ROBERT LOWELL, Author of •• The New Priest in Conception Bay." A NEW EDITION (WITH MANY NEW F0P:MS.) BOSTON: E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 1864. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863. hy RoBKRT Lowell, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Soutliern District of New York. RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. To JOSEPH GREEN COGSWELL, LL. D., THE FLRST HEAD OF KOUND-HILL SCHOOL, TO WHOM THE BOY BROUGHT HIS LESSONS WITH JIUCH REVERENCE AND LOVE 4.ND WITHOUT FEAR, THE MAN OFFERS THIS BOOK AS FEARLESSLY AND WITH NO LESS LOVE AND REVERENCE. July 31, 1863. TTAVING from childhood met, now and then, and listened to the Muse of Numbers, the writer offers here a few of the few things that lie has learned, at different times, from her, and hopes that they may not be thought too many. Lest the dates, put to most of them, should be thought to have been occasioned by a con- ceit or affectation, it is right to say that they are owing to a friend's discovery of a remark- able chance-likeness between one of these, printed years ago, and a recent poem m a Magazine. One being dated, some others, at least, must be so ; and in the end, most of these pieces have had the time at which they were written, given, after them. The general reader will be kind enough to pass over these dates as harmless ; some friends may even find a slight interest in- them.* * Some persons may need to be told that, where more than one date is given, the piece was left (forgotten, perhaps) al- together, between; then found and carried on. March 1860. CONTENTS. ANTHEM-CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN'S LOST HOPE A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND . THE AVARNED ONE .... THE DAYS OF SIN . . ... THE LITTLE YEARS .... OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL . A CHRISTMAS HYMN .... TURNING LOVE AWAY .... A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES . A DREAM OF JUDGMENT JUST AT HAND A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS THE painter's PROBATION. PART I. THAT DEAD THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS THE PITYING CHRIST .... NEWFOUNDLAND .... TO THE MUSE TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED . THE CRY OF THE WRONGED A CHRISTMAS SERMON BEFORE MORNS THE PALMER AT THE AVAYSIDE THE BISHOP BOUND .... THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE . A COMMUNING WITH GOD BEFORE ORDINATION PAGP 7 9 20 22 23 26 29 35 3G 39 4G 56 58 65 67 71 72 74 76 80 «3 90 92 94 96 101 VI CONTENTS. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD THE YEAR IS GOXk! A robin's song . burger's LEXORE . the barken field Christ's legacy A DIRGE .... A BURIAL-HYMN TO GOD, MOST HIGH LOVE DISPOSED OF . TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS . JOHN HAYES'S LAST VOYAGE . THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT SONGS OK OUK HOLY WAR. A HYMN FOR THE HOST NEW ENGLAND ARMING THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND . NEW ORLEANS WON BACK A CALL OF TRUE MEN .... THIS DAY, COUNTRYMEN MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR THE FAILURE AT FREDERICKSBURG . PRAYER IN THE FIGHT (KoRNER) . OUR LAND BEYOND THE WAR PAGE 104 109 111 117 119 123 124 136 139 142 146 147 149 151 155 157 161 171 181 183 186 189 193 195 197 201 203 205 AN ANTHEM-CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS. Out of highest heaven dropping, Like tinkling rain upon the sea Came sweet music, swelKng, stopping ; 'Twas the angels' symphony. " Glory be to God, on high ! " Ran like lightning round the sky : Then, like rain-drops, fell agen, " Peace on earth, good-will to men ! " 1846. This little traged}^ shaped itself in my mind from the suggestion of two or three words in a note to a Greek Au- thor, as I remembei'ed them, afterwards; a poem "by a boy" (without a name) was mentioned as having come down from earlier times. The Reader is to set the time three thousand years back.* "• The Title is an earlier (and shorter) one than that with which it was first printed : the Poem is the same. THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN AND THEIR LOST HOPE. I. A YOUTH lay near the fair gulf's* fringed shore ; The noise of Corinth scarcely came so far ; But landward sounds, that, when the day is o'er, Tell where blest homes and ended labors are. On the broad bay, behind, Lugged by the lazy wmd, A freighted ship drew on, towards the evening- star. II. The little waters, as the daylight waned, Lagged up the beach, prattling with shell and stone ; * Of Corinth. 10 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN The eastern sky was all with sunset stained, Where the two heads of that great mountain * shone. Lower, each vale and glade Drew in, to deeper shade, Tlie eye of him that gazed from that far shore alone. III. Still lay, bright-hued, in air, both far and wide, All crumbled rays the sun had thrown away ; And, floating thick on the night's dewy tide, Came smells more sweet than scents of burn- ing day; And then a voice, — as fair As all the best things there, — Scarce startlmg him ; old, gentle, sweet, and sad as they : — IV. " Thou musest of the gifts that, yonder, wait Those whom the Gods do choose with far-off ken: ^ Mount Parnassus. AND THEIR LOST HOPE \\ Castalia's spell,* and the rich, dreamy freiirht Laid on Sleep's shore,t for favored sons of men. / sought one sacred gift ; — Ah ! Time's waves, strong and swift, Have swept brigiit looks and hopes, that made my world glad, then. V. " Beside a pool, where, still, two olives meet, Threescore years since, some Delpliian X chil- dren played : We built our little mole and launched our fleet. And then along the rippling margin strayed Watching the voyage o'er, Till, at the farther shore. Our galleys, one by one, on the safe strand were laid. VI. " Mine, ever mine, was foremost in the race. Till, tired, our little maidens sat them down. * Whoever drank of the water, might drink the divine spirit also. t He that slept upon Parnassus, in waking found his mind possessed by poetic inspiration, or was possessed by madness. X The city of Delphi, where was the great temple of Apollo, stood upon the mountain, a mile or more from the foot. 12 THE DELPHIAISI CHILDREN Wliispered apart, — then sang : — one, witli bright face. Said, ' Let our poet wear a Pythian cro^ai ! ' They wove the dark-leaved beech, Each helping, hindermg each, Then, in child's triumph, all turned homeward to the to\\ii. VII. " On huge Parnassus hung a wondrous cloud, — We children marked it, — much like yon fair show ; Again Alcestis spoke, but scarce aloud, ' At times the mighty Shades do gather so. (So did my mother say ;) They come not in the day, But m still night, to walk the high woods to and fro : ' VIII. " Shades of the great old Greeks and Barbar- ous men, Whoe'er on earth had loosed some mighty song : At times by night they wandered here, and then What poet found the haunt of the dread throng AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 13 On that for mountain -height, Ere dawn was lost in light, That 07ice, plucked fadeless floAvers that to their realm belong. IX. " My heart beat quickly, as w^e gazed and w^alketl, For they had all praised my own childish rhyme ; Evadne, too, my sister, while we talked. Turned her full eyes, as if I, child, might climb Up to that haunted land ; Alcestis pressed my hand As if she felt my heart throb at the very time. X. " I lost our Pythian garland in the road, While we w^alked thoughtfully, and sometimes spake. The wondrous cloud with the last sunlight glowed, As yon cloud lately : — might not we awake, — We three, — from early rest. And on the mountain's breast, Climb with fresh, hopeful hearts, high ere the day could break ? 14 THE DELPHIAN CHHDREN XI. " Out of glad day, tlirough the fair porch of eve, Our pUiymates passed into the halls of sleep. I listened long, for the great town to leave Its noise and watchfuhiess, and long rest keep. Then faltered forth, to gain The great god's awful fane, Seared by each far, lone cry, and the far, con- scious deep. XII. " 1 shrank before the columns cloaked with shade. And, shuddering, felt a fanning of great wings : I dared not that cliill presence to invade. Dim with dread forms of gods and godlike kings. I gasped my childish prayer : I had no garland there To offer, as men vow their gifts and glorious tilings. XIII. " Ere that fair night had reached her highest bound. We met and grasped each other's trembling hand ; AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 15 With faltering whispers scaled the fearful ground, Three children where dread rocks and huge trees stand. On high the broad moon rolled ; And her rays, white and cold, From darkness, here and there, scarce won the doubtful land. XIV. "We kept a torrent's coiu'se, and, trembling still, Went on and on, startmg and stopping oft: Sometimes we sat and wept, as children will, And my cheek felt Evadne's, wet and soft: ' Home ! ' she would gently say, " Nay ! ' said Alcestis, ' nay ! ' And still we clambered on, through the dread woods, aloft. XV. "Hours, hours went on, and cold and darkness grew : Still, weary and afraid, we clambered fast, And dawn began to gray the night's deep blue : We gained the upper woods ! — The way was past ! 16 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN Now need we only seek Where the two echoes speak, Above, below, at once, to find the flowers that last. XVI. " Our voices faltered, when we strove to smg : We feared the trees, the rocks, the quivering gloom : At length we dared our little hymn to fling Through the tliin air, where shadowy horrors loom. Lo ! at the earhest sound, The mystic spot was found. And there a high, smooth cliff, crowned with undying bloom. XVII. " Great characters upon the rock's high face Slowly we saw, in the dim dawning light; ' Men that were Makers,' * far up we could trace, And then their names that had the Maker's might ; * 'ANAPES nOIHTAI' it mav be read. AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 17 We thought not what great hand Had made those names to stand : We thought that at the foot a boy's name we might write. XVIII. " So, with weak hand, I sought to print the stone, The little maidens sitting at my side. ' First,' said Alcestis, ' make the flowers thine own ! ' ' Nay,' said Evadne, with a sister's pride, ' Let our young poet's name Stand on this roll of fame ! ' So I, Avith hurrying hand, my weary labor plied. XIX. " Slowly the dawning grew, and slowly I Now wrought, now rested ; but Alcestis still Said, ' Gather first the blooms that hang on high ! Day will be here ere thou this task fulfil : Yon peak sees it afar. And yonder shrinking star ; First gain the fadeless flowers, then work here at thy will.' 18 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN XX. " Four letters rudely in the stone were Avrought, And could be read, * A Boy/ * but yet no name. ' See/ said Alcestis, ' how the peak has caught Already daylight : soon 't will be a-flame. It is not yet too late ! Mount where the bright flowers wait : Flowers that, when thou art dead, will ever be the same ! ' XXI. " I tried the cliiF, and climbed : my hands were sore, And I was tired : yet I strained up tlie height. The little maidens shouted, ' Yet once more ! ' I tried : I tried : I could not reach them quite. And ah ! behold on high, Ah ! all across the sky. The day was come, at last, and dawn was lost in light. " My tears burst forth : in vain my sister said, ' They are still there ! ' — I knew it was in vain. * 'IIAIS' — but as yet no name, it may be read. AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 19 It was too late. — Alcestis hung her head. Sadly I came down to the earth, again. ' Home ! ' said Alcestis, now : P^vadne kissed my brow ; And, by our torrent's course, we toiled ^own to the plam." The little waters trickled down the beach, And landward sounds fell, faintly, to their rest. The dews were heavy, and that sad, soft speech Had ceased, just when the ear had liked it best. The young man was alone, And great cool night was thrown Over wide earth and sea, from far east to far west. June 16-20, 1858. 20 A BOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. I BUILT a house on the golden sand, With the glearay sea beside ; It looked forth, here, on the dear, loved land, And there on the changing tide. It Avas sweet sprmg-time, and the days all fair, Till the pretty work was done ; And the house seemed akin to the bright, clear air. And the summer glance of the sun. But a wind with waves came up from the sea. And burst through the Aveak shore's check; They spoiled all my pleasant things for me, And my house was all a wreck. The seasons changed, and the strong land-wind Drove back all my fickle sand ; But only a waste Avas left behind. And my walls no longer stand. A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. 21 Trust not the golden, yellow sand, The sea, nor the changeful blast; Dig deep in the strength of the fast-set land, And thy home shall stand as fast. 1860. 22 THE WARNED ONE. THE WARNED ONE. Silent watcher, see'st thou aught On the far-off ocean's brim ? Has tliine eye a meaning caught In the mist- world's changeful whim? Gaze full long, and gaze full deep : There is that which chaseth sleep In the spirit-forms that rise ]rar before thy fated eyes. Be thou, watcher, timely wise. Blessed are those sons of men For whose sake a light is set Out beside things far-off, yet, So to bring them within ken; Showing them in ghastly white. While beyond is depth of night : Blessed are they, if they know What these things far-moving are, Coming, coming, sure if slow. They give warning, thus, afar. July, 1847. THE DAYS OF SIN. 23 THE DAYS OF SIN. Oh, mournful, mournful time ! I prayed : but sin was there : Sin crept upon my prayer, And made my prayer a crime ! I prayed, and prayed again : But sin was in it still ! It throttled my weak will ; I struggled — but in vain. I burned by day and night, I feared that fire of sin — Its covering seemed so thin — Would show to other's sight ! My daily work I did, — I talked of Heaven and Hell, Full often and full well, — But ah ! what woe I hid ! 24 THE DAYS OF SIN. It seemed as if my fate Were up : in Satan's mesh — A damn(^d soul in fiesli — I lived beyond my date. Christ's life in me seemed lost ! Where was the promise now, Sealed to me when my brow In his blest sign was cross'd ? I strove to fly from me ; Always it was the same ; Hell was where'er I came ; God's -svrath I could not flee. Such life I loathed to keep, But could I dare to die ? Heaven's walls so hopeless high And Hell a soundless deep ? My heart aye told me well I gave myself away, To be the Devil's prey — By my own hand I fell. I struggled once for all ; God's altar — there I prayed ; THE DAYS OF SIN. 25 And bitter cry I made Behind my closet wall. A change began to be ! I felt the Breath of Life ! For Heaven and Hell Avas strife : I struggled, and was free ! Ah ! now the strife was done : I sought the Flesh and Blood; I ate Salvation's food ; My soul to Christ was won. February 10, 1847. 26 THE LITTLE YEARS. THE LITTLE YEARS. A SONG FOR THE ELDP:R GRADUATES. These years ! These years ! These naughty years Once they Avere pretty things : Their fairy foot-falls caught our ears, Our eyes their glancing Avings. They flitted by our school-boy way; We chased the little imps at play. We knew them, soon, for tricksy elves; They brought the college gown; With thoughtful books filled up our shelves, Darkened our lips with down: Played with our throat, and lo ! the tone Of manhood had become our own. They smiling stretched our childish size ; Their soft hands trimmed our hair ; Cast the deep thought within our eyes And left it glowing there : THE LITTLE YEARS. 27 Sang songs of hope in college-halls, Bright fancies drew upon the walls. They flashed upon us love's bright gem; They showed us gleams of fame ; Stout-hearted work we learned from them. And honor more than name : And so they came and went away, We said not go : we said not stay. But one sweet day, when quiet skies And still leaves brought me thought, When hazy hills drew forth my eyes. And woods with deep shade fraught, That day I carelessly found out What work these elves had been about. Alas! Those little rogues, the years. Had fooled me many a day ; Plucked half the locks above my ears, And tinged the rest all gray. They'd left me wrinkles, great and small : — I fear that they have tricked us all. Well, — give the little years their way; Think, speak, and act, the while: 28 THE LITTLE YEARS. Lift up the bare front to the day, And make their wrinkles smile: They mould the noblest living head; They carve the best tomb for the dead. July 20, 1858. [Hands skilful and famous have taken this up to make a tune for it ; and yet it wants one, that it may be, as was meant, and as the maker longs to have it, sung by the Elder Gradu- ates ] OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 29 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. Within the twilight came forth tender snatches Of birds' songs from beneath their darkened eaves : But now a noise of poor ground-dwellers matches This dimness : neither loves, nor joys, nor grieves. A piping, slight and shrill, And coarse, dull chirpings fill The ear that all day s stronger, finer music leaves. From this smooth hill, we see the vale below, there, And how the mists along the stream-cour=e di'aw : By day, great trees from other ages grow there, A white lake, now, that daylight never saw. It hugs, in ghostly shape, The Old Deep's shore and cape, 30 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. As when, where night-hawks skim, swam, fish with yawning maw. * All grows more cool, though night comes slow- ly over, And slowly stars stand out within the sky ! The trampling market-herd and way-sore drover Crowd past Avith seldom cries, — their halt now nigh. From out some lower dark Comes up a dog's short bark : There food and welcome rest, there cool, soft meadows lie. The children, watching by the roadside wicket, Now house ward troop, for Blindman's-Buff, or Tag; Here chasing sidelong, fire-flies to the thicket, There shouting, with a grass-tuft reared for flag. They claim this hour from night : But with a sure, still sleight. The sleep-time clogs their feet, and one by one they lag. * In our narrower, deep dells and valleys, the mist will hide, altogether, the trees, and show how, in old times, the great waters filled all these deep places. OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 31 Our doctor jogs, with loose rein, on the highway, Near where the lawyer with his rake is set : Short greetuig, — and the two, in merry, sly way, Tease with old jokes that have their fresh- ness, yet. This charges clients lost : That, law's most hopeless cost. And heart-strain that by healing-skill is never met. A farmer, with his coat across his shoulder, Leans, with his youngest boy in arms, to wait While, with big words, and oft-jerked reins, the older Urges the unhitched horses through the gate. A little girl, unshod, Stands by with idle rod, Her sweet-breathed cows long since brought home with welcome freight. Far down the road faint shouts of maidens' laughter Mark twilight-meeting by the open well: Now stillness for some tale ; gainsayings, after. Prove, shrilly, how well-thrown some youth's name fell. 3 32 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. Not only maidens hear : A sudden rougher jeer Makes known some ambushed ears and tongues the tale to tell. Thmgs have not kindly ties, within a city ; Here thoughts hang garlanded on wayside trees, Where Will made endless mirth, Hal sang his ditty : One fell hi our great war : one sails far seas : And here, at some smooth stone. Have young hearts often known That lordly bondage, first, that first the young heart frees. Dusk arms our moral taverner with drenches More safe for sots that now no longer taste ; While slow-tongued neighbors fill his outer benches, For these still hours, their evening reek to waste. Squire, here, and stroller meet ; And yet one empty seat Awaits the greater man, or else is left in haste. All know of all, and dwellings, roads, and bridges ; OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 33 The crop's best hope, fresh colts, and horses lame; Tell what a Father thought on drills and ridges. Name children, sick, and the last guest that came. An easy common-law Holds party strifes in awe ; Our fiery smith, alone, his rash tongue scarce can tame. Li one far cot a clarinet is droning ; Lads strive in whistUng on the southern hill; The farness and the dew-soft air atoning For noise so kept alive with tireless will. Who sighs for rich and proud, The great Town's nightly crowd. Its song, its show, its sin, their harmless place to fill ? From our priest's household, as the night draws nearer, Through windows open pours a holy song, Sung to their own hearts and One Kindest Hearer, — 34 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. For many a child's note wanders freely wrong. Yet is the sound most meet, •- With day far under feet, And dimness here, and sleep, — for all to God belong. And now the still stars make all heaven sightly ; One, in the low west, like the sky ablaze : The Swan, that with her shining Cross floats nightly, And Bears that slowly walk along their ways. There is the golden Lyre, And there the Crown of fire : Thank God for nights so fair to these bright days ! [Written as it happened, during the days of the base riots in New York City, July, 1863.] A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 35 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. The first time that the skies grew bright, When Heaven lay open wide, And angels gleamed adown the night Of one still country-side ; 'Twas when the Almighty Heir of All Came forth, a helpless child, Amid the darkness of a stall, And through our nature smiled. Far down in Being, but forgot By none who watched afar. Above the lowly, hidden spot Was buoyed one floating star. Then angels, up the heights of sky. Flashed glory with their shout. And o'er the wide earth sleeping nigh, Fell words of peace about. 86 TURNING LOVE AWAY TURNING LOVE AWAY. (long years ago.) O Love, go forth ! I brought thee here For that I heard thee sing one day When thou wast in the grass at play: That song of one that was too dear. Love ! — O Love ! — I could not bear To listen by the wayside there ; 1 longed to hear thee sing, somewhere Where no one else was near. Rememberest thou, my little guest? In bearing thee, (thy pretty wing Blmding my eyes, thou roguish thing !) I wandered where my feet knew best. She laid on thee a timid touch, But oh ! that little was so much. The arrows in thy careless clutch Stung all my open breast. TURNING LOVE AWAY. 37 How bright the earth was, that glad time ! How sweetly breathed the evening air ; It seemed her breath was everywhere, And ours became a fairy clime ! The sky hung all in gold and red; The flowers all vied their scents to shed ; The ground seemed loving to my tread ; All sounds, that eve, did chime. I gave thee but one only task: To go as my true messenger, And bring sweet words again from her, The work thyself didst ask : Until that day between us two Thou broughtest lies ; we thought them true. So well our cunning traitor knew His young, false face to mask. I must shut up thy little room ! — Ah ! o'er its yet unhardened wall Thine arrow traced her name, and all Her look, except her own fresh bloom ! — I could not come here but to weep : Here was thy little couch to sleep ; These walls thy useless work will keep ; But this shall be a tomb. 38 TURXIXG LOVE AWAY. Let me forget that lying tongue ! Ah, what a price its falsehood cost, When once, was once forever, lost ! — Yet sleep that loss, lost things among ! For such this world makes no amends. We drew apart and chose new friends : So many a short, bright story ends, Where two young hearts were wrung. A [VALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. Sd A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. I. Graves of the silent dead, Ye echo to the tread Of a lone, mourning man : They were my friends of yore ; Sweet company they bore To me when life began. II. I wander here, alone, To seek if faithful stone Is set by every grave ; And to call up again Thoughts, cherished not in vain, They to my young soul gave. III. Y^ours first I call, dear Hopes, Seen on the sunny slopes. 40 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. Where as a cliild I lay ; Or that by winding brook, My loitering steps o'ertook, In the long summer day. IV. There was no sound of man ; My free 80ul forward ran Among the coming years. I felt the breath of fame: I heard aloud my name : My eyes were nigh to tears. V. Glad Hopes ! Ye gave me then Wliat long, late toil to men Brings only withering : I plucked with childish gripe, Tlie fruit ere it was ripe ; But it was mine m spring. VI. Sweet, sweet, sad Hopes ! what now Is left upon the bough, Of flower, or fruit, or leaf? And yet, why mourn, if ye A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 41 So early gave to me Thoughts fail' and bright, though brief? VII. Feelings of cliildhood's time, That stretched about to climb On all that stood around ! Whose twining grasp was laid. In sunshine and in shade, Tireless on all it found, — VIII. Whose hold was often flung From that whereon ye clung, Yet would not long be free ; By your fond instinct taught I thought (true childhood's thought) That all were kin to me. IX. Amid the boys' loud band I seem again to stand ; Again quick- voiced and glad ; Feelmgs more great and strong Than to child's sports belong Li those young days we had : 42 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. X. The swell, ere storms begin, When huge waves tumble in And fill the little bay; So from life's vexed se^, The strong, deep swell knew we, In childhood's peaceful day. XI. That human brotherhood, Mingling in every mood. Made this our life so great, The mystic, awful bond Still urged me forth beyond Myself, to feel my fate : XII. One of so many more. Whom life was laid before Full of mysterious things ; Where every human soul. To the great common whole, Its lore and insight brings. XIII. I look once more to see. As at the chestnut tree A WALK AMONG MEMORTS GRAVES. 43 Where the far voices died, The pleasant thoughts that played Beneath that pleasant shade, In troops on every side. XIV. Then youth came sailing o'er. Fairer than all before, Broad-sailed and deeply fraught. Love ! Hope ! Ambition ! you Mastered the lithe, strong crew. — Love ? — Hope ? — Ambition ? — Naught ! XV. Yet, if they were but vain. They come no more again To make me loiter here : The work that God has set, It has the long days, yet. And brightest of the year. XVI. Still has my cliief work been Rather to make me clean, As he must be that will Go forth 'mid thronging men 44 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. And stretch his forward ken Onward and upward, still. XVII. No more, no more I call ! Cool, solenm shadows fall Down on my open mind ! For this I wandered here — For this I called you near, Thoughts of things long resigned XVIII. They will be raised one day, And throng about the way Of the old dying man ; Hopes, feelings, joys that smiled Upon him when a child. And o'er the bright scenes ran. XIX. Children in summer's eve. Do pluck the old man's sleeve And clamber up his knee ; Or draw him by the hand To where their playthings stand, Or their sweet sports to see. A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 45 XX. Thus will these come, once more, To lead him gently o'er The scenes loved long ago ; And in his eldest days, All childhood's long left ways Make liim again to know. July, 1846. [One stanza was put in and the neighboring parts adjusted to it in 1860-1 46 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT A DREAM OF JUDGMENT JUST AT HAND. The Earth doth rock ! the Earth doth reel ! It topples like a poised wheel, When the hand that held it falls. Its burning heart doth throb mth dread, As the mighty blast both quick and dead Forth to God's Judgment calls. The shattered air is drowned in rain : No cloud shall ever come again. The leaves hang down : the rank grass droops : The storm-unshaken mountain stoops ; The ocean's roar is heard : Less ! less ! and less ! Ah, it doth cease ! Its broad, smooth bosom waits in peace For the Almighty Word. Earth is riven ! Rocks are rent ! Darting flames are upwards sent : Everywhere the fire has vent : Every sepulchre is burst : Dust from dust, dust from dust, JUST AT HAND. 47 Lo ! the smiier and the just, — T(» be blessed, to be blessed, blessed, or forever curst. Crowding, crowding, they are come. Millions, countless, yet is room. Though each sod has been a tomb. On the waters millions stand, vStill, as those on fixed land. Not a whisper, — not a breath ; — They have not yet unlearned death. Pale, pale, oh, ghastly pale ! And the thin bodies are no more a veil To the souls that are within. They are so sere and thin. Wretched, oh, wretched, wretched sight ! Every secret brought to light. Tongue could not speak, hand could not write. ******* The sun ! the sun ! The end of all things is begun. How near ! how bright ! But oh, the Earth' What is its beauty worth ! what are its riches , worth ! 4 48 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT What are its paltry glories worth ! 'Tis of too small a girth, — this despicable earth, — For the Last Deed that yet is to be done. Speech ! Human speech ? No ! 'tis not human speech ! That tone no voice of man could reach ! 'Tis a new sound on earth, — a screech Of the Doomed Dead raised up : Lord God, oh, how it doth beseech But for one chance, a single chance, but one ! Voices, voices, everywhere. Hiss and hurtle in the heavy air. The air is dead : no more they breathe : The air is dead, above, beneath. Oh, what voices crowd mine ear ! All that ever died are here. And God's great, last Doom so near ! All life, now, seems only fear ! All at once, yet separate, I hear them all : each has its date And follomng : Time is not done, And yet Eternity almost begun : Eternity and Time just blending into one. JUST AT HAND. 49 Oh ! oil ! how soon, how soon shall this last time be clone ! Hark ! a dull, thick earthly tongue, And still mth thought all earthly hung : " Help me to pile this costly stone Above my neighbor : — 'twas my own : — Nay, nay, nay, nay ; — let all alone ; He is not there : but can I yet atone ? My heart was never in that ^^a*ong : Fate drives men's blinded wills along : I stroV^e ; but I was weak, and it was strong. Thou dost not blame ? Kneel with me, then, And hide this shame from God and men. This long, carved lie, that time forgot. For Christ's sake, help me here to blot: Help me ! — thou dost not fear thy lot." ******* There is a sound of preparation heard, For the dread coming of the Heavenly King, As when the deep wood-depths unseen are stirred Ere with the tempest's mighty gust they swing. The King is coming : He that long ago Came to this earth, a Man of woman born, And o'er, its wide face wandered to and fro. Weary and weeping, and with travel worn. Eating with earth's most wretched and forlorn. — 60 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT A fair light flares upon the sky, as if before the morn. ******** Here are fair things : if women, or if men. The eye scarce marks ; and yet the heart may know That these were ivedded, and unsundered, when Death into want and waste their flesh brought low. Here is no fondness ; here is no desire : But one kind likeness grown where love filled all ; And here is mother's-love that could not tire Nor be put ofl'; and manly heart's true fire That gave up all his own at others' call. Now all is upward cast, and onward longs : Christ is the lovely One, to whom all turn. Onward to Him the holy feeling throngs, And love that learned of Him, to Him doth yearn. ******** What desperate voice crawls upward from the dust? What thing lies here, without all love, faith, hope and trust ? I am no king : I am some meanest thing, That washes beggars' feet: — I seek no throne, I can bear always to be trod upon. JUST AT HAND. 51 They that for me in sudden graves have lain, — Must I forever wear a guilty stain ? Death never was to last : Who sleeps, since that dread trumpet-blast ? " Onward and upward glows the conquering light, Spreading the skies around with gilded white ; And soft sweet sounds of mighty love breathe out, Strewing the Saviour's path with heavenly flowers about. He comes, He comes whom every eye shall see ! Lord, all the nations turn their eyes for thee ! Was this man rich ? and never rich with love ? Oh, how his cry is strained all sounds above ! " Holy prayers I made ; And countless alms have paid ! I have built churches, and my name was known Abroad, wherever winds have blown ! " It is on record : was it all for nought ? What price, then, ever. Paradise has bought ? When earth burns, that cheating wealth Let it drain away by stealth : Had I given, had I given, I might lift my eyes to heaven ! " 52 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT As the wide water spreadeth on the hind, With mighty softness taking every place, Until the flood alone doth all-wheres stand ; So doth the Presence of the King at hand In mildest conquest make its way, apace. Till all is held and mastered in His Grace. Now, little voices, sweet beyond all sweet, Pour to the most kind Lord their welcomes fleet. " Hosanna ! Glory in the highest be, son of David, loving Loi'd, to Thee I " Like some new life, made lightly of soft notes, This Avay and that, above, the child-song floats. He that sat glittering up on high. But knew not God, oh, what a bitter cry ! " I would kneel before my door, Callmg round the filthy poor, — 1 would crawl upon my knees To the side of loathed disease, — Worse things, and baser things than these, — Could I lick the very sore With distemper rumiing o'er, — No ! no ! no ! my season is no more ! " JUST AT HAND. 53 Soft sound comes forth from them that gird the Lord Forever with their hand of circling love, Like and unlike, yet all in blest accord : Earth hath not heard such sounds since it did move At first, to most sweet measure, when the Word Sent it forth blessed, and the sons of God With joyous song timed its far march abroad. Down, grovelling down, the man of bloody hand Sinks, while his cheek with those blest sounds is farmed. " I thrust God's life out from my brother man : Now a long death my endless life shall span ; And in the dread strife conquer neither can ! " The bright clouds open : Glory swelleth through ; INIillions upon their bended knees do fall : These shall be saved : these are the chosen few : Lo ! on their brow a cross of glittering dew Shines with that Glory. These were faithful, all, And, while they lived, beyond their season small Saw ever Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, in view : These followed Christ and listened to His call. New-born of water and the Holy Ghost ; And, bemg most forgiven, loved Him most, 54 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT Upheld with heavenly food to keep the way, With living food renewed and strengthened, day by day. Falsehood and guile not yet their own place seek : What words all thick with shame the lips can speak ! There is no manhood in that deathly cheek. — "• Those are still vows that then I spoke. Though all that man can break I broke. I see how strong God's high Word stands : Yes, though I blind nie with my hands ! I broke my oaths, I broke thy heart, I broke God's law and endless love apart. He holds me not ! — I feel no tie above ! — Nothing my heart knows of Christ's blessed love. Child ! wilt thou, too, go into bliss With a fresh memory of this ? This most sad thing, this last of eartli, His doom, to whom thou owest birth ? Is Heaven such ? Is Hell so near ? That thou in heaven itself mayest hear The hopeless shriek, the frightful shout, That must and ever will burst out, fLver and ever, from the damned rout ? And know ' That is my Father wailing there ; JUST AT HAND. 55 That voice I know ? ' Despair ! Despair ! " ******** Great silence falls : but silence full of sound, And full of splendor : and the Lord is found, Here in the midst, at hand, and not afar, And beauteous living things about Him are. The eyes that looked on Mary, look on all, xVnd in our hearts words that men speak not fall : The very thonis, — the spear-wound and the nails ! Life is become but love, and all thought fails. 1845 ; finished July, 1863. 56 A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. Carol, Christians ! Christ is here ! Carol for this Baby dear ! This is Man, but God, the more ; Sing beside this stable-door ! This our King, witliout a crown In a manger is laid down. Where the Maid, Avith meekest hands. Wrapped him all in swathing-bands. Ages long ago He came. Lived and died, yet is the same : He, who, slain ere Things were made, In this stall a Babe Avas laid. Sing, good Christians ! come and sing ! , Praise our Christ, and praise our King ! Gladdest Night ! most happy Morn ! Christ, our Lord, this Day was born ! A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. 57 Sing; our best, both Young and Old ! Never heart, this time, be cold ! Never eye of love be dim ! Who love others, they love Him. 58 THE PA [y TEE'S PROBATION. THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. . [How he strives to make the fairest painting that was ever made in earth.] PART FIRST. There comes in life a frequent hour, When the full voice of Fate Calls with a dread, mysterious power On those who should be great : To warn them that a mighty dower Somewhere for them doth wait. For somewhere, in the long, long train That marches down through Time, Working out human nature's gain. Its glory or its crime. For each a station doth remain : With power to do or to refrain, A humble or sublime. And they whom God hath breathed upon And gifted, from their birth, THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 59 With lofty powers to labor on The labor of this earth, For them, amid the swelling crowd. An office is assigned With mighty influence endowed ; And mito them Fate calleth, loud, In the first-opening mind. Again, again, through shine or cloud, Her words come, as the wind. Alas ! how many, downward bowed. Their birthright have resigned ! O God ! How much of great and good. How much of fearful sin, Were gained, or gallantly withstood. If these their place would win ! There hung upon the chamber-wall The fancies he had wrought : All that his soul had power to call. Out of the shapes that shadow all. Into his burning thought. The hopes that gladdened early years Had left their colors there, And shades were there, that early fears 60 THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. Had tanglit his art to wear : Alternate smiles, alternate tears, (So that young life to thought appears,) Each memory had its share. But in the dark and in the bright, — Colored by joy or pain, — Something was wanting to his sight : The utmost all were vain. Sweet strains of music from old days Murmured about his soul, And INIemory's deep, golden haze. An atmosphere of mingled rays. O'er his wide thought would roll, While airs, like summer wind that plays, Would gently fan the whole. Oh ! at such seasons, wdien he felt As if his spirit, free From the close body's narrow belt. Swelled towards Divinity, And pure and strong and living grew. As when at first it came From Him that sent it forth to do Deeds that should earn a name, Or, nameless, bear a blessing through The paths of this world's shame. Oh! why, when God himself inspired THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 61 Those raptured hours of thought, The very seasons oft desired, Why lias he yet in vain retired. And still no trophy brought, Though, by a transient impulse fired, Again he strove and wrought? He saw the scene : he felt the force ; He started forth to do ! But no! the streamlet from its source Bears flowers of every hue"" Wrapped in their seeds ; and, in its course, It strews and plants them too : But time, and place, and God's own smile Must meet together, or long while Unfruitful they must lie, Ere they will show again the scene From which they came, and which has been Painted in many-colored sheen Beneath another sky. Thus all were vain : he could not find Within his utmost power. That form that floated in his mind. Not indistinct, though not defined. Leaving a memory behind. Like tints at sunset hour. His gleaming eye had caught its light, 62 THE PAINIER'S PROBATION. His cheek had felt its glow ; And di-eamily before his sight, In the rapt visions of the night, That fancy-form would go; And when his spirit felt its might, That form he seemed to know. In the wild agony of prayer His trembling hand had tried To fix the fleeting figure there : And he had sought m mad despair The power that was denied. All Beauty and all Holiness, — (Alas ! there mingled Sin,) — Howe'er combined, could not express That form he sought to win. There was the blue of changeless Truth: There Avas Love's burning red ; The golden-glowing Hope of Youth - Its yellow glory spread : Oh, pure ! oh, bright ! oh, heavenly deep ! There seemed God's Light within. And wings of angels seemed to sweep The breathing work : but shades did creep O'er all : there mingled Sin I That chill, chill wind from o'er the graves And from the cold, damp tomb. THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 63 That wind that frosts the hair it waves, And pales the cheek's fresh bloom ; The bitter wind that we must face As down life's hill we go apace, And evening spreads its gloom; — He felt its first cold-creeping breath. And saw afar, in mist, the vast, dim shape of Death. Come down, O night of dreamless sleep ! Come to this sad, sad room: This working will and spirit steep In silence, not in gloom. Be thou, O night of needed rest, A calm, clear night of peace, "WHierein the voice of heavenly guest Can sing his gentle sootliings best, That make earth's struggles cease ; And, in the shut and darkened mind, Leave sweetest lingering notes behind, That shall the calm increase, Until with waking prayer they find. As with a breath of morning wind, A happy, fit release. And ye, flowers of earnest Thought, 64 THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. That in his mind grew bright, With fresher perfume shall be fraught And fau-er robes, of spirits caught, Cast down in peaceful night. 1838 and 1846. END OF PART FIKST. [The Author must ask those who are interested to wait for the Second Part of The Painter's Probation. In finishing the First Part, he set up a few lines of the other, to start with : but has not touched them since.] THAT DEAD. 65 THAT DEAD. Is he gone? Oh! Is he gone? And does the world still travel on, Heedless of his loss, Like a freighted ship, at sea. Ploughing on, though there may be One that perished suddenly. In the deep, like dross? He is dead: yes, he is dead: Bands of earth bind down his head, Bands of earth his feet. ^ They that stood and saw hun die Brushed the salt tear from the eye. And they that wrapped him, by and by, In his winding-sheet. He was one that had high thought In the mind-rooms where he wrought For all others' sake ; 5 36 THAT DEAD. And had looked along the way, Where the halting-places lay, Where, from every weary day, He his rest would take. December, 1846. THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS- 67 THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS. " Though He was rich, yet, for our sakes, He became poor. — How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the king- dom of God ! — The cares of this life, and the deceitfulness of riches choke the "Word, and it becometh unfruitful. — Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth. — Take no thought for the morrow." Christ in a ^vretched place was born, Nor owned his very grave ; ^He lived both homeless and forlorn, — His fellows such as rich men scorn, — And ate what beggars gave. And when the Lord of Life became Poor, and of none esteem. He bade his followers do the same; For Him to choose a life of shame ; Earth's goods a curse to deem. The poor He blessed, and opened wide The kingdom to their feet; And bade the rich man go divide The wealth whereon he built his pride. And give the poor to eat. B8 THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DA YS. Not otherwise might he be made Christ's brother and God's son; For how could one in pomp arrayed The family of Christ invade, AVliere wealth and pomp was none? Christ's brethren, — oh ! what seraphim Cared less for earthly good! The rich, bright world to them was dim; They marched along with Prayer and Hymn, And left it, where it stood. If in the Kingdom's early day, Men gave up earth for Heaven, If lands and wealth they gave away. If dainty food and rich array, — If all for Christ was given, Then how unlike God's humble Son Are they who bear his name! In rich apparel every one. No worldly good they care to shun : Are those and these the same? The rich, — the rich are everywhere ; These fill the Temple too. THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN UR DA YS. 69 And scantly give the poor a share To whom Christ said te blessed are; God's kingdom is for you. rich men! who do claim to be The followers of the Lamb, "VVTiat, what are you, and what was He ? Is not His name a mockery? Is not your faith a sham? 1 see your houses cedar-lined : Ye feed each earthborn lust For food, for gems, for gold refined, For every pleasure that can bind The spirit down to dust. What single tiling that wealth can buy Do ye, for Christ, forget? To BEAR THY CROSS, THYSELF DENY, Know ye these words? Were they to die, Or are they living yet? Has Christ taught you another way, The Fathers never knew, To live well here, and live for aye ? To liave the riches earth can pay, And those hereafter too? 70 THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DA YS. And yet ye cant of serving God And giving to his poor, Who go unfed, unclothed, unshod, And underneath the heavy sod First find a sleep secure. men well clothed, and warmed, and filled While God's poor children fast, The very churches that ye build And deck with pomp and carve and gild Will judge you at the last. Where are my poor, Christ still demands,— To whom the Gospel came ? Tliis costly offering at your hands Is to yourselves, and only stands A monument of shame. Give to my poor! give much: give all, If nothing less will do ; They that at first obeyed the call. Were fain to let earth's riches fall: Shall I ask less of you? June, 1849. THE PITYING CHRIST. 71 THE PITYING CHRIST.* O MY Saviour ! art Thou there ? From withm this wasted heart, Cries of shame and deep woe start : Empty chambers, empty halls, Everywhere some lone voice calls : There dwelt pleasure; there came sin Wailing sounds now roam within. Saviour ! Oh ! if Thou art there, Be my heart of all else bare ! O my Saviour ! art Thou there ? Otherwheres I looked, too long ; Till I read thy dear looks wrong ; Love on others I have thrown, And my Lord have all unknown. Now, by loss and sorrow wise, Let me look up to thme eyes ! Lord! if Thou, indeed, be there, Give thy prodigal his share! * " Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith." 72 NE WFO UNDLAND. NEWFOUNDLAND. RUGGED land ! Land of the rock moss ! Land whose drear barrens it is woe to cross ! Thou rough thing from God's hand ! stormy land! Land where the tempests roar! Land where the unbroken waves rave mad upon the shore : Thine outwalls scarce withstand ! O w^intry realm, Where the cold north winds blow; Where drifting, bitter sleet, and blinding snow All man's poor work o'erwhelm ! O bleak, bleak realm. Whose homeward-hastening bark Is crisped with ice : sails, cordage, stiff and stark, And iced the miruly helm ! What hast thou in thy gift? The kindly sun has shone. These thousand years, the stubborn cliffs upon NE WFO UNDLAND. 73 Wliich thou on high dost lift: Wliat hast thou in thy gift? A stinted growth appears : Grass, shrub, and tree, slow-growing in long years, Where gapes the rocky rift. Yet thou art good: Thy barrens feed the deer; And birds of other lands do summer here. In thy lone humble wood. Ay, thou art good ; The poor man at his door Gathers his fuel; and year-long thy shore Yields, in free gift, his food. And better, still: Beneath a guardian-crown The poor man freely walks and lays him down, Free in all things but ill : And better, still : Here Holy Faith liath come. Teaching that God will give a glorious home To those that do His will. January 9, 1847. TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. Dear Muse ! thou hast not told me wrong Thou wert a heavenly thing : I knew it in the earliest song I learned of thee to sing. I took thee at thy simjDle word (And none like thee was fair) ; Thy whisper's breath my life all stirred, And the chill touch of thy hair. For thee I watched the twilight soft ; For thee I roamed the wood ; Unwaited and unlooked for, oft. Beside me thou hast stood. The sunlight I learned all with thee : The gleam and gloom of rill : All lonely glories of the sea, And woods with full thought still ; TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. iii Broad sheen of night-time, and its shade ; The stars' great, awful walk ; Whatever, sundered stillness made More dear than men's best talk : And finer things than ear can take, More fair than eye can know, From God's clear realm some slightest flake, That melts with us, below. With thee I saw the flush of cheek, The truth of moist, deep eye : Life's hidden tide, where no sunbeams leak, As whirl its strong depths by. The craft of words is thy dear gift, That struggling hearts can hold, And sudden, wondrous building lift In thought's broad sky of gold. Come, yet, to me ! chill days are here. When earth's fresh things are shed. And hearts hold closer all their dear For want of all their dead. October, 1863. 76 TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. Thus we meet, that long were parted: As I feel thy hand, Seems, once more, the boy, high-hearted. By my side to stand. Now thy touch is something colder Than 'twas wont to be ; We are changed in growing older : Yet I longed for thee : Waited anxiously, yet fearing For the change of years ; Hoped yet dreaded thy appearing To shape out my fears. For our feelings grew together, And our voices, blent, TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 11 Through the long fair summer weather, Forth ill space were sent. Every answering hill that heard them Called them not apart ; They were one ; one impulse stirred them, Mingled from each heart. By the solemn forest shaded, Side by side we lay ; Hand in hand the streamlet waded, Tossing far its spray. Many a tree and hill and hollow Fondly then we knew ; Many a lonely path could follow, Where light glimmered through. At the fence the wood dividing Lay our common spoil. Hidden for the sake of hiding. Treasured for the toil. Every frequent boyish pleasure. Lost, if had alone, We would share it without measure ! Thine was still my own. 78 TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED Every sight of love and beauty That to childhood came ; Every hope and every duty ; Dreams that had no name ; — ■ Each with each to us was blended, And one shadow threw : To one bourne the shadows tended, Over life's wide view. When, apart, an anxious longing In our hearts was set ; And our pulses, loud and thronging. Bounded as we met. Hastily my veins would tingle At thy noble deed ; And thy glance of praise, though single. Was my dearest meed. Now thy voice is calm and steady, And thine eye is cold; And the glow that once w^as ready Comes not, as of old. We that had one record, only, From the Angel's pen, TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 79 Now, long separate and lonely, Are no more as then. Fare thee well ! I could not greet thee After darker change. Let it be enough to meet thee Now not wholly strange. November, 1839. 80 THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. The allusion, in the fourth stanza, to the startling emp- tiness of the hovel from which one of those poor people, ■who are just suffered to live in this world, has gone to another, will be recognized in full force b}' any one who has, even once in his life, looked in upon such a sight. I have seen, on untwisting the string from the nail and push- ing open the crazy door, literally almost no relics but the handful of ashes upon the hearth, and the little heap of dust, laid out upon the bench, Avaiting to be given back to the earth from which it was taken. God help our poor brethren ! Brother, I am only dust : Wherefore wilt thou be unjust? Wherefore shake my humble trust In our God, my brother? There is yet but little day That together we shall stay : Wherefore jostle me away ? Love we one another. THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. 81 I have but this little spot : From my poor need snatch it not : It is all that I have got Of this hard world's giving. Is there not a room for me, Among all God made to be, Where to gather, manfully. Yet with toil my living ? God has given light and air : Grudge not thou my little share; Lo! it Cometh everywhere, We may share together. God, Himself, has set me here, And, with many a bitter tear, I have struggled many a year Of rough and wintry weather. Let me work, — I ask no more, — Till my stint is labored o'er. I can never lay up store ; None this world will send me. When I go, if men look there. They will find my place all bare ; Nothing but the light and air, God was good to lend me. 82 THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. Brother, look at me again : Toil has given me many a stain, Toil has swollen every vein, Yet I am thy brother. I am man, as well as thou, And our Lord has crossed my brow, Calling me God's child, and how Wilt thou call me other ? Let me stay until He call : Let me stay till evening fall, If so long T must be thrall, Earth's hard labor plying. When thou comest to take share In my cold bed, thou wilt there Grant my claim, and little care Near the poor man lying. December, 1846. A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 83 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. On the glorious Birthday morning, All the church is dressed in green ; Loud are heard the holy anthems, Sweetest prayers go up between. He that lay in lowly manger, Now is known as Heaven's King ; What but angels sang, aforetime. Now have men been taught to sing : " God have glory, in the highest : Peace on earth, good-will towards men Over all the tide of ages, Ever now as it was then." After prayers and chant all ended, Then the priest begins to preach : In God's name he speaketh plainly, For God's sake lie loveth each. 84 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. " Lo ! " he saith, " the Lord of Glory, Born and cradled in a stall! Sure He had but scanty welcome, Seeing He was Lord of all. " Yet, in sooth, He sought no other, Nor to earth for homage came ; Here He took the form of servant ; Here He bared the cheek to shame. " Not of this world was His kingdom : He lived not at monarch's cost : He sought not the known and honored, But He came to seek the lost : " Lost from out the world's long annals. For they came of humble kin : Lost from out the Book of Heaven, For their life was led in sin. " Thus the poor, and thus the sinner. Found the Lord beside their door : Heard His blessed words of comfort, Such as no man spake before. " Let our thoughts, this day, my brethren. Seek the poor, by men forgot; A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 85 Wliom the holy Christ remembered, Coming here to share their lot. "This' M'orld hath its rich and needy: This world hath its high and low : On the one side, pomp and worship ; On the other, toil and woe. " Not forever shall we struggle With the trials of this state : To be poor, and yet be thankful ; To be lowly- willed, if great. "Yet a little, and the Judgment: Then we change for good or ill : Rich or poor shall enter heaven. As they did the Father's will. " To be rich we may not covet. Ye have heard the Saviour say : And He chose the lowest station When He came to earth this day. " He has told us of His kingdom, Hardly shall the rich go in ; Though the best that this world offers, — Power and glory, — wealth may win. 86 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. " I will tell a simple story : Every day it falleth true ; Jesu grant you all, my brethren, That it be not so of you. " See you there how Dives sitteth, Richly clad, at dainty fare ? Many servants make obeisance, Many guests sit humbly there. " Now one cometh, speaking softly, ' Lazarus is at the gate : Waiting, in full mournful fashion, That his welcome cometh late. " ' For he meekly claimeth kindred, Though he is of low degree.' Heed the rich man, now, my brethren: Scornful answer maketh he : " ' Lazarus ? I know no beggars, And my kin bear no such name : Yet these poor folk have their kindred; Bid him go from whence he came.' " * Good my lord, the dogs are licking, In mere ruth, his running sore ; A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 87 He is modest, and he claimeth But the crumbs from off thy floor.' " ' Prating varlet ! ' said the rich man, ' Now what idle knaves have I ! Was there none to bid this beggar Choose a fitter place to die ? ' " He forgot that in God's heaven, Righteous poor shall have their share: And he thrust him from the threshold, Caring nought how he might fare. " So the servants laid the beggar Just before another's gate ; Coming back, with due obeisance. At their master's side to wait. " Soon the poor man died, full godly, And with saints he went to dwell : Next the rich man died, and, after, Lifted up his eyes in hell ; " And afar he saw the poor man. As he lay in Abraham's breast; And, from out his place of torment. Prayed towards that blissful rest. 88 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. " 'T was but for a drop of water : Yet his boon he could not win : God had set a gulf, forever, 'Twixt the two that were not kin. " For the words of dreadful judgment, Christ hath told us what they be : ' I was hungry, sick, and naked, And ye had no care of me.' " Then shall they make forward answer, That on earth had Him forgot : ' Lord, when saw we Thee an-hungered. Sick, and naked, and cared not ? ' " Christ shall say, ' These poor and wretched, Wliose meek claim ye put aside, I do own them as my brethren. And in them was I denied. " ' When ye saw me not, nor heard me. It was I put up the claim : I lay pining at the threshold, For they sought you in my name.' " Let us, then, confess Christ's brother, Lest we claim another kin : i A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 89 Then, before the gate of heaven, He shall bid us enter in. " Glory, worship, love, and service, To the blessed One in Three : As it was in the beginning, Is, and evennore shall be ! " 90 BEFORE MORNS. BEFORE MORNS.* Stay not at the open door : Hear the soft pipes calling sweetly ; Bow thy head to enter meetly ; It is just the Prayers before. Now, in secret prayer to heaven, Set thy knees upon the floor : Humbly wait till God has given That He gives forevermore ; "Welcome to bright youth and maiden, To the worn and very heavy laden. To the wounded and the sore. To His children He comes hither ; His fair glory fills this place ; Earth-born things, earth's day will wither ; But fresh life grows in God's gifts of grace. He will bless thee : ask Him lowly ; Let thine heart be open wide : * May we not commonly say " Morns " and " Eves " in our own tongue, for our Church-services ? BEFORE MORNS. 91 But bethink thee, naught unholy, — Lust, — dark hatred, — base sloth, — pride, — May thy heart hold fast, or slowly, Sadly, He will turn aside ; Thou wilt be unjustified. Has thy heart before Him bended ? Keep not to thyself, alone ; Let thy voice with these be blended : For the world these make their moan That God's grace may far be thrown : And till this great hour is ended. Count all others as thine own. 92 THE PALMER. THE PALMER AT THE WAYSIDE, RESTING. What we once lost, may we ever have back ; That brightest, that one brightest thing, of our all; Whose Avant has so often made sunshine look black, And turned our writhed faces, in tears, to the wall ? Maiden's fair name? Or the young cheek's pure shame ? Or man's trusty faith, or his quick will to dare ? Or love, that to woman and man is the same ; What, lost, chills earth's warmth, and takes life from its air? No ! — We may never more see what we lost. Though standing, with backward look, all the short day. Another may wear it, or haply have tost. Unknowing its worth, what we mourn for, away. TEE PALMER. 93 Nay, — what we lost, that can never be, moi-e ; But broken, or trampled, or sullied, or torn, No likeness will be of the look it once wore. Save that in our poor hearts so faithfully borne. Maiden, untaught, yet, that torn hearts will cling, And man, proudly choosing to doubt that which seems. Oh, never, to you, may the one brightest thing Be that which then only in memory gleams ! Bitter to think, and most bitter to yearn! Ah ! bitter to know that our hand was too slack ! With naught, then, but praying for meek hearts, to learn That dear things, once lost, we shall never have back ! If, then, in tenderness God after give Some new priceless thing, with more wise heed to wear, (For hearts must still love, or be dead while they live,) Then leave to the past what was lightly lost there. AugTist 7, 1862. 94 THE BISHOP BOUND. THE BISHOP BOUND. [After a missionary bishop had been sent out to Jeru- salem, by the English Church, a great storm -was raised in England, because he suffered some members of the supersti- tious and decrepid Eastern Church, in the midst of which he stood, to learn the Gospel of him.] " Necessity is laid upon me." Ye tell me that I must not preach The Gospel to these men, A^d if it struggles up to speech, Must choke it clown — and then ? — I may stand here, with dimming eyes, And watch the world abroad ; For what ? — Lest they, in any wise, Should catch the truth of God. They have " Most Holy Lords " to reign Where poor Apostles wrought : * Shall " Right Divine " God's work restrain And bring His Faith to nought? THE BISHOP BOUND. 95 Can tapers, robes, and painted saints, And chant of old-time words Save, more than flowers that sunlight paints, Or out-door song of birds ? If living faith in God's own Son Alone true life can give, Shall I undo what God has done, Nor bid these dead men live ? The winds are His, as well as I, And, as their quick feet flit, They will not let the message die But men shall hear of it. Could ye stand by me in my need, "When the last Judge is set, And all is done, of human deed. But not accounted, yet ? Oh, no ! this breath I breathe, of aii-, And shape in words, to-day. Must preach His Gospel everywhere. Or woe is mine for aye. January 15, 1854. 7 96 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. Thou art to be a priest in holy things ; A minister of thy great Maker, God ! Oh ! all of earth that to thy earth-heart clings, — And all the bribe-gifts that the fair world brings, — All that the Tempter's voice most sweetly sings, Calling thy spirit to come forth, abroad, Oh, not for thee, — they must not be for thee ! What they have been, no more must ever be. In Christ's eternal priesthood thou wilt share, To reconcile to God His sinful sons : Ambassador for God, thou, too, shalt wear His very person, and thy tongue shall dare In Christ's stead, to beseech the erring ones. Who is enough for this far-reaching work ? At whose poor heart doth not the vile worm lurk ? This priceless trust in earthen case is set : Who holds it falls, 'if he do once forget In God's gift, only, might and worth are met. THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 97 When, in Christ's name and stead, thou shalt beseech. His loving Gospel to the others preach. And pledges of God's grace sliare forth to each ; — When other hearts lie open to thine own. Eyes trusting look to thee, as on a throne ; — Nothing but Christ's rich blood can for thyself 'atone. Bethink thee, well, how one may speak true blame Of deadly sin and load it thick with shame ; One may bear charge for God and take Christ's name, And yet, at Reckoning, may be cast off, A woe to loving ones, to fiends a scoff. But oh, what deeper loss shall his be, then. Who, of his priesthood, made a lure to men ! Who drew in weaker souls, and led them wrong : His Gospel but a witching, wicked song ! Where, out of God's great love, shall that bad wretch belong ! Lift up thy fiiith beyond the inner sky Where, in deep peace, God ever sits on high : 98 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. Amid all sounds which meet there in His praise, — Which worlds and hosts, cherubs and seraphs raise To Him, far off and near. Ancient of Days, One, only God, thrice holy Three in One, Beyond time's death, as ere time was begun, There He that calls thee in dread stillness sits. While, flashing everywhere, high, glorious music flits. To Him the rain-drop, plaslnng on the sea, The winged seed wafted from the forest-tree, The insect's gaspings, and the sun's swift ray Kindling up countless atoms in its way. Each after each, to bring to earth the day, A.11, all are heard, — all things are heard, — yet He Hears thy thoughts moving in the midst of thee. Let not the busy world, with its loud din, Let not the sweet, enticing calls of sin. Let nothing draw thine ear from God's still voice within ! He sees thee all ; the flashing of an eye ; The changing cheek ; the bosom swelling high ; THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 91) Yea, the first impulse of the peaceful blood, Ere, with fell passion's surge, it rushes to its flood. He sees the little pictures spread within Thy mind's deep chambers, where no eye can win : As if no other thing on earth's smooth face, But thou, alone, in clearest light had place, As if He looked on thee and thee alone, Thus open standest thou : thus seen, thus known. Look not on wrong, nor let the Tempter dare To find a back-way up into thy heart, And open all his cursed, tempting ware To bargain with thee for thy better part. Thou hast no secrets that are hid from God; Thine inmost places by His feet are trod : Hast thou sin, there ? it lies before His sight : Die, if thou must, but cast it from thee, quite ! If thou hast ever taken gifts of Hell And then repented, and hast thrown them out. And swept all clean (while bloody tear-drops fell) And scattered holy balms, the place about ; Search yet again; thou knowest but too well 100 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. If thine own hand have somewhere laid away Some sin that penitence might overlook, To come to light, some time, and draw astray Thy weaker thoughts, or, at the Dreadful Day, To stand revealed, and damn thee from God's Book. The Spirit, — like the wind that wears no form In wooing summer-breath, or ruthless storm, — Breaks up the dark heart's strongly-frozen deep, Or lays the whirl of earthly lusts to sleep. He, only, is thy strength and warmth and light : Trust well thy faith in Him, where faith is sight. Half, Sept., 1846: half, July 29, 1863. A COMMUNING WITH GOD. 101 A COMMUNING WITH GOD BEFORE ENTERING INTO HOLY ORDERS. What hands will now be laid upon me, Lord? Whose spirit breathed, whose blessed influence given ? By whom shall 1 be sent to bear The Word — That precious load — along the path to Heaven ? Almighty God! Eternal God! 'T is Thou, That in Thy chosen servant here dost stand : Prostrate before Thy footstool, lo, I bow. To seek the dread commission at Thy hand. O God, the Father ! from whose quickening breath All beings move, each in his proper round, Whose arm sustains, above the abyss of Death, What else would sink within that dread pro- found, 102 A COMMUNING WITH GOD. Give me, Great Parent, that enkindling power To wake anew, deep in my brother's soul, The Godlike nature, that, in man's first hour, Made the dim part reflect the perfect whole. O God, the Son ! who, with unbounded .lirace, Tookest up manhood, healedst the gaping wound, And barest to the Father's dwelling-place The dymg saved, the long-lost wanderer found, Give unto me that ready neighbor-love. That guideth where the wounded heart to find ; And give me Thy blest unction from above. With holy balm the bleeding soul to bind. God, the Holy Ghost! that hallowest all Thy faithful people, and to every truth Upwards their still advancing steps dost ball. Till w^eary Age rests, smiling back on youth. Hallow my life, that I may ever be Worthy to stand at my King's festal board ; And teach me truth, that, bemg tauglit by Thee, 1 may show others where all good is stored. A COMMUNING WITH GOD. KU'i One only God! whose works and ways are one, Grant me with single heart to do Thy w^ill, Make me wrong thoughts and words and ways to shun, In Thy one, mystic realm my place to fill. Keith Hall, Bermudas, November 29, 1842, at night. 104 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. Are there not many that remember (who can forget?) that scene in the Sikh war, — also in India, — when the dis- tant gleam of arms and flash of friendly uniform was descried by a little exhausted army among the hills, and the Scotch pipes struck up " Oh ! but ye were lang a-comin /" (Lachry- mamne teneatis, amici? None of us, that have much Scot- tish blood, can keep our eyes from moistening.) The incident in the present case may not be historical, but it is true to na- ture, and intrinsically probable, which is all that poetrj' needs, in that respect. Oh ! that last day in Lucknow fort ! We knew that it was the last ; That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, And the end was coming fast. To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; And the men and we all worked on : It was one day more, of smoke and roar, And then it would all be done. There was one of us, a Corporal's wife, A fair, young, gentle thing, THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. 105 Wasted with fever in the siege, And her mind was wandering. She hiy on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, And I took her head on my knee ; " When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said, " Oh ! please then waken me." She slept like a child on her father's floor, In the flecking of woodbine-shade, When the house-dog sprawls by the half-open door, And the mother's wheel is stayed. It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, And hopeless waiting for death ; But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, Seemed scarce to draw her breath. / sank to sleep, and I had my dream Of an .l]iiglish village-lane. And uall and garden; — a sudden scream lironght me back to the roar again. Th«*»e Jessie Brown stood listening. And then a broad gladness broke 106 THE RELIEF OF L UCKNO W. All over her face, and she took my hand And drew me near and spoke : "■ The Highlanders ! Oh ! dmna ye hear ? The slogan far awa ? The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel ; It's the grandest o' them a'. " God bless thae bonny Highlanders ! We 're saved ! We 're saved ! " she cried ; And fell on her knees, and thanks to God Poured forth, like a full flood-tide. Along the battery-lme her cry Had fallen among the men : And they started ; for they were there to die ; Was life so near them, then ? They listened, for life ; and the rattling fire Far off, and the far-off roar Were all ; — and the Colonel shook his head, And they turned to their guns once more. Then Jessie said, " That slogan 's dune ; But can ye no hear them,^noo, ' The Campbells are comin ' ? It 's no a dream ; Our succors hae broken through ! " THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 107 "VVe heard the roar and the rattle afar, But the pipes we could not hear ; So the men pUed their work of hopeless war, And knew that the end A\-as near. It was not long ere it must be heard ; A shrilling, ceaseless sound ; It was no noise of the strife afar. Or the sappers underground. It luas the pipes of the Highlanders, And now they played 'Auld Lang Syne : " It came to our men, like the voice of God, And they shouted along the Ime. And they wept and shook one another's hands. And the women sobbed in a crowd ; And every one knelt down where we stood, And we all thanked God aloud. That happy day, when we welcomed them. Our men put Jessie first ; And the General took her hand, and cheers From the men, like a volley, burst. And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed, Marcliing round and round our line ; 108 THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, For the pipes played " Auld Lang Syne,'' Saturday and Sunday nights, January 2 and 3, 1858. THE PA^T THAT IS NOT OURS. 109 THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS. Let us forget the Past ! It may have been both bright and dear Another world is here ; It was not made to last ; Let us forget : 't is past ! Take, if you will, once more, The fading memories in hand : In old thought once more stand ; Then fling them from the shore ! Ours they can be no more. Youth, to our far-off eyes. Seems glad with beams of better light: It only cheats the sight : There were spring's changeful skies : Let us not turn our eyes ! Here is our own fair time : Here God has spread His blessed day ; no THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS. The fresh breeze comes this way ; This is a better clime : Why shall we mourn that time ? We shall go farther, yet: And bear our M'ayside harvest dried Our friends shall go beside ; The Past we may forget : Our way leads forward, yet. July 30. 1863. DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING 111 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. (for music.) Stay, flitting soul ! Wilt thou not longer stay? Why dost thou hasten on that weary way, Beyond these quiet realms of day, Into the unknown land, where dim mists roll? Look back ! Look back Along the well-known track. Stretching far backward to dear scenes of spring ! There childhood's pretty memories lie : The flowing hair, the beamy eye. The bounding step, and joyous, ringino: cry. See the glad hopes that erst The child's true spirit nurst, By day ui visions bright. In whispering dreams by night ; Dost thou not yearn towards them, as we sing ? And youth's first real strife 112 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. With tlie breasting waves of life, When strength was in the arm, And the heart was proud and warm, And the eye looked forth, without alarm. For all that time could bring. See, see those sunny days ! And let our soft dirge raise Bright tempting scenes before thine eye to fling ! Look ! Look ! This world is bright ; But now thou loved'st its light ; Why dost thou turn away thy sight, As from an evil thing ? Come to us back ! Come to us back ! Let not our sorrowing spirits lack The fellowship to which our strong loves cling ! [ Weeping stillness.^ Is it so hard for thee to linger yet Where thou hast been at home these many years ? Why should these long-familiar lendings fret Now, more than ever, that thou fain wilt set This pleasant form aside, that we with tears Must wash ; then put away Out of our sight forever and for aye ? DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. 113 Come to us back ! Come to us back ! Come, yet a little, to our fond hearts back ! \_StiUness.'] Why, why would'st thou forget These once-loved voices, that, in every tone, In days gone by, sweet influence have thrown Around thee, answering warmly to thine own ? Wilt thou not listen ? Hast thou no regret ? Wilt thou still forward, where is all unknown ? Wilt thou still forward? And alone ? Oh, wilt thou venture such a path alone ? Turn ! Turn ! Come back ! Come back ! Before thee how it gathers black ! Return, where all thou boldest dear are met ! \_Stillness.'\ Thou loiterest still ; We see these casements fill With the soft-fallinfr, gentle mist Where thou art looking out, once more, To see the scene long-known and loved before. 114 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARllNG. Hist ! Hist ! This sternly-closed door From which glad words were wont to pour, Is it forever closed ? Will it not open more ? Is it in vain we list ? We mark, we mark its fixed leaves Tremble, as the soul still heaves Against them feebly, as in doubt To open yet to us that wait without ; Come, then ! Oh, come ! But that faint, smothered cry! Ah, smothered strife of agony ! Nay ! we will let this weary body die ! Nay ! flitting spirit, nay ! AVe will not have thee stay ; Go forward gladly on thy way ; Our songs shall cheer thee as thou goest home. Farewell ! Farewell ! Close we these open eyes. No more wilt thou be looking ibrth, this way. Who once hast caught, afar, the light of Paradise. DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. H') Our love shall give this form to long defray, That, when thou comest back for it, shall rise A glorious body, at the Judgment-Day. On ! On ! thou blessed soul I See Jesus wait ; Thy lamp of faith is trimmed, but all is light ; The path leads forward, to the open gate ; He waits thee smiling, and the way is bright. On, faithful soul ! Our swelling songs shall roll Sweet, melancholy surges here behind. That full of memory thou shalt find, As one, slow-sailing from the outward shore Of a dear land oft wandered o'er, Hears, in still night, its wave-voice on the wind. Thou art quitting, now, the verge Of this long-beloved land. And mayest listen, still, the surge Heave up upon the strand. On! On! yet let our song Still go with thee along, 'Till it is lost amid the strain Of Christ's glorious spirit-train As another soul they gain 116 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. To sweet Paradise, no more to live, no more to love, as here on earth, in vain. Our earth-born dirges cease : Pass, Christian soul, in peace ! Peace that Christ giveth : PEACE ! January, 1846. THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. 117 THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. " Oh, this long, dull life at sea : Day lagging into lagging night ! " The maiden sang, in the failing light : " Forever sailing this sullen sea ! Father, make sail, and leave me at land ! 1 see it broad on the larboard hand : O Father, this life is death to me ; Forever holding the drowsy line. Or drawing it drowsily in from the deep ! Thou art old : but youth, bright you tljis mine Oh ! wdiy must I lean here, ever, and weep ? Make sail for land ! It is nigh at hand : Make sail for land ! Make sail for land ! Once let me in God's fair garden stand, And my slow blood shall leap. " I see no land, but a fog-cloud low : Long hours have we eyed it, looming so : 118 THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. No current sets here : land is not near : Be, Child, as thou wert, this short while ago ; Think not of the land that thou dost not know ! " Thus many a young heart, on Life's sea, Will long for the far land under the lee ; And many a heart that time has tried Will strive from the far land to keep it wide. THE YEAR IS GONE! 119 THE YEAR IS GONE ! Where art thou, O lost Year ? I tread upon the scattered leaves, The way is drear, my lone heart grieves. I see .thy traces everywhere ; These leaves once decked thy golden hair : I find thy playthings here ; But oh ! thou art not near. The bright and golden grain — Men have it all long garnered in. Here spreads the frosted stubble, thin, O'er the wide fields whereon it stood, Where thou didst trip, in playful mood, Brin^ino; the sun or rain. I seek for thee in vain. Is this thy merry brook, Whose gurgling used to please thine ear? Oh ! my once happy, thoughtless Y'^ear ! 120 THE YEAR IS GONE! Beneath its solid, icy roof, How silent, now, it bides aloof ! Lost is the frolic look That from thy smile it took. Beneath the forest tall No more I feel thy glowing breath, Or watch the calm, too bright for death, When thou at noon didst fall asleep. And, what thy hands could no more keep, Blossom or nut, would fall, Sweet Year ! In vain I call. Thy pretty birds are mute, That sang with all their little might And flashed their bright wmgs in the light : And children, fairer still than they, Gambol no longer at their play : No more the busy foot Tramples the soft grass-root. Thou wert no more the same Wlien once that hectic flush of red Too surely on thy fair cheek spread ; And, by and by, in silent fold. The white robes closed, all still and cold, THE YEAR IS GONE! 121 And when I called thy name, No voice or answer came. And there was deeper bond Than such as various season weaves, Of sunny flowers, or buds, or leaves : I mourn for many a hope and thought That by thy ministry were brought Out of the world beyond : These made my poor heart fond. And I have wrought with thee, In pleasant hours, at many a net, Of hues, as when the sun doth set. "We stretched the strands out very wide, But each too soon was thrust aside : New schemes thou broughtest me Of what could never be. Thou knewest all I willed ; How many purposes I made : Into thine ear the whole was said, How I would rue the ill deeds done, How guilty temptings I would shun. Now thy warm life is chilled. What, of these plans, fulfilled ! 122 THE YEAR IS GONE! lost Year, be thou past ! Too soon the truant heart and will All this clear sky of life would fill With that unprofitable haze, That makes half nights of working days Forward my way is cast ; 1 rest not till the last. 1849. A ROBIN'S SONG. 123 A ROBIN'S SONG, AFTER LONG WINTER. What ear and eye, in the spring's first days, Is not drawn to that happy songster's hiys ? Quick, — glad, — strong, — And then so wondrous- wondrous-feat. More wondrous as more long, It seemed from luider some brooding heat Gladness and song and skill had sprung In a flash of spring-life, fresli and young ; Then died as snddenly, the glad skilled song once suno-. 124 BURGER'S LENORE. • BURGER'S LENORE. Lenora rose at morning-red, From bitter dreams awaking : " Art faithless, William, or art dead, So long thy love forsaking ? " He went with royal Frederic's might, To battle in Prague's famous fight : But fi'om the war-field gory No post has brought his story. The King and Empress, tired, at last, Of arms so vainly wielded. Alike aside their rage have cast, And to a truce have yielded. Now each glad host with sing-song rang, With beating drum and cling and clang ; And, decked with many a garland, Came homeward from the far land. And over all, all over all. From street and lane and alley, BURGER'S LENORE. 125 81iout old and young their jubel-call, And round the home-march rally. Praise God ! the child and goodwife cried ; Welcome ! said many a longing bride ; But, for Lenore, no meeting: No kiss, or tender greeting. Each way she flew, the ranks all through, But, though all names were spoken, No one that came her lover knew. And no one could give token. And when the hosts passed onward were, She tore her glossy, raven hair; Upon the greensward sinking, With bitter woe past thinking. The mother kneeled upon her knee ; " God, pity my poor daughter ! My darling child, what is 't with thee ? " And in her arms she caught her. " Ah, mother, mother, gone is gone ! Now let the world and all be gone ! * No pity dwells in Heaven : Woe ! woe ! my heart is riven ! " * Whevevei' a final word is repeated, the original has the same construction. 126 BURGER'S LENORE. " Help, God ! oh, help ! look gently on ! Cliild, child ! oh, say, ' Our Father ! ' What God does, that is sure well done : God, judge not ; spare us rather ! " " O mother, mother, mockery ! God has not, sure, well-done to me. My jjrayers, ah ! what passed they for ? Now nought is left to pray for ! ' " Help, God ! whoe'er the Father knows, Knows He the children lovetli ; The Holy Sacrament such woes As thine, my child, removeth." " mother, mother, little vent My woe would find in sacrament. No sacrament can solder Forms that in death-damps moulder." " Hear, child ! How if the perjured one, When long in far Hungary, Had all his ties of troth undone, Some newer love to marry ? Fling off his heart, my child ! by sni In tlie long game he cannot win ; When soul and body sever, This deed shall sting forever " BURGER'S LENORE. 127 " O mother, mother, gone is gone ! Forsaken is forsaken ; Death, death ! Come death, and I have won ! Why did I ever waken ? Go out, forever out, my light ! Die out, die out, in woe and night ! No pity dwells in Heaven ; Woe ! woe ! my soul is riven ! " "' Help, God ! To judgment enter not : Tlie [)Oor child's heart is broken : She utters, now, she knows not what : Oh, count not what is spoken ! My child, forget this workVs distress, And think on God, and blessedness : So to thy heart forsaken A spouse shall yet be taken." " mother ! What is blessedness ? Oh I what is hell, my mother ? With him, with him, is blessedness ; And hell without him, mother. Go out, forever out, my light ! Die out, die out, in woe and night ! Without him, earth and heaven Li misery were even." 128 BLRGER'S LEXORE. Thus mad despair within her brain, And in her veins all revelled, Till e'en at God's all-irracious reiirn, Her impious scorn she levelled. She wrung her hands and beat her breast Until the sun went down to rest : Till up to heaven's liigh chamber The golden stars 'gan clamber. And then without, hark ! tramp, tramp, tramp ! A horse's footsteps sounded; Then on the steps, with heavy stamp, The clanking rider bounded. And hark I and hark ! the door-bell ring, All gently, softly, cling-ling-ling. Then, through the door-leaves uttered, Just these quick questions fluttered : " Holla ! holla ! undo, my child ! Wak'st thou, my love, or sleepest ? Has time thy love for me beguiled ? And smilest thou, or weepest ? " " Ah, William ! Thou, so late at night ? I 've wept and waked, in weary plight ; Oh ! bitter woe I 've tasted. Whence hast' thou hither hasted ? " BURGER'S LENORE. 129 " Near midniglit 't is, we saddle steed ; From Boehmen I rode hither : Ere I could mount, 't was late indeed, And we go back together." " O William, first a moment stay : The blast roars through the hawthorn spray, Come to my arms, heart-dearest ! Here no cold wind thou fearest." " Through hawthorn spray let fierce blasts roar, And ravage, helter-skelter! The wild steed paws, and clinks the spur ; I dare not here seek shelter. Come, dress thee : spring and swmg, with speed, Behind me, here, upon my steed. A hundred miles I take thee. This day my bride to make thee." " Alas ! a hundred miles would'st thou Bear me, this day, to bridal ? Hark, hark ! the clock is clanging now ; Eleven struck: 'T is idle!" " Look far ; look near ; the moon shines clear ; We and the dead ride fast, my dear ; 130 BURGERS LENORE. I gage, ere night's at highest, Thou in thy bride-bed liest." " Say on, where is thy chamber, dear ? What bride-bed dost thou tender ? " '"'• Still, cool and small ; far, far from here ; Six wide boards and two slender." " Hast room for me ? " " For thee and me Come, dress thee : mount ; I stay for thee. The marria"re-";uests have waited : We must not be belated." Fairly she dressed her, sprang and swung Herself to horse behind him ; Fast to the well-loved rider clung. And with white arms entwined him. Then hurtling off, with leap and bound. At whistling speed they scoured tlie ground, Till horse and rider panted, And sparks and dust far slanted. On this and on the other hand. How flew the plains and ridges ; Hillock and rock and meadow-land ; How thundered all the bridges ! " My love, dost fear ? The moon shines clear : BURGERS LENORE. 131 Hurrah ! The dead ride fast, ray dear ! * My love, dost fear the dead men ? " " Ah, 110 ! yet leave the dead men ! " What clang and song swept there along. Where the foul ravens flaunted ? Hark ! death-bell clang I Hark ! funeral-song ! " Bear on the dead ! " is chanted. And nearer drew a funeral-train : Coffin and bier came on, amain : Their song the dark quire pitches Like the frogs' cry in ditches. " Nay, bury after midnight-tide. With clang and song and weeping: I bear me home my fair young bride : Come to our merry-keeping. Come clerk ! come here ! your quire all bring. Come all, the bridal-song to sing. Come, priest, the blessing say us Ere we in bride-bed lay us." Ceased clang and song ; the bier was gone : They came as they were bidden, And, hurry-skurry, trampled on Fast as the steed w^as ridden. 132 BURGERS LENOIiE. And ever on, with leap and bound, At whistling speed they scoured the ground ; Both horse and rider panted. And sparks and dust far slanted. How flew, on right, how flew, on left, Hills, trees, and hedged spaces ! How flew, on left and right and left, Towns, cities, dwelling-places ! " My love, dost fear ? The moon shines clear : Hurrah ! The dead ride well, my dear ; My love, dost fear the dead men ? " " Ah ! let them rest, the dead men ! " See there ! see there ! On gallows-height, Dance round the wheel's curst swivel, Half-seen within the moon's pale light, Spectres, in airy revel. " Sasa ! ye spectres. Here ! come here ! Come, spectres, come, and follow near. Our wedding reels to number Ere we lie down to slumber." And lo ! the spectres, rush, rush, rush ! Behind the wil4 train hurtle. BURGERS LENORE. 133 As whirls the storm-wmd's sudden gush Through withered leaves of myrtle. And on and on, with leap and bound, At whistling speed they scoured the ground ; Both horse and rider panted, And sparks and dust far slanted. How flew the scenes in moonlight spread ! How into farness flitted ! And how, their places overhead. The sky and planets quitted! "• My love, dost fear ? The moon shines clear ; Hurrah ! The dead ride well, my dear ; My love, dost fear the dead men ? " " Ah, woe ! Let rest the dead men ! " " Steed, steed ! methinks the cock crows there ; Soon will the sands be wasted ; Steed, steed ! I scent the morning air ; Haste, as thou hast not hasted ! 'T is o'er, 't is o'er ! Our course is o'er ! The chamber stands with open door ; The dead ride wondrous races : Here, here, we find our places." 134 BURGER'S LENORE. Against an iron churchyard door, The furious courser battered : Its clamps fell loose, the shock before, And post and bar were shattered. Its clanking leaves wide open flew, And o'er the graves the train swept through. Gravestones were seen to glimmer Round in the moon's pale shimmer. See, see ! An instant scarce can flit. Ere, hoo ! a fearful wonder ! The rider's flesh, all bit by bit, Like cinders fell asunder. Like kernel bare, without the hull, His head became a naked skull ; His body shrunk and narrow. With hour-glass and with arrow. Snorted the steed, and madly reared ; Fierce fiery flashes spurted ; Then hey ! sank down and disappeared. And she lay there deserted. A liowl, a howl from out the lift ! A yell from forth each grave's deep rift ! Lenora's spirit shivers : 'Twixt death and life it quivers. BURGER'S LESORE. 135 Now featly danced, in moonlight-glance, All round about in mazes, The spectre-forms a fetter-dance. And howled in such-like phrases ; " Be meek, though heart should break in twain, Nor dare thy God in heaven arraign. Thy dust to this still city! God show thy soul his pity ! " June, 1846. lo6 THE DARREN FIELD. THE BARREN FIELD. Here I labor, weak and lone, Ever, ever sowing seed; Ever tending what is sown : Little is my gain, indeed. Weary day and restless night Follow in an endless round ; Wastes my little human might : Soon my place will not be found. Why so stubborn is my field? Why does little fruit appear ? What an hundred-fold should yield. Now goes barren all the year. Rank weeds crowd and jostle there. Nodding vainly in tlie sun : But the plants, for which I care, I may tell them, one by one. THE BAR HEN FIELD. 137 After all the sun and ram, Weak and yellow drooping things, From the lean earth, turned in vain, These are all my labor wrings ! Oh, my Lord, the field is Thine : Why do I, with empty pride. Call the little garden mine. When my work is Thine, beside? If I claim it for my own. Thou wilt give me its poor gain ; And, at harvest, I, alone. May bring fruits to Thee in vain. If I give myself to Thee For Thy work, all poor and mean. As Thou pleasest it shall be, If I much or little glean : Yet Thou wilt not spurn my toil, Or my offering, at the last. If, from off this meagre soil. At Thy feet my all is cast. 138 THE BARREN FIELD. Other work for man is none, But to do the Master's will ; Wet with rain, or parched with sun, Meekly I Thy garden till. April 28, 1849. CHRIST S LEGACY. 139 CHRIST'S LEGACY. Who deems that Holy Church has lost The priceless gift the Saviour gave ? Or, as an idle bauble, tost Beneath the curst world's hungry wave. Her keys that, all this wide world o'er, Oped to man's want God's spirit-store ? That now the Kingdom is but earth alone Where man's poor sight and wisdom seek their own ? Who deems that hidden Paradise, — Its sweet cool shades, its living streams, Its lustrous air, from seraph's eyes Radiant with interwoven beams. And the eternal Light divine Filling up all with changeless shine, — That these, and converse with the dwellers there, To men in spirit are not free as air ? 140 CHRIST S LEGACY. That His blest kingdom, — which, Christ said, Should ever stand while earth doth stand, And, when the last flames, fierce and red, Shoidd melt and burn up sea and land, Transfigured through those fires should glow Thenceforth no earthliness to know, — That this hath not one, only, changeless frame, One as the Lord : on earth, in heaven, the same ? Or that the Body of the Lord, Tlie Godhead dwelling in the flesh, — Is not, to us, as when that Word In human nature dwelt afresh ? Or that God's fulness, now, as tlien. Doth not inhabit in us men, A fulness that in each of us hath place Of grace according to our growth m grace ? Oh ! is not God the selfsame now As when he put on human frame ? His Body is the Church : and how Is this, his Body, not the same ? It is the same where'er Faith is : Christ manifests himself in His : Where Faith is not, to them is Christ no more Indwelling, in the Spirit, as of yore. CHRIST'S LEGACY. 141 This glorious kingdom — rich within, And glowing with all spirit-powers — There is no cause, but each man's sin. If all its treasures be not ours : Our priests are gifted with the Word, And every member of the Lord Hath his own measure of the Holy Ghost : In the most humble and obedient, most. And in the Spirit, oh, what height The feet of faithful men do mount ! There glossy slopes flow all with light. And vales are rich with stream and fount. The pure see God on every side ; Them spirits gently serve and guide; While earth, to them, is sorrow, shame, and ill, The church is heaven on earth, about them still. Sweet mysteries to them that love, Do lead to that eye hath not seen ; An open sky is spread above Wherein no cloud hath ever been. The Word wells full in every heart ; Deep calleth unto deep, apart ; And Love, God's being, maketh them all one In Him, the Father, who are in the Son. 1849. 142 A DIRGE. A DIRGE ON THE SUBJECT OF A BEAUTIFUL POEM OF A KRIEMD,* IN THE GERMAN. With a sweet smile the gentle features glisten, Tiiongh noiseless death has frozen all below : Unconsciously we stoop the head, to listen For words that from these open lips shoid