud I— Nor thought that gardener, (full of scorai For men unlearned and simple phrase,; A child would bring it all its praise, By creeping through the thorns ! To me upon my low moss seat, Though never a dream the roses sent Of science or love's compliment, I ween they smelt as sweet. It did not move my grief to see The trace of human step departed. Because the garden was deserted, The blither place for me I Friends, blame me not ! a narrow ken, Has childhood 'twixt the sun and sward We draw the moral afterward— We feel the gladness then. An.l gladdest hours for me did glide In silence at the rose-tree wall. A thrush made gladness musical Opon the other side. L15 U ( ^ P E M S F C HI L I> H D . Nor he nor I did e'er incline To peck or pluck the blossoms white How should I know but roses might Lead lives as glad as mine ? To make my hermit-home complete, I brought clear water from the spring- Praised in its own low murmuring-, — And cresses glossy wet. And so, I thought, my likeness grew (Without the melancholy tale) To " gentle hermit of the dale," And Angelina too. For oft I read within my nook Such minstrel stories ; till the breeze Made sounds poetic in the trees, — And then I shut the book. If I shut this wherein I write I hear no more the wind athwart Those trees, — nor feel that childish heart Delighting in delight. My childhood from my life is parted, My footstep from the moss which drew T II E I) E s E RT E D G A R l» E N . 117 Its fairy circle round : anew The garden is deserted. Another thrush may there rehearse The madrigals which sweetest are; No more for me! — myself afar Do sing a sadder verse. All rue, ah me ! when erst I lay In that child's-nest so greenly wrought, 1 laughed unto myself and thought " The time will pass away." And still I laughed, and did not fear Hut that, whene'er was passed away The childish time, some happier play My womanhood would cheer. 1 knew the time would pass away, And yet, beside the rose-tree wall, Dear God, how seldom, if at all, Did 1 look up to pray ! The time is past ; — and now that grows The cypress high among the trees, And I behold white sepulchres As well as the white rose, — US PO E M S F C II 1 L D 11 1> When graver, meeker thoughts are given, And 1 have learnt to lift my face, Reminded how earth's greenest place The colour draws from heaven, — It something saith for earthly pain, But more for Heavenly promise free, That I who was, would shrink to be That happy child again. HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. Nine years old ! The first of any Seem the happiest years that come. Yet when /was nine, I said No such word ! — I thought instead That the Greeks had used as many In besieging Ilium. Nine green years had scarcely brought me To my childhood's haunted spring. I had life, like (lowers and bees In betwixt the country trees. And the sun the pleasure taught me Which he teacheth every thing. HECTOR IX THE GARDEN. Ill) [f the rain fell, there \v;is sorrow. Little head leant en the pane, Little finger drawing down it The long trailing drops upon it, And the "Rain, rain, come to-morrow/' Said lor charm againsl the rain. Such ;i charm was right Canidian Though yen meet it with ;i jeer \ If I said it long enough, Then the rain hummed dimly oil", And the thrush with his pure Lydian Was left Onlv to the ear : And the sun and I togetlh r Went a-rushing out of doors ! We, our tender spirits, drew Over hill and dale in view, Glimmering hither, glimmering thither, In the footsteps of the showers. Underneath the chestnuts dripping, Through the grasses wet and fair, Straight I sought my garden-ground. With the laurel on the mound, And the pear-tree oversweeping A side-shadow of green air. 120 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. In the garden lay supinely .V huge giant wrought of spade ! Anus and logs were stretched at length, In a passive giant strength, — The line meadow-turf, cut finely, Round them laid and interlaid. Call him Hector, son of Priam ! Such his title and degree. With my rake I smoothed his brow, Both his cheeks I weeded through, But a rhymer such as I am, Scarce can sing his dignity. Eyes of gentiancllas azure, Staring, winking - at the skies. Nose of gillyflowers and box. Scented grasses put for locks, Which a little breeze, at pleasure, Set a-waviug round his eyes. Brazen helm of daffodillies, With a glitter toward the light. Purple violets for the mouth, Breathing perfumes west and south ; And a sword of flashing lilies, Holden ready for the fiffht. HECTOR IN THE GARDEN. 121 And a breastplate made of daisies, Closely fitting, lea on leaf. Periwinkles interlaced Drawn for belt about the waist ; While the brown bees, humming praises, Shot their arrows round the chief. And who knows, (T sometimes wondered. ) If the disembodied soul Of old Hector, once of Troy, Might not take a dreary joy Here to enter— if it thundered, Rolling up the thunder-roll ? Rolling this way from Troy-ruin, In this body rude and rife Just to enter, and take rest 'Neath the daisies of the breast — They, with tender roots, renewing His heroic heart to life ? Who could know ? I sometimes started At a motion or a sound ! Did his mouth speak — naming Troy, With an ororororot ? Did the pulse of the Strong-hearted Make the daises tremble round ? 122 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. It was hard to answer, often : But the birds sang in the tree — But the little birds sang bold In the pear-tree green and old, And my terror seemed to soften Through the courage of their glee. Oh, the birds, the tree, the ruddy And white blossoms, sleek with rain ! Oh, my garden, rich with pansies ! Oh, my childhood's bright romances ! All revive, like Hector's body, And I see them stir again ! And despite life's changes — chances, And despite the deathbell's toll, They press on me in full seeming ! Help, some angel ! stay this dreaming As the birds sang in the branches, Sing God's patience through my soul ! That no dreamer, no neglecter Of the present's work unsped, I may wake up and be doing, Life's heroic ends pursuing, Though my past is dead as Hector, And though Hector is twice dead. TO BETTINE. 123 TO BETTINE, THE CHILD-FRIEND OF GOETHE. I have the second sight, Goethe !" — Letters of a child. Rettixe, friend of Goethe, Hadst thou the second sight — Upturning worship and delight With such a loving duty To his grand face, as women will, The childhood 'ncath thine eyelids still ? 1'24 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Before his shrine to doom thee Using the same child's smile That heaven and earth, beheld erewhile For the first time, won from thee, Ere star and flower grew dim and dead, Save at his feet and o'er his head ? Digging thine heart and throwing Away its childhood's gold, That so its woman-depth might hold His spirit's overflowing. For singing sonls, no worlds can bound, Their channel in the heart have found. child, to change appointed, Thou hadst not second sight ! What eyes the future view aright, 1 nless by tears anointed? Yea, only tears themselves can show The burning ones that have to flow. woman, deeply loving, Thou hadst not second sight ! The star is very high and bright, And none can see it moving. Love looks around, below, above, Yet all his prophecy is — love. TO 15 ETT I N E. 125 The bird thy childhood's playing Sent onward o'er the sea, Thy dove of hope came back to thee Without a leaf. Art Laying Its wet cold wing no sun can dry, Still in thy bosom secretly? Our Goethe's friend, Bettine, I have the second sight ! The stone noon his grave is white, The funeral stone between ye ; And in thy mirror thou hast viewed Some change as hardly understood. Where's childhood? where is Goethe? The tears are in thine eyes. Nay, thou shalt yet reorganize Thy maidenhood of beauty In his own glory, which is smooth Of wrinkles and sublime in youth The poet's arms have wound thee, He breathes upon thy brow, He lifts thee upward in the glow Of his grea< genius round thee,- The child-like poet undefined Preserving- evermore Thk Child. 120 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD A SONG AGAINST SINGING. To E. J. H. They bid me sing to thee, Thou golden-haired and silver-voiced child, — With lips by no worse sigh than sleep's defiled, With eyes unknowing how tears dim the sight, And feet all trembling at the new delight Treaders of earth to be ! Ah no ! the lark may bring A song to thee from out the morning cloud, The merry river from its lilies bowed, The brisk rain from the trees, the lucky wind, That half doth make its music, half doth find, — Rut I— J may not sing. IIovv could I think it right, New-comer on our earth as, Sweet, thou art, To bring a verse from out an human heart Made heavy with accumulated tears, And cross with such amount of weary years Thy day-sum of delight ? A SONG AGAINST SINGING. 127 Even if the verse were said, Thou, who wouldst clap thy tiny hands to hear The wind or rain, gay bird or river clear, Wouldst, at that sound of sad humanities, Upturn thy bright uncomprehending eyes And bid me play instead. Therefore no song of mine, — But prayer in place of singing ; prayer that would Commend thee to the new-creating God, Whose gift is childhood's heart without its .stain Of weakness, ignorance, and changing vain — That gift of God be thine ! So wilt thou aye be young, In lovelier childhood than thy shining brow And pretty winning accents make thee now. Yea, sweeter than this scarce articulate sound (How sweet !) of " father," " mother," shall be found The Abba on thy tongue. And so, as years shall chase Each other's shadows, thou wilt less resembl Thy fellows of the earth who toil and trembh Than him thou seest not, thine angel bold Yet meek, whose ever-lifted eyes behold The Ever-loving's face. L28 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. SLEEPING AND WATCHING Sleep on, baby, on the floor, Tired of all the playing ! Sloop with smile the sweeter for That you dropped away in ! On your curls' full roundness, stand Golden lights serenely. One cheek, pushed out by the hand, Folds the dimple inly. Little head and little foot Heavy laid for pleasure, Underneath the lids half shut, Slants the shining azure. — Open soul in noonday sun, So, you lie and slumber ! Nothing evil having done, Nothing can encumber. T, who cannot sleep as well, Shall I sigh to view yon ? 8 L E E P 1 X G A N 1) W A T C II I N G . 1 2!) Or sigh further to foretell All that may undo you ? Nay, keep Bmiling, little child, Ere the sorrow neareth. I will smile too ! patience mild Pleasure's token weareth. Nay, keep sleeping before loss. I shall sleep, though losing ! As by cradle, so by cross, Sure is the reposing. And God knows who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure, I am near as tiled of pain As you seem of pleasure. Very soon too, by His grace Gently wrapt around me, Shall I show as calm a face, Shall I sleep as soundly. Differing in this, that you Clasp your playthings, sleeping, While my hand shall drop the few Given to my keeping. Differing in this, that 1 Sleeping shall be colder, And in waking presently, Brighter to beholder. 6* 130 I'O EM S o F C K I I- D II <> I). Differing in this beside (Sleeper, have you heard me? Do you move, and open wide Eyes of wonder toward me !) That while you I thus recall From your sloop, I solely, Me from mine an angel shall, With reveille holy. THE LOST BOWER. In the pleasant orchard closes, "God bleSS all our gains," say we ; But "May God bless all our losses," Better suits with our degree. Listen gentle — ay, and simple ! listen children on the knee Green the land is where my daily Steps in jocund childhood played, Dimpled close with hill and valley, Dappled very close with shade ; Summer-snow of apple blossoms running up from glade to -lade. There is one hill I see nearer In my vision of the rest ; T H 6 LO S T B W E R. 131 And a little wood scorns clearer As it climbeth from the west, Sideway from the tree-locked valley, to the airy upland crest. Small the wood is, green with hazels, And, completing the ascent. Where the wind blows and sun dazzles Thrills in leafy tremblemcnt, Like a heart that, after climbing, beateth quickly through content. Not a step the wood advances O'er the open hill-top's bound. There, in green arrest, the branches See their image on the ground : You may walk beneath them smiling, glad with sight and glad with sound. For you harken on your right hand, How the birds do leap and call In the gieenwood, out of sight and Out of reach and fear of all ; And the squirrels crack the filberts through their cheerful madrigal. On your left, the sheep are cropping The slant grass and daisies pale, loJ POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And five apple-trees stand dropping Separate shadows toward the vale, Over which in choral silence, the hills look you their "All hail !" Far out, kindled by each other, Shining' hills on hills arise, Close as brother leans to brother When they press beneath the eyes Of some father praying blessings ironi the gifts of paradise. While beyond, above them mounted. And above their woods also, Malvern hills, for mountains counted Not unduly, loom a-row — Keepers of Piers Plowman's visions through the sunshine and the snow.* Yet, in childhood, little prized I That fair walk and far survey. 'Twas a straight walk unadvised by The least mischief worth a nay ; Op and down — as dull as grammar on the eve of holiday. But the wood, all close and clenching Bough in bough and root in root, — * The Malvern Hills of Worcestershire are the scene of Langlande's vi- sions, and thus present the earliest classic ground of English poetry. I 11 K LO ST BO W E K. 133 No more sky (for overbranching) At your head than at your foot, — Oli, the wood drew me within it, by a glamour past dispute. Few and broken paths showed through it, Where the sheep had tried to run, — Forced with snowy wool to strew it Round the thickets, when anon They with silly thorn-pricked noses, bleated hack into the sun. But my childish heart beat stronger Than those thickets dared to grow : /could pierce them ! /"could longer Travel on, methonght, than so. Sheep tor sheep-paths ! braver children climb and creep where thev would ero. Aral the poets wander, said I, Over places all as rude. Bold Rinaldo's lovely lady Sate to meet him in a wood Rosalinda, like a fountain, laughed out pure with solitude. And if Chaucer had not travelled Through a forest by a well, 134 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Ho had never dreamt nor marvelled At those ladies fair and fell Who lived smiling- without loving- in their island-citadel. Thus I thought of the old singers, And took courage from their song, Till my little struggling fingers Tore asunder gyve and thong Of the brambles which entrapped me, and the barrier branches strong. On a day, such pastime keeping, AVith a fawn's heart debonair, Under-crawling, overleaping Thorns that prick and boughs that bear, I stood suddenly astonied — I was gladdened unaware. From the place I stood in, floated Back the covert dim and close, And the open ground was coated Carpet-smooth with grass and moss, And the blue-bell's purple presence signed it worthily across. Here a linden-tree stood, brightning All adown its silver rind ; For as some trees draw the lightning, THE LOST BOAV E II- 135 So this tree, unto my mind, Drew to earth the blessed sunshine from the sky where it was shrined. Tall the linden-tree, and near it An old hawthorn also grew ; 136 po e ms o f c n i i- nil o o D And wood-ivy like a spirit Hovered dimly round the two, Shaping thence that bower ot beauty which I sing of thus to you. 'Twas a bower for garden fitter Than for any woodland wide. Though a fresh and dewy glitter Struck it through from side to side, Shaped and shaven was the freshness, as by garden-cunning plied. Oh, a lady might have come there, , Hooded fairly like her hawk, With a book or lute in summer, And a hope of sweeter talk — Listening* less to her owr> music than for footsteps on the walk. But that bower appeared a marvel In the wildness of the place ; With such seeming art and travail, Finely fixed and fitted was Leaf to leaf the dark-green ivy, to the summit from the base. And the ivy veined and g'lossy Was enwrought with eglantine ; And the wild hop fibred closely, THE LOST BOWER. 137 And the, large-leaved columbine, Arch of door and window nmllion, did right sylvanly entwine. Rose-trees either side the door were Growing lithe and growing' tall, Each one set a summer warder For the keeping of the hall, — With a red rose and a white rose, leaning, nodding at the wall. As I entered — mosses hushing Stole all noises from my foot ; And a green elastic cushion, Clasped within the linden's root, Took me in a chair of silence very rare and absolute. All the floor was paved with glory, Greenly, silently inlaid, (Through quick motions made before me) With fair counterparts in shade Of the fair serrated ivy-leaves which slanted overhead. " Is such pavement in a palace V So I questioned in my thought. The sun, shining through the chalice Of the red rose hung without, Threw within a red libation, like an answer to my doubt. lo8 P E M S F CHI L D HOOD. At the same time, on the linen Of my childish lap there fell Two white may-leaves, downward winning Through the ceiling's miracle, From a blossom, like an angel, out of sight yet blessing well Down to floor and up to ceiling Quick I turned my childish face, With an innocent appealing For the secret of the place To the trees, which surely knew it, in partaking of the grace. Where's no loot of human creature, How could reach a human hand? And if this be work of nature, Why has nature turned so bland, Breaking off from other wild work? It was hard to under- stand. Was she weary of rough-doing, — Of the bramble and the thorn ? Did she pause in tender rueing Here of all her sylvan scorn ? Or, in mock of art's deceiving, was the sudden mildness worn ? Or could this same bower (I fancied) Be the work of Dryad strong, THE LOST BOWER. 139 Who, surviving all that chanced In the world's old pagan wrong, Lay hid, feeling in the woodland on the last true poet's song ? Or was this the house of fairies, Left, because of the rough ways, L T nassoiled by Ave Marys Which the passing pilgrim prays, And beyond St. Catherine's chiming* on the blessed Sabbath days ? So, young muser, I sate listening To my fancy's wildest word. On a sudden, through the glistening Leaves around, a little stirred, Came a sound, a sense of music, which was rather felt than heard. Softly, finety, it in wound me ; From the world it shut me in, — Like a fountain, falling round me, Which with silver waters thin Clips a little water Naiad sitting smilingly within. Whence the music came, who knoweth ? / know nothing. But indeed Pan or Faunus never bloweth So much sweetness from a reed Which has sucked the milk of waters at the oldest riverhead. 140 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Never lark the suu can waken With such sweetness ! when the lark. The high planets overtaking In the half-evanished Dark, Casts his singing to their singing, like an arrow to the mark. Never nightingale so singeth. Oh, she leans on thorny tree, And her poet-song- she flingeth Over pain to victory ! Yet she never sings such music, — or she sings it not to me. Never blackbirds, never thrushes. Nor small finches sing as sweet, When the sun strikes through the bushes To their crimson clinging feet, And their pretty eyes look sideways to the summer heavens complete. If it were a bird, it seemed Most like Chaucer's, which, in sooth, He of green and azure dreamed, While it sate in spirit-ruth On that bier of a crowned lady, singing nigh her silent mouth. If it were a bird ! — ah, skeptic, Give me "yea" or give me "nay" — T II E LO ST 15 W ER. 141 Though my soul were nynipholeptic, As 1 heard that virelay, You may stoop your pride to pardon, for my sin is far away. I rose up in exaltation And an inward trembling heat, And (it seemed) in geste of passion Dropped the music to my feet Like a garment rustling downwards ! — such a silence fol- lowed it. Heart and head beat through the quiet Full and heavily, though slower. In the song*, I think, and by it, Mystic Presences of Power Had up-snatched me to the Timeless, then returned me to the Hour. In a child-abstraction lifted, Straightway from the bower I past. Foot and soul being dimly drifted Through the greenwood, till, at last, In the hill-top's open sunshine I all consciously was cast. Face to face with the true mountains I stood silently and still, Drawing strength from fancy's dauntings, From the air about the hill, And from Nature's open mercies, and most debonair goodwill. 142 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. Oh, the golden-hearted daisies Witnessed there, before my youth, To the truth of things with praises Of the beauty of the truth, And I woke to Nature's real, laughing joyfully for both. And I said within me, laughing, 1 have found a bower to-day, A green lusus— fashioned half in Chance, and half in Nature's play — And a little bird sings nigh it, I will nevermore missay. Henceforth, /will be the fairy Of this bower not built by one ; I will go there, sad or merry, With each morning's benison, And the bird shall be my harper in the dream-hall I have won. So I said. But the next morning, ( — Child, look up into my face — 'Ware, oh skeptic, of your scorning* ! This is truth in its pure grace !) The next morning, all had vanished, or my wandering missed the place. Bring an oath most sylvan holy, And upon it swear me true — By the wind-bells swinging slowly THE LOST BOWER 143 Their mute curfews in the dew, By the advent of the snow-drop, by the rosemary and rue,- I affirm by all or any, Let the cause be charm or chance, 1 4:4 p E M S F C H I L I) II (> D . That my wandering searches many Missed the bower of my romance — That I nevermore, upon it, turned my mortal countenance. I affirm that, since I lost it, Never bower has seemed so fair ; Never Garden-creeper crossed it, With so deft and brave an air — Never bird sung in the summer, as I saw and heard them there. Day by day, with new desire, Toward my wood I ran in faith, Under leaf and over brier, Through the thickets, out of breath — Like the prince who rescued Beauty from the sleep as long- as death. But his sword of mettle clashed And his arm smote strong, 1 ween, And her dreaming spirit flashed Through her body's fair white screen, And the light thereof might guide him up the cedar alleys But for me, I saw no splendour — All my sword was my child-heart ; And the wood refused surrender THE LOST BOWER. 14. r ) Of that bower it held apart, Safe as (Edipus's grave-place, 'mid Colone's olive swart. As Aladdin sought the basements • His fair palace rose upon, And the four-and-twenty casements Which gave answers to the sun; So, in wilderment of gazing I looked up, and I looked down Years have vanished since as wholly As the little bower did then ; And you call it tender folly That such thoughts should come again ? Ah, 1 cannot change this sighing for your smiling, brother men ! For this loss it did prefigure Other loss of better good, When my sold, in spirit-vigour And in ripened womanhood, Fell from visions of more beauty than an arbour in a wood. I have lost — oh, many a pleasure, Many a hope, and many a power — Studious health, and merry leisure, The first dew on the first flower ! Rut the first of all my losses was the losing of the bower. 7 I 4() PO E M S F C 11 1 LD 11 O O D. 1 have lost the dream of Doing, And the other dream of Done, The first spring- in the pursuing, The lirst pride in the Begun, — First recoil from incompletion, in the face of what is won — Exaltations in the far light Where some cottage only is; Mild dejections in the starlight, Which the sadder-hearted miss ; And the child-cheek blushing- scarlet for the very shame ^[' bliss. I have lost the sound child-sleeping Which the thunder could not break ; Something too of the strong leaping Of the staglike heart awake. Which the pale is low for keeping in the road it ought to take. Some respect to social fictions lias been also lost by me ; And some generous genuflexions, Which my spirit offered free To the pleasant old conventions of our false humanity. All my losses did I tell you, Ye, perchance, would look away ; — Ye would answer me. " Farewell ! von T U E LOST B OWES. 147 Make sad company to-day, And your tears are falling faster than tho bitter words yon say." For God placed me like a dial In the open ground with power. And my heart had for its trial All the sun and all the shower ! And 1 suffered many losses, — and my first was of the bower. Laugh yon ? If that loss of mine be Of no heavy-seeming weight — When the cone falls from the pine-tree The young- children laugh thereat ; Yet the wind that struck it, riseth, and the tempest shall be great. One who knew me in my childhood In the glamour and the game Looking on me long- and mild, would Never know me for the same. Come, unchanging recollections, were those changes over- came. By this couch I weakly lie on. While I count my memories, — Through the fingers which, still sighing, I press closely on mine eyes. — (lear as once beneath the sunshine, I behold tho bower arise. 1 48 P E M S F CHILDHOOD. Springs the linden-tree as greenly, Stroked with light adown its rind ; And the ivy-loaves serenely Eaeh in either intertwined ; And the rose-trees at the doorway, they have neither grown nor pined. From those overblown faint roses Not a leaf appeareth shed. And that little bud discloses Not a thorn's-breadth more of red For the winters and the summers which have passed me overhead. And that music overfloweth, Sudden sweet, the sylvan eaves. Thrush or nightingale — who knoweth ? Fay or Faunus — who believes ? But my heart still trembles in me, to the trembling of the leaves. Ts the bower lost, then ? who sayoth That the bower indeed is lost ? Hark ! my spirit in it prayeth Through the sunshine and the frost, — And the prayer preserves it greenly, to the last and utter- most. A T A L E F V I L L A F R A N A. 149 Till another open for me In God's Eden-land unknown, With an angel at the doorway White with gazing at His Throne, And a saint's voire in the palm-trees, singing — " All is lost . . . and won /" A TALE OF VILLAFRANCA. TOLD IX TUSCANY, My little son, my Florentine, Sit down beside my knee, And I will tell yon why the sign Of joy which flushed our Italy lias faded since but yesternight ; And why your Florence of delight Is mourning as you see. A great man (who was crowned one day) Imagined a great Deed : He shaped it out of cloud and clay, He touched it finely till the seed Possessed the flower: from heart and brain He fed it with largo thoughts humane, To help a people's need. 150 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. He brought it out into the sun — They blessed it to his face : " great pure Deed, that hast undone So many bad and base ! generous Deed, heroic Deed, Come forth, be perfected, succeed, Deliver by God's grace.' 7 Then sovereigns, statesmen, north and south, Rose up in wrath and fear, And cried, protesting' by one mouth, " What monster have we here ? A great Deed at this hour of day ? A great just Deed— and not for pay? Absurd, — or insincere. "And if sincere, the heavier blow In that case we shall bear, For where's our blessed ' status quo,' Our holy treaties, where, — Or rights to sell a race, or buy, Protect and pillage, occupy, And civilize despair?" Some muttered that the great Deed meant A great pretext to sin ; And others, the pretext, so lent, Was heinous (to begin). A TALE OF VILLA FRANC A. 151 Volcanic terms of " great" and "just?" Admit such tongues of flame, the crust Of time and law falls in. A great Deed in this world of ours ? Unheard ot the pretence is : It threatens plainly the great Powers ; Is fatal in all senses. A just Deed in the world ? — call out The rifles ! be not slack about The national defences. And many murmured, " From this source What red blood must be poured !" And some rejoiced, " 'Tis even worse ; What red tape is ignored !" All cursed the Doer for an evil Called here, enlarging on the Devil, — There, monkeying the Lord ! Some said, it could not be explained, Some, could not be excused ; And others, "Leave it ..unrestrained, Gehenna's self is loosed." And all cried, " Crush it, maim it, gag it, Set dog-toothed lies to tear it ragged, Truncated and traduced !" 152 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. But He stood sad before the sun, (The peoples felt their fate). " The world is many, — I am one ; My great Deed was too great. God's fruit of justice ripens slow : Men's souls are narrow ; let them grow. My brothers, we must wait." The tale is ended, child of mine, Turned graver at my knee. They say your eyes, my Florentine, Are English : it ma}' be : And yet I've marked as blue a pair Following the doves across the square At Venice by the sea. Ah, child ! ah, child ! I cannot say A word more. You conceive The reason now, why just to-day We see our Florence grieve. Ah, child ! look up into the sky ! In this low world, where great Deeds die, What matter if we live? A PORTRAIT 15o V 1 ^ h .'*$< A PORTRAIT. "One name is Elizabeth."— Ben Jonson. I will paint her as I see her. Ten times have the lilies blown, Since she looked upon the sun. 7* -154 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. And her face is lily-clear, Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty Oval cheeks encoloured faintly, Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air : And a forehead fair and saintly, Which two blue eyes undershine, Like meek prayers before a shrine. Face and figure of a child, — Though too calm, you think, and tender. For the childhood you would lend her. Yet child-simple, undefiled, Frank, obedient, — waiting still On the turnings of your will. Moving light, as all your things. As young birds, or early wheat, When the wind blows over it. Only, free from flutterings Of loud mirth that seorneth measure- Taking love for her chief pleasure. A PORTRAIT. 155 Choosing pleasures, for the rest, Which come softly — just as she, When she nestles at your knee. Quiet talk she liketh best, In a bower of gentle looks — Watering flowers, or reading books. And her voice it, murmurs lowly As a silver stream may run, Which vet feels, you feel, the sun. 1 5G POEMS OF CHI L I) HOOD. And her smile, it seems half* holy, As if drawn from thoughts mure fair Than our common jestings arc. And if any poet knew her, He would sing- of her with falls Used in lovely madrigals. And if any painter drew her, lie would paint her unaware With a halo round the hair. And if reader read the poem, He would whisper — "You have done a Consecrated little Una." .Vnd a dreamer (did you show him That same picture) would exclaim, "'Tis my angel, with a name I" And a stranger, when he sees her In the street even — smileth stilly, Just as you would at a lily. And all voices that address her, Soften, sleeken every word, As if speaking to a bird. VOID IX LAW. 157 And all fancies yearn to cover The bard earth whereon she passes; With the thymy scented grasses. And all hearts do pray, " God love her !"- Ay, and always, in good sooth, We may all be sure He doth. "VOID IX LAW. Sleep, little babe, on my knee, Sleep, for the midnight is chill, And the moon has died out in the tree, And the great human world goeth ill. Sleep, for the wicked agree : Sleep, let them do as they will. Sleep. Sleep, thou hast drawn from my breast The last drop of milk that was good ; And now, in a dream, suck the rest, Lest the real should trouble thy blood. Suck, little lips dispossessed, As we kiss in the air whom we would Sleep. 158 POEMS OF CHILDHOOD. lips of thy father ! the same, So like ! Very deepty they swore When he gave me his ring and his name, To take back, I imagined, no more ! And now is all changed like a game, Though the old cards are used as of yore ? Sleep. " Void in law," said the Courts. Something wrong In the forms ? Yet, " Till death part us two, I, James, take thee, Jessie," was strong, And One witness competent. True Such a marriage was worth an old song, Heard in Heaven though, as plain as the New. Sleep. Sleep, little child, his and mine ! Her throat has the antelope curve, And her cheek just the color and line Which fade not before him nor swerve : Yet she has no child ! — the divine Seal of right upon loves that deserve. Sleep. My child ! though the world take her part, Saying, " She was the woman to choose, He had eyes, was a man in his heart," — VOI Ii IX LAW. 159 We twain the decision refuse : We . . weak as I am, as thou art, . . Cling on to him, never to loose. Sleep. He thinks that, when done with this place, All's ended ? he'll new-stamp the ore ? Yes, Caesar's — but not in our case. Let him learn we are waiting before The grave's mouth, the heaven's gate, God's face. With .implacable love evermore. Sleep. lie's ours, though he kissed her but now ; He's ours, though she kissed in reply ; He's ours, though himself disavow, And God's universe favour the lie ; Ours to claim, ours to clasp, ours below, Ours above, . . if we live, if we die. Sleep. Ah baby, my baby, too rough Ts my lullaby ? What have I said ? Sleep ! When I've wept long enough T shall learn to weep softly instead, And piece with some alien stuff My heart to lie smooth for thy head. Sleep. 100 1' <> E M S OF fill I. D II o D . Two souls met upon thee, my Bweet ; Two loves led thee out to the sun : Alas, pretty hands, pretty feet, If the one who remains (only one) Set her grief at thee, turned in a heat To thine enemy, — were it well done. Sleep. May He of the manger stand near And love thee ! An infant He came To His own who rejected Him here, But the Magi brought gifts all the same / hurry the cross on my Dear 1 My gifts are the griefs 1 declaim ! Sleep. M V CHILD 1()1 MY CHILD. My child, we were two children, Small, merry by childhood's law ; We used to crawl to the hen-house. And hide ourselves in the straw. We crowed like cocks, and whenever The passers near us drew — Cock-a-doodle ! they thought 'Twas a real cock that crew. The boxes about our courtyard We carpeted to our mind, And lived there both together — Kept house in a noble kind. The neighbor's old cat often Came to pay us a visit ; We made her a bow and curtsey Each with a compliment in it, 162 l'<> K M S (i K (' 11 I I, I> H (> (> D After her health we asked, Our care and regard to evince — (We have made the very same speeches To many an old eat since.) We also sate and wisely Discoursed, as old folks do. Complaining how all went better In those o-oo 1 times we knew, — How love and •truth, and believing Had left the world to itself, And how so dear was the coffee, And how so rare was the pelf. The children's games are over, The rest is over with youth — The world, the good games, the good times. The belief, and the love, and the truth. £ 740 ^,. vV ° ^ \ i n -^ ■ -i, ' , ' c**, •w Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: March 2009 Treatment Date: March 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranhorrv Tnuinohin DA loo™ 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 vOo ^^-y^,^ s S \' X