Oass Book PStxtfk B) bequest of William Lukens Shoemaker STUDIES JOHN A. DORGAN. THIRD EDITION PHILADELPHIA : Published bv Charles H. Marot, No. 605 ARCH STREET. 18 66. 4r Entered according to Act of Cougress, in tbe year 1S62, BY JOHN A. DORGAN, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. QiA. 7 t »0« JOSEPH BALL, ESQ., OF FRANKFORD, THESE PAGES ARE INSCRIBED, AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF THE REGARD OF HIS FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE. Legion, - 1 The Poet's Love, 9 Fate, 1 1 The Triumph of the Truth, 12 Never, 1G Poppies, H Hymn to Night, 21 Remorse, 24 The Exile, 25 Why have we met ? 2? Medusa, 28 Calm, 29 Ocean, 31 The Dead Solomon, 32 The Lovers, 36 Endymion, 38 Glamour, 40 Sonnets, 41 Lethe, 47 Sir Rupert, 49 The Tide, 51 K„ 52 Winter, 54 The New Poet, 55 vi contents. Long Ago, 59 The Nightingale, Gl To , G3 The Dreamer, G4 The Voice, 66 Lines, 67 The Castle in the Air, 68 The Mermaid, TO Disenchanted, 72 Sir Rohan, 73 The Burial op the Conqueror, 75 Song — Gone, 83 Tannhauser, 84 The Same, 94 The Charmer, 97 The River op Tears, 98 Bitter Sweet, 101 The Temptation op the Actor, 103 The Fallen Star, 106 The Iron Harp, 107 First Loss, 109 The Deformed, 111 Boat Song, 114 Kavadiska, 116 Beauty, 118 The Statue, 119 A Farewell, 121 The Stars, 122 The Cap and Bells, 123 CONTENTS. VII Too Late, 124 Twilight, 1-6 To a Friend, 12 ^ Lost, 12s King Death, 129 The Thought, 131 Ernest Hay, 132 In Arctis, 135 It Might Have Been, 139 The Ghosts, 140 The Rose, 141 The Mystic, 142 How Shall we Wed ? 143 Melancholia, 144 Poe, 146 Man and Woman, 147 Una, 149 To Earthly Beauty, 151 Autumn, 152 Unrest, 154 No, 156 Fame, 157 The Bard of Pain, 159 The Kiss, 160 Song — Let us Forget, 161 The Death Bed, 162 Agnes, 166 Sylvia, 167 Changed, 168 viii contents, Departed, 170 Marah, 171 The Gate, 172 Dreams, 173 Not Yet, 174 The Troll's Captive, 175 The Philtre, 177 The Sphynx, 179 Time, 180 Tender and True, 181 Amidst the Darkness, 183 Why Sleeps thy Soul ? 1 85 November, 187 The Past and Future, 188 The Garden, 191 Our Love, 192 Psyche, 194 The Statesman, 198 Mene, Mene, 198 The Martyr, 200 The Sword of Fire, 202 The New Year, 1858, 204 The New Year, 1861, 206 From the Dead, 208 The Herald, 210 Burns, 211 The Wild Waves, 214 By the Sea, 216 The Praise op Sorrow, 217 The Best of Boodh, 219 LEGION i. I read ; and evermore my heart in time With the wild mnsic of the poet throbbed ; Now it arose, serene, assured, sublime, And now, impatient and uncertain, sobbed : It shook with ecstacy the panting stars ; In dungeons dank it made its rayless lair ; It rent i:s chains, and wrenched away its bars, In agonies of ultimate despair. And then I wept, who long for deathless fame, Because the words I utter are so weak, Whose fate I reckon not, accepting shame As justly mine, so coldly do I speak, LEGION. II. With bitter sneers or idle stares They pass the Future's poet by, Nor know a richer soul than theirs Mocks at their haughtier penury. But could they lift the veil that clips The secrets of the years to be, What passionate joy would touch their lips, And they would gaze how differently ! For he shall wear the laurel crown ; And all the world, with dazzled eyes, Shall listen, gazing toward his throne In eagle depths of blazing skies. III. Like lightnings of the summer night, That come and go without a sound, Great thoughts have fill'd me with delight, And passing, left a gloom profound. As if a prophet should be weak To speak God's word, even so with me ; For I am dumb ; I cannot speak The beautv I was born to see. LEGION. 3 Harsh destiny ! as if there were Lovers, whom fate forbids to wed, And love to part ; who, pining near Each other, wish that they were dead. Patience, my soul ! I said of yore, For time shall touch thy silent lips ; And thou shalt speak thy secret lore, In music brighter for eclipse. Or else, I said, the dreams will cease, That vex thee with their riddles high ; Than thus to dwell, and know not peace, 'Twere better, so methinks, to die. I erred : my lips are sealed as then ; Nor ceased my dreams, but more they come ; I wander lonely amongst men, "Who know not that my soul is dumb — Like ships that spell-bound roam the deep, And pass by many a happy shore, And know the weary watch they keep Shall be in vain forevermore. LEGION. IV. My heart is old In the sorrowful thought, in the tearful lore, That only the poet's eye hath read, That only the poet's tongue hath told. My heart is cold, As the sleet that clings to the branches frore, As the sightless winds that howling tread In the dreary midnight the shimmering wold. Great thoughts in glory or in gloom arrayed Like thunder clouds across my soul are borne ; But what avails it ? One by one, they fade, And I remain forlorn ; Sullen and sad, I sit, and feel, as they fade and die, The silent sorrow that maketh mad With the deathly stare of its stony eye. — The indignant spirit beats its bars ; It trembles for the happy stars. V. For beauty I longed from my youth, And truth : And the hunsrer I felt, and the thirst, LEGION. Were accurst : And I weep that the sounds of my lyre Shall expire ; That the rapture I breathe, and the pain, Are in vain. For the shapes that I chase, If a moment I clasp, Die in my fiery gaze, Fade in my passionate grasp, Like the streams in the desert that sink, As the pilgrim approaches to drink. And the poet shall die ; but his strain, And the rapture it breathes, and the pain, Shall remain, And like winds from the garden of God, With perfume and melody shod, Wander abroad. Oh, could I speak the desire That clothes me with fire ! And oh, could I utter the woe That I know, As I feel that in vain I aspire ! LEGION. VI. Low voices, chanting mournful ditties, Trouble the silence of my sleep ; Like bells that peal in sunken cities, Stirred by blind motions of the deep. They whisper of the dream departed, And of the aspiration fled, The love that perished broken-hearted, The hope that smiled and fell down dead, Oh, who shall guide the plough, contented, With hands that might have swayed the sword? And I have wept, but not relented, Hearing those mournful murmurs poured, For who but I shall bear this burden ? But all who will may gather flowers ; And take of such the proffered guerdon, Glad spirits of more blissful hours, A traitor ! Loyal to the beauty That is forevermore am I ,* He serveth best who serveth duty, Though by to-morrow it may die, LEGION. VII. I fling the gauntlet down to Time — To Time, that mocks my feeble rhyme : I spit at Fate, that does me wrong — At Fate, that drowns my dying song. Oh thou art strong, and sharp thy scythe, Old graybeard ; and thy limbs are lithe : And thou art stern, detested Fate ; And I am weak, and yet must wait. But oh, be sure the soul grows strong In battle fierce, and suffering long ! Sinews of hate and thews of woe Have conquered many a haughty foe ; They clothe with lightning every bone Of this defiant skeleton ; Immortal hate, immortal pain, Are burning in each bursting* vein. Come on \ I scorn ye, Time and Fate ! I feel that ye have made me great, And by myself I swear that ye My slaves, my suppliants, shall be, LEGION. Henceforth we part not ! Crouch, and own Your creature-master. Have I won Already ? Ha ! the truth appears — Ye are but victors by our fears ; And he, who dares your wrath, shall be Your chosen lord, and only he. THE POET'S LOYE. Oh love ! I Lope to win a name That endless time shall lessen not ; And all the universe aflame Glows in the fervor of my thought ; And my swift fancy comes and goes, A splendor robed in light divine, And like an ocean, ebbs and, flows This boundless poet heart of mine. For me the flowers their perfumes keep ; For me the stars their choral chants ; And if I wake, or if I sleep, Beauty, the mystery that pants For the embrace of strength, is near, To me unveils her pensive face, 9 10 THE POET'S LOVE. And smiles upon me without fear, In many a wild and lonesome place. And fiercer are the fires of day, And deeper are the glooms of night, That opening inward, far away, Unfold to my anointed sight ; And it is thine, to say to me, Which I shall take for my abode, Infinite bliss or misery, The Pit of Hell, the throne of God. FATE. These withered hands are weak, But they shall do my bidding, though so frail ; These lips are thin and white, but shall not fail The appointed words to speak. Thy sneer I can forgive, Because I know the strength of destiny ; Until my task is done I cannot die, And then I would not live. 11 THE TEIUMPH OF THE TEUTH. The middle of the night drew on apace, And, sad of mood, alone, afar I stood, Where the dank moonlight filled an open space, Amidst an ancient wood. Methought that, through the silence of the night, I heard sweet music coming from afar, That, with the eagerness of its delight, Did tremble like a star. And I heard songs of triumph chaunted loud, That nigher seemed to draw and ever nigher ; Now swooning earthward like a heavy cloud, Now surging up like fire. 12 THE TRIUMPH OF THE TRUTH. 13 i And louder evermore the music grew, With its shrill ecstacy drawing the breath ; The songs of triumph shook the infinite blue With tremors as of death. Then silence fell ; and through the open space, In which I stood, a strange procession passed, Moving as noiselessly upon the grass As spirits on the blast. Out of the darkness of the wood they came ; Into the darkness opposite they went — Imperial forms, whose gestures did proclaim The depth of their content. Thrilled their fierce lips and flashed their earnest eyes With joy, as they upon each other gazed ; Flushed were their faces thin, and to the skies Their wasted arms were raised. I knew the pageant was the triumph high Of Truth : I knew these were her worshippers ; For this, for this, who perished silently In the unreturning years ! 14 THE TRIUMPH OF THE TRUTH. These passed, and then, with hopeless eyes down- cast, Each with his hands clasped on his burning heart, There came a vanquished throng, who each, aghast, Walked moodily apart : And in each visage woe unspeakable, Tn many strange contortions, could I see, Which of the undying worm and flames of hell Hinted unwillingly. They passed, and after them, a thing of terror, The goddess they had worshipped, with a sneer Upon her queenly countenance — the Error ! Above or shame or fear : For though the sceptre from her hand was riven, And from her brow the circle, she kept still Her evil beauty which divided heaven And her desire for ill. She gazed around her with a weary air ; Not without reason was she deified ; Troubled, indeed, but mailed against despair, In passion and in pride. THE TRIUMPH OF THE TRUTH. 15 Last, in a stately chariot, trembling, wan, The victor, Truth. Her eyes were full of tears ; For from that hour her peaceful reign began, And all the happy years Of all the infinite To-Be were her's ; What marvel that she wept and trembled then? Fallen were the Error and her worshippers, Never to rise again ! And they were gone — and once again arose The music that befitted such a sight, And, as the sea convulsed with tempest throes, It thundered through the night : As if a whirlwind passed, the trees were rent ; The forest fell to dust, on every side ; And I grew mad, and shouted my delight, And swooned : would I had died ! NEVER. There is never a cloud in the sky, Nor a breath of wind to stir the forests leafless and dreary ; No forests so deep and dark, no sky so solemn and high, As the love that makes life weary. Oh ! let the sky above Grow dark, and the barren woods to their hearts by a storm be shaken : For to-night, to-night, I will dream ; I will dream of her I love, And die ere I awaken. 16 POPPIES. Wild faces full of pain around me glow Upon the dark ; and sounds of wrong Are in my ear ; And, low and clear, At fitful intervals I hear, Soothing the discord, strains of solemn song By angels chanted, sweeping by In argent calm, as from the cloudy sky The moon breaks forth, and all the dread Of darkness suddenly is fled. Spring, and the woods their green renew ! Spring, and the skies again are blue ! I feel a feverish bliss that grows to pain, A drowsy poison in each languid vein ; A2 17 18 POPPIES. I long for action ; to endure or do I care not what ; for here, by slow degrees, My soul is wasted in inglorious ease. Vain longing ! Idle dream ! "Why should I rise ? Let it suffice, I can but will not. 'Tis the sense Of gods in their omnipotence, This longing in the calm of the skies ; But they are wise, And let the tempest sweep, and reap the sword, The dull, dense regions of the painful earth, Tempering with sounds abhorred The too, too sweet accord Of their melodious mirth. Why should I rise ? I mock the wise : For all the secrets of the skies, The glory bards desire in vain, The maddening rapture, the delicious pain Of love that bard hath never known or sung With cloying words and honeyed tongue, The wealth of every sea and every land Are mine, and only mine ; rorriES. 1 9 And mine, and only mine, the calm divine, That who that hath not felt shall understand. Why should I rise ? I gaze with all-compelling eyes, And lo! the desert blooms, and earth grows paradise ; And crowded marts and battlemented walls, Turrets, and domes, and spires of strange device, "Wild woods and snowy mountains, Calm lakes, swift torrents, and the splash of foun- tains, And murmurous sound of gleaming waterfalls, Are where the naked silence dwelt, like some mad monk, so long ! I listen : golden numbers float Unto me, starry strains of sweetest song, And thoughts of things remote. Oh, it is sweet to dream as I have dreamed, To dream as I am dreaming ; For only thought is real ! What hath seemed Hath been. Is, what is seeming. Why should I strive the thought to carve in stone That stone cannot express ; in words, The passion that no tongue hath known ; 20 poppies. In sound, the strains that mock our subtlest chords ? So, let me know them, and so let them go, Unuttered unto all beside below. HYMN TO NIGHT. Ob ; Night! Black Night! Slow-footed, starless Night ! Stoop down and let me fold thee to my soul ; For of the majesty of thy despair I am a part, and thou a part of me. Darkness in earth and heaven, and in my heart ! I own thy strength. How often have I gazed Upon thee thus ! Gloomy and fell as now Wast thou ; but I was happier, as I thought, And understood not thy wild tenderness : But now, stoop down, and with a kiss forgive me, For henceforth I will worship thee alone. 21 22 HYMN TO NIGHT. There was a time I would Lave questioned thee ; For men have held thee wise, and full of craft, Potent for good and ill, but most for ill, And empress of a realm of mysteries, Of dreams and omens, and all hidden things, The awful secrets thine of destiny, The lost past, unknown future, life, and death ; And questioned thee, in whispers, shuddering Even as they questioned thee, dreading thy answer, Which came not. Now I will not bid thee speak, For could I ask a boon, that boon were death, And thou canst give it not, nor yet withhold, Bat art as sad and feeble as myself, Strong only even as I myself am strong, Strong only in the patience to endure, And the serenity of thy despair, Which is immortal. Solemn, godlike Night ! Thou answerest not by voice, or sight, or sense. Shall earthly frailty move thee from thy calm ? A thousand sounds of man's discordant life, Sad as the earth upon the coffin-lid When mortal hopes are ended, in thy ear HYMN TO NIGHT. 23 Dave fallen thus — thy hollow gloom remains, Nor more, nor less, but evermore the same, As if they were not, or as if thou wast not, The silence of the dead unto the dead, The darkness of the riddle of the world. I would not have it otherwise, Enough To know thy secret and thy sympathy. The silence of thy sovereign nature keep, Oh, awful Night ! I, too, henceforth, will be Dumb, in the voiceless cloisters of my heart Shutting the stony quiet which I feel. BE MOKSE I die. I know that men shall haunt my grave — Great men, to weep a kindred spirit fled — Whose souls in hours of mirthfulness and gloom, Upon my verses fed ; I know the critics shall be kind at last ; I know the world shall deem that not in vain I lived ; but I — alas, oh barren past I "Would I could live again ! 24 THE EXILE. Shadows of lost delight I arise And move my darksome soul to tears ; Kenew the light of faded skies, The rapture of the fallen spheres ; For I will give to night to these ; To-morrow to the stormy seas — Beyond them, it may be, is peace I Even as I speak, the past returns ; I dwell again in Paradise ; Around the ardent spring-tide burns ; Above us laugh the happy skies ; All things in gladness onward move, And earth beneath and heaven above Are full of love and only love. B 25 26 THE EXILE. Of all that joy a part are we ; Of all that love we snare the bliss ; And know the years to come shall be As full of happiness as this : — I drain my madness to the lees, — To-morrow to the stormy seas, — Beyond them, it may be, is peace ! For all the rapture was my own ; And all the falsehood hers ; and so, The dream that lit the earth is gone, And I the dreamer sadly go : No more of mournful memories ; To-morrow to the stormy seas, — Beyond them, it may be, is peace ! WHY HAVE WE MET? Why have we met ? Each gazing upon each, With vain desire we wither and grow pale, Whom love forbids to love, forbids to part. Sad are the days we spend together ; sad The artificial smile, the formal speech, So different from the words that haunt our lips. More sad the nights when we have said 'Farewell!' More sad the lonely couch, the dream of bliss That cannot, shall not be. Why have we met ? Why have we met ? We cannot speak the thought That fills our eyes with tears, our hearts with woe. Why have we met? Oh God ! Why have we met ? 27 MEDUSA Say not that I to this despair With artful smiles have guided thee ! Is it my fault that I am fair ? ' Art thou to blame that I am free ? I knew not that thou could'st not look On me and live : Lo, I can shut Our friendship, as I would a book ! Lo, I can trample it under foot ! I wrong thee not. No more ! Arise ! I am Medusa unto thee ; I smite thee with my placid eyes ; But curse thy destiny, not me !• 28 CALM. On a dreary eve of a wintry day, A poet sate by his fire alone ; His brow was wrinkled ; bis hair was gray ; His heart of fire was a heart of stone. The poet sate by the fire alone, And silently gazed on the flickering flame, And calmly he thought of the days agone As the lisrht on his forehead went and came. Quenched in his heart was the fever thirst For fame ; he had labored ; the world was proud- Praised, alike his best and worst, "With noisy clamors, and vauntings loud : But his haughty spirit its praise denied ; All he had done he held as naught, 29 30 CALM. Wan as the moon by the day descried, In the light of his greater after thought. For he knew that the works, which the world held great, Were the shards and shells, that his soul had rent And cast behind, as from state to state, Grander and brighter, it onward went. Through the night of time, that he knew was near, His name like a star might onward roll ; It mattered not : in pain and fear He had built, not fame, but a godlike soul. OCEAN . I stand upon the summer sands, And gaze upon the sea, And still he murmurs as of old ■ His ancient mystery. He tells his doubts and his desires Unto a thousand lands ; With him they laugh, with him they weep, But no one understands. The sadness of immortal thought His lonely spirit shrouds, And this he speaks in unknown tongues To perishable crowds, In strains as sorrowful and grand, As some great poet's lay, Which the world murmurs to itself When he has passed away. 31 THE DEAD SOLOMON. " And when we had decreed that Solomon should die, nothing discovered his death to them except the creeping thing of the earth, which gnawed his staff. " And when his body fell down, the Genii plainly- perceived that had they known what is secret they had not continued in a vile punishment. n I. King Solomon stood in the house of the Lord, And the Genii silently wrought around, Toiling and moiling without a word, Building the temple without a sound. II. Fear and rage were theirs, but naught In mien or face, of fear or rage : For had he guessed their secret thought, They had pined in hell for many an age. 32 THE DEAD SOLOMON. 33 III. Closed were the eyes that the demons feared ; Over his breast streamed his silver beard; Bowed was his head, as if in prayer, As if, through the busy silence there, The answering voice of God he heard. IV. Solemn peace was on his brow, Leaning upon his staff in prayer ; And a breath of wind would come and go, And stir his robe, and beard of snow, And long white hair; But he heeded not, Wrapt afar in holy thought. V. King Solomon stood in the house of the Lord, And the Genii silently wrought around, Toiling and moiling without a word, Building the temple without a sound. VI. And now the work was done, Perfected in every part ; 34 THE DEAD SOLOMON. And the demons rejoiced at heart, And made ready to depart, But dared not speak to Solomon, To tell him their task was done, And fulfilled the desire of his heart. VII. So around him they stood with eyes of fire, Each cursing the king in his secret heart, — Secretly cursing the silent king, Waiting but till he should say " Depart ;" Cursing the king, Each evil thing : But he heeded them not, nor raised his head ; For King Solomon was dead ! VIII. Then the body of the king fell down ; For a worm had gnawed his staff in twain ; He had prayed to the Lord that the house he planned Might not be left for another hand, Might not unfinished remain ; So praying, he had died ; But had not prayed in vain. THE DEAD SOLOMON. 35 IX. So the body of the king fell down ; And howling fled the fiends amain ; Bitterly grieved, to be so deceived, Howling afar they fled ; Idly they had borne his chain. And done his hateful tasks, in dread Of mystic penai pain, — And king Solomon was dead ! THE LOVERS. Back from the Holy Land he came, (The river runs downward to the sea,) With his old fond love and his knightly fame ; (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) They met by chance at the olden spot, (The river runs downward to the sea,) And the lady — ha ! she knew him not ; (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) For time apd care, and Moslem sword, (The river runs downward to the sea,) Had marred the face of that valiant lord ; (Sing ever, my true love. I wait for thee !) 36 THE LOVERS. 37 And another was with her, and even then (The river runs downward to the sea,) With laughter she told him the tale again ; (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) Of the vows she breathed, so long ae;o, (The river runs downward to the sea,) There, when the crescent moon was low ; (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) " You are not jealous," the lady said ; (The river runs downward to the sea,) " The dream is fled," the lady said, "And he in Palestine is dead ;" (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) The good knight turned, he spake no word, (The river runs downward to the sea,) But shuddering cast away his sword ; (Sing ever, my true love, I wait for thee !) BNDYMION. By sorrow wedded unto poesy, He loved in airy dreams apart, Beneath the melancholy moon to lie, And waste his passionate heart. In all the world he felt himself alone, And therefore Nature only loved ; Heedless of man, as one upon a throne, From sympathy removed. By the same sorcery by which flowers draw From dank earth and invisible air Perfume and color, from such thoughts as awe The spirit m despair, 38 ENDYMION. 39 His eye a starry splendor, and his face A spiritual beauty drew ; And still he kept not the accustomed ways, Nor earthly love he knew. When he died young, because his mystery Baffled their cunning, men did make The legend which you know, how heavenly Diana did forsake Her state among the gods, her purity Forgot, and in the middle-night Took earthly shape his paramour to be : And undivine delight Shared with him, whilst he slept, but fled ere morn ; He woke, and found her not, and sighed, "Wandered with unfulfilled desire forlorn, Withered away and died. GLAMOUE. With what a glory glowed the day, A rapture that could not decay, And choral with unnumbered spheres How rang the night of other years ! By greener paths than these I tread I wandered when the dawn was red ! On grander hills the statelier trees Were loud with sweetest prophecies ; The air a richer perfume fell, And aching lay along the dell ; A louder anthem sang the sea Of a diviner mystery. A radiance flooded all the air I A splendor brightened everywhere ! I loved ! I loved ! and day and night Were overflowing with delight ! 40 SONNETS. i. LOVE. My love has taught me. He is more than life, And all that know him not were better dead. His is the only calm, the only strife ; There are no tears but those that he has shed ; No doubts but his ; no tremors but his tremors ; No smiles but his ; no kisses but his kisses ; No hopes but his ; no dreamers but his dreamers ; No speech but his ; no blisses but his blisses. No longer stand afar, apart, alone, But love, and loving thou shalt be beloved ; No longer close thine eyes unto the sun, Nor be a statue, silent and unmoved, Nor look on sorrow with a tearless eye, Nor without gladness see joy passing by. B2 41 42 SONNETS. II. THE AWAKENING. "Ah, is it well, that thou with stormy shouts, Shouldst wrong my deep and sure tranquillity, Saying — 'Arise Ithe days of dreams and doubts Are ended, and the world awaits for thee.' Not yet," my sad heart murmurs, " Oh ! not yet ; Sweet is the drowsy life I lead, most sweet." " The inevitable gates are open set, The multitudes impatient throng the street, They clamor for thy coming." '' Oh ! not yet ; Sweet is the drowsy life I lead, most sweet." " Arise ! Oh, Heart — be firm, no more regret The life, that hath been thine, so incomplete. Arise, Arise." "I yield. Oh; who shall be Wiser than God, stronger than Destiny ?" in. STRIFE. The years are minutes, melting in the glow Of fervid aspiration that I feel : The minutes, years, that into stono congeal With tempests of despair that on me blow. Infinite victory that I foreknow SONNETS. 4o Cannot the caverns of my anguish seal. Infinite pain, cannot my rapture steal. If I endure, what jagged heights of woe My naked feet must climb ? If I refuse, What calm of god-like power shall I resign ? Hard is the task, betwixt the twain to choose, And yet the task perpetually is mine. Alas ! for such a doom as this, — the worst ; Both life and death are curses and accursed. IV. MIDNIGHT. I would not tamely tread the beaten way ; I would not marvel at the olden sights ; Beneath another night, another day, My spirit did exult in strange delights. The dreams of youth which did out-climb the stars, The hopes of youth which did out-run the wind, The will of youth which knew nor bounds nor bars, All these, alas ! are feeble now, and blind. Quenched is the radiance in the past that shone, My strength hath become weakness, my desire ^Despair, my crown of fame a crown of fire ; Gone is the yearning, and the vision gone ; 44 SONNETS. And to the glory which hath fled, in vain Shall man or God make murmur " Come again!" v. LIFE AND DEATH. The sworder by the sword shall fall, I said ; Nor less the dreamer in his dream shall cease. And Life replied — " They do but seem to fade :" But Death was silent. To the stony peace That on the pallid forehead lays his hand, And lays his head upon the marble breast, lie pointed, as if I should understand, And smiled ; but never syllable expressed. And still I gaze into his dreamless eyes, And gazing, feel the life within me shrink ; And still I muse upon his mysteries, But never nigher draw unto their brink. When we are one, and then, alas ! alone, The meaning of his silence shall be shown. VI. TO-NIGHT. I thank thee, Father, that I die alone ; They passed before, whose true and tender pain, I might have craved ; who now that they are gone SONNETS. 45 Feel that the pang I felt was not in vain, Since it has spared them this. I die unknown, A withered bud, an incompleted strain. For this I thank thee, Father ; none shall moan, Trembling, lest such a doom should come again, Saying, " Oh : Hope, he hoped : Oh! Love, he loved, And is not ; yet ye promised him, as thus Ye promise, saying, ' All shall be removed, But the assurance that ye place in us.' Ye cannot us deceive who him deceived," But now they shall believe, and be believed. VII. OBLIVION. Weep not, oh, Beauty ! that thy spells shall cease ; Nor moan, oh, Love ! that thy desire shall die ; Cease not, oh, Hope ! to breathe sweet melodies, Though evermore they fade away on high And perish utterly, leaving us sad As if a star had vanished from the sky ; The poet's brain to vex till he goes mad, Forget not, Fame ! though thou art vanity ; Oh, Joy ! no more that thou art mortal sigh ; Because Oblivion is all in all ; 46 SONNETS. And Hate and Ugliness, as with a pall, lie covers ; Shame of immortality Bereaves ; and by his hand with friendly care Led, by the side of Lethe kneels Despair. • LE TEE . Bring wine ; the night draws on to morn ; — Drear night of drearier morrow : Bring wine, for we are all-forlorn, And would forget our sorrow ; Bring wine ; our eyes with tears are dim : Bring wine ; bring wine ; fill to the brim. Bring wine, for other hope is none : Bring wine ; our lives go darkling ; Bring wine ! for grief, like snow in the sun, Melts in the goblet's sparkling : Bring wine ; our eyes with tears are dim : Bring wine ; bring wine ; fill to the brim. 47 48 LETHE. Bring wine ; I almost would, that one Should poison bring thereafter ; The old Egyptian queen outdone, Should be a theme for laughter : Bring wine ; our eyes with tears are dim Bring wine ; bring wine ; fill to the brim. SIB ET7PERT. Sir Rupert to the wars is gone : He shuddered, girding his good sword on ; He wept as he bade his wife farewell ; Shall he come back ? Ah ! who shall tell ? An untold dread was on his face, As sadly he gazed at the ancient place ; And thrice he turned as he rode away, As if he should see it no more for aye. The raven croaked on the roadside bough, And the burial hymn was chanted low, And stumbled his sure-footed steed so tall, As he rode by greenwood and churchyard-Avail. C 49 50 sir RurftiT. He sighed ; for a gloom was in the air, And a voice in his heart that cried Beware ; And he muttered the words of a boding song, At the head of his troop as he rode along — " We seek thee, we fly thee, O Death ! in vain ; The soldier may live, and the priest be slain : Then come with honor, and not disgrace, And take the last of a knightly race." THE TIDE. Cold in the misty autumn sky The moon is overhead ; And stretched along the yellow sands The great sea lieth dead. It was for love of her he died ; But she shall smile again, And he along the yellow sands Shall moan anew his pain : For love of her he shall arise, And of her scorn complain, And for her die a thousand times, And for her live again. But alas ! alas ! for the maiden proud, And alas ! for the poet sweet : Love cannot call his heart to life That breaketh at her feet. 51 K. You should have spoken ; not, that day by day, And night by night, a life of death I bore, Oh, not that I was sad, who might have been so glad — For now I weep no more. You should have spoken ; not that I endured Deep anguish in irrevocable years, For, trust me, for the bliss of such an hour as this I would renew their tears. But that your mighty spirit knew no peace So long, and walking darkling to and fro, Saw neither sun nor moon, knew neither night nor noon, In pride-begotten woe ; 52 k. 53 Unheeding how the seasons came and went, How as of old the skies did change above, And whilst they went and came, low I remained the same, And feared to own my love. WINTER. Now, let the wind arise, and sweep Across the barren wold — And let a cloud hide all the stars, And let the night be cold — Let river and plain be white with snow, What matters it to me ? And let the frozen branches groan — What is it unto thee ? For we can sit beside the fire, And talk of what we will, True friend. Then let the wind arise, And let the night be chill ! And let us laugh, or let us weep, What matters it to me ? And let the world be glad or sad, What is it unto thee ? 54 THE NEW POET. Not in the purple shall the bard be born, For whom the world is listening eagerty ; Else should his songs be listless, sad, and strange, As sounds of withered leaves, by autumn winds Borne shivering along the woodland paths, To rot in eddies of the swollen brooks. But he, in sorrow and in want upreared, Shall feel a sympathy with all who weep ; # And with that sympathy his words shall glow Like clouds of sunset with a thousand hues Of passion, scorn and pity, love and hate ; Each with a purpose wandering through the world, Like stars that wander through eternal space, With light and melody. His soul shall be Rich in strange treasures as the miser sea, 55 56 THE NEW POET. In suffering heaped together, one by one, Like spoils of shipwrecks. Oh ! He shall not pause To measure swords with evil ; but shall feel His heart beat quickly, and his eyes grow dim And his nerves tense, and rush into the fray, Snatching whatever weapon is at hand, Nor heeding of his fate, or life or death, Defeat or victory, trusting in God, Doing his duty, faithful to the end. And he shall eat and drink and love like us ; Be merry and sad like any other man ; But more of tears than laughter shall he know. He shall not sing, in fashion obsolete, Of antique themes, to please the critic's ear ; Nor prune his verse to suit the sickly sense Of a corrupted age. He shall be hated In life, and followed to the grave by hate : For he shall speak harsh truths in bitter words ; Denunciations fierce and prophecies Of woe shall be familiar to his lips. THE NEW POET. 57 Yet, in the pauses of his restless life, Shall gentler strains be his than others know, And subtler music, such as fairies breathe, Which haunts lone shores, dwelling within the air, Stealing from him who hears, his thoughts of ill, And fears that in the solitary night Make the heart throb. His name shall be a word To waken reverence, pity, fame, and love, Familiar wkeresoe'er true hearts like flowers Ope to the poet's golden witcheries. And men shall marvel at his passionate song, Which shall be framed, in melancholy hours, By transformations, strange as Circe wrought, But nobler, of the nothings that wear out Our lives and perish idly ; such with him Shall harden and strengthen into adamant, Eise to the stars, and battle with the storms, And mock the blasts and thunder-bolts of time. He shall not live the life of common men, In getting or in squandering gold ; in seeking 58 THE NEW POET. Eternal fame by cringing to to-day ; His life shall be as noble as bis song ; And ere be dies, be, from tbe Pisgah heights Of bis great soul, shall see the golden years Stretch, like a summer ocean, far away Beneath the windless heavens, in endless calm. LONG AGO. " Di Provenza." Island of the desert sea, Beautiful and far apart ! Beautiful and far apart, Island of the desert sea ! Oh, thou land of Memory ! Oh, thou Orient of the heart ! Oh, thou Orient of the heart ! Oh, thou land of Memory ! Other lands as bright we tread ; But our hearts are with the dead. Other lands as bright may be ; But the glory and the gleam Of thy unforgotten dream Calls us to return to thee — Calls us to thee. 59 60 LONG AGO. Here it seems and yesterday ; Far away and long ago ! Far away and long ago ; Here it seems and yesterday ! Long ago and far away ! Was it then, and is it now ? "Was it then, and is it now Long ago and far away '/ Oh ! like flowers in the snow, Were the joys of long ago ; Other flowers -as bright may be, But the radiance and perfume Of thy amaranthine bloom Cannot perish, memory — Sweet memory. THE NIGHTINGALE. Silver stars are shining bright, Soft winds fan the summer night — Balmy boughs are shakeu ; Out of thickets, dense and dusk, Of dark roses breathing musk, Mourns the nightingale forsaken — Mourns the love-lorn nightingale. Oh the poets made the story, For to-day and for to-morrow, The delightful allegory Of her love and of her sorrow — The delightful, deathless tale — But to hint to me and you That old truth, forever new, Of the uncloying sweetness ^ 62 THE NIGHTINGALE. Of our incompleteness ; That the pain of true hearts is The discord which makes true Nature's sweetest harmonies, As without her mournful strain The glory of this summer-night were vain. TO Thine was the utter loneliness, which is The doom of greatness. Who shall measure The anguish of thy woe by his ? By his The rapture of thy pleasure. And thine a darker strife twixt right and wrong ; Sublimer wisdom ; sadder folly ; And in the honey of thy dreamy song A wilder melancholy. 63 THE DREAMER. But when the sadder twilight fell, Came shadows, speaking words of hell ; And in the ghastlier midnight felt, Obscurer doubts and horrors dwelt. He could not sleep. He heard his name, And wandered forth ; and as he came, A will-o'-the-wisp before him glode, Until they stood where she abode. Afar, behind the haunted wood, The moon was setting, red as blood ; And like a shadow, still as death, The dank tarn slumbered underneath. 64 THE DREAMER. 65 The pines were wreathed with mist ; the tombs Stood spectral in fantastic glooms ; And the wild silence of the dead Mocked, as he gazed, his passion dread. The dim, dilated moon is set : The dreamer and the dead have met ; And if they weep, with her he weeps ; Or if they sleep, with her he sleeps. The dim, dilated moon is gone : The dreamer dead : the dead withdrawn Into the tarn's oblivious flood, And blackness of the haunted wood. C2 THE VOICE. His voice was vibrant with imprisoned pain, That pined for rest in vain, Too great to die, too weak to rend its bars, And pining for the stars. And evermore, as his impassioned strain Died with its wild refrain, The appealing silence eloquently took The throne that it forsook. 66 LINES Though fallen on stricken field they lie, Or blacken on the gallows-tree, Freedom ! thy dead can never die, Because they died for thee : Their names are written on the sky, And all the tongues of land and sea Kepeat the holy syllables To all futurity. Ct THE CASTLE IN THE AIR. Oat of these prison years of pain, I look with desolate disdain, And with the fondness of despair I build my castle in the air ; And as its stately walls arise, I mock the anger of the skies; Forgot the sorrow which await3 Without my castle's diamond gates, I give myself unto my dream ; The years to be around me seem ; The bliss to be deludes no more My soul as in the days of yore. Like some fond mistress who to prove The passionate vows of her true love, 68 THE CASTLE IN THE AIR. G9 Asks noble deeds and patience long, Repaid with seeming scorn and wrong, Till, conquered, full of fond alarms She trembles in his eager arms ; So fortune gives herself to me ; The years to be, the fame to be, Are mine, are mine ; and like a dream The yesterdays of sorrow seem, Obscurest shadows of the bliss Whose radiance from eternal is. Tender-hearted were the years, And their eyes were full of tears ; I knew it ; I smiled, and held my breath ; But my pain was bitterer than death ; At last the years of pain are past, The bliss to be is mine at last. Alas ! Alas ! Alas ! For the pain which is ; for the bliss which was ; The thirsty darkness drinks the light ; I stand where it stood in wild affright ; How bubble-frail each massy stone ! The castle in the air is irone. THE MERMAID. The Mermaid sits in the moonshine white, And sings, as she combs her hair, A marvellous song that thrills the night With its burden strange, Beware ! Beware ! Beware ! And the billows begin to tremble and moan — To moan and dash themselves at her feet, As, ere her lips, their hearts repeat The strain they long have known — The serpent strain they have heard so oft, So lithe, so deadly bright and soft : And the winds, her bodiless slaves, Arise from their secret caves, TO THE MERMAID. 71 And howl, as if to drown the strain Of her tumultuous song ; — In vain ! in vain ! its wild refrain They deepen and prolong. Gone is the magic moon ; And over the sky, so late so fair, A black cloud drifts, through whose ragged rifts The stars like torches flare ; And out of the howling foam beneath Come sounds of peril and pain and death ; Voices that tell of the shipwreck there ; Shrieks and curses of drowning men ; And now and then, Sobs and sighs that lift the hair And lie like a curse on the fainting air ; And now and then above the war Of darkness and despair, The mocking pain of that wild refrain, Beware ! Beware ! Beware ! Beware ! DISENCHANTED. As one, who long hath dwelt in fairy-land, Returned to earth ; with such disdain, I see Wisdom and beauty, coming hand in hand, Do homage unto me. For long ago, what time I dwelt obscure, Before an earnest life had made me great, I knew myself, and mine, unknown and poor, Was all the wealth of Fate. Even in my boyhood, I had drained the cup Of life ; and whilst the crowd around me poured, And passed me by unnoticed, I stood up And felt myself its lord. The fame of fame, of power the power, the love Of love had lost their joy ere really mine ; Had left me calm, that passion is above, And scorn, that is divine. 12 SIK ROHAN. " To Sir Rohan it was neither pleasure nor pain. — All things aroused in him only the sentiment of en- durance." Thenceforth his life was idle ; Pleasure and pain were ghosts ; Unheeded fell the shine or shade Of their aerial hosts. They came and went, nor shattered The calm of his despair : What could they show, they had not shown, Or do, he could not bear ? Yet sometimes in their faces He looked up suddenly ; And starting, nerved himself, and smiled Their shadowy forms to see. D 73 74 SIR, ROHAN. And still their phantom glances He loathed where'er he met ; Familiar with their mysteries, And longing to forget. THE BUEIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. Like a torch-flame, flaring, fading ; Like a voice of wail, arising Wildly, wildly, sadly sinking, Sinking down into a deeper silence, Sinking down into a sadder, darker, drearier night ; From the Abbey of St. Stephen Sounding through the cloudless heaven, From the Abbey's topmost turret Like the sorrowing of a spirit, Pealed a single, silver bell Ringing out the Conqueror's knell. And from out the oaken portals Come the brothers of St. Stephen's, 15 76 THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. Come the cowled brothers ghostly, All in black, with pallid, shrunken faces, All in black, with eager eyes, and meagre, wither- ed hands : And their golden censers swinging, And their broken voices singing, And their waxen tapers winking In the sunlight, rising, sinking, In the golden sunlight shrinking, To a melancholy laughter Move our hearts, which follow after. So adown the streets of Caen Wind the brothers of St. Stephen's, Wind the cowled brothers ghostly, Going forth to meet the Conqueror fallen, Treading onward in slow, solemn, awful cadence With the pealing from the turret Of the Abbey, with the spirit Of dim thought in every bosom Slowly bursting into blossom ; Thus with solemn step they tread, With dim eyes and bended head, Doinir homage to the dead. THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. t 7 But there comes no long procession Winding up the streets of Caen ; Glorying in their fearful burden, Come no brothers for their brother mourn- ing, Children for their father, vassals for their chief- tan mourning ; These are striving for the treasure He has heaped for others' pleasure, For the realms he won but swayed not ; And the twain, who disobeyed not In his life, no longer tremble At his frown, no more dissemble. But the bier is borne by peasants, Which doth hold the mightiest ashes Ever, ever borne by mortals ; They, whom he in life has honored, spurn him ; They, whom he in life has spurned, to day may r^y ; Up beneath the sunny heaven, Towards the Abbey of St. Stephen, Tread the peasants, slowly, slowly, 78 THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. Nearing the procession holy Of the monks, who slowly, chanting, With their waxen tapers flaunting, And their volumed incense glooming O'er their path, are slowly coming. And they meet, and slow returning, Enter in the carved portal Of the Abbey he had founded To repay the evils of a life-time ; And they crowd the aisles, and stand around tbo Altar ; Whence the crucified Redeemer Smiles upon them, as some dreamer, Some great limner , life-forlorn, Dying, imaged half his scorn Of the rags which he had worn In those glittering eyes, which smiling look down From beneath that thorny crown. And the burial mass is ended, And they lift the corpse to lower it Down into the tomb so darksome, THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. 70 Henceforth which, shall be his only palace, Darksome, lonesome, loathsome palace for so dread a king ! Whilst above the patient pealing Of the single, silver bell Einging out the Conqueror's knell, Chiming mournfully, is stealing, Unawares, all thoughts away From the Monarch's pallid clay, Lifting up all hearts there present, Up into the heaven of heavens, To the throne of God ; and sadly Falling back, with memory overladen ; Falling back with groans and curses overladen; Groans and curses heaped on him Who lay there with eyeballs dim, Who lay there with silent lips Fixed in the death-eclipse, And a brow all wan and wrinkled With the furrows time had sprinkled. 80 THE BVIIIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. Aye ! Each heart was sad and heavy ; The red past was sad and woful, And the future sad and ominous ; Each did shut his eyes and listen darkly, Listen to his wildly throbbing, trembling and fore- boding heart ; And with selfish sorrow, they Gazed upon the pallid clay ; And each eye with teardrops glistened As they looked above, and listened To that single, silver bell, Hinging out the Conqueror's knell. Like a torch-flame, flaring, fading; Like a voice of wail, arising Wildly, wildly, sadly sinking, Sinking down into a deeper silence, Sinking down into a deeper, darker, drearier night ; From the Abbey of St. Stephen Sounding through the cloudless heaven, From the Abbey's topmost turret Like the sorrowing of a spirit, Peals t'mt single, silver bell Hinging out the Conqueror's knell. THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. 81 Lo ! A stir, a mighty murmur In that mournful, trembling crowd ; " Who is he, beside the altar, " 'With peasant hands upon the kingly shroud ?" See! they start up from their knees, that vast, mournful, trembling crowd. " Peasant Churl ! what dost thou here, Touching thus the Conqueror's bier ; Staying thus his funeral, Who, in life though stern to all, Yet in death at least may crave A kingly sepulchre, a monarch's grave, In the Abbey which he founded and the lands he to it gave ?" " Stood the dwelling of my fathers, Where this lordly Abbey standeth : He, for whom ye pray all vainly, Truly gave it ye ; but could he give ye What was mine, and is, for I have neither given nor sold it; Nor by treason forfeited Unto him ? And I forbid, 82 THE BURIAL OF THE CONQUEROR. In the name of God, that here Ye give this haughty robber sepulchre ?" They have paid the low-born peasant For his father's lands, and buried The renowned Conqueror. Lonely Is the Abbey. Through the stately por- tal, Through the antique and grotesquely carven, oaken portal, Let us pass; and leave the dead All alone : whilst overhead, From the Abbey's topmost turret, Like the wailing of a spirit, Sounds that single, silver bell, Einging out the fallen Conqueror's knell. SONG. Gone ! and I untroubled sleep By dreams of her bright eyes ; So long and weary, so dark and dreary, The years in dust she lies ; The sunlight sits in shadow ; The night is an ebon pall ; The world he wrongeth to death belongeth, So let him take it all ! Gone ! and memory half forgets The musie of her voice ; But all things sadden, which erst did gladden, And weep, which did rejoice ; Its glory all forgotten. The dream rocks to its fall ; The world he wrongeth to death belongeth, So let him take it all ! 83 TANNHAUSEK. PAET ONE. The minstrel-kniglit, Tannhauser, Sits dumb with brooding eyes : " What troubles thee my true love V' The goddess Venus cries ; " What sorrow weighs upon thy heart, Here in my paradise ?" " A dream," he answered With tremulous voice and slow: " Thy lover, thy beloved, Must from thy kingdom go. " Oh, never, never, never, Though all around surprise, 84 TANNHAUSER. 85 Though true my love as ever, Though bright as e'er thiue eyes, Shall the peace of old my heart enfold Here in thy paradise ! " The world of life and the world of death Are held in my limitless love for thee, As the welkin circles the earth beneath, As the kraken girdles the monstrous sea. "And bright is the world which thy spells uprear, Too bright ! and sweet this life, too sweet ! A mortal, I yearn for the changeful year, And the day and the night of the incomplete. " Let thy godhead, free from earthly wants, Exult in the calm of thy changeless mirth ; My mortal nature trembles and pants For the sorrow and joy of the life of earth. " Old sights, old sounds Upon me throng, 'The running waters, The minstrel's song, 86 TANNHAUSER. " Upon the ocean The glancing sail, In tilt and tonrney The gleam of mail, And in the greenwood The nightingale. " For in a dream, beloved one, I saw the midnight skies, And watched — I know not why I watched One star with eager eyes — " One glorious, silver star, which rose With solemn flight and slow, Till from the very top of heaven Its rays did on me flow. " Then fell a wind, a bitter wind, As out of space afar, And from the very top of heaven, Where shone that single star. " And borne upon the wind, I heard The solemn sounds of old ; TANNIIAUSER. 87 Heard choral song, and solemn chaunt, And bells of minsters tolled. " I looked, the star was vanished ; I listened, all was still ; I trembled, and within thine arms Awakened with a thrill. " And be the dream from heaven above, Or out of hell below, Thy lover, thy beloved, Must from thy kingdom go." Deep breathed the thrilling music Of harps invisible, Which still upon the rosy air Did in the pauses swell. " Go freely, my beloved ; My singer go," she said ; " Smite with thy sword the living ; Wake with thy harp the dead. "Drink deep of earth the pleasure ; Drink deep of earth the pain ; 88 TANNHAUSER. And when thy heart grows weary, Be welcome back again. " Thy fitful mood I chide not, The foaming of the sea ; 111 suits with earthly pulses The calm of deity. Go ; ride, beloved, on the land ; Go ; sail upon the sea ; Go ; take thy fill of hope and fear, And come again to me." So, when the sound had died away Of hushed words of farewell, Farewell ! and yet farewell ! Loud rang the thrilling music Of harps invisible, Which now upon the rosy air Did in the silence swell. TANNHAUSER. 89 PART TWO. " Beware ! Beware !" the people said ; " Thy love, a fiend is she ; And thou, forlorn Tannhauser, Art lost eternally. " Woe ! Woe to thee, Tannhauser ! And ever woe to thee ! Can no man pardon sin like thine, Unless the Pope it be !" Tannhauser kneels before the pope ; " With Venus did I dwell ; I come to thee, to pardon me, And save my soul from hell !" Then spake the pope, " Despair ! Behold " This staff on which I lean ; When this dry wood shall fill with sap, This carven wand grow green, " Then, nor till then, thy deadly sin Shall pardoned be of heaven." He smote his staff into the ground, And left him unforgiven. 1)2 ( J0 TANNHAUSER. And shuddered all who stood around, To hear the words of doom, As if some evil ghost had come From its unhallowed tomb. Then turned the lost Tannhauser, In sorrow and in wrath, And all around who listened Shrank, leaving him a path. And freer breathed the trembling crowd When he was darkly gone, And purer seemed the balmy wind, And brighter shone the sun. So backward to the Venusberg Tannhauser took his way, Until he heard the solemn strains Around that ever play ; The siren-sweet wild harmonies, Which all-alluring rise, Up from the rosy region borne Of Yenus' paradise, TANNHAUSER. 91 " Again, again," Tannhauser sings, " I come again to thee ! To love as we have loved, they say, May never pardoned be ; Accursed for thee, Oh, Venus mine ! Arise, and welcome me ! "Arise, Arise," Tannhauser sings, " Arise, and let me in ; I cannot choose but love thee, bright ! Though thee to love be sin ; Arise, arise, Dame Venus mine ! Arise, and let me in !" And " Welcome, welcome, true love mine ! " And welcome back to me ; I kiss thee on the forehead, love ! And on the lips," said she, And " Welcome, welcome back," she said ; " And welcome o'er and o'er ; And here, within my paradise, Abide forevermore." 92 TANNHAUSER. Low sighed the thrilling music Of harps invisible, Which softly through the rosy air Did on the silence swell. " And go no more," she whispered, (i Oh, never more remove ; Naught lacks my glorious dwelling but Thy lyre and thy love !" Now scarce Tannhauser forth was gone, Oh miracle of God ! Than leaf and flower began to shine Upon the pontiff's rod. " Come forth, come forth, Pope Urban 1" And in his trembling sight, Behold the dry and carven staff With leaf and flower was bright ! Then said the pope, " Now bid, with speed, " My messengers go forth, And seek him East, and seek him West, And seek him South and North, TAXNHAUSEU. 93 " Yes, bid my messengers go forth, And bid them ride with speed ; For I, in bidding man despair, Have done an evil deed. "Oh, deadly sin ! to strive to mete The boundless grace of heaven ; For, lo ! by penitence and prayer All sins may be forgiven." They went, and as they went returned ; They sought for him in vain; Tannhauser from the Venusberg Came never forth again, So, let no man the gates of heaven Forbid his fellow man ; But leave unto Almighty God . The judgment and the ban. So, let no sinner, though forbid, By cardinal or pope, Cease in the mercy of the Lord In penitence to hope. TANNIIAUSEK. The eye of woman hardens into ice, Beholding me, accursed. The leprous beggar Shuns me with inprecations. And the priest, Though I repent me bitterly of my sin, Shuddering, refuses absolution to me. And so, my corpse shall rot unburied here; Nor be, with prayers, and psalms, and solemn rites, Laid in the aisles where sleep my princely sires. So be it. I am callous grown with pain, And scarce would climb, if that were possible, The wall that sunders me from human kind. But ye, true hearts and tender, that shall grieve In time to come hearing my piteous tale, Think not my nature is so savage grown In these wild woods and pathless solitudes, That thoughts of your warm tears can move me not. 94 TAN Nil A USER. 95 Ah, wo is me! I muse upon the past, — The sweet, sweet past! the bitter, bitter past! The pines are moaning in the rising wind, Breathing Memnonian music, and the moon Brightens above a bank of inky clouds, And darkens over all the shaggy scene The sombre twilight — Would to God, the last That these world-weary eyes should ever see ! Oh, Venus ! Beautiful fiend ! Was I not fair, And young, and brave, and growing day by day To fame and majesty, as yonder moon Fills day by day her argent-splendored sphere, When by the light of thy voluptuous eyes Misled, my soul its strenuous purpose lost — My life its stirring joys, its falcon hopes, Its starry aspirations ? Woe is me ! Oh; Venus ! Beautiful fiend ! Canst thou forget, Far-hidden from the world in thy high palace, How fled the years, with Joy their torch bearer ? Oh, languid kisses pressed on wine-bright lips ! Oh, eyes that withered all my soul with fire ! And yet, I knew thee, glorious devil ! felt The sin that deepened round me as I sank Within its sea, a weight on heart and brain. 96 TANNHAUSER. Then came Kemorse, and darkened day by day. I loathed thy kisses, and thy melting looks Chilled me, and at thy amorous touch I thrilled Like one, who waking, feels a slimy snake Twisted around his neck. I rose and fled : Hoping to live again among my kind, And by high deeds redeem .my wasted life, And wash from tingling cheeks the sense of shame. But woe to him who tampers with the fiend. What had I done, that men should hold my touch Pollution, and my kindly greetings curses ? Oh, Venus ! Beautiful fiend ! Who could resist The music of thy motion, smile and speech ? But what had passed between us, that should take My soul, the power of good or ill, contrition Or exultation, from me ? Woe is me ! And ever since I wander through the world. At first there was a feeble gleam of light That led my feet to Eome. The sovereign pontiff Forbade me hope. And yet in spite of him, Though black my sin as is this night of storm, I do believe that God is merciful, And will remember what was my temptation, The pain I have endured, and this remorse. THE CHARMER. Unharmed I play with tiger thoughts ; My soul to passion's serpent clasp I yield, nor fear the venomous fangs Of adder or of asp. They tremble at my freezing touch ; They cower before mf stony stare ; Convulsed, they shrinking, trembling own The charm of my despair. For I a wilder bliss than life, A wilder pain than death can be, Have felt ; and life hath lost its pomp, And death its mystery. So let them tyrannize o'er men, For they must share with me their hour- 03 And so, the world shall keep my name ; Bat as I muse the greater fame, To which I might aspire, Had kindlier stars upon me shone, What matters that which I have won ? But not that much is left undone That I was born to do, Would I the approaching shadow shun, The bootless strife renew ; For I have known the subtle pain That he shall feel who calls in vain The phantoms ye pursue, And all the tenfold bitterness That waits for him who shall possess. Butnowis done the weary dream, With all its wintry shows, And of my love the dreary gleam To glorify its snows ; Once death to me was full of fear, But now with joy, his feet I hear ; I know he brings repose. [shed ? Should sighs be breathed ? Should tears be No! welcome be the presence dread. 164 THE DEATH BED. If I bad lived a happy life, And had not lived in vain ; If calm had been instead of strife, And pleasure what was pain ; If she I love, beside me stood, And gazed upon me wild of mood ; What now had been the gain ? I could not bear that darker curse ; I would not wish such sorrow hers. To gaze upon a forehead pale, Whereon the death-dews thicken ; And feel that love shall not avail The lethargy to quicken, That shades me with its condor wings, And tears me — vain imaginings ! Should I my fancy sicken With thoughts of grief that might have been, A scanty comfort thence to glean ? Is this the end ? The day grows dim, And still the sun is high ; And shadowy forms around me swim, Like clouds within the sky. THE DEATH BED. 165 No more of tears ! No more of mirth ! But silence in the quiet earth ! I am content to die, And in my sad philosophy, Ask but to perish utterly. AGNES. Her glorious voice, save when alone The songs he praised in days agone She sang, was mute ; into eclipse The smiles, that hung upon her lips Like bees on flowers, as stars withdrew, Were withered as a drop of dew ; And day by day she waned away, And died, and told not of her love. She of her beauty took no care ; Dishevelled hung her raven hair, And of her eyes, a murky flame The silvery radiance became ; And day by day her cheek grew paler, And day by day her form grew frailer, And day by day she waned away, And died, and told not of her love. 166 SYLVIA. I met my false love in the lane to-day ; The pretty fool, who wedded sacks of gold, And for a heart would give them all away — So is her story told. I had resolved to speak my honest scorn To her ; but when I saw how care had fed Upon her loveliness, moving forlorn As if her soul were dead. Upon the earth, forgotten things among, The bitter truths I had resolved to tell, As swords that fall from hands by death unstrung, Clashing and shivering fell. And so we met and parted silently, Despair so frozen on her countenance, That she endured without a moan or cry The pity of my glance. 1 J J ° 167 CHANGED. I lay in the silvery moonlight, And listened to the trees, And shuddered as they tossed their arms Aloft in the midnight breeze. And I longed to see them vanish, And leave my soul at peace, And leave the solemn night serene In its dread loneliness. The many dreams of my childhood, So, in the days agone, Had tossed their ghostly arms aloft And vanished one by one. 168 CHANGED. 169 With peals of mocking laughter Had vanished one by one, And in the darkness of despair Had left a soul undone. But not the soul of yearning, "Which was before their flight ; I know not joy ; I know not grief; But only undelight. I lay in the silvery moonlight, And sighed, Ah, well-a-day 1 I know the truth of my olden doubt, My soul has been stolen away. By whom, or how I know not, Nor when, nor where, nor why ; But could I have it for an hour, I would be strong to die. DEPARTED. The love-sick winds went all day long About the gardens, to and fro ; In vain they listened for her voice In some sweet strain of long ago ; And where the cypress darkest gloomed; And rose the cold, dank sepulchre, They entered shuddering, and saw Death sitting crowned, but not with her, And heedless of their sympathy, And blind to all the shows of spring, Stretched on a hill-side sown with flowers, They heard the weeping poet sing, Of one, more lovely than his thought, And one, more worthy than his fate, Of one, forever, ever gone, And one, remaining desolate. no M A R A H Once I bad faith in man and God ; And, as a wind that goes abroad, From gardens bright, an odor sweet, So from a life of bliss complete, A perfume rare my song arose, and blew The wide world through and through. Oh, friend ! the venom of m y song Chide not, or chide my bitter wrong ; I did not seek, nor could foresee, The chance that wrought this change in me ; I would not that my song should breathe from bowers Of weeds instead of flowers. 171 THE GATE. I dwell in the outer blackness, A spirit black with sin, But mine are the ancient mysteries, That the angels long to win, As I stand at the gate of Paradise, But may not enter therein. To me their sweetest anthem Is a discordant din, For mine are the magical melodies, To which the worlds begin, As I stand at the gate of Paradise, But may not enter therein. its DREAMS, The fountains of untroubled sleep are dry In which I bathed of yore ; For, if I slumber, thou art ever nigh, And cold for evermore. "We wander side by side, familiarly, As in the days of old ; And hope, from death arisen, smiles on me, And makes my spirit bold, And I, anew, to thee with tears repeat The story of my love, And I anew would perish at thy feet :-^ But the wan moon above Beams upon me alone, and like a snake Hisses the uncoiling sea ; And so from dreams of anguish I awake — - Awake to think of thee. 173 NOT YET. I heard the river from the hills above Eoar by me, rushing downward through the woods ; My thought flowed through the future of our love, Through dreary wastes and gloomy solitudes, And doom, and desolation, and of hell The anguish, wheresoe'er I turned, were nigh : Then I arose and murmured, " I may die " Speaking the word, but I will say farewell." I found her reading. She looked up, struck dumb By the strange sternness of my pallid mouth. I trembled with my passion. " I am come " To say farewell." Thereat a hungry drouth Did seize and tear me. But that thus we met, She had not said, a blush upon her face, She had not said, with such a plaintive grace, With such a tender earnestness, " Not Yet." 174 THE TEOLL'S CAPTIVE. I had a dream ; from lands afar He came, whose sword shall set me free ; A lovely boy with golden hair, And ruddy cheeks so fair to see ; The words he spake were sweet to hear, But when the night began to wane, I murmured, " Wilt thou leave me, dear ?" He answered, " I will come again." I told the Troll my dream : but he, With laughter loud, -'The moat is deep; The gates are fashioned cunningly, And they who watch them will not sleep : And most of all my arm is strong, Strong as the spells that thee enchain." And I replied, "He tarries long, But he will surely come again-" 115 176 the troll's captive. And as the years go slowly by, He laughs, reminding me of him, With thoughts of whom perpetually My face is flushed, my eyes are dim. " Why waits the coward ?" cries the Troll ; "How lorn? shalt thou with me remain?" And answer makes my inmost soul, "I know that he will come again." " Perchance, he found a safer love ; Perchance, a lovelier than thee ; Better than seek my wrath to prove, Or dare the perils of the sea ; Perchance he sleeps within the deep, Or long ago in fight was slain," But I make answer as I weep " I know that he will come again. I know that he will come again, The prince, whose sword shall set me free E'en now his bark is on the main ; He knows the ancient prophecy ; His sword is keen, his arm is strong, The words he spake shall not be vain ; Oh, love ! although thou tarriest long, I know that thou wilt come again." THE PHILTEE. A glass of water, maiden fair, I said to the girl beside the well, Oh, sweet was the smile on her lips of guile As she gave me to drink, the witch of hell ! I drank, and sweet was the draught ; I drank, And thanked the giver, and still she smiled; But her smile like a curse on my spirit sank, Till my cheek grew wan and my brain grew wild. And lo, the light from the day was gone, And gone was maiden, and gone was well ; The dark instead like a wall of stone, And rivers that roared through the dark and fell, 177 118 THE PHILTRE. Was it the draught, or was it the smile, Or my own false heart, ah, who shall tell ? But the black waves beat at my weary feet, And sits at my side the witch of hell. THE SPHYNX. Go not to Thebes ! The Sphynx is there, And thou shalt see her beauty rare, And thee the sorcery of her smile To read her riddles shall beguile. Oh, woe to him who fails to read ! But woe to him who shall succeed ! For he, who fails the truth to show, The terrors of her wrath shall know. But, shouldst thou find her mystery, Not less is death reserved to thee ; For she shall cease, and thou shalt sigh That she no longer is, and die. 179 TIME. And I am nothing ; men shall keep No memory in time to come Of me. Well, let who will go weep ; I have been silent but not dumb. I care not. Let me pass in peace ; For it is written on the sky, There is no faith which shall not cease, Nor any fame which shall not die. 180 TENDER AND TRUE. Oh, what with fame hast thou to do — Thou canst not stoop — thou canst not sue — Tender and true ? Thou canst not hide the scorn, Too proud ! that kindles in thy face — The quivering lip, the flashing eye, betrays Thy secret, oh, forlorn ! Thy heart, is strong but frail thy hand ; How shalt thou hurl the spear, or lift the brand? Yet weep not thou that naught is left to do, Tender and true. 181 182 TENDER AND TRUE. Oh, what with love hast thou to do — Thou canst not woo as others woo — Tender and true ? Thy soul must throb in vain ; Too proud ! thy love must burn unknown ; Howshalt thou bare thy breaking heart, or own Thine ecstacy of pain? In earthly words how shalt thou tell Thy passion high as heaven and deep as hell ? Yet weep not thou that naught is left to do, Tender and true. Oh, what with, earth hast thou to do— Of all the worlds is death the clue— Tender and true ? Pie, and perchance, above, Too proud ! hereafter, there may wait Fof thee in other spheres a worthier fate, Diviner fame and love, To him who dares to satisfy His fever thirst is Lethe ever nigh, Oh weep no more thy life of hope bereft, For death is left ! AMIDST THE DAKKNESS. Amidst the darkness standeth he, The dreamer with the bright blue eyes, "With whom rest all earth's destinies Through all the infinite to be. Amidst the darkness standeth he, And as the golden stars arise, They show unto his tearless eyes The anguish and the bliss to be. Amidst the darkness standeth he, The dreamer with the bright blue eyes ; Ilis lightest words shall prophecies, Ilis glory shall eternal be. 183 184 AMIDST THE DARKNESS. For he shall be, yea, even he ! Who standeth in the dark alone, Of all unheeded and unknown, But conscious of his destiny. — For he shall be, yea, even he ! Above alike or hopes or fears, Amidst the clash of swords and spears, The standard-bearer of the years, The poet of the dim To-Be, WHY SLEEPS THY SOUL? It sets, the sun of passionate love ; The landscape darkens, and above The stars of fame again grow bright That withered in the day-spring's light ; But I am changed ; with tearful eyes I gaze upon the kindling skies. Yea ! I am changed. Can this be he, Who went forth, mailed in passion strong, To war with error ; consecrate To tread the fairy land of song ; To shock with sound importunate The gates of fame ? Can this be he ? Ah, woe is me ! H2 135 ] 86 WHY SLEEPS THY SOUL ? Dead is the faith, by which upheld The sea, wherein I sink, I trod ; And gone the halo of the god, That wreathed my brow in days of eld ; False was the ancient prophecy; A sword that in its scabbard rusts, Oh, soul of mine ! is like to thee ; A star that on the midnight falls Unnoticed in the sea. So let me fall ! but when this fire is clay, Some one, perchance, shall read this simple lay And weeping say, " The truest passion shuns the sight ; The sweetest flowers open in the night, And wither ere the day." NOVEMBEK. Amidst the withered leaves I lie ; I look upon the sober sky ; I am not young ; I am not old ; I am not rich ; I am not poor ; I cannot fear what may not be, And of what hath been I am sure. I muse — I neither laugh nor sigh ; Of all the faded landscape I Am part ; I am not tired of life ; And yet, I would not live anew, Though woods and wolds forever green Should be, and skies forever blue. 187 PAST AND FUTURE. Let us renew the happy years, That happier seem for present pain ; Although we may not meet again, "We will not spend to-night in tears. How grand were our imaginings ! Remembering them my eyes grow wet, For we were conquerors, and set Unshrinking feet on necks of kings. For we were poets ; and our words Were wine to hearts forlorn ; the wrong Withered before our magic song, More potent far than spears or swords. 188 PAST AND FUTURE. 189 For we were prophets ; scorn and shame Were ours, but we were not appalled ; In vain we cried, Eepent ! we called On desolation, and it came. For we were martyrs : and we passed Through fire unto the feet of God, Knowing our faith was blown abroad, Even as our ashes, on the blast. What hopes were those I shared with thee ! What bliss was ours as hand in hand, In dreams, we wandered through each land Of old romance beyond the sea ! Yet in the past the seeds were sown, I trust, of noble destinies ; Our aspirations, prophecies Were as the future shall make known. When some true word or valiant deed Of ours shall lighten through the earth, We shall rejoice to know its birth Was in the hopes that we decreed. 190 PAST AND FUTURE. The past at least is sure from Pain ; The future may from him be won ; And, though we fail, till life is done We cannot know our dreams were vain, And it will matter little then ; Let us rejoice that we have met, Eejoice that we cannot forget, Although we may not meet again ! THE GAKDEN. I wander in the broken walks, Beneath the leafless trees j And as I walk, my eyes are dim "With tender memories, For here we walked in sunnier days And starrier nights than these. In happier hours of summer tide, Now changed to winter frore, When love filled up the cup of life Until the wine ran o'er ; In days of joy and nights of bliss Which shall be nevermore. 191 OUE LOVE. Do I remember ? Oh, can I forget, Dearest, the hour in which our love began ? How thrilled our souls, as if our feet were set On dizzy peaks, from which our eyes o'er-ran Broad regions, from the hour in which we met, Ordained our own for blessing or for ban ! Then had we parted, and to meet no more Gone forth, how dark, oh love, and desolate Had been our fate ! How dreary it had been to watch and wait And evermore to watch and wait in vain, Like shipwrecked men, that on some barren cape Of some forbidden shore 192 OUR LOVE. 193 Crowd eagerly, and gaze athwart the main With blood-shot eyes, and curse with blacken- ing lips The stately ships, That slowly in the distance gather shape, And slowly in the distance fade again ! PSYCHE. Nature is barren to the breaking heart. The sea may thunder on its rocks unheard ; The drowning moon uplift her pallid face, Eager with horror, from the deeps of heaven, Unpitied ; I have wept, but weep no more. My heart is changed. I trod the mist-wreathed hills; I Watched the sunrise and the sunset ; oped The portals of my soul, neath midnight stars, To ghostly thoughts ; or, in the stilly noon, Lay amidst fallen leaves, and mused until My eyes grew dim ; but I shall weep no more. 194 PSYCHE. 195 I loved the clouds, that slept within the sky ; I loved the river, murmuring in the shade ; The music of the waterfall was dear ; And dear the song of bird, and hum of bee, And sound of wind-swept forest musical ; They filled my spirit with passionate fancies, till It overflowed in tears ; but I am changed ; And I have wept, but I shall weep no more. And in the heart of man I loved to look, With eyes not destitute of sympathy And pity ; it may be I longed for love, And fame, and reverence born of love and fame ; But whatsoe'er my longings they were cursed ; I wept them as they withered, one by one, And fell to dust ; but I shall weep no more. THE STATESMAN. Say shall his memory lie in state — A thing of reverence and awe — Who was unprofitably great — Who knew no law Save that his pride upreared — who sold To sin the power that wisdom brings, The sceptre mightier than a king's, For praise and gold. No ! let the humbler felon go, But still He lives — the god-like fire Of that great soul, though dim and low, Cannot expire ; 196 THE STATESMAN. 19} And let the expiation be, Even as the crime immortal is ; The Grave may not, for sin like his, Be sanctuary ! By all the evil that he did — By all the good he left undone — By all the glory that he hid — The shame he won — The indignation of his verse On him let the true poet wreak — Of him the just historian speak, And speak-a curse ! MENE ! MENE ! Speak not to me of power that builds its throne On outraged rights ; for it shall pass away ; Yea, though its empire stretch from zone to zone, And bathe in endless day. Even when the mirth is loudest shall the wine Grow bitter, and the shivered wine cup fall ; For in that hour shall come the Hand Divine, And write upon the wall. Weep, if thou wilt, sad seer ! thy land's decay ; Weep, if thou wilt, the hopes that shall expire ; Weep, if thou wilt, the wearisome delay Of earth's august desire. 198 MENE ! MENE ! 199 But weep not ever-during truth as fled, Though deserts howl where once her temples rose ; Nor weep for freedom, dreaming she is dead, Fallen amidst her foes. For God remains alway ; and to the truth Shall incense stream from many a grander fame ; And, in the blinding glory of her youth, Freedom shall rise again. THE MARTYR. When from a life of god-like strife, The indignant martyr soars to God, Though vultures blacken o'er his fame, And tear his clod ; Let us not weep for him, but keep His memory ; let his glorious death, Crowning a valiant life, renew, Not shake our faith. But weep for those, his guilty foes, On whom his blood a curse shall be, To haunt their silken dreams ; a dread That will not flee ; 200 THE MARTYR. 201 The secret fear of vengeance near, That passes vengeance ; and the doubt, Forbidding with its evil eye The calm without : Or those, the men, who know not when A kingly soul, amidst our dearth Of thought and deed, by life or death Has fed the earth. His faith sublime grown blind to time By gazing on eternity, They cannot understand, and yet They hear and see. As if for trade the stars were made, Madman ! they cry, when one comes forth, Of truth and justice, with his blood To prove the worth. Aye weep for them, and not for him : And live that ye, beyond the years, May meet him at the feet of God Nor move his tears. THE SWORD OF FIRE. I mark thee in thy visionary mood ; Thy dreams are not the dreams of yore ; But iron pulses in thy wayward blood Strike fiercely evermore. Rejoice, that fortune took her gifts again, That even love was false to thee ! For now my soul renews, and not in vain, Its ancient prophecy. Turn from the blinding glare that blights the years Of memory : the sword of God, In mercy, from thy Paradise of tears Compels thy soul abroad. 202 THE SWORD OF FIRE. 203 Arise ! Than thus to live, and thus to die, A greater fate is kept for thee : I hear the trump of Fame through all the sky Blow like a tempest sea. All is not lost ! Fortune shall come again ; It may be, Love shall smile upon thee yet ; But now, Arise! nor perish here in vain — Remember, and forget 1 THE NEW YEAR. 1858. The bells are pealing across the snow ; Alone on high sits the moon forlorn ; And be it for good, or be it for ill, A year is dead and a year is born. Who shall tell what the stranger brings ? Shall he crown the world with flowers or thorns ? Shall he love the sound of dirge or knell, Or the merry music of marriage morns ? Yet welcome ! The heart, indeed, is dead That yearned for the feet of the coming years ; The eager heart that fondly knelt, And questioned the secret stars with tears : 204 THE NEW YEAR. 205 And another heart to me is given, That scoffs at bliss and mocks at pain ; The years are ghosts, and come and go, But I, oh Love, unmoved remain ! Welcome! but not for thyself; unproved : For the hopes that brighten behind the veil, That shall grow like flowers upon thy grave, In the name of Him who hath sent thee, Hail ! THE NEW YEAR. 1861. Child of Hope ! We have waited how long ! oh, how long! For the sound, as of gathering hosts, of thy tread — The sound of thy tread and the voice of thy song — The voice of thy song, which shall kindle the dead ! Child of Hope ! For thy song shall enkindle the dead, Like the marvellous song of the master of old, The beauty and truth that forever seemed fled, The beauty and truth of the ages of gold ! 206 THE NEW YEAR. 207 Child of Hope! Nor alone shall the dead own thy might, But as angels came down to St. Cecily's song, The heart of the future shall thrill with delight, And its spirits in rapture around thee shall throng ! And the bliss cf the future, the bliss of the past, Shall be mixed and commingled in that which is thine ; And thy joy which no sorrow shall ever o'ercast Shall gleam like the rainbow a promise divine. FROM THE DEAD. Think not that I with silence meek Bowed down unto my bitter fate ; Though to the stirring words you speak, I make reply, " It is too late !" Oh, strong of heart, and stern of will ! You ope the ancient wound in vain. To the swift sorceries of your skill, Corpse-like I start, and feel again, Of life that might have been so great, And was so sweet, the pain : — 208 FROM THE DEAD. 209 Of life that might have been so great, And was so sweet, the sense renewed ; Upon my aching brain a weight, And fire within my frozen blood; I frown upon eternal fate, As in our days of feud ; I frown again with pallid hate, Conquered but unsubdued. Idly as some wild harmony Soars clanging to its brazen close, Thrilling our cold mortality With passions that can never die, Revealing all the secrets of the sky With lightning glows, Then dies and leaves us darker for its shows, My ghost that at your spell arose, Shrieking, Too late ! Too late ! It is too late ! Fades and forgets its woes : You torture him you cannot save ; Oh ! leave me quiet in my grave. 12 THE HERALD. The herald of an unknown God, The voice, the oracle am I ; I care not if they live or die, The words which I proclaim abroad. The vessel of necessity, Famine or plenty, war or peace, Or false or true, the prophecies I utter, matters not to me. Nor less that I am Void of faith, The words ordained abroad I spread ; Nor less, on living ears and dead, They fall, and work to life and death. 210 THE HERALD. 211 A mirror through which shadows pass, A shadow floating here and there, I know myself ; and little care Take of what I shall be or was. A cloud across the azure driven, A wind athwart the surging wood, A billow on the heaving flood, A meteor flashing down the heaven, I was, I am, and I shall cease ; It may be I shall live again ; But the great purpose shall remain, Breathing its Orphic harmonies; And deep make answer unto deep ; And all the orbs of heaven be loud ; And night and day, an endless crowd, Eternal testimonies keep, BURNS. Tell me no more that Poesy is vain, For even as ye speak your eyes are dim ! Brief was the peasant's life as full of pain ; Yet who but envies him ? To him, the bard, be praise for aye. Whose lightest word has power To lend a radiance to the day, A perfume to the flower : To him, by whose defiant art The joys and pains of heretofore Are joy and pain forevermore, Our joy, our pain, of us a part : Who would not bear his wayward lot, To be the lord of tears and mirth, And of the affluence of his thought To feed the hungry earth ? 212 BURNS. 213 Men marvelled when the untutored ploughman came, His country's glory and his age's shame, The Hafiz of the rugged north, To consecrate her hills to fame : They marvelled in their ignorance at his, And their oblivion took his pride amiss ; His name unblazoned in heraldic scroll, His was the birthright of the kingly soul ; And ignorant in the lore the schools impart, His was the wisdom of the passionate heart. No fiery fascination of far thought ; No baleful gloom of passion in his rhyme ; No painful toil ; but in their stead he taught The sweet simplicity of early time ; His natural thoughts in natural numbers poured, Nor deemed the language which the vulgar use Too humble for the service of the muse, But in the fulness of his heart adored ; And the rude patois musical became, Dear to the world, and sacred to his fame. And stainless fools have prated of his sins. It matters little. Let the years convince, 214 BURNS. Through which the broadening river of his glory Sweeps onward gladdening the painful earth ; With harvests of rich hope, the deserts hoary Grow beautiful, and vintages of mirth. I know that other bards, neath kindlier stars, In lives diviner, nobler works achieved ; A grander fame, in more heroic wars, They conquered ; their far glories stand relieved In black against the sunset's clouds of fire, Dilated on the peaks of their desire. But Burns, no radiant fate uplifted, To his bright station, out of gloom ; They knew him not, until the gifted Was happy in the tomb. Enough, that in the scanty intervals Of penury and toil, he boldly fought With his inglorious doom, And the nobility of genius taught With many a brave and tender word and thought In songs immortal wrought; — Let beauty perish, and the skies Grow dim, what time their music dies ! THE WILD WAVES. SUGGESTED BY HAMILTON'S PAINTING. Along the endless reaches Of bleak and barren beaches, The billows comb and pour ; Mocking with bitter laughter The hope of the hereafter, The pride of heretofore. O soul of gifts divinest, Thou, too, forever pinest, Lashing thy bordering sands : The bars of thy dominions Beating with broken pinions, Grappling with bleeding hands. 215 216 THE WILD WAVES. The sunset, deep and tender, Darkens in solemn splendor Over the heaving waves Eed with its radiance ; under Are clouds of storm and thunder ; And in the deep are graves. To-morrow and to-morrow The sea shall keep its sorrow ; But thou, soul of mine, Thy day to-day grows dimmer ; Shall no to-morrow glimmer On this unrest of thine, I grieve not. If the spirit Could keep the chains that wear it, I, too, might bitter be — So sink, thou sun supernal Into the deep eternal, And laugh, thou cynic sea ! BY THE SEA. Hulls of ebon, sails of argent, Go the ships along the margent, In the breeze their cordage creaking, And around, the sea birds shrieking. Songs of sailors, and the rustle Of their turmoil and their bustle, Stir me, as the ships go onward Unto grander regions sunward. Them the thunderbolt may shatter ; Sunken rocks their crews may scatter To the sharks that lurk and loiter In the treacherousj deep water ; But for me such fate were better Than the dungeon and the fetter Of this dreary life,— this canker Of the ship that rots at anchor. K 217 THE PRAISE OF SORROW. Flowers are springing, birds are singing, In this merry world of ours ; And the feet of happy lovers Loiter in its pleasant bowers ; And the goblet foams and sparkles With the ruddy wine we pour ; Silent sits the secret shadow, Sorrow with her subtle lore ! But when all the flowers are faded, And when all the birds are dead, And the feet of happy lovers From the moonlit paths are fled, 218 THE PRAISE OF SORROW. 219 And the goblet foams no longer With the bitter lees we pour, Shall arise the secret shadow, Sorrow shall be dumb no more ! And her voice shall speak in music Sweeter than the bliss before, And a solemn joy and saintly Shall replace the unrest of yore ; And our eyes shall see her beauty, And our hearts shall feel her love, And our weary feet be guided To the better world above. And in heaven, up in heaven, There are harpings sweet and loud, And their gladness is to ours As the lightning to the cloud, And the presence of Jehovah Fills the place, but doubt not this, That the sorrow of the angels, Is their heavenliest bliss ! THE EEST OF BOODH. Of all the visions of the Eastern sages, The garnered treasures of forgotten ages, The childlike wisdom of what hoariest eld, Of all the faiths which men hold or have held, That pleases me, in which the supreme good Of the desired hereafter lies in this, From earthly suffering and earthly bliss To be withdrawn into the rest of Boodh. 220 THE REST OP BOODII. 221 Ye who have known the quiet which is born In souls that have forgotten to desire But have desired, whom life hath made forlorn, By fates superior to remorse or ire, Baffled your hopes, your yearnings laughed to scorn, Chained to the rock, or withering in the fire, Hell's barren empire yours, but yours the clue, For which Jove trembled, which supreme Pro- metheus knew, Rejoice ! for ye have had even in this life Some glimpses of the bliss of that to be, The god-like peace that only follows strife, The calm of victory. Rejoice, ye kingly spirits unsubdued, For your sweet foretaste of the rest of Boodh. The rest of Boodh ! Lo, Time the eternal bears ' A harp of silence : as its music wakes The graves grow green in which we laid with tears Our dearest, and our faces grief forsakes ; Listen, the poet's song dies unawares ; Behold, the conquerer's arch asunder breaks : 222 THE REST OP BOODH. And to the strains of that Lethean lyre Our rapture like our anguish shall expire. That whirl of thrilling passion, joy and pain, I would not wish again ; Yet would not lose the dreary wisdom won In the life which is done, The calm of high heroic hearts outworn With victory forlorn ; I would not yield to death the poet mood Which peoples every solitude, The power born of wrong Which lightens in my song ; Unchanged and changeless, yet no more the same, Apart from all, and yet of all a part, In the deep peace of the eternal heart Let me abide with those who overcame, From earth and all its phantoms many-hued Absorbed into the colorless rest of Boodh. The stainless, painless, passionless rest of Boodh ! There is no evil, and there is no good, Nor life, nor death, nor time, nor space, nor aught But conscious will, and all-compelling thought, THE REST OF BOODH. 223 And the deep sense of calm immutable - In which the immortal dwell, By whom are all things known and understood Far sunken in the solemn rest of Boodh. The rest of Boodh ! The starry rest of Boodh ! The love of old, and the ancestral feud, Shall move no more, forgotten and forgiven In the repose of heaven. The stars shall fall ; the sun be turned to blood ; The earth be shrouded in a fiery flood ; The heavens be rolled together as a scroll ; The form and face of Nature be renewed ; Still shall abide the all-pervading soul, And still the calm of those who rest in Boodh,