W0^ m^y ""_^:-r^:t:)^if ^m m m THE WORKS OF LEWIS MORRIS = HOTO. W.& D.DQWNEIY, EBURYS'' PHOTOGRAVUnC BY AMMAN! S: SV THE WORKS OF LEWIS MORRIS NEW YORK LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 15 EAST i6th STREET 1890 f^s Lo .f^V' /^^sy CONTENTS. PAGE Songs of Two Worlds — First Series (1872): Soul-Music I Love's Mirror 2 On a Young Poet 2 To the Setting Sun 3 Tiie Treasure of Hope 4 The Legend of Faith 5 r.ytheSea 5 Voices 7 Weakness made Strong 9 Waking 10 At Havre de Grace n When I am Dead ^3 Love's Suicide 14 The River of Life 14 A Heathen Hymn In Trafalgar Square .... Watch Drowned The Wanderer The Weary River Truth in Falsehood Two Voyages The Wise Rule The Voice of One crying . • • ther Days The True Man 4' Passing 4^ Fetters 43 Rich and Wise 43 Love in Death 43 Dear Little Hand 46 Still Waters 46 In Regent Street 48 I'AGF. Songs of Two Worlds— First Series (1S72) — continued. From the Desert 49 Dumb 49 Faith without Sight 52 Caged 52 Too much Knowledge 53 On a Flight of Lady-Birds .... 54 On an Old Minster 55 The Bitter Harvest 57 j Of Love and Sleep 57 Blind 59 To her Picture 60 The Return 61 For Ever 61 Behind the Veil 62 Visions 63 Doubt 64 St. David's Head 64 In Volhynia 66 The Living Past 66 Changes 67 Alone 67 Sea Voices 68 Berlin, 1S71 69 The Beacon 69 The Garden of Regret 70 Songs of Two Worlds— Second Series (1874): To an Unknown Poet 72 Comfort 73 Song 74 Oh, Snows so Pure ! 74 The Beginnings of Faith 75 A Memory 75 VI CONTENTS, PAGE Songs of Two Worlds — Second Series (1874) — continued. The New Order 75 At Midnight 77 Nemesis 78 To a Child of Fancy 79 Song 79 The Organ- Boy 80 Processions S2 For Life 83 In the Park 84 Loss and Gain 85 Song 85 The Apology 85 Song 90 As in a Picture 90 At an Almshouse . • 90 A Yorkshire River 91 For Judgment 91 Ode on a Fair Spring INIorning ... 92 Love Triumphant . 95 Tolerance 96 A Hymn in Time of Idols 96 On a Modern Painted Window ... 98 A Midsummer Night 98 Good in Everything 99 The Reply 99 The Touchstone 99 Nothing Lost 102 The Hidden Self 103 Marching 103 Courage ! 104 Gilbert Beckett and the Fair Saracen . 104 ' To a Child of Fancy 107 A Cynic's Day-Dreani 108 To a Lost Love no In Memory of a Friend m It shall be Well 112 A Remonstrance 112 Songs of Two Worlds — Third Series (1875) : Song 113 The Home Altar 114 The Voyage "4 The Food of Song 115 The Youth of Thought "6 Song 118 At Chambers "9 Evensong 120 Song 135 At Last 136 Song 137 PAGE Songs of Two Worlds — Third Series (1875) — continued. The Dialogue T38 The Birth of Verse 138 Song 139 The Enigma 139 To the Tormentors .141 Children of the Street 143 Souls in Prison 146 A Separation Deed 147 Song 149 Frederic 149 To my Motherland 150 The Epic of Hades : Book I. — Tartarus 152 Tantalus 153 Phaedra 159 Sisyphus 165 Clytaemnestra 170 Book II.— Hades -.177 Marsyas 178 Andromeda 183 Actjeon 188 Helen 192 luirydice 201 Orpheus 203 Deianeira 204 Laocoon 20S Narcissus 211 Medusa . 215 Adonis 219 Persephone 221 Endymion 224 Psyche 227 Book III.— Olympus 231 Artemis 233 Herakles 235 Aphrodite 236 Athene 239 Here 240 Apollo 242 Zeus 245 GWEN 248 The Ode of Life : The Ode of Creation 286 The Ode of Infancy 288 The Ode of Childhood ...... 290 The Ode of Youth 292 The Ode of Love 296 The Ode of Perfect Years 29S The Ode of Good 307 CONTENTS. Vll PAGE The Ode of "Lw^— continued. The Ode of Evil 30S The Ode of Age 310 The Ode of Decline 312 The Ode of Change 314 Songs Unsung : Pictures— 1 316 The Lesson of Time 318 Vendredi Saint 319 " No more, no more " 322 The New Creed 322 A Great Gulf 328 One Day 329 Seasons 329 The Pathos of Art 330 In the Strand 33° Coelum non Animum 331 Niobe 332 Pictures — II 336 A Night in Naples 336 Life 338 Cradled in Music 338 Odatis 339 In Wild Wales 346 Suffrages 348 Look out, O Love 351 Clytsemnestra in Paris 351 Pictures — III 360 Confession 361 Love Unchanged 362 At the End 363 Three Breton Poems : I. The Orphan Girl of Lannion . . 363 II. The Foster Brother . . . .365 III. Azenor 368 Gycia: a Tragedy 371 Songs of Britain : On a Thrush singing in Autumn . . . 433 In a Country Church 434 PAGE Songs of Britain — continued. In Spring-Tide . 436 In Autumn 436 j A Midsummer Night's Dream . . . 437 An English Idyll 439 I Anima Mundi 440 In Pembrokeshire, 1886 441 Easter-Tide 442 Ghosts 443 Song 444 From Wild Wales : I. Llyn y Morwynion .... 444 II. The Physiciafns of Myddfai . . 448 III. The Curse of Pantannas . . . 458 To a Gay Company 467 From Juvenal 46S Ightham INIote 469 The Secret of Things 470 Oh, Earth ! . . ^ 472 On a Birthday 472 In a Laboratory 473 The Summons 473 Silvern Speech 474 The Obelisk 475 A Song of Empire 476 Temperance 482 The Imperial Institute 483 David Gvvyn 484 Song 4S7 The Albatross 488 In a Great Lady's Album 488 On a Silver Wedding 489 The Invincible Armada, 1588 .... 491 Ode sung at the First Co-operative Festival 495 To John Bright 496 On Robert Blake 497 To Lord Tennyson ....... 497 To her Majesty the Queen . . . .498 Venite Procidamus 499 SONGS OF TWO WORLDS. FIRST SERIES (1872). SOUL-MUSIC. ]\Iv soul ib as a bird Singing in fair weather, Deep in shady woodlands through the evening's dewy cahn ; Every glossy feather On her full throat stirred, As she pours out, rapt, unconscious, all the sweetness of her psalm ; Mounting high, and higher, higher, Soaring now, now falling, dying ; Now through silvery pauses sigh- ing ; Throbbing now with joyous strife, xVnd rushing tides of love and life, Till some ray of heavenly fire Shot obliquely through the shade, Pierces her ; and lo ! the strain Of the music she has made Fills her with a sudden pain. Then she forgets to sing Her former songs of gladness ; Sitting mute in silence sweeter than the old forgotten lays ; Till anon some note of sadness, Long-drawn, languishing. Faint at first, swells onward slowly to a subtler depth of praise. ^\.s the low, wild> minor, broken By the ghosts of gayer fancies, Like a rippling stream advances. Till the full tide grown too deep, Whispers first, then falls asleep. Then, as souls with no word spoken Grow together, she, mute and still, Thrills through with a secret voice, Which the farthest heaven can fill. And constrains her to rejoice. And the passer-by who hears. Not the burst of pleasure, Swelling upward, sweet, spontaneous, to the portals of the sky, But a chastened measure, Low and full of tears ; And anon the voiceless silence, when the last notes sink and die, Deems some influence malign. Checks the current of her song ; For that none are happy long. Nay ; but to the rapt soul conie Sounds that strike the singer dumb. And the silence is Divine ; For when heaven gives back the strain. All its joyous tones are o'er ; F'irst the low sweet notes of pain, Then, the singer sings no more. B LOVE'S MIRROR— ON A YOUNG FOET. LOVES MIRROR. I SEE myself reflected in thine eyes, The dainty mirrors set in golden flame Of eyelash, quiver with a sweet sur- prise, And most ingenuous shame. Like Eve, who hid her from the dread command Deep in the dewy blooms of paradise ; So thy shy soul, love calling, fears to stand Discovered at thine eyes. Or, like a tender little fawn, which lies Asleep amid the fern, and waking, hears Some careless footstep drawing near, and flies, Yet knows not what she fears : So shrinks thy soul ; but, dearest, shrink not so ; Look thou into mine eyes as I in thine : So our reflected souls shall meet and grow, And each with each combine In something nobler ; as when one has laid Opposite mirrors on a cottage wall ; And lo ! the never-ending colonnade, The vast palatial hall. So our twin souls, by one swc^t suicide. Shall fade into an essence more sub- lime ; Living through death, and dying glori- fied, Beyond the touch of time. ON A YOUNG POET. Here lay him down in peace to take his rest. Who tired of singing ere the day was done. A little time, a little, beneath the sun, He tarried and gave forth his artless song; The bird that sings with tlie dawn, sings not for long. Only when dew is on the grass his breast Quivers, but his voice is silent long ere noon. So sang he once, but might not long sustain The high pure note of youth, for soon, too soon ! He ceased to know the sweet creative pain Made still one voice, amid the clamorous strife, And proved no more the joys or pains of life. And better so than that his voice should fail, And sink to earth, and lose its heaven- lier tone ; Perchance, if he had stayed, the sad world's moan. The long low discord of incessant wrong, Had marred the perfect cadence of his song. And made a grosser music to prevail. But now it falls as pure upon the ear. As sings the brown bird to the star of eve, Or child's voice in grey minster quiring clear. TO THE SETTING SUN. Rather then, give we thanks for him than grieve. Thoughts of pure joys which but in memory live, More joy than lower present joys can give. For him, deep rest or high spontaneous strains ; For us, fierce strife and low laborious song; For him, truth's face shining out clear and strong ; For us, half lights, thick clouds, and darkling days. No longer walks his soul in mortal ways, Nor thinks our thoughts, nor feels our joys or pains Nor doubts our doubts, nor any more pursues, Knowing all things, the far-off search- less cause ; Nor thrills with art, or nature's fairest hues, Gazing on absolute beauty's inmost laws ; Or lies for ever sunk in dreamless sleep, Nor recks of us ; — and therefore 'tis we weep. But surely if he sleep, some fair faint dream. Some still small whisper from his an- cient home, Not joy, nor pain, but mixt of each shall come ; Or if he wake, the thought of earthly days Shall add a tender sweetness to his praise ; Tempering the unbroken joyance of his theme. And by-and-by the time shall come when we, Laden with all our lives, once more shall meet, Like friends, who after infinite wastes of sea. Look in each other's eyes ; and lo ! the sweet Sad fount of memory to its depths is stirred, And the past lives again, without a word. Mourn not for him ! perchance he lends his voice To swell the fulness of the eternal psalm ; Or haply, wrapt in nature's holy calm. Safe hid within the fruitful womb of earth, He ripens slowly to a higher birth. Mourn not for him ! but let your souls rejoice. We know not what we shall be, but arc sure The spark once kindled by the eternal breath, Goes not out quite, but somewhere doth endure In that strange life we blindly christen death. Somewhere he is, though where we can- not tell ; But wheresoe'er God hides him, it is well. TO THE SETTING SUN. Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fast away For now it is that life revives again. ThE TREASURE OF HOPE. As the red tyrant sinks beneath the For, hark ! the chime throbs from hill ; the darkling tower ; And now soft dews refresh the arid Soon for the last time shall my love be plain ; here : And now the fair bird's voice begins to Fair day, renew thy rays for one thrill ; brief hour. Willi hidden dolours niakin^g sweet sweet day, tarry for us, tarry near ; her strain To-morrow, love and time will lose And wakes the woods that all day were their power, so still. And sighs be mine, and the unbidden tear. Slay, sweet day, nor fleet so fast away ; Stay, O sweet day, nor fleet so fa?-t For now the rose and all fair flowers away. that blow But, ah ! thou may'st not ; in the C;ive out sweet odours to the perfumed far-off west air, Impatient lovers weary till you rise ; And the white palace marbles blush Or may be caring naught thou and glow, traversest And the low, ivy-hidden cot shows The plains betwixt thee and thy final fair. skies : Why are time's feet so swift, and Go, then ; though darkness come. ours so slow ? we shall be blest, Haste, laggard ! night will fall ere you Keeping sweet daylight, in each other's are there. eyes. Stay, sweet day, nor llect so fast away ; THE TREASURE OF HOPE. Soon the pale full-fiiccd moon will slowly climb FAIR bird, singing in the woods, Up the steep sky and quench the btar To the rising and the setting sun. of love. Does ever any throb of pain Moonlight is fair, but fairer far the Thrill through thee ere thy song bo time done : When through the leaves the dying Because the summer fleets so fast ; shafts above Because the autumn fades so scon ; Slope, and the minster sounds its Because the deadly winter treads curfew chime, So closely on the steps of June? And the long shadows lengthen through the grove. sweet maid, opening like a rose In love's mysterious, honeyed air. Slay, sweet day, nor lleet so fast Dost think sometimes the day will come away ; When thou shall be no longer fair : THE LEGEND OF FAITH— BY THE SEA. When love will leave thee and pass on To younger and to brighter eyes ; And thou shalt live unloved, alone, A dull life, only dowered with sighs ? O brave youth, panting for the fight, To conquer wrong and win thee fame, Dost see thyself grown old and spent, And thine a still unhonoured name : When all thy hopes have come to naught, And all thy fair schemes droop and pine And wrong still lifts her hydra heads To fall to younger arms than thine ? Nay ; song and love and lofty aims May never be where faith is not ; Strong souls within the present live ; The future veiled, — the past forgot : ('.rasping what is, with hands of steel, They bend what shall be, to their will ; And blind alike to doubt and dread, The End, for which they are, fulfil. THE LEGEND OF FAITH. They say the Lord of time and all the worlds, Came to us once, a feeble, new-born child ; All-wise, yet dumb ; weak, though om- nipotent : Surely a heaven-sent vision, for it tells How innocence is godlike. And the Lord Renews, through childhood, to our world-dimmed eyes, The half forgotten splendours of the skies. And because motherhood is sacreder And purer far than any fatherhood. White flowers are fairer than red fruit, and sense Brings some retributive pain ; the vir- gin queen Sits 'mid the stars, and cloistered courts are filled With vain regrets, dead lives, and secret sighs. And the long pain of weary litanies. And because we, who stand upon the shore. See the cold wave sweep up and take with it White spotless souls, and others lightly soiled. Yet with no stain God deems indelible : These are His saints mighty to intercede, Those in some dim far country tarry, and there Are purified ; and both are reached by prayer. And as the faith once given changes not, But we are weak as water ; yet is life A process, and where growth is not is death. God gave His priests infallible power to tell The true faith as it is, and how it grew : And lo ! the monstrous cycle shows complete, And the Church brings the nations to her feet. BY THE SEA. A LITTLE country churchyard, On the verge of a cliff by the sea ; Ah ! the thoughts of the long years past and gone That the vision brings back to me. BY THE SEA. For two ways led from the village, — One, by the rippled sands, With their pink shells fresh from the ebbing wave For childish little hands. And one 'mid the heath, and the threat'ning Loud bees with the yellow thighs. And, twinkling out of the golden furze, The marvellous butterflies. And the boom of the waves on the shingle, And the hymn of the lark to the sun ; Made Sabbath sounds of their own, ere the chime Of the church-going bell had begun, I remember the churchyard studded With peasants who loitered and read The sad little legends, half effaced. On the moss-grown tombs of the dead. And the gay graves of little children. Fashioned like tiny cots ; With their rosemary and southernwood, And blue-eyed forget-me-nots. Till the bell by degrees grew impatient, Then ceased as the parsonage door Opened wide for the surpliced vicar. And we loitered and talked no more. I remember the cool, dim chancel. And the drowsy hum of the prayers ; And the rude psalms vol lied from sea- faring throats As if to take heaven unawares. Till, when sermon-time came, by per- mission We stole out among the graves. And saw the great ocean a-blaze in the sun, And heard the deep roar of the waves. And clung very close together, As we spelt out with wonder and tears, How a boy lay beneath who was drowned long ago. And was " Aged eleven years." And heard, with a new-born terror, The first surge of the infinite Sea, Whose hither-shore is the shore of Death, And whose further, the Life to be. " Did the sea swallow up little children ? Could God see the wickedness done? Nor spare one swift-winged seraph to save From the thousands around His throne ? " "Was he still scarce older than we were. Still only a boy of eleven ? Were child-angels children always \\\ the beautiful courts of heaven ? " Ah me ! of those childish dreamers, One has solved the dark riddle since then : And knows the dread secret which none may know Who walk in the ways of men. The other has seen the splendour And mystery fading away ; Too wise or too dull to take thought or care For aught but the needs of the day. VOICES. Battling with wrong ; or passionate seer VOICES. of God Scathing with tongue of fire the hollow Oh ! sometimes when the solemn organ shows. rolls The vain deceits of men ; or law-giver, Its stream of sound down gray historic Parting in thunder from the burning aisles ; hill Or the full, high-pitched struggling W^ith face aflame ; or with fierce rush symphony of wings Pursues the fleeting melody in vain : And blazing brand, upon the crest of Like a fawn through shadowy groves, Sin, or heroine The swift archangel swooping ; or the Voiced like a lark, pours out in burning roll song Which follows on the lightning ; — all Iler love or grief; or when, to the are there rising stars In that great hurry of sound. Linked village maidens chant the hymn And then the voice of eve ; Grows thinner like a lark's, and soars Or Sabbath concourse, flushed and and soars, dewy-eyed And mounts in circles, higher, higher, Booms its full bass ; or before tasks higher, begun, Up to heaven's gate, and lo ! the un- Fresh childish voices sanctify the morn : earthly song My eyes grow full, my heart forgets to Thrills some fine inner chord, and the beat. swift soul, What is this mystic yearning fills my Eager and fluttering like a prisoned being ? bird, Breaks from its cage, and soars aloft to Hark ! the low music wakes, and soft join and slow The enfranchised sound, and for a Wanders at will through flowery fields moment seems of sound ; To touch on some dim border-land of Climbs gentle hills, and sinks in sunny being, vales, Full of high thought and glorious And stoops to cull sweet way-side enterprise blooms, and weaves And vague creative fancies, till at A dainty garland ; then, grown tired, length casts down Waxed grosser than the thin ethereal With careless hand the fragrant coronal, air. And child-like sings itself to sleep. It sinks to earth again. Anon And then a strain The loud strain rises like a strong knight Sober as is the tender voice of home. armed, Unbroken like a gracious life, and lo voice: Young cliildren sit around me, and tlie love I never knew is mine, and so my eyes Grow full, and all my being is thrilled with tears. What is this strange new life, this finer sense. This passionate exaltation, which doth force Like the weird Indian juggler, instantly My soul from seed to flower, from flower to fruit, Which lifts me out of self, and bids me tread Without a word, on dim aerial peaks. Impossible else, and rise to glorious thoughts, High hopes, and inarticulate fantasies Denied to soberer hours? No spoken thought Of bard or seer can mount so far, or lift The soul to such transcendent heights, or work So strong a spell of love, or roll along - Such passionate troubled depths. No painter's hand Can limn so clear, the luminous air serene Of Paradise, the halcyon deep, the calm Of the eternal snows, the eddy and whirl Of mortal fight, the furious flood let loose From interlacing hills, the storm which glooms Over the shoreless sea. Our speech too oft Is bound and fettered by such nan ow laws, That words which to one nation pierce the heart. To another are but senseless sounds, or weak And powerless to stir the soul ; but this Speaks with a common tongue, uses a speech Which all may understand, or if it berr Some seeds of difference in it, only such As separates gracious sisters, like in form, But one by gayer fancies touched, and one Rapt by sweet graver thoughts alono, and both Mighty to reacli the changing moods of the soul. Or grave or gay, and though sometimes they be Mated with unintelligible words, Or feeble and unworthy, yet can lend A charm to gild the worthless utterance. And wing the sordid chrysalis to float Amid the shining stars. Oh strange sweet power^ Ineffable, oh gracious influence, I know not whence thou art, but this I know. Thou boldest in thy hand the silver key That can unlock the sacred fount of tears, Which falling make life green ; the hidden spring Of purer fancies and high sympathies • No mirth is thine, thou art too high U-t mirth, — Like Him who wept but siniled not • mirth is born On the low plains of thoughts bc^t reached by words. But those who scale the untrodden mountain peak, JVEAKXESS MADE STROXG. Or sway upon the trembling spire, are far From laughter ; so thy gracious power divine, Not sad but solemn, stirs the well of tears. But not mirth's shallow spring : tears are divine, But mirth is of the earth, a creature born Of careless youth and joyance ; satisfied With that which is ; parched by no nobler thirst For that which might be ; pained by no regret For that which was, but is not : but for thee. Oh, fair mysterious power, the whole great scheme Lies open like a book ; and if the charm Of its high beauty makes thee some- times gay, Yet 'tis an awful joy, so mixed with thought, That even Mirth grows grave, and evermore The myriad possibilities unfulfilled, The problem of Creation, the immense Impenetrable depths of thought, the vague Perplexities of being, touch thy lips And keep thee solemn always. Oh, fair voice. Oh virginal, sweet interpreter, reveal Our inner selves to us, lay bare the springs, The hidden depths of life, the high desires Which kirk there unsuspected, the remorse Which never woke before ; unclothe the soul Of this its shroud of sense, and let it mount, On the harmonious beat of thy light wings, ITp to those heights where life is so attuned, So pure and self-concordant ; filled ^o deep With such pervading beauty that no voice Mars the unheard ineffable harmony, And o'er white plain and breathless summit reigns A silence sweeter than the sweetest sound. WEAKNESS MADE STRONG. If I were poor and weak, Bankrupt of hope, and desolate of love ; Without a tongue to speak The strange dumb thoughts of thee which through me move ; Then would I freely venture, sweet. To cast my soul down at thy feet. Or were I proud and great ; Were all men envious, and all women kind. And yet my high estate Showed poor beside the riches of my mind : Then would I boldly stoop, to rise Up to the height of thy dear eyes. But being not weak nor strong, Cast in the common mould of coarser clay ; Sure 'twere to do thee wrong To set my humble homage in thy wa\\ lO WAKING. And cloud thy sunny morn, which I It may be she is seated 'mid the would fain throng. Keep clear and fair, with my poor Crowned with the flowers of life and private pain. youth and health ; Thrilled through by breathing art or Only since love and I are so ingrown, passionate song. That for my weakness is my love so Or faint with hot pursuit of fame or strong; wealth ; And scarce I know what love's is, what Rapt by the glorious thoughts of saints mine own, or seers, Nor whether love or I inspire my Or radiant with the blessed dew of song: tears. Take thou my weakness to thy strength, and give And then the wicket swings without a Strength to my weakness, sweet, and sound, bid me live. And lo ! a ghostly presence, pale and gray,— Sad eyes which dwell not on the things WAKING. around, But gaze for ever on the Far-ofif Open, my soul, thy stately portals Day! wide ; Then a low voice, whispering, " Thy Open full wide, and let thy King come in ! King is come ; Rejoice, be glad, for here he makes How shall he come ? In royal pomp his home." and pride, Ushered by braying trumpets' clamor- Then rises she and hastens to the ous din ; gate, — Clothed round with purple ; crowned Her royal gate, and there she casts with burning gold : her down : A kingly presence, glorious to behold ? Prone at his feet bewails her low estate. Nay ; for he is no mortal king, to come Yet prays him he will enter to his With trumpet peals and crowds and own ! garish state ; Spurns from her all her robes of pride, Bat silent to the soul he makes his and stands. home, Knowing her shame, to do her Lord's He enters by some lowly postern commands, gate ! And she, within her chambers far with- Whom with a touch he fashions for her drawn, part ; Cries like the wakeful bird that greets Dowers with the precious gifts of bard the dawn. or sage ; AT HAVRE DE GRACE. The hand to tix the dreams of deathless art, The imperial will, the patriot's noble rage : Or fills with such fine affluence of love, That she grows holy as the saints above. Then open, O my soul ! thy portals wide, Open, and let thy Lord and Ruler come ; Open, if haply he may here abide, And make within thee his eternal home. Open thy gates, thy halls, thine inmost shrine, Till all are flooded with the Light divine. AT HAVRE DE GRACE. Above the busy Norman town, The high precipitous sea-cliffs rise, And from their summit looking down The twin-lights shine with lustrous eyes; Far out upon the fields of foam, The first to greet the wanderer home. Man here has known at last to tame Nature's wild forces to his will ; Those are the lightning's fires which flame. From yon high towers with ray so still : And knowledge, piercing through the night Of time, has summoned forth the light. And there, hard by the lighthouse door. The earthly set by the divine ; At a stone's cast, or scarcely more, Rises a little pagan shrine, Where the rough seamen come to pray, And wives, for dear ones far away. There, on a starry orb, there stands A heavenly goddess, proud and fair ; No infant holds she in her hands Which must a queenly sceptre bear. Nay ; wonder not, for this is she Who rules the fury of the sea. Star of the sea, they call her, yet Liker to Here doth she show. Than Aphrodite, rising wet From the white waves, with limbs aglow. Calmer she seems, more pure and sweet. To the poor kneelers at her feet. Before her still the vestal fires Burn unextinguished day and night ; And the sweet frankincense expires And fair flowers blow, and gems are bright : For a great power in heaven is she. This star and goddess of the sea. Around the temple, everywhere, Rude tablets hung, attest her might ; Here the fierce surge she smooths, and there Darts downward on a bar of light ; To quench the blazing ship, or save The shipwrecked from the hungry wave. And sea-gifts round the shrine are laid. Poor offerings, costlier far than gold : Such as the earlier heathen made. To the twin Deities of old, — Toy ships, shells, coral, glittering spar. Brought here by grateful hands from far. 12 AT HAVRE DE GRACE. A very present help indeed, This goddess is to whom they bow ; We seek Thy face with hearts that bleed, And straining eyes, dread Lord ! but Thou Hidest Thyself so far aw^ay. Our thoughts scarce reach Thee as we pray. But is this she, whom the still voice Of angels greeted in the night ; Bidding the poor maid's heart rejoice. With visions hid from wiser sight : This heathen nymph, this tinselled queen. First of all mothers who have been ? Gross hearts and purblind eyes, to make An idol of a soul so sweet ! Could you no meaner essence take, No brazen image with clay feet ; No saint from out the crowd of lies, False signs and shameful prodigies ? For this one bears too great a name, Above all other women blest ; The blessed mother, — all her fame Is His who nestled to her breast : They do but dull her glory down, These childless arms, this earthly crown. Poor peasant mother ! scarce a word Thou spak'st, the long-drawn years retain ; Only thy womb once bare the Lord ; Only thou knew'st the joy, the pain. The high hope seeming quenched in blood That marked thy awful motherhood. No trace of all thy life remains. From Llis first childhood to the cross ; A life of little joys and pains. Of humble gain and trivial loss : Contented if the ewes should bear Twin lambs, or wheat w^ere full in ear. Or if sometimes the memory Of that dread message of the night Troubled thy soul, there came to thee New precious duties ; till the flight, The desert sands, the kneeling kings, Showed but as half-forgotten tilings. Or sometimes, may be, pondering deep On miracles of word and deed, Vague doubts across thy soul would creep, Still faithful to the older creed : Could this thy son indeed be He, This child who prattled at thy knee ? And of thy after-life, thy age. Thy death, no record ; not a line On all the fair historic page To mark the life these hold divine : Only some vague tradition, faint As the sick story of n saint. But thou no longer art to-day The sweet maid-mother, fair aiid pure ; Vast time-worn reverend temples gra}-, Throne thee in majesty obscure ; And long aisles stretch in mins'crs high, 'Twixt thee, fair peasant, and the sky. They seek to honour thee, who art Beyond all else a mother indeed ; WHEN I AM DEAD. n ^Vith hateful vows that blight the heart, With childless lives, and souls that bleed : As if their dull hymns' barren strain Could fill a mother with aught but pain I Tu the gross eartli they bind thee down With coils of fable, chain on chain ; I'"rom plague or war to save the town ; To give, or hold ; the sun, or rain ; To whirl through air a favourite shrine, — These are thy functions, and divine. And see, in long procession rise The fair Madonnas of all time ; ■ They gaze from sweet maternal eyes, The dreams of every Christian clime : lirown girls and icy queens, the breast ^\nd childish lips proclaim them blest. Till as the gradual legend grew, Bora without stain, and scorning death ; Heavenward thou soarest through the blue, While saints and seers aspire beneath. : .\nd fancy-nurtured cam'st to be (Jueen over sky and earth and sea. Oh, sin 1 oh, shame ! oh, folly ! R.'s: ; Poor heathen, think to what you bow ; Consider, beyond God's equal skies. What pains that faithful soul must know, — She a poor peasant on the throne Raised for the Lord of Life, alone. O sweet ! O heart of hearts ! O pure Above all purest maids of earth ! O simple child, who didst endure The burden of that awful birth : Heart, that the keenest sword didst know, Soul bowed by alien loads of woe ! Sweet soul ! have pity ; intercede. Oh mother of mothers, pure and meek ; They know no evil, — rise and plead For these poor wandering souls and weak ; Tear off those pagan rags, and lead Their worship where 'tis due indeed. For wheresoever there is home. And mothers yearn with sacred love, There, since from Heaven itself they come. Are symbols of the life above : Again the sweet maid-mother mikl. Again the fair Eternal child. WHEN I AM DEAD. When I am dead and turned to dust. Let men say what they will, I care w^A aught ; Let them say I was careless, indolent, Wasted the precious hours in dreaming thought. Did not the good I might have done, but spent My soul upon myself, — sometimes let rise Thick mists of earth betwixt mc and the skies : What must be must. But not that I betrayed a trust ; Broke some girl's heart, and left her to her shame : 14 LOVE'S SUICIDE — THE RIVER OF LIFE. Sneered young souls out of faith ; rose by deceit ; Lifted by credulous mobs to wealth and fame ; Waxed fat while good men waned, by lie and cheat ; Cringed to the strong ; oppressed the poor and weak : When men say this, may some find voice to speak, Though I am dust. LOVES SUICIDE. Alas for me for that my love is dead ! Buried deep down, and may not rise again ; Self-murdered, vanished, gone beyond recall, And this is all my pain. 'Tis not that she I loved is gone from me, She lives and grows more lovely day by day ; Not Death could kill my love, but though she lives, My love has died away. Nor was it that a form or face more fair Forswore my troth, for so my love had proved Eye-deep alone, not rooted in the soul; And 'twas not thus I loved. Nor that by too long dalliance with delight And recompense of love, my love had grown Surfeit with sweets, like some tired bee that flags 'Mid roses over-blown. None of these slew my love, but some cold wind. Some chill of doubt, some shadowy dissidence. Born out of too great concord, did o'er- cloud Love's subtle inner sense. So one sweet changeless chord, too long sustained, Falls at its close into a lower tone : So the swift train, sped on the long, straight way. Sways, and is overthrown. For difference is the soul of life and love, And not the barren oneness weak souls prize : Rest springs from strife, and dissonant chords beget Divinest harmonies. THE RIVER OF LIFE. Bright with unnumbered laughters, and swollen by a thousand tears. Rushes along, through upland and low- land, the river of life ; Sometimes foaming and broken, and sometimes silent and slumbrous, Sometimes through rocky glens, and sometimes through flowery plains. Sometimes the mountains draw near, and the black depths swirl a/' their bases, Sometimes the limitless meads fade on the verge of the sky. Sometimes the forests stand round, and the great trees cast terrible shadows, Sometimes the golden wheat waves, and girls fill their pitchers and sing. A HEATHEN H\MN, 15 Ah\ays the same strange flow, through changes and chances unchanging, Always — ni youth and in age, in cahii and in tempest the same — ^Vhether it sparkle transparent and give back the blue like a mirror, Or sweep on turbid with flood, and black with the garbage of towns — Whether the silvery scale of the min- now flash on the pebbles, Or whether the poisonous ooze cling for a shroud round the dead — Whether it struggle through shoals of white blooms and feathery gi-asses, Or bear on its bosom the hulls of ocean- tost navies — the same. Flow on, O m)'5tical river, flow on through desert and city ; Broken or smooth, flow onward into the Infinite sea. ^^'ho knows what urges thee on, what dark laws and cosmical forces Stain thee or keep thee pure, and bring thee at last to thy goal ? What is the cause of thy rest or unrest, of thy foulness or pureness ? What is the secret of life, or the painful riddle of death ? ^^"hy is it better to be than to cease, to flow on than to stagnate ? ^^'hy is the river-stream sweet, while the sea is as bitter as gall ? Surely we know not at all, but the cycle of Being is eternal, Life is eternal as death, tears are eternal as joy. As the stream flowed, it will flow ; though 'tis sweet, yet the sea will be bitter : Foul it with filth, yet the deltas grow green and the ocean is clear. Always the sun and the winds will strike its broad surface and gather Some purer drops from its depths, to float in the clouds of the sky ; — Soon these shall fall once again, and replenish the full-flowing river. Roll round then, O mystical cycle ! flow onward, ineffable stream I A HEATHEN HYMN. Lord, the Giver of my days. My heart is ready, my heart is ready ; 1 dare not hold my peace, nor pause. For I am fain to sing Thy praise. I praise Thee not, with impious pride, For that Thy partial hand has given Bounties of wealth or form or brain, Good gifts to other men denied. Nor weary Thee with blind request, For fancied goods Thy hand withholds*, I know not what to fear or hope, Nor aught but that Thy will is best. Not whence I come, nor whither I go. Nor wherefore I am here, I know ; Nor if my life's tale ends on earth, Or mounts to bliss, or sinks to woe. Nor know I aught of Thee, O Lord ; Behind the veil Thy face is hidden : We faint, and yet Thy face is hidden ; We cry, — Thou answerest not a word. But this I know, O Lord, Thou art, And by Thee I too live and am ; We stand together, face to face, Thou the great whole, and I the part. IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. We stand together, soul to soul, Alone amidst Thy waste of worlds : Unchanged, though all creation fade, And Thy swift suns forget to roll. Wherefore, because my life is Thine, Because, without Thee I were not ; Because, as doth the sea, the sun. My nature gives back the Divine. Because my being with ceaseless flow Sets to Thee as the brook to the sea ; Turns to Thee, as the flower to the sun. And seeks what it may never know. Because, without me Thou hadst been For ever, seated midst Thy suns ; Marking the soulless cycles turn, Yet wert Thyself unknown, unseen. I praise Thee, everlasting Lord, In life and death, in heaven and hell : What care I, since indeed Thou art. And I the creature of Thy word. Only if such a thing may be : When all Thy infinite will is done, Take back the soul Thy breath has given. And let me lose myself in Thee. IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. Under the picture gallery wall, As a sea-leaf clings to a wave -worn rock, Nor shrinks from the surging impetu- ous shock Of the breakers which gather and whiten and fall — A child's form crouches, nor seems to heed The ceaseless eddy and whirl of men : Men and women M'ith hearts that bleed, i Men and women of wealth and fame, \ High in honour, or sunk in shame, Pass on like i^hantoms, and pass again. And he lies there like a weed. X child's form, said I ; but looking again It is only the form that is childish now, For age has furrowed the low dull brow, And marked the pale face with its lines of pain. Vet but itw years have fled, since I first passed by, For a dwarf's life is short if you go ])y the sun, And marked in worn features and lus- treless eye Some trace of youth's radiance, though faint and thin, But now, oh, strange jest ! there's a beard to his chin. And lie lies there, grown old ere his youth is done. With his poor limbs bent awry. What a passer-by sees, is a monstrous head, \Vith a look in the eyes as of those who gaze On some far-off sight with a dumb amaze ; A face as pale as the sheeted dead, A frail body propped on a padded crutch, And lean long fingers, which flutter the keys Of an old accordion, reluming their touch ^Vi(h some poor faint echoes of popular song, IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE. 17 Trivial at all times and obsolete long, Psalm-tunes, and African melodies, Not differing very much. And there he sits nightly in heat and cold, When the fountains fall soft on the stillness of June, Or when the sharp East sings its own shrill tune. Patiently playing and growing old. The long year waxes and wanes, the great Flash by in splendour from rout or ball, Statesmen grown weary with long debate. Hurry by homev/ards, and fling him alms ; Pitiful women, touched by the psalms, Bringing back innocence, stoop by the wall Where he lies at Dives' gate. What are his thoughts of, stranded there ? While life ebbs and flows by, again and again. Does the old sad Problem vex his poor brain ? " Why is the world so pleasant and fair, Why, am I only who did no wrong Crippled and bent out of human form ? W^hy are other men tall and strong ? Surely if all men were made to rejoice, vSeeing that we come without will or choice. It were better to crawl for a day like a worm. Than to lie like this so long ! *' The blind shuffles by with a tap of his staff. The tired tramp plods to the workhouse ward, — But he carries his broad back as straight as a lord And the blind man can hear his little ones laugh, While I lie here like a weed on ll.c sand, With these crooked limbs, paining nie night and day. Is it true, what they tell of a far-oft"land, In the sweet old faith which was preached for the poor, — Where none shall be weary or pnined any more. Nor change shall enter nor any decay. And the stricken down shall stand ?" And perhaps sometimes when the sky is clear, And the stars show like lamps on the sweet summer night, Some chance chord struck with a sud- den delight, Soars aloft with his soul, and brings Paradise near. And then — for even nature is some- times kind — He lies stretched under palms with a harp of gold ; Or is whirled on by coursers as fleet as the wind ; And is no more crippled, nor weak nor bent ; No more painful nor impotent ; No more hungry, nor weary nor cold, — But of perfect form and mind. Or maybe his thoughts are of humbler cast, For hunger and cold are real indeed ; And he looks for the hour when his toil shall be past, C i8 IVA TCH—DRO WNED. And he with sufficient for next day's need : Some humble indulgence of food or fire, Some music-hall ditty, or marvellous book, Or whatever it be such poor souls desh-e ; And with this little solace, for God would fain Make even his measures of joy and pain. He drones happily on in his quiet nook, With hands that never tire. WeU, these random guesses must go for nought Seeing it is wiser and easier far To weigh to an atom the faintest star, Than to sound the dim depths of a brother's thought. But whenever I hear those poor snatches of song, And see him lie maimed in body and soul, While I am straight and healthy and strong, I seem to redden with a secret sliame, That we should so differ who sliould be the same, Till I hear their insolent chariot wheels roll The millionaires along. WATCH. Oh, hark ! the languid air is still, The fields and woods seem hushed and dumb. But listen, and you shall hear a thrill, An inner voice of silence come, Stray notes of birds, the hum of bees. The brook's light gossip on its way. Voices of children heard at play, Leaves whispering of a coming breeze. Oh, look ! the sea is fallen asleep, The sail hangs idle evermore ; Yet refluent from the outer deep, The low wave sobs upon the shore. Silent the dark cave ebbs and fills, Silent the broad weeds wave and sway ; Yet yonder fairy fringe of spray Is born of surges vast as hills. Oh, see ! the sky is deadly dark, There shines not moon nor any star ; But gaze awhile, and you shall mark Some gleam of glory from afar : Some half-hid planet's vagrant ray ; Some lightning flash which wakes the world ; Night's pirate banner slowly furled ; An'J, eastward, some faint flush of day. DROWNED. Only eighteen winters old ! Lay her with a tender hand On the delicate, ribbed sea-sand : Stiff and cold; ay, stiff and cold. What she has been, who shall care ?' Looking on her as she lies With those stony, sightless eyes, And the sea-weed in her hair. Think, O mothers ! how the deep' All the dreary night did rave ; Thundering foam and crested wave. While your darlings lay asleep. THE WANDERER. 19 How she cleft the midnight air ; The long procession of the fabulous And the idiot surge beneath Past, Whirled her sea-ward to her death, Rolled by for me— the earliest dawn of Angry that she was so fair. time ; The seven great Days ; the garden and Tossed her, beat her, till no more the sword ; Rage could do, through all the night ; The first red stain of crime ; Then with morning's ghastly light, Flung her down upon the shore. The fierce rude chiefs who smote, and burned, and slew. Mother ! when brief years ago And all for God; the pitiless tyrants You were happy in your child, grand. Smiling on her as she smiled, Who piled to heaven the eternal monu- Thought you she would perish so ? ments. Unchanged amid the sand ; Man ! who made her what she is ; What, if when you falsely swore The fairy commonwealths, where Free- Vou would love her more and more, dom first You had seen her lie like this. Inspired the ready hand and glowing tongue And, Infinite Cause ! didst Thou, To a diviner art and sweeter song When Thou mad'st this hapless Than men have feigned or sung ; child, Dowered with passions, fierce and The strong bold sway that held man- wild, kind in thrall. See her lie as she lies now ? Soldier and jurist marching side by side, Till came the sure slow blight, when Filled with wild revolt and rage. all the world All I feel I may not speak ; Grew sick, and swooned, and died ; Fate so strong, and we so weak, Like rats in a cage, — like rats in a Again the long dark night, when cage. Learning dozed Safe in her cloister, and the world without THE WANDERER. Rang with fierce shouts of war and cries of pain. I REARED my virgin Soul on dainty Base triumph, baser rout ; food, I fed her with rich fruit and garnered Till rose a second dawn of light again, gold Agam the freemen stood m firm array From gardens planted by the pious Behind the foss, and Pope and Kaiser care came, Of the wise dead of old. Wondered and turned away ; THE WANDERER. And then the broadening stream, till Fair forms I found, and rounded limits the sleek priest divine, Aspired to tread the path the Pagan The maiden's grace, the tender curves trod, of youth, And Rome fell once again, and the The majesty of happy perfect years, brave North But only half the truth. Rose from the church to God. For there is more, I thought, in man, All these passed by for me, till the , and higher, vast tide Than animal graces cunningly com- Grew to a sea too wide for any shore ; bined ; Then doubt o'erspread me, and a cold Since oft within the unlovely frame is disgust, set And I would lo'ok no more. The shining, flawless mind. For something said, *' The Past is dead So I grew weary of the pallid throng, and gone. Deep - bosomed maids and stalwart Let the dead bury their dead, why heroes tall. strive with Fate ? One type 1 saw, one earthy animal seal Why seek to feed the children on the Of comeliness in all ! husks Their rude forefathers ate ? " But not the awful, mystical human soul— The soul that grovels and aspires in " For even were the Past reflected back turn — As in a mirror, in the historic page, The soul that struggles outwards into For us its face is strange, seeing that light the race Through lips and eyes that burn. Betters from age to age." So, from the soulless marbles, white " And if, hearing the tale we told our- and bare selves, And cold, too-perfect art, I turned and We marvel how the monstrous fable sought grew ; The canvases, where Christian hands How in these far-ofif years shall men have left discern The fruits of holy thought. The Active from the true ? " •» * * * Passion I found, and love, and godlike Then turned I to the broad domain of" pain. Art, The swift soul rapt by mingled hopes To seek if haply Truth lay hidden there ; and fears. Well knowing that of old close links Eyes lit with glorious light from the connect Unseen, The true things and the fair. Or dim with sacred tears. THE WANDERER. But everywhere around the living tree Or if at last the long-drawn symphony, I marked the tangled growths of fable After much weary wandering seemed to twine, soar And gross material images confuse To a finer air, and subtle measures born The earthly and divine. On some diviner shore, I saw the Almighty Ruler of the I thought how much of poor mechani- worlds, cal skill. The one unfailing Source of Light and How little fire of heart, or force of Love, brain, A sullen gray -beard set on rolling Was theirs who first devised or now clouds, declared Armed with the bolts of Jove. That magical sweet strain ; The Eternal Son, a shapeless new-born And how the art was partial, not im- child, mense, Supine upon His peasant - mother's As Truth is, or as Beauty, but confined knees, To this our later Europe, not spread Or else a ghastly victim, crushed and out, worn Wide as the width of mind. By physical agonies. * * * * So then from Art, and all its empty The virgin mother — now a simple girl ; shows Or old and blurred with tears, and wan And outward-seeming truth, I turned with sighs ; and sought And now a goddess, oft-times giving The secret springs of knowledge which back lie hid The harlot-model's eyes. Deep in the wells of thought. Till faring on what spark of heaven The hoary thinkers of the Past I knew ; was there, Whose dim vast thoughts, to too great Grew pale, then went out quite ; and stature grown. in its stead, Flashed round as fitful lightning flashes Dull copies of dull common life usurped round The empire of the dead. The black vault of the Unknown. Or if sometimes, rapt in a sweet sus- Who, seeing that things are Many, and pense. yet are One ; I knew a passionate yearning thrill my That all things suffer change, and yet soul, remain — As down long aisles from lofty quires That opposite flows from opposite, Life I heard and Death, The solemn music roll ; Love, Hatred, Pleasure, Pain — THE WANDERER. Raised high upon the mystical throne of life Some dim abstraction, hopeful to un- wind The tangled maze of things, by one rude guess Of an untutored mind. The sweet Ideal Essences revealed, To that high poet-thinker's eyes I saw ; The archetypes which underset the world With one broad perfect Law. The fair fantastic Commonwealth, too fair For earth, wherein the wise alone bore rule- So wise that oftentimes the sage himself Shows duller than the fool ; And that white soul, clothed with a satyr's form, Which shone beneath the laurels day by day, And, fired with burning faith in God and Right, Doubted men's doubts away ; And him who took all knowledge for his own, And with the same swift logical sword laid bare The depths of heart and mind, the mysteries Of earth and sea and air ; And those on whom the visionary East Worked in such sort, that knowledge grew to seem An ecstasy, a sudden blaze, revealed To crown the mystic's dream ; Till, once again, the old light faded out, And left no trace of that fair day re- main — Only a barren method, binding down Men's thoughts with such a chain That knowledge sank self-slain, like some stout knight Clogged by his harness ; nor could wit devise Aught but ignoble quibbles, subtly mixed With dull theologies. Not long I paused with these ; but passed to him Who, stripping, like a skilful wrestler, cast From his strong arms the precious deadly web. The vesture of the past ; And looked in Nature's eyes, and, foot to foot, Strove with her daily, till the witch at length Gave up, reluctant, to the questing mind The secret of her strength. And then the old fight, fought on modern fields, — Whether we know by sense or inward sight — Whether a law within, or use alone, Mark out the bounds of right — All these were mine ; and then the ancient doubt. Which scarce kept silence as this master taught THE WANDERER. 23 The undying soul, or that one subtly probed The process of our thought, And shuddered at the dreadful innocent talk To the cicala's chirp beneath the trees — • Love poised on silver wings, love fallen and fouled By black iniquities ; And laughed to scorn their quest of cosmic law, Saw folly in the Mystic and the Schools, And in the Newer Method gleams of truth Obscured by childish rules ; Rose to a giant's strength, and always cried — • You shall not find the truth here, she is gone ; What glimpse men had, was ages since, and these Go idly babbling on — Jangles of opposite creeds, alike un- true, Quaint puzzles, meaningless logoma- chies, Efforts to pierce the infinite core of things With purblind finite eyes. Go, get you gone to Nature, she is kind To reasonable worship ; she alone Thinks scorn, when humble seekers ask for bread, To offer them a stone. * * * ♦ And Nature drew me to her, and awhile Enchained me. Day by day, things strange and new Rose on me ; day by day, I seemed to tread Fresh footsteps of the true. I laid life's house bare to its inmost room With lens and scalpel, marked the simple cell Which might one day be man or creep- ing worm. For aught that sense could tell, — Thrust life to its utmost home, a speck of gray No more nor higher, traced the wondrous plan, The wise appliances which seem to shape The dwelling-place of man, — Nor halted here, but thirsted still to know, And, with half-blinded eyesight, loved to pore On that scarce visible world, born of decay Or stranded on the shore. Marked how the Mother works with earth and gas, And with what subtle alchemy knows to blend The vast conflicting forces of the world To one harmonious end ; And, nightly gazing on the splendid stars, Essayed in vain with reverent eye to trace The chain of miracles by which men learnt The mysteries of space ; 24 THE WANDERER. And toiled awhile with spade and hammer, to learn The long long sequences of life, and those Unnumbered cycles of forgotten years Ere life's faint light arose ; And loved to trace the strange sweet life of flowers, And all the scarce suspected links which span The gulf betwixt the fungus and the tree, And 'twixt the tree and man. Then suddenly, "What is it that I know ? I know the shows and changes, not the cause ; I know but long successions, which usurp The name and rank of Laws. "And what if the design I think 1 see Be but a pitiless order, through the long Slow wear of chance and suffering working out Salvation for the strong ? " How else, if scheme there be, can I explain The cripple or the blind, the ravening jaw. The infinite waste of life, the plague, the sword, The evil, thriftless law, " Or seeming errors of design, or strange Complexities of structure, which suggest A will which sported with its power, or worked Not careful for the best?" I could not know the scheme, nor therefore spend My soul in painful efforts to conform With those who lavished life and brain to trace The story of a worm ; Nor yet with those who, prizing over- much The unmeaning jargon of their science, sought To hide, by arrogance, from God and man Their poverty of thought, And, blind with fact and stupefied by law, Lost sight of the Creator, and became | Dull bigots, narrowed to a hopeless creed. And priests in all but name. Thus, tired with seeking truth, and not content To dwell with those weak souls who love to feign Unending problems of the life and love Which they can ne'er explain ; Nor those who, parrot-like, are proud to clothe In twenty tongues the nothing that they know ; Nor those whom barren lines and numbers blind To all things else below ; And half-suspecting, when the poet sang And drew my soul to his, and round \ me cast THE WANDERER. Fine cords of fancy, but a sleight of Or, in the name of Justice, to confuse, words, Part stolen from the past — I thought. My life lies not with books, but men ! Surely the nobler part is his who guides '1 he State's great ship through hidden rocks and sands. Rude winds and popular tides, — K freeman amongst freemen, — and contrives, By years of thought and labour, to withdraw Some portion of their load from lives bent down By old abusive law ! A noble task ; but how to walk with those Who by fate's subtle irony ever hold The freeman's ear — the cunning fluent knave. The dullard big with gold ? And how, when worthier souls bore rule, to hold Faction more dear than Truth, or stoop to cheat. With cozening words and shallow flatteries The Solons of the street ? Or, failing this, to wear a hireling sword — Ready, whate'er the cause, to kill and slay. And float meanwhile, a gilded butter- fly, My brief inglorious day — For hire, with shameless tongue and subtle brain, Dark riddles, which, to honest minds unwarped. Were easy to explain — Or, with keen salutary knife, to carve For hire the shrinking limb ; or else to feign Wise words and healing powers, though knowing naught In face of death and pain — Or grub all day for pelf 'mid hides and oils, Like a mole in some dark alley, to rise at last. After dull years, to wealth and ease, when all The use for them is past — Or else to range myself with those who seek By reckless throws with chance, by trick and cheat. Swift riches lacking all the zest of toil, And only bitter-sweet. Or worst, and still for hire, to feign to hear A voice which called not, calling me to tell Now of an indolent heaven, and now, obscene Threats of a bodily hell. * * * * Then left I all, and ate the husks of sense; Oh, passionate coral lips ! oh, shameful fair! Bright eyes, and careless smiles, and reckless mirth ! Oh, golden rippling hair ! 25 THE WAXDERER. Oh, rose-strewn feasts, made glad with wine and song And laughter-lit ! oh, whirling dances sweet, When the mad music faints awhile and leaves Low beats of rhythmic feet ! Oh, glorious terrible moments, when the sheen Of silk, and straining limbs flash thundering by, And name and fame and honour itself, await Worse hazard than the die ! All these were mine. Then, thought I, I have found The truth at last ; here comes not doubt to pain ; Here things are what they seem, not figments, born Of a too busy brain. But soon, the broken law avenged itself; For, oh, the pity of it ! to feel the tire - Grow colder daily, and the soaring soul Sunk deep in grosser mire. And oh, the pity of it ! to drag down lives Which had been happy else, to ruin, and waste The precious affluence of love, which else Some humble home had graced. And oh ! the weariness of feasts and wine ; The jests where mirth was not, the nerves unstrung, The throbbing brain, the tasteless joys, which keep Their savour for the young. These came upon me, and a vague un- rest. And then a gnawing pain ; and then I fled. As one some great destruction passes, flees A city of the dead. * * * * Then, pierced by some vague sense of guilt and pain, " God help me ! " I said. " There is no help in life, Only continual passions waging war. Cold doubt and endless strife ! " But He is full of peace, and truth, and rest, I give myself to Him ; I yearn to find What words divine have fallen from age to age Fresh from the Eternal mind. And so, upon the reverend page I dwelt. Which shows Him formless, self-con- tained, all-wise, Passionless, pure, the soul of visible things. Unseen by mortal eyes ; Who oft across dim gulfs of time re vealed. Grew manifest, then passed and left a foul Thick mist of secular error to ob- [ scure ',' The upward gazing soul ; - 7 HE IVAXDERER. 27 xA.nd that which told of Opposite Principles, Of Light with Darkness warring ever- more ; Ah me ! 'twas nothing new, I had felt the fight Within my soul before. And those wise Answers of the far-off sage, So wise, they shut out God, and can enchain To-day in narrow bonds of foolishness The subtle Eastern brain. And last, the hallowed pages dear to all. Which bring God down to earth, a King to fight With Hib people's hosts ; or speaking awful words From out the blaze of light, — Which tell how earthly chiefs wlio loved the right, Were dear to Him ; and how the poet king Sang, from his full repentant heart, tho strains Sad hearts still love to sing. And how the seer was filled with words of fire, And passionate scorn and lofty hate of III, So pure, that we who hear them seem to hear God speaking to us still, But mixed with these, dark tales of fraud and blood. Like weeds in some fair garden ; till I said. " These are not His ; how shall a man discern The living from the dead ? " I will go to that fair Life, the flower of lives ; I will prove the infinite pity and love which shine From each recorded word of Him who once Was human, yet Divine. " Oh, pure sweet life, crowned by a godlike death ; Oh, tender healing hand ; oh, words that give Rest to the weary, solace to the sad, And bid the hopeless live ! " Oh, pity, spurning not the penitent thief ; Oh, wisdom, stooping to the little child ; Oh, infinite purity, taking thought for lives By sinful stains defiled ! " With thee, will I dwell, with thee." But as I mused. Those pale ascetic words renewed my doubt : The cheek, which to the smiter should be turned, The offending eye plucked out. The sweet impossible counsels which may seem Too perfect for our need ; nor recog- nise A duty to the world, not all reserved For that beyond the skies. 2S THE WANDERER. "And was it truth, or some too reverent dream Which scorned God's precious processes of birth, And spurned aside for Him, the changeless laws Which rule all things of earth ? " Or how shall some strange breach of natural law ]5e proof of moral truth ; yet how deny That He who holds the cords of life and death Can raise up those who die ? "Yet how to doubt that God may be revealed ; Is He more strange, incarnate, shedding tears, Than when the unaided scheme fulfils itself Through countless painful years ? " But if revealed He be, how to escape The critic who dissects the sacred page, Till God's gift hangs on grammar, and the saint r Is weaker than the sage ! " These warring thoughts held me, and more ; but when The simple life divine shone forth no more. And the fair truth came veiled in stately robes Of philosophic lore ; And 'twas the apostle spoke, and not the Christ ; The scholar, not the Master ; and the Church Defined itself, and sank to earthly thrones : "Surely," I said, "my search "Is vain;" and when with magical rite and spell They killed the Lord, and sought with narrow creed. Half- fancy, half of barbarous logic born. To heal the hearts ihat bleed ; And heretic strove with heretic, and the Church Slew for the truth itself had made : again, "Can these things be of Him?" I thought, and felt The old undying pain. And yet the fierce false prophet turned to God The gross idolatrous East ; and far away. Beyond the horrible wastes, the lewd knave makes A Paradise to-day. * * * * Vet deep within my being still I kept Two sacred fires alight through all the strife, — Faith in a living God ; faith in a soul Dowered with an endless life. And therefore though the world's foundations shook, I was not all unhappy ; knowing well That He whose hand sustained me would not bear To leave my soul in hell. But now I looked on nature with strange eyes. For something whispered, " Surely all things pass ; All life decays on earth or air or sea, — All wither like the grass." THE WANDERER, 29 "These are, then have been, we our- selves decline, And cease and turn to earth, and are as they : Shall our dear animals rise ; shall the dead flowers Bloom in another May ? "The seed springs like the herb, but not the same ; And like us, not the same, our children rise ; The type survives, though suffering gradual change, The individual dies. "How shall one seek to sever, e'en in thought. Body and soul ; how show to doubting eyes That this returns to dust, while the other soars Deathless beyond the skies ? " And if it be a lovely dream — no more, And life is ended with our latest breath, May not the same sweet fancy have devised The Lord of life and death ? "We know Him not at all, nor may conceive Beginning or yet ending. Is it more To image an Eternal World, than one Where nothing was before ? "Whence came the Maker? Was He uncreate ? Then why must all things else created be? Was He created? Then, the Lord I serve, Lies farther off than He. " Or if He be indeed, yet the soul dies. Why, what is He to us ? not here, not here ! His judgments fall, wrong triumphs here — right sinks ; What hope have we, or fear ? " I could not answer, yet \\hen others came, Affirming He was not, and bade me live \\\ the present only, seizing unconcerned What pleasures life could give. My doubt grown fiercer, scoffed at them, " Oh fools. And blind, your joys I know ; the uni- verse Confutes you ; can you see right yield to might. The better to the worse, — " Nor burn to adjust them ? If it were a dream. Would all men dream it ? Can your thought conceive The end you tell of better than the life. Which all men else believe ? "Or if we shrink as from a hateful voice, From mute analogies of frame and shape. Surely no other than a breath Divine Gave reason to the ape." " What made all men to call on God ? what taught The soaring soul its lofty heavenward flight ? What led us to discern the strait bounds set, To sever wrong from riijht ? 3« THE WANDERER. " Be sure, no easier is it to declare He is not than He is : " and I who sought Firm ground, saw here the same too credulous faith And impotence of thought. And when they brought me their fan- tastic creed, With a figment for a god — mock cere- monies — Man worshipping himself— mock priests to kill The soul's high liberties, — I spurned the folly with a curse, and turned To dwell with my own soul apart, and there Found no companion but the old doubt grown To an immense despair. * » ♦ * Then, as a man who, on a sunny day. Feeling some trivial ache, unknown be- fore, Goes careless from his happy home, and seeks A wise physician's door. And when he comes forth, neither heeds nor sees The joyous tide of life or smiling sky, But always, always hears a ceaseless voice Repeating "Thou shalt die." So all the world flowed by, and all my days Passed like an empty vision, and I said, " rhere is no help in life ; seeming to live. We are but as the dead." And thus, I tossed al)out long time ; at last Nature rebelled beneath the constant pain, And the dull sleepless care forgot itself, In frenzy of the brain. And sometimes all was blackness, un- relieved, And sometimes I would wander day and night, Through fiery long arcades, which seared my brain With flakes of blinding light. And then I lay unmoved in a gray calm ; Not life nor death, and the past came to seem Thought, act, faith, doubt, things of but lit .le worth A dream within a dream. * * * * But, when I saw my country like a cloud, Sink in the East, and the free ocean- wind Fanned life's returning flame and roused again Slow pulse and languid mind ; Soon the great rush and mystery of the sea, The grisly depths, the great waves surging on, Dark with white spuming crests which threaten death, Swoop by, and so are gone. And the strong sense of weakness, as we sped — Tossed high, plunged low, through many a furious night, THE WANDERER. 31 And slept in faith, that some poor But with new springs of sympathy, no seaman woke more To guide our course aright. By impotent musings vexed. All lightened something of my load, x-Vnd last of all I knew the lovely land and seemed Which was most mighty, and is still To solace me a little, for they taught, most fair ; That the impalpable unknown might Where world-wide rule and heaven- stretch. ward faith have left Even to the realms of thought. Their traces everywhere. And so I wandered into many lands, And as from province to province I And over many seas ; I felt the chill wandered on. \Vhich in mid-ocean strikes on those City or country, all was fair and sweet; who near The air, the fields, the vines, the dark- The spire-crowned icy hill. eyed girls, The dim arcaded street ; And threaded fairy straits beneath the palms. The minsters lit for vespers, in the cool ; \Miere, year by year, the tepid waters Gay bridals, solemn burials, soaring sleep ; chant. And where, round coral isles, the Spent in high naves, gray cross, and sudden sea wayside shrine. Sinks its unfathomed deep. And kneeling suppliant ; Upon the savage feverish swamp, I trod And painting, strong to aid the eye of The desert sands, the fat low plains of faith. the East ; And sculpture, figuring awful destinies : On glorious storied shores and those Thin campaniles, crowning lake-lit hills, where man And sea- worn palaces. Was ever as the beast. Then, as the sweet days passed me one And, day by day, I felt my frozen soul, by one, v^oothed by the healing influence of New tides of life through body and change, soul were sent ; Grow softer, registering day by day. And daily sights of beauty worked a Things new, unknown, and calm strange. Ineffable content. Not therefore, holding what it spumed And soon, as in the spring, ere fiosts before. are done. Nor solving riddles, which before per- Deep down in earth the black roots plexed ; quicken and start. 32 THE WANDERER. I seemed to feel a spring of faith and love Stir through my frozen heart. * * * * Till one still summer eve, when as I mused ]]y a fair lake, from many a silvery bell. Thrilled from tall towers, I heard the Angelas, Deep peace upon me fell. And following distant organ-swells, I passed Within the circuit of a lofty wall, And thence within dim aisles, wherein I heard The low chant rise and fall. And dark forms knelt upon the ground, and all Was gloom, save where some dying day-beam shone. High in the roof, or where the votive lamp Burned ever dimly on. Then whether some chanoe sound or solemn word Across my soul a precious influence cast, Or whether the fair presence of a faith Born of so great a Past, Smote me ! the wintry glooms were past and done, And once again the Spring-time, and once more Faith from its root bloomed heaven- ward — and I sank Weeping upon the floor. ■» • * * Long time within that peaceful home I dwelt With those grave brethren, spending silent days And watchful nights, in solemn reverent thought. Made glad by frequent praise. And the awakened longing for the Truth, With the great dread of what had been before. The ordered life, the nearer view of heaven, Worked on me more and more. So that, I lived their life of ]:irayer and praise, Alike in summer heats and wintry snows. Pacing chill cloisters 'neath the waning stars. Long ere the slow sun rose. And speaking little, and bringing down my soul With frequent fast and vigil, saw at length Truth's face show daily clearer and more clear To failing bodily strength. For living in a mystical air, and parched With thirst for faith and truth ; at last I brought The old too-active logic to enforce The current of my thought. And wishing to believe, 1 took for true The shameless subtleties which dare to tell How the Eternal charged one hand to hold The keys of heaven and hell. THE WANDERER. "For if a faith be given, then must The more incredible the talc, the more there be The merit of belief ; the more I sought A Church to guard it, and a tongue to To reason out the truth, I knew the speak, more And an unerring mind to rule alike The impotence of thought. The strong souls and the weak. " And thus the swift months passed in "And, because God's high purpose prayer and praise. stands not still, Bringing the day when those tall gates TJut He is ever with His own, the tide should close, Of miracle and dogma ceases not. And shut me out from thought and But flows down strong and wide. life and all Our heritage of woes. "To the world's ending." So my * * * * mind fell prone. Then, one day, when the end drew J]^fore the Church ; and teachings new very near, and strange ; Wliich should blot out the past for Tlie wafer, which to spirit and sense ever, and I sustains Waited impatient, longing for the hour Some dim incredible change — When my old self should die ; The substance which tho' altered yet I knelt at noon, within the darkened retains aisle. The self-same accidents ; the Virgin Before a doll tawdry with rich bro- Queen, cade. Immaculate in birth, and without death, And all ablaze with gems, the precious Soaring to worlds unseen — gifts Which pious hands had made : The hgends, sometimes foolish, ofttimes fair. Nor aught of strange I saw, so changed Of saints who set all natural laws at was I, naught ; In that dull fetish ; nay, heaven's gate The miracles, the portents, not the unsealed. charm, And the veiled angels bent before the Of the old Pagan thought — throne. Where sat their Lord revealed. These shook me not at all, who only longed While Hke a flood the ecstasy of faith To drain the healing draught of faith Surged high and higher, swift to fall at again, last And dreaded, with a coward dread, the Lower and lower, when the rapture thought failed Of the old former pain. And faded, ar.d was past. 34 7HE WANDERER. Lo, a sweet sunbeam, straying through the gloom Smote me, as when the first low shaft of day Aslant the night-clouds shoots, and momently Chases the mists away. And that ideal heaven was closed, and all That reverend house turned to a dark- ened room, A den of magic, masking with close fumes The odours of the tomb. « * * * Then passed I forth. Again my soul was free ; Again the summer sun and exquisite air Made all things smile ; and life and joy and love Beamed on me everywhere. And over all the earth there went a stir, A movement, a renewal. Round the spring In the broad village street, the dark- eyed girls Were fain to dance and sing For the glad time. The children played their play, Like us who play at life ; light bursts of song Came from the fields, and to the village church A bridal passed along. Far on the endless plain, the swift steam drew A soft white riband. Down the lazy flow Of the broad stream, I marked, round sylvan bends, The seaward barges go. The brown vine-dresser, bent among his vines, Ceased sometimes from his toil to hold on high His laughing child, vv'hile his deep- bosomed wife Cheerful sat watching by. And all the world was glad, and full of life. And I grew glad with it, and quickly came To see my past life as it was, and feel A salutary shame. For what was it I had wished ? To set aside The perfect scheme of things, to live apart A sterile life, divorced from light and love. Sole, with an empty heart. And wherefore to fatigue the Eternal ear With those incessant hymns of barren praise ? Does not a sweeter sound go up to Him From well-spent toilsome days, — And natural life, refined by honest love. And sweet unselfish liturgies of home. Heaven's will, borne onward by obedient souls. Careless of what may come ? THE WANDERER. ?5 What need has He for praise? Forest and field, The winds, the seas, the plains, the mountains, praise Their Maker, with a grander litany Than our poor voices raise. What need has He of them ? And looking back To those gray walls which late had shown so fair, I felt as one who from a dungeon 'scapes To free unfettered air. And half distrustful of myself, and full Of terror of what might be, once more fled, With scarce a glance behind, as one who flees A city of the dead. * « * * All through that day and night I jour- neyed on To the northward. With the dawn a tender rose Blushed in mid-heaven, and looking up, I saw Far off, the eternal snows. Then all day higher, higher, from the plain, Beyond the tinkling folds, beyond the fair Dense, self-sown chestnuts, then the scented pines, And then an eager air, And then the ice-fields and the cloud- less heavens ; And ever as I climbed, I seemed to cast My former self behind, and all the rags Of that unlovely past : The doubts, the superstitions, the regrets, The awakening ; as the soul which hears the loud Archangel summon, rising, casts be- hind Corruption and the shroud. For I was come into a higher land. And breathed a purer air than in the past ; And He who brought me to the dust of death Had holpen me at last. * * * * What then ? A dream of sojourn 'mid the hills, A stir of homeward travel, swift and brief. Because the very hurry of the change Brought somewhat of relief. A dream of a fair city, the chosen seat Of all the pleasures, impotent to stay The thirsty soul, whose water-springs' were laid In dear lands far away. A dream of the old crowds, the smoke, the din Of our dear mother, dearer far than fair ; The home of lofty souls and busy brains, Keener for that thick air. Then a long interval of patient toil, Building the gradual framework of my art, With eyes which cared no more to seek the whole. Fast fixed upon the part. -,6 THE WANDERER. And mind, which shunned the general, absorbed In the particular only, till it saw What boundless possibilities lie for men Twixt matter and high law ! How that which may be rules, not that which must ; And absolute truth revealed, would serve to blind The soul's bright eye, and sear \^ilh tongues of flame The sinews of the mind. How in the web of life, the thread of truth Is woven with error; yet a vesture fair Comes from the loom — a precious royal robe Fit for a god to wear. Till at the last, upon the crest of toil Sat Knowledge, and I gained a newer truth : Not the pale queen of old, but a soft maid, Filled with a tender ruth. And, ray by ray, the clear-faced unity Orbed itself forth, and lo ! the noble throng Of patient souls, who sought the truth in act, And grew, through silence, strong. Till prizing union more than dissidcnce, And holding dear the race, I came to prove A spring of sympathy within, which swelled To a deep stream of love. And Knowledge gave me gold, and power, and fame, And honour ; and Love, a clearer, surer view : Thus in calm depths I moored my weary soul Fast anchored to the True. And now the past lies far away, and I Can scarce recall those vanished days again ; No more the old faith stirs me, and no more Comes the old barren pain. For now each day brings its appointed toil, And every hour its grateful sum of care ; And life grows sweeter, and the gracious world Shows day by da}- more fair. For now I live a Iw o-fold life ; my own And yet another's ; and another heart Which beats to mine, makes glad the lonely world Where once I lived apart. And little lives are mine to keep un- stained. Strange mystic growths, which day by day expand, Like the flowers they are, and set me in a fair Perpetual wonderland. New senses, gradual language, dawning mind, And with each day that passes, traced more strong On those white tablets, awful characters That tell of right and wrong. THE WEARY RIVER. 37 And what hand wrote them ? One brief life declined, Went from us, and is not. Ah ! what and where Is that fair soul ? Surely it somewhere blooms In purer, brighter air. What took it hence, and whither ? Can I bear To think, that I shall turn to a herb, a tree, A little earth or lime, nor care for these, Whatever things may be ? Or shall the love and pity I feel for these End here, nor find a higher type or task? I am as God to them, bestowing more Than they deserve or ask. And shall I find no Father ? Shall my being Aspire in vain for ever, and always tend To an impossible goal, which none shall reach, — An aim without an end ? Or, shall I heed them when they bid me take No care for aught but what my brain may prove ? I, through whose inmost depths from birth to death. Strange heavenward currents move; Vague whispers, inspirations, memories. Sanctities, yearnings, secret question- ings, And oft amid the fullest blaze of noon, The rush of hidden wings ? Nay ; my soul spurns it ! Less it is to know Than to have faith : not theirs who cast away The mind God gave them, eager to adore Idols of baser clay. But theirs, who marking out the bounds of mind. And where thought rules, content to understand, Know that beyond its kingdom lies a dread Immeasurable land. A land which is, though fainter than a cloud. Full of sweet hopes and awful destinies : A dim land, rising when the eye is clear Across the trackless seas. * * « * O life ! O death ! O faithful wandering soul ! O riddle of being, too hard to under- stand ! These are Thy dreadful secrets. Lord ; and we The creatures of Thy hand. O wells of consciousness, too deep for thought, These are Thy dwelling, awful Lord Divine ; Thine are we still, the creatures of Thy hand. Living and dying, Thine. THE WEARY RIVER. There is a ceaseless river. Which flows down evermore Into a wailing ocean, A sea without a shore 38 TRUTH IN FALSEHOOD. Broken by laughing ripple, Foaming with angry swell, Sweet music as of heaven, Deep thunder as of hell. Gay fleets float down upon it. And sad wrecks, full of pain : But all alike it hurries To that unchanging main. Sometimes 'tis foul and troubled, And sometimes clear and pure But still the river flows, and still The dull sea doth endure. And thus 'twill flow for ever, Till time shall cease to be : O weary, weary river, O bitter, barren sea. TRUTH m FALSEHOOD. Your little hand in mine I rest : The slender fingers, white and long, Lie in my broad palm, rude and strong, Like birdlings in their nest. Yours, like yourself, so soft and white. So delicately free from soil ; Mine sunbrowned, hard with moil and toil, And seamed with scars of fight. Dear love ! sometimes your innocence Strikes me with sudden chills of fear ; What if you saw before you, dear, The secret gulfs of sense ? — The coarseness, the deceit, the sin, We know, who 'mid the sordid crowd Must press, nor midst the tumult loud f^m hear the voice within? What if you saw me with the eyes Of others, — nay, my own, — or heard The unworthy tale, the biting word, The sneer that worldlings prize ? Or knew me as I am indeed. No hero free from blot or stain, But a poor soul who drags his chain With halting feet that bleed, — Who oft-time slips and falls, content, Though bruised and weary, faint and worn. He toils all night, if with the morn When life and strength are spent, He sees some far-off struggling ray, Dispel the palpable obscure, And on the eastern hills, the pure White footprints of the day? But you, oh love, can never know These darkling paths ; for you th.e light Shines always changeless, always bright, The self-same tempered glow. And love with innocence combined The nunnery of your heart shall guard, And faith with eye unfailing ward The jewel of your mind. So be it : I would sooner be vSteeped to the lips in lie and cheat, A very monster of deceit. Than bare myself to thee. Nay, rather would I dare to hear At that great Day from lips of flame, Blown to all souls my tale of shame, I Than whispered in thine ear. 7JV0 VOYAGES. 39 Strange riddle, to those wlio never knew Of good with evil intertwined The two-fold self, the links that bind The false things to the true ; But to the seeing eye more clear Than blaze of noonday. So be sure If such deceit might keep thee pure, I'd glory in it, dear. TIVO VOYAGES. Two ships which meet upon the ocean waste, And stay a little while, and interchange Tidings from two strange lands, which lie beneath Each its own heaven and particular stars, And fain would tarry ; but the im- patient surge Calls, and a cold wind from the setting sun Divides them, and they sadly drift apart, And fade, and sink, and vanish, 'neath the verge — One to the breathless plains and treacherous seas Smitten by the tyrannous Sun, where mind alone Withers amid the bounteous outer- world, And prodigal Nature dwarfs and chains the man — One to cold rains, rude winds, and hungry waves Spilt on the frowning granite, niggard suns. And snows and mists which starve the vine and palm, But nourish to more glorious growth the man. One to the scentless flowers and song- less birds, Swift storms and poison stings and ravening jaws : One to spring violets and nightingales, Sleek-coated kine and honest gray-eyed skies. One to lie helpless on the stagnant sea. Or sink in sleep beneath the hurricane : One to speed on, white-winged, through summer airs. Or sow the rocks ^^ith ruin — who shall tell ? So with two souls which meet on life's broad deep, And cling together but may not stay ; for Time And Age and chills of Absence wear the links Which bind them, and they part for evermore — One to the tropic lands of fame and gold. And feverish thirst and weariness of soul ; One to long striiggles and a wintry life, Decked with one sweet white bloom of happy love. For each, one fate, to live and die apart, vSave for some passing smile of kindred souls ; Then drift away alone, on opposite tides. To one dark harlx)ur and invisible goal. 40 THE WISE RULE— THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING. THE WISE RULE. " Time flies too fast, too fast our life decays." Ah, faithless ! in the present lies our being ; And not in lingering love for vanished days ! " Come, happy future, when my soul shall live." Ah, fool ! thy life is now, and not again ; Tlie future holds not joy nor pain to give ! <' Live for what is : future and past are naught." Ah, blind ! a fla^h, and what shall be, has been. Where, then, is that for which thou takest thought? Not in what has been, is, or is to be, The wise soul lives, but in a wider time, Which is not any, but contains the three ! THE VOICE OF ONE CRYING. " Cry, cry aloud in the land, cry aloud in the streets of the city ; Cry and proclaim that no more shall the blood of the people be shed. Too long have the great ones waxed strong, without justice or any pity, Too long have they ground down the poor, and eaten the people as bread." Thus said the voice from the dead. "Terrible voice, I said, immoderate, voice of unreason, Not of themselves do the lowly ones mourn, or the great ones rejoice ; He who hath made them unequal, hath made all things in their season ; If they are mighty and strong, they were made without freedom or choice." "Cry, cry aloud," said the voice. " How shall the sins of the few be reckoned against the many? Are there no tender hearts and kind 'midst the selfish and proud ; Merciful souls and pure, full of love for their suffering brothers ; Pitiful, touched with compassion and care for the desolate crowd ? " "Cry," said the voice, "cry aloud." " Nay, but the world is ruled by merci- less rules unbending ; The feeble folk fade from the earth, and only the mighty remain ; Not men alone, but all things send upwards a clamour unending ; Always the whole creation travails in sorrow and pain. ' "Cry, 'said the voice, "cry again." "Are not our sins and our fathers' worked out in our children's sorrow ? Does not excess of laughter sink at its close in a sigh ? Mirth and enjoyment to-day turn to pain and repentance to-morrow ; Thousands are born every hour, in the place of the thousands who die." "Cry," said the stubborn voice, " cry." OTHER DAYS— THE TRUE MAN. 41 ^\Lo! He hath made all things ; good and evil, sorrow and pleasure ; I^ot as your ways are His ways, yet are ye not all in His hand ? Just is He, though ye know not the measure wherewith He will measure ; Dark things shall one day be clear ; to obey is to understand ! " Thus that voice, solemn and grand. OTHER DAYS. O Thrush, your song is passing sweet. But never a song that you have sung Is half so sweet as thrushes sang When my dear love and I were young. O Roses, you are sweet and red, Yet not so red nor sweet as were The roses that my mistress loved To bind within her flowing hair. Time filches fragrance from the flower ; Time steals the sweetness from the song ; Love only scorns the tyrant's power. And with the growing years grows strong. THE TRUE MAN. Take thou no thought for aught save right and truth. Life holds for finer souls no equal prize ; Honours and wealth are baubles to the wise, And pleasure flies on swifter wing than youth. If in thy heart thou bearest seeds of hell. Though all men smile, yet what shall be thy gain ? Though all men frown, if truth and right remain, Take thou no thought for aught ; for it is well. Take thou no thought for aught ; nor deem it shame To lag behind while knaves and dullards rise ; Thy soul asks higher guerdon, purer fame, Thau to loom large and grand in vulgar eyes. Though thou shouldst live thy life in vile estate. Silent, yet knowing that deep within thy breast Unkindled sparks of genius lie re- pressed, — Greater is he who is, than seemeth, great. If thou shouldst spend long years of hope deferred, Chilled through with doubt, and sicken- ing to despair ; If as cares thicken friends grow cold and rare. Nor favouring voice in all the throng be heard ; If all men praise him whom thou know'st to be Of lower aims and duller brain than thine, — Take thou no thought, though all men else combine In thy despite : their praise is naught to thee. 42 PASSING. Bethink thee of the irony of fate. Who hath this, he hath all tilings. How great men die inglorious and having naught ; alone ; Who hath it not, hath nothing, having How Dives sits within upon his throne, all. While good men crouch with Lazarus at the gate. Our tree of hfe set on Time's hither PASSING. shore Blooms like the secular aloe once an To spring, to bloom, to fade, — age: This is the sum of the laborious years ; The great names scattered on the Life preludes death as laughter ends in historic page tears : Are few indeed, but the unknown are All things that God has made more. Suffer perpetual change, and may not long endure. Waste is the rule of life: the gay flowers spring, We alter day by day ; The fat fruits drop, upon the untrodden Each little moment, as life's current plain ; rolls. Sea-sands at ebb are silvered o'er with Stamps some faint impress on our pain; yielding souls ; The fierce rain beats and mars the We may not rest nor stay. feeble wing ; Drifting on tides unseen to one dread Fair forms grow fairer still for deep goal and sure. disease ; Hearts made to bless are spent apart, Our being is compassed round alone. With miracles; on this our Hfe-long What claim hast thou to joy, while sleep. others moan ? Strange whispers rise from the sur- God made us all, and art thou more rounding deep, than these ? Like that weird ocean sound Borne in still summer nights on weary Take thou no care for aught save truth watching ears. and right ; Content, if such thy fate, to die obscure ; The selves we leave behind Wealth palls and honours. Fame may Affright us like the ghosts of friends not endure. long dead ; And loftier souls soon weaiy of delight. The old love vanished in the present Keep innocence ; be all a true man dread, ought ; They visit us to find Let neither pleasure tempt, nor pains New sorrows, alien hopes, strange appal : pleasures, other fears. FETTERS— RICH AND WISE— LOVE IN DEATH. 43 FETTERS. On who shall say that we are free ! Surely life's chains are strong to bind I'rom youth to age, from birth to death, Body and mind. We run the riotous race of youth, Then turn from evil things to good : 'Tis but a slower pulse, a chill Of youth's hot blood. "We mount the difficult steeps of thought, Or pace the dusty paths of gain : 'Tis but that sense receding leaves A keener brain. Time takes this too, and then we turn Our dim eyes to the hidden shore ; Life palls, and yet we long to live, — Ay, nothing more. RICH AND WISE. Wild flowers in spring were sweet to childish hands As riches to the wretch possessing And as the water-springs in desert lands Are the pale victories of patient thought : But sweeter, dearest, sweeter far, The hours when we together are. No more I know the childish joys of old, Nor yet have learnt the grave delights of age : A miser, gloat I on thy locks' rich gold ; A student, ponder on thy soul's fair page. Thus do I grow both rich and wise, On these fair locks and those deep eyes. Therefore in wit and wealth do I in- crease, Poring on thee, as on a fair writ book ; No panic-fear can make that rich stream cease, Nor doubt confuse the crystal of thy look. Some to the mart, some to the oratory. May turn them : thou art both to me. LOVE IN DEATH. Dear heart ! what a little time it is since Francis and I used to walk From church in the still June evenings together, busy with loving talk ; And now he is gone, far away over seas, to some strange foreign country, — and I Shall never rise from my bed any more, till the day when I come to die. I tried not to think of him during the prayers; but when his dear voice I heard, I failed to take part in the hymn ; for my heart fluttered up to my throat like a bird, And scarcely a word of the sermon I caught. I doubt 'twas a grievous sin ; But 'twas only one poor little hour in the week that I had to be happy in. 4\ LOVE IN DEATH. When the blessing was given, and we left the dim aisles for the light of the even- ing star ; Though I durst not lift up mv eyes from the ground, yet I knew that he was not far. And I hurried on, though I fain would have stayed, till I heard his footstep draw near ; And love rising up in my breast like a flame, cast out every shadow of fear. Ah me ! 'twas a pleasant pathway home, — a pleasant pathway and sweet ; Ankle deep through the purple clover ; breast high 'mid the blossoming wheat ; I can hear the landrails prate through the dew, and the night-iars' tremulous thrill. And the nigiitingale pouring her passionate song from the hawthorn under the hill. One day, when we came to the wicket gate, 'neath the elms, where we used to part, His voice began to falter and break as he told me I had his heart. And I whispered back that mine was his : we knew what we felt long ago ; Six weeks are as long as a lifetime almost, when you love each other so. wSo we put up the banns, and were man and wife, in the sweet fading time of the year. And till Christmas was over and past, I knew no shadow of sorrow or fear. It seems like a dream already, alas ! a sweet dream vanished and gone. So hurried and brief while passing away, so long to look back upon. I had only had him three little months, and the world lay frozen and dead, When the summons came, which we feared and hoped, and he sailed over seas for our bread. Ah, well ! it is fine to be wealthy and grand, and never to need to part ; But 'tis better far to love and be poor than be rich with an empty heart. Though I thought 'twould have killed me to lose him at first, yet was he not going for me ? So I hid deep down in miy breast all the grief, which I knew it would pain him to see. He'd surely be back by the autumn, he said ; and since his last passionate kiss He has scarcely been out of my thoughts, day or night, for a moment, from that day to this. When I wrote to him how I thought it would be, and he answered so full of love, Ah ! there was not an angel happier thnn I, in all the white chorus above. LOVE IN DEATH. 45 And I seemed to be lonely no longer, the days and the weeks passed so swiftly away ; And the March winds died, and the sweet April showers gave place to llie blossoms of May. And then came the sad summer eve, when I sat with the little frock in the sun, And Patience ran in with the news of the ship — Ah, v ell ! may His will be done. They said that all hands were lest, and I swooned away on the floor like a stone ; And another life came, ere I knew he was safe, and my own was over and gone. ******* And now I lie helpless here, and shall never rise up again ; I grow weaker and weaker, day by day, till my weakness itself is a pain. Every morning the slow dawn creeps ; every evening I see from my bed The orange-gold fade into lifeless gray, and the old evening star overhead. Sometimes by the twilight dim, or the awful birth of the day. As I lie, very still, not asleep nor awake, my soul seems to flutter away ; And I float far beyond the stars, till I thrill with a rapturous pain, And ihe feeble touch of a tiny hand recalls me to life again. And the doctor says she will live. Ah ! 'tis hard to leave her alone. And to think she will never know, in the world, the love of the mother who's gone. They will tell her of me, by-and-by, and perhaps she will shed me a tear ; But if I should stoop to her bed in the night, she would start with a horrible fear. She will grow into girlhood, I trust, and will bask in the light of love, And I, if I gain to see her at all, shall only look on from above. I shall see her and cannot aid, though she fall into evil and woe. Ah, how can the angels find heart to rejoice, when they think of their dear ones below ? And Francis, he too will forget me, and go on the journey of life ; And I hope, though I dare not think of it yet, will take him another wife — St will hardly be Patience, I think, though she liked him in days gone by. Was that why she came ? But what thoughts are these for one who is soon to die? I hope he will come ere I go, though I feel no longer the thirst For the sound of his voice and the light of his eye, which I used to feel at first. DEAR LITTLE HANDSTILL WATERS. ^ 'Tis not that I care for him less, but death dries, with a finger of fire. The tender springs of innocent love and the torrents of strong desire. And I know we shall ineet again. I have done many things that are wrong, IJut surely the Lord of Life and of Love cannot bear to be angry long. I am only a girl of eighteen, and have had no teacher but love ; And, it may be, the sorrov/ and pain I have known will be counted for me above. the For I doubt if the minister knows all the depths of the goodness of God, When he says, He is jealous of earthly love, and bids me bow down 'neath rod. He is learned and wise, I know, but somehow to dying eyes God opens the secret doors of the shrine that are closed to the learned and wise, So now I am ready to go, for I know He will do what is best, Though He call me away while the sun is on high, like a child sent early to rest. I should like him to see her first, though the yearning is over and past : Bat what is that footstep upon the stair? Oh, my darling at last, at last ! DEAR LIT2LE HAND. Dear little hand that clasps my own, Embrowned with toil and seamed with strife ; Pink little fingers not yet grown To the poor strength of after-life, — Dear little hand ! Dear little eyes which smile on mine With the first peep of morning light ; Now April-wet with tears, or fine With dews of pity, or laughing bright. Dear little eyes ! Dear little voice, whose broken speech Ail eloquent utterance can transcend ; Sweet childish wisdom strong to reach A holier deep than love or friend : Dcnr little voice ! Dear little life ! my care to keep From every spot and stain of sin ; Sweet soul foredoomed, for joy or pain, To struggle and— which? to fail or win ? Dread mystical life ! STILL WATERS. A CRUEL little stream I know^ Which slowly, slowly crawls between The ooze banks, fringed with sedges green. That serve to bind its feeble flow. So sheltered that no passing breath Of west-wind stirs it ; nay, the blast Which strips the tall elms and is past. Scarce wakes to life its face of death. STILL WATERS. 47 On its black surface year by year :. The marsh flowers, grown untimely old, Shed their soft petals like a tear. And hopeless drown their faded gold. Deep in its darkling depths the pike Darts with his cruel jaws ; by niglit The black eels, sinuous, serpent-like. Twist like fell ghosts that fear the light. Spring shuns it, summer loves it not ; The low fat fields are lit with bloom, But here the watery sedges rot, And all the months are clothed with gloom. Autumn's first footstep sears to brown Its coarse green fringe ; the first cold breath, Ere yet the oak-leaf flutters down, Binds its dull life in icy death. I hate, I hate you, crawling stream ! Dumb, creeping, murderous wretch, I long To see the sunlit ripples gleam, To hear the torrent's jubilant song. But you, dull monster, all the years Lie rolling on your sullen flood, And take your fill of mortal tears ; Yet, like the Churchmen, spill not blood. The dark gap in the ice, the boat Keel upward, or the drifting oar ; Or, like of old, the little coat, The white clothes heaped upon the shore ; And some young life is over and gone. And some fond heart is broken in twain ; And you flow smoothly, smoothly on, Taking no heed for death or pain. They come and grapple with hooks until They reach the slimy deep, where lies The white thing, very cold and still, AVith death's gaze in its stony eyes. And you just make a ripple, and then Flow smoothly onv/ard : you who slew Young innocent lives of painted men, Long ere the crowded city grew ; And shall in far years yet to be, Pierce unborn mothers with that sharp pain, Which only a mother feels when he Who was her first-born comes again, A clay-cold heap. I would that I Had but the archangel's flaming brand ; So would I burn thy dull springs dry, And choke thy flow with hills of sand. Yet why ? Whatever soft souls prate, Babbling of universal good, Love is the sister-child of hate. And all good things are bought with blood. Virtue were not if vice were not, Nor darkness if there were not light. Creep on ; fulfil thy murderous lot ; For Wrong has equal life with Right. 48 IN REGENT STREET. IN REGENT STREET. One of the nightly hundreds who pass Wearily, hopelessly, under the gas. But the old sad words had a strange new tone, And the wild laugh seemed to sink to a moan. So that turning as one constrained to look, The strange sight stifled the voice of rebuke : For I looked on a girl's face pure and fair, Blue-eyed, and crowned with a glory of hair, Such as my dead child-sister might own, Were she not a child stili, but a woman grown ; Full of the tender graces that come To the cherished light of an ancient home ; Even to that touch of a high disdain, Which is born of a name without blot or stain. Strange ; as if one should chance to meet An angel of light in that sordid street ! "O child, what misery brings you here, To this place of vileness and weeping and fear ? " "I am no more than the rest," she said. Proudly averting her beautiful head ! Then no response, till some kinder word Stole in unawares, and her heart was stirred. " I was a wife but the other day. Now I am left without hope or stay ! ' ' Work did I ask ? What work is for you? What work can those delicate fingers do? "Service? But how could I bear to part From the child with whom I had left my heart ? " Alms ? — Yes, at first ; then a pitiless No: The State would provide me whither to go. " But in sordid prisons it laid my head With the thief and the harlot ; there- fore I fled, '* One thing alone had I left untried, Then I put off the last rag of pride." " What came? ' You were of an hon- oured race. Now you must live with your own disgrace.' "But many will buy where few will give, And I die every day that my child may live." FROM THE DESERT— DUMB. 49 Motherly love sunk to this ! Ah, well, Teach they not how He went down into hell : Only blind me in heart and brain, Or ever I look on the like again. FROM THE DESERT. Thou hast visited me with Thy storms, And the vials of Thy sore displeasure Thou hast poured on my head, like a bitter draught Poured forth without stint or measure ; Thou hast bruised me as flax is bruised ; Made me clay in the potter's wheel ; Thou hast hardened Thy face like steel, And cast down my soul to the ground ; Burnt my life in the furnace of fire, like dross, And left me in prison where souls are bound ; Yet my gain is more than my loss. What if Thou hadst led my soul To the pastures where dull souls feed ; And set my steps in smooth paths, far away From the feet of those that bleed ; Penned me in low, fat plains, Where the air is as still as death, And Thy great winds are sunk to a breath, And Thy torrents a crawling stream. And the thick steam of wealth goes up day and night. Till Thy sun gives a veiled light, And heaven shows like a vanished dream ! VVhat if Thou hadst set my feet With the rich in a gilded room ; And made me to sit where the scorners sit, Scoffing at death and doom ! What if I had hardened my heart With dark counsels line upon line ; And blunted my soul with meat and wine, Till my ears had grown deaf to the bitter cry Of the halt and the weak and the impotent ; Nor hearkened, lapt in a dull content, To the groanings of those who die ! My being had waxed dull and dead With the lusts of a gross desire ; But now Thou hast purged me throughly, and burnt My shame with a living fire. So burn me, and purge my will Till no vestige of self remain, And I stand out white without spot or stain. Then let Thy flaming angel at last Smite from me all that has been before ; And sink me, freed from the load of the past. In Thy dark depths evermore. DUMB. All men are poets if they might but tell The dim ineffable changes which llic sight Of natural beauty works on them : the charm Of those first days of Spring, when life revives And all the world is bloom : the white- fringed green Of summer seas swirlin2[ around the base so DUMB. Of overhanging cliffs ; the golden The loneliness of soul, which truth too gleam oft Seen from some breezy hill, where far Gives to reward the faith which casts and wide aside The fields grow ripe for harvest ; or the All things for her ; or saintly lives storm obscure, Smiting the leaden surf, or echoing Spent in a sweet compassion, till they On nightly lakes and unsuspected hills, gain. Revealed in lurid light j or first per- Living, some glow of heaven ; or pas- ceived, sionate love. High in mid-heaven, above the rosy Bathing our poor world in a mystic clouds, light, The everlasting snows. Seen once, then lost for ever. These And Art can move, can stir To higher minds, an influence as great Life to its depths, till silence grows a As Nature's self; when the rapt gazer load marks Too hard to bear, and the rapt soul The stainless mother folding arms would fain divine Speak with strange tongues which Around the Eternal Child, or pitying startle as they come. love Like the old saints who spake at Nailed to the dreadful cross, or the Pentecost. vi'hite strength Of happy heathen gods, or serpent But we are dumb, we are dumb, and coils may not tell Binding the agonized limbs, till from \Vhat stirs within us, tliough the soul their pain may throb Is born a thing of beauty for all time. And tremble with its passion, though the heart And more than Nature, more than Art Dissolve in weeping : dumb. Nature can move may spread The awakened soul — heroic soaring Sublimest sights of beauty ; Art in- deeds ; spire When the young champion falls in High thoughts and pure of God -like hopeless fight. sacrifice ; Striking for home ; or when, by truth Yet no word comes. Heroic daring constrained. deeds The martyr goes forth cheerful to his Thrill us, yet no word comes ; we are fate— dumb, we are dumb, The dungeon, or the torture, or, more Save that from finer souls at times may hard, rise, The averted gaze of friends, the loss of Once in an age, faint inarticulate love, sounds. ii DUMB. 51 Low halting tones of wonder, such as As does the sun our features, all the come play From children looking on the stars, but Of passion, all the changeful tides of still thought. With power to open to the listening The mystery, the beauty, the delight, ear The fear, the horror, of our lives, — our The Fair Divine Unknown, and to being unseal Would blaze up heavenward in a sud- Heaven's inner gates before us ever- den flame, more. Spend itself, and be lost. Wherefore 'tis well Ah, few and far between ! The earth This narrow boundary that hedges in grows green, The strong and weak alike. Thought Art's glorious message speaks from year could not live. to year, Nor speech, in that pure aether which Great deeds and high are done from girds round day to day. Life's central dwelling-place. Only But the voice comes not which has the dull power to wake And grosser atmosphere of earth it is The sleeping soul within, and animate Which vibrates to the sweet birds' song. The beauty which informs them, lend- and brings ing speech Heaven to the wondering ear. Only To what before was dumb. They the stress. come, they go, The pain, the hope, the longing, the Those sweet impressions spent on sepa- constraint rate souls, Of limited faculties circling round and Like raindrops on the endless ocean- round plains. The grim circumference, and finding Lost as they fall. The world rolls on ; naught lives spring. Of outlet to the dread unknown be- Blossom, and fade ; the play of life is yond. played Can lend the poet voice. Only the More vivid than of old — a wider stage, weight, With more consummate actors ; yet The dulness of our senses, which makes the dull. dumb Cold deeps of sullen silence swallow up And hushes half the finer utterance, The strain, and it is lost. But if we Makes possible the song, and modulates might The too exalted music, that it falls Paint all things as they are, find voice So soft upon the listening soul, that to speak life. The thoughts now mute within us, let Not withered by the awful harmony, the soul Nor drunk with too much sweetness, Trace on its sensitive surface vividly. nor struck blind 52 FAITH WITHOUT SIGHT— CAGED. By the too vivid presence of the Unknown, Fulfils its round of duty— elevated, Not slain by too much splendour- comforted, Not thunder-smitten — soothed, not laid asleep — And ever, through the devious maze of being, Fares in slow narrowing cycles to the end. FAITH WITHOUT SIGHT. No angel comes to us to tell Glad news of our beloved dead ; Nor at the old familiar board, They sit among us, breaking bread. Three days we wait before the tomb, Nay, life-long years ; and yet no more, For all our passionate tears, we find The stone rolled backward from the door. Yet are they risen as He is risen ; For no eternal loss we grieve. Blessed are they who ask no sign, And, never having seen, believe. CAGED. Alas for fame ! I saw a genius sit. Draining full bumpers with a trem- bling hand. And roll out rhapsodies of folly, lit By soaring fancies hard to under- stand. Lonely he seemed, whom all men should admire ; And some were there who sneered a covert sneer. Quenching with logic cold the sacred fire ; And one who hardly checked a rising tear Because life's order binds with chains of steel The struggling individual soul ; because The fair fine flower of life doth oft conceal A hidden worm which always frets and gnaws The inner heart from which all perfumes come. And round the deep-set core of golden fire Foul creeping creatures make their' constant heme — Black hatred, wild revolt, and groiS desire. What is this bar that Nature loves to place Before the tco aspiring heart and brain, — Bringing down goodly hopes to deep disgrace. Keeping high pleasure balanced by low pain, Pure thoughts by secret failings, subtler joys With grosser sense or hopeless depths ■ of woe, — Setting our lives in barren counter- poise, Which says. Thus far, no further shalt thou go, ,j TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE, Is it that Nature, envious of her own, Even as the fabled gods of primal years, Because to too great stature it is grown, Hates her consummate work, and inly fears Lest the soul, once enfranchised, soar too high, Up to some Spiritual place of Souls, Where the world's feeble echoes faint and die, And in fine waves a purer tether rolls? There is no infinite in Nature. All Is finite, set within a self-made bound. Thought builds round space itself a brazen wall, And hates the barren cycle's endless round. Life grown too perfect is not life at all ; Some hidden discords sweeten every strain ; No virtue is, where is no power to fall, Nor true delight without a touch of pain. And this it is that limits evermore The life of man to this its low estate, And gives the soul's light pinions power to soar Only a little space toward heaven's gate. Creatures we are of the earth, and not the sky, Bound down, constrained, confined; and yet 'tis well : No angel's wings are ours to mount on high, No chains have power to keep our souls in hell. And since to realms of thought we may aspire, Higher than these in which v>-e breathe and are, And know within the same creative fire As that which lights and warms the furthest star. So should our restless spirits grow con- tent With what is theirs, nor covet to be free ; .Since boundless power is oft most im- potent, And narrow bonds the truest liberty. TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE. Oh, if we had but eyes to see The glory which around us lies. To read the secrets of the earth, And know the splendours of the skies ; And if we had but ears to hear The psalm of life which upward rolls From desert tent and city street. From every meeting-place of souls ; And if we had but tongues to tell The dumb thoughts that shall ne'er be heard. The inarticulate prayers which rise From hearts by passionate yearnings stirred, — Our souls would parch, like Semele's, When her dread Lord blazed forth confessed. Ah, sometimes too much knowledge blights, And ignorance indeed is blest ! 54 ON A FUG HI' OF LADY-BIRDS. ON A FLIGHT OF LAD Y-BIRDS. Over the summer sea, Floating on delicate wings, Comes an unnumbered host Of beautiful fragile things ; Whence they have come, or what Blind impulse has forced them here, What still voice marshalled them out Over wide seas without fear, You cannot tell, nor I. But to-day the air is thick With these strangers from far away : On hot piers and drifting ships The weary travellers stay. . On the sands where to-night they will drown. On the busy waterside street. Trampled in myriads down ' By the careless wayfarers' feet The beautiful creatures lie. WHio knows what myriads have sunk To drown in the oily waves, Till all our sea-side world shows Like a graveyard crowded with graves ? Humble creatures and small, How shall the Will which sways This enormous unresting ball, Through endless cycles of days, Take thought for them or care ? And yet, if the greatest of kings, With the wisest of sages com- bined, Never could both devise — • Strong arm and inventive mind — So wondrous a shining coat, Such delicate wings and free, As have these small creatures which float Over the breathless sea On this summer morning so fair. * * * * And the life, the wonderful life, Which not all the wisdom of earth Can give to the humblest creature that moves The mystical process of birth — The nameless principle which doth lurk Far away beyond atom, or monad, or cell. And is truly His own most marvel- lous work — • Was it good to give it, or, given, well To squander it thus away ? For surely a man might think So precious a gift and grand — God's essence in part — should be meted out With a thrifty and grudging hand. And hard by, on the yellowing corn, Myriads of tiny jaws Are bringing the husbandman's labour to scorn. And the cankerworm frets and gnaws. Which was made for these for a prey. For a prey for these ? but, oh ! Who shall read us the riddle of life— The prodigal waste, which naught can redress But a cycle of sorrow and strife, ON AN OLD MINSTER. 55 The continual sequence of pain, The perpetual triumph of wrong, The whole creation in travail to make A victory for the strong, And not with frail insects alone ? For is not the scheme worked out Among us who are raised so high ? Are thei-e no wasted minds among men — No hearts that aspire and sigli For the hopes which the years steal away. For the labour they love, and its meed of fame, And feel the bright blade grov.' rusted within, Or are born to inherited shame. And a portion with those that groan ? How are we fettered and caged Within our dark prison-house here ! We are made to look for a loving plan ; We find everywhere sorrow and fear. We look for the triumph of Good ; And, from all the wide world around, The lives that are spent cry upward to heaven. From the slaughtei -house of the ground, Till we feel that Evil is lord. And yet are we bound to believe. Because all our nature is so. In a Ruler touched by an infinite ruth For all His creatures below. Bound, though a mocking fiend point To the waste, and ruin, and pain — Bound, though our souls should be bowed in despair — Bound, though wrong triumph again and again. And we cannot answer a word. ON AN OLD MINSTER. Old minster, when my years were few, And life seemed endless to the boy ; Clear yet and vivid is the joy With which I gazed and thought on you. Thin shaft and flower-wrought capital, High-springing arch, and blazoned pane, Quaint gurgoyles stretching heads profane, And stately throne and carven stall. The long nave lost in vaporous gray, The mailed recumbent forms which wait. In mockery of earthly state, The coming of the dreadful day. The haunted aisles, the gathering gloom, By some stray shaft of eve made fair : The stillness of the mouldering air. The faded legends of the tomb. I loved them all. What care had I, — I, the young heir of all the Past, — That neither youth nor life might last. That all things living came to die ! :6 ON AN OLD MINUTER. The Past was spent, the Past was done, The Present was my own to hold ; Far off within a haze of gold Stretched the fair Future, scarce begun. For me did pious builders rear Those reverend walls ; for me the song Of supplication, ages long, Had gone up daily, year by year. And thus I loved you ; but to-day The long Past near and nearer shows ; Less bright, more clear, the Future grows, And all the world is growing gray. But you scarce bear a deeper trace Of time upon your solemn brow ; No sadder, stiller, grayer now. Than when I loved your reverend face. And you shall be when I am not ; And you shall be a thing of joy To many a frank and careless boy When I and mine are long forgot. Grave priests shall here with holy rage, , Whose grandsires are as yet unborn, Lash, with fierce words of saintly scorn. The heats of youth, the greed of age. Proud prelates sit on that high throne. Whose young forefathers drive the plough While Norman lineage nods below, In aged tramp or withered crone. And white-haired traders feign to pray, Sunk deep in thoughts of gain and gold; And sweet flower-faces growing old, Give place to fresher blooms than they. With such new shape of creed and rite As none now living may foretell ; A faith of love which needs not hell, A stainless worship, pure and white. Or, may be, some reverting change To the old faith of vanished days : The incensed air, the mystic praise, The barbarous ritual, quaint and strange. Who knows? But they are wrong who say Man's work is brief and quickly past ; If you through all these centuries last, While they who built you pass away. The wind, the rain, the sand, are slow ; Man fades before his work ; scant trace Time's finger findeth to efface Of him whom seventy years lay low. The grass grows green awhile, and then Is as before ; the work he made Casts on his grave a reverend shade Through long successive lives of men. But he ! where is he? Lo, his name Has vanished from his wonted place. Unknown his soaring hopes of fame. Only the creatures of the brain, — Just laws, wise precepts, deathless verse ; These weave a chaplet for the hearse. And through all change unchanged remain. IHE BITTER HARVEST— OF LOVE AND SLEEP. 57 These will I love as age creeps on ; Gray minster, these are ever young ; These shall be read and loved and sung When every stone of you is gone. No hands have built the monument Which to all ages shall endure ; — High thoughts and fancies, sweet and pure, Lives in the quest of goodness spent. These, though no visible forms confine Their spiritual essence fair ; Are deathless as the soul they bear, And, as its Maker is, divine. THE BITTER HARVEST. Who reaps the harvest of his soul. And garners up thought's golden grain, For him in vain life's tempests rave. Fate's rude shocks buffet him in vain. The storms which shipwreck feebler souls, Beat harmlessly on him ; the wind. Which whirls away the domes of pride. Braces the sinews of his mind. He is set within a tower of strength. Beyond thick walls and cloisters still ; Where, as he sits, no faintest breath Stirs the smooth current of his will. He is stretched in a smiling valley, where, When hills are dark, the full sun shines ; Brings gold upon the waving fields. And purple clusters on the vines. He lies in a boundless sylvan shade. While all the fields are parched around ; And hears a sweet bird, singing, sing- ing, With one clear monotone of sound. Far, far away from the busy crowd And chaffering of the mart, he stands, Like a statue on a lonely hill. Pondering a scroll within its hands. Or one who, from high convent walls. Looks down at eve upon the plain, And sees the children at their sport, And turns to chant and prayer again; So rich, and yet so very poor. So fruitful, yet so void of fruit ; Removed from human hopes and fears, Far as the man is from the brute ; So troubled, 'neath a face of calm ; So bound with chains, though seem- ing free ; So dead, though with a name to live, That it were better not to be. OF LOVE AND SLEEP. I SAW Sleep stand by an enchanted wood. Thick lashes drooping o'er her heavy eyes : Leaning against a flower-cupped tree she stood. The night air gently breathed with slumbrous sighs. Such cloak of silence o'er the world was spread, As on Nile sands enshrouds the mighty dead. 58 OF LOVE AND SLEEP. About her birds were dumb, and blooms were bowed, And a thick heavy sweetness filled the air ; White robed she seemed ; and hidden as in a cloud, A star-like jewel in her raven hair. Downward to earth her cold torch would she turn With feeble fires that might no longer burn. Ana in her languid limbs and loosened zone Such beauty dwelt ; and in her rip- pling hair, As of old time was hers, and hers alone. The mother of gods and men divinely fair ; When whiter than white foam or sand she lay, The fairest thing beneath the eye of day. To her came Love, a comely youth and strong, Fair as the morning of a day in June ; Around him breathed a jocund air of song, And his limbs moved as to a joyous tune : With golden locks blown back, and eyes aflame, To where the sleeping maiden leant, he came. Then they twain passed within that mystic grove Together, and with them I, myself unseen. Oh, strange, sweet land ! wherein all men may prove The things they would, the things which might have been ; Hopeless hopes blossom, withered youth revives. And sunshine comes again to darkened lives. What sights were theirs in that blest wonder-land ? See, the white mountain-summits, framed in cloud, Redden with sunset ; while below them stand The solemn pine-woods like a funeral crowd ; And lower still the vineyards twine, and ^ make A double vintage in the tranquil lake. Or, after storm-tost nights, on some sea isle The sudden tropical morning bursts ; and lo ! Bright birds and feathery palms, the green hills smile, Strange barks, with swarthy crews, dart to and fro ; And on the blue bay, glittering like a crown, The white domes of some fair historic town. Or, they fare northward ever, north- ward still. At midnight, under the unsetting sun ; O'er endless snows, from hill to icy hill, WHiere silence reigns with death, and life is done : BLIND. 59 Till from the North a sweet wind sud- All these they knew ! and then a breeze denly ; of day And hark ! the warm waves of the Stirred the dark wood ; and then they fabulous sea. seemed to come Forth with reluctant feet among the Or, some still eve, when summer days gray. are long. Bare fields, unfanciful ; and all the And the mown hay is sweet, and flame wheat is green, Was burnt from out Love's eyes, and They hear some wood-bird sing the old from his hair. fair song And his smooth cheek was marked with Of joys to be, greater than yet have lines of care. been; Stretched 'neath the snowy hawthorn. And paler showed the maid, more pure till the star, and white Hung high in heaven, warns them that And holier than before. But when I home is far. said, " Sweet eyes, be opened ; " lo, the un- Or, on the herbless, sun-struck hills, by veiled sight night, Under the silent peaks, they hear the W^as as the awful vision of the dead ! Then knew I, breathing slow, with loud difficult breath, Wild flutes ; and onward, by the ghostly That Love was one with Life, and light, Sleep with Death. Whirled in nude dances, sweeps the maddened crowd ; Till the fierce eddy seize them, and they BLIND. prove The shame, the rapture, of unfettered The girl who from her father's door love. Sees the cold storm-cloud sweep the Or, by the sacred hearth they seem to sea. Cries, wrestling with her anguish sore, sit. My love ! my love ! ah, where is he? While firelight gleams on many a And locks her fears within her breast. sunny head ; Sickening ; while 'neath the breatii- At that fair hour, before the lamp is less blaze lit, He lies, and dreams, in broken rest. When hearts are fullest, though no Of homely faces,— happier days. word be said, — When the world fades, and rank and But when a calm is on the deep, wealth and fame, And scarcely from the quivering blue, Seem, matched with this, no better The waves' soft murmur, half asleep. than a name. Speaks hope that he is well, and true : 6o rO HER PICTURE. The brave ship sinks to rise no more Beneath the thundeious surge; and he, A pale corpse floating on the sea, Or dashed hke seaweed on the shore. TO HER PICTURE. As one who on a lonely bed of pain Feels the soft hand he felt when he was young ; Or, who at eve, on some far Eastern plain, Hears the old songs once by his mother sung : So to me, looking on thy portrait, dear, Thou and my youth and love are ever near. It may be that the painter failed to show, How should he not ? the soul within thine eyes, — Their blue unruffled depths, thy cheeks aglow With virgin blushes that unbidden rise ; . Thy coral lips, thy white neck, round, and fair. Or the sweet prodigal auburn of thy hair. How should he? Not for him thou wast, but me ; Love shot no sudden splendour in his eyes ; Love guided not his hand, content to see Mere beauty, as of sunset-hills or skies ; Nor soothed his dull ear with the mystic strain, Heard once a life, and nevermore again. Only the lovely shell he saw ; the cloak, The perfect vesture of the hidden soul. Not for his eyes thy slumbering angel woke. Stretched in deep sleep, where love's broad waters roll : Had he but seen her wings of silver move, He had forgot to paint, and learned to love. Vet is his skill to me for ever blest, For that which it has left of grace and truth ; Those sweet eyes shine, yet need no time of rest, Still thy fair cheek retains its rounded youth. In wakeful nights I light my lamp, and know The same dear face I knew long years ago. Yet worn am I, too old for love, and gray. Too faithful heart, thou shouldst not still abide With such as I, nor longer deign to stay: These are the follies wiser worldlings chide. Thou wouldst transfer those glances, wert thou wise, To younger lives and more responsive eyes. Ah ! no, remain ; not thus you looked of yore ; Another, perhaps more worthy, bore the prize ; I could not tell you then the love I bore. Or read the soft requital in your eyes ; THE RETURN— FOR EVER. 61 Now no change comes, now thou art always kind, Then thou wast cold and changeful as the wind. THE RETURN, He stood above the well-known shore ; Behind, the sea stretched dull and gray : And slowly with the breeze of morn The great ship forged away. Almost he wished she might return. And speed him to some further change ; The old scenes greeted him again, And yet all things were strange. There were the dreams he used to dream In the long nights when day was here ; The shady Sunday path to church, The winding brooklet clear. The woods with violets blue in Spring, The fallow where they chased the hare, The gable peeping through the elms, All filled him with despair. For all was there except the past^ The past, his youth for dross had sold ! The past which after-years in vain Prize more than all their gold. Then age fell on him with a flash, Time smote him, and his soul grew gray, And thoughts in busier scenes unknown, Chased youth and hope away. The past, which seemed so near before, A step might gain it, came to be A low cloud sunk beyond a gulf, Wider than any sea. Nor what the present had in store, Knowing ; at last his great suspense Grew to a bitter load of pain, Too great for mortal sense. So, by the well-known paths at last. He gained the well-remembered door. Sick for a voice which he should hear. Ah ! never, never, more Strange children round, a stringer's face Of wonder, so the dream was o'er. He turned ; the dead past comes not back. No, never, never, more. FOR EVER. For ever and for ever The changeless oceans roar : And dash their thundering surges down Upon the sounding shore : Yet this swift soul, this lightning will, Shall these, while they roll on, be still ? For ever and for ever The eternal mountains rise, And lift their virgin snows on high To meet the silent skies. Yet shall this soul which measures all, While these stand steadfast, sink and fall? For ever and for ever The swift suns roll through space ; From age to age they wax and wane. Each in its ordered place : 62 BEHIND THE VEIL. Yet shall this soul, whose inner eye That from those myriads kneeling, Foretells their cycles, fade and die ? prostrate, bowed, A low moan rises to the throne on For ever and for ever high,— We have been, and we are, Not shut out quite by error's thickest Unchanging as the ocean wave, cloud, — Unresting as the star : Help us ! we faint, we die. Though suns stand still, and time be Our knees are weak, our eyes arc o'er, blind ; We are, and shall be, evermore. We seek what ^^'e shall never find. Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, Unknown, Ineffable, Divine. BEHIND THE VEIL. I stood before The glaring temples on the burning I PACED along plain ; The dim cathedral wrapped in reverend I heard the hideous roar gloom : Rise to the stars to drown the shrieks I heard the sweet child's song of pain, Spring upwards like a fountain ; and What time the murderous idol swept the boom along. Of the tempestuous organ-music swell ; I listened to the innocent, mystic song. The hushed low voices and the silvery Breathed to the jewelled Lotus ever- bell; more. The incense-laden air ; the kneeling In the elder lands, through the ages. throng : like a sigh, I knew them all, and seemed to hear And heard in low, sweet chant, and the cry hateful roar, — Of countless myriads, rising deep and Help us ! we faint, we die. strong, — Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ; Help us ! we faint, we die. We seek what we shall never find. Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ; Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, We seek what we shall never find. Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! Show but Thy face, and we are Thine, Ay : everywhere Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! Echoes the same exceeding bitter cry. I heard the loud Yet can the Father bear Muezzin from the slender minaret call To hide His presence from the children's " To prayer. To prayer ; " and lo ! the eye; busy crowd. Lets loose on good and bad the plague Merchant and prince and water-carrier. and sword ; all And though wrong triumph, answers Turned from the world, and, rapt in not a word ? worship, knelt. Only deep down in the heart doth He Facing the holy city ; and I felt declare VJSIONS. 63 His constant presence; there, though the outward sky Be darkened, shines a little speck of fair, — A light which cannot die. Though knees be weak, and eyes be blind ; Though we may seek, and never find ; Here doth His hidden glory shine. Unknown, Ineffable, Divine ! VISIONS. Oi '1' in the blazing summer noon, And oft beneath the frosty moon. When earth and air were hushed and still, And absolute silence seemed to fill The farthest border- lands of space, I loved in childish thought to trace Glimpses of change, which might trans- form The voiceless calm to furious storm ; Broke the dull spell, which comes to bind In after-years the sluggish mind ; And pictured, borne on fancy's wings, \ The end of all created things. Then have I seen with dreaming eye, ' The blue depths of the vaulted sky Rent without noise ; and in their stead j A wonder-world of fancy spread, I A golden city, with domes and spires, ' Lit by a strange sun's mystic fires. Portals of dazzling chrysolite, Long colonnades of purest white ; Streets paved with gold and jewels rare j i And higher, in the ambient air, I A shining Presence undefined : ! Swift seraphs stooping swift as wind From pole to pole, and that vast throng ; Which peopled Dante's world of song ; The last great inquest which shall close The tale of human joys and woes ; The dreadful Judge, the opening tomb, And all the mystery of doom. Then woke to find the vision vain. And sun or moon shine calm again. No longer, save in memory's glass. These vanished visions come and pass ; The clearer light of fuller day Has chased these earlier dreams away. Faith's eye grows dim with too much light, And fancy flies our clearer sight. But shall we mourn her day is o'er. That these rapt visions come no more ? Nay ; knowledge has its splendours too. Brighter than Fancy's brightest hue. I gaze now on the heavens, and see How, midst their vast immensity, By cosmic laws the planets roll, Sped onwards by a central soul ; How farther still, and still more far. World beyond world, star beyond star, So many, and so far, that speech And thought must fail the sum to reach. This universe of nature teems With things more strange than fancy's dreams ; And so at length, with clearer eye, Soar beyond childhood's painted sky, Up to the Lord of great and small. Not onewhere, but pervading all : Who made the music of the spheres, And yet inclines an ear that hears The faintest prayer, the humblest sigh, The strong man's groan, the childish cry; Who guides the stars, yet without whom No humblest floweret comes to bloom. No lowliest creature comes to birth, No dead leaf flutters to the earth : 64 DOUBT^ST. DAVID'S HEAD. Who breathed into our souls the breath, Better than this, Which neither time nor change nor The burning sins of youth, the old death, man's greed. Nor hurtHng suns at random hurled Than thus to live inane ; And dashed together, world on world. To sit and read. Can ever kill or quench, till He And with blind brain Bends down, and bids them not to be. D.iily to treasure up a deadly doubt, And live a life from which tlic liglii has fled. DOUBT. And faith's pure fire gone out. Who but has seen Once in his life, when youth and health Until at last. ran high. For some blest souls, but never here The fair, clear face of truth for all. Grow dark to his eye ? Burns out a sudden light, Who but has known And breaks the thrall, Cold mists of doubt and icy questionings And doubt has fled. Creep round him like a nightmare, And the soul rises, with a clearer sight blotting out For this its pam, its sorrow, its despair, The sight of better things. To God and truth and right. A hopeless hour, When all the voices of the soul are Plead we for those dumb. Gently and humbly, as befittelh men When o'er the tossing seas On whom the same chill shade No ligh may come, . Broods now as then. Wlien God and right So shall they learn Are gone, and seated on the empty How an eternal wisdom rules above, throne And all the cords of Being arc Are dull philosophies and words of wind, bound fast Making His praise their own. To an unfailing love. Sr. DA VID'S HEAD. Salt sprays deluge it, wild waves buffet it, hurricanes rave ; Summer and winter, the depths of the ocean girdle it round ; In leaden dawns, in golden noon -tides, in silvery moonlight Never it ceases to hear the old sea's mystical sound. Surges vex it evermore By gray cave and sounding shore. ST. DAFJD'S HEAD. 65 Think of the numberless far-away centuries, long before man, When the hot earth with monsters teemed, and with monsters the deep. And the red sun loomed faint, and the moon was caught fast in the motionless air, And the warm waves seethed through the haze in a secular sleep. Rock was here and headland then. Ere the little lives of men. Over it long the mastodons crashed through the tropical forest, And the great bats swooped overhead through the half-defined blue ; Then they passed, and the hideous ape-man, speechless and half-erect, Through weary ages of time tore and gibbered and slew. Grayer skies and chiller air, But the self-same rock was there. Then the savage came and went, and Briton and Roman and Saxon, Till our England grew rich and great, and her white sails covered the sea ; Thus through all this long story of ours, civil progress and vanquished foen;aii, From Crecy to Trafalgar, from the bondsman down to the free, Still those dark rocks, and beneath Keeps the sea its face of death. So it shall be when the tide of our greatness has ebbed to the shallows ; So when there floats not a ship on this storm-tossed westerly main. Hard by, the minster crumbles, the city has shrunk to a village ; Thus shall we shrink one day, and our forests be pathless again ; And the headland stern shall stand. Guarding an undiscovered land. Vex it, O changeless ocean ; rave round it, tempests unceasing ; Sink it, great earthquakes, deep in the depths of the fathomless sea ; Burn them, fierce fires of the centre, burn rock and ocean together, Till the red globe flare throughout space, through the ages to be. Cease, make an end, dull world, begone • How shall I cease while you roll on ? Time, oh, horrible ! Space, oh, terrible ! Infinite Void ! Dreadful abysses of Being ! blighting a finite brain ; How shall the creatures of thought subsist, when the thinker ceases ? Begone, dull figments, be done ! not alone shall you dare to remain. Without me you yourselves must fall ; I hold the measure of you all. 66 IN VOLHYNIA — THE LIVING PAST. IN VOLHYNIA. In Volhynia the peasant mothers, When spring-time brings back the leaves, And the first swallows dart and twitter Under the cottage eaves, — Sit mute at their windows, and listen, With eyes brimming over with tears, To the broken sounds which are wafted To their eager watching ears. And throw out bread and honey To the birds as they scintillate by ; And hearts full of yearning and longing, Borne out on the wings of a sigh. For they think that their dear lost children. The little ones who are gone, Come back thus to the heartsick mothers Who are toiling and sorrowing on. And those sun -lit wings and flashing White breasts, to their tear-dimmed eyes Bring visions of white child-angels Floating in Paradise. And again to the sounds they hearken, Which grew silent while incomplete, The music of childish laughter, The patter of baby feet. Till the hearts which are barren and childless, The homes which are empty and cold : The nests whence the young have de- parted. Are filled with young life as of old. Thus each spring, to those peasant mothers, Comes the old Past again and again ; And those sad hearts quicken and blossom. In a rapture of sorrowless pain. THE LIVING PAST. ' O FAITHFUL souls that watch and yearn. Expectant of the coming light, With kindling hearts and eyes that burn With hope to see the rule of right ; The time of peace and of good will, When the thick clouds of wrong and pain Roll up as from a shining hill. And never more descend again ; The perfect day, the golden year. The end of sorrow and of sighs ; Whether the heavenly change be here. Or far beyond the sunset skies, — I cherish you, I love your faith, I long with you that this may be ; But hark, a dreary voice which saith, "Vain dreamer, what were it to thee!" For though the blest hour strike before Another sunrise vex the earth, And pain and evil rule no more, But vanish in the newer birth, — Though war and hatred come to cease, And sorrow be no more, nor sin. And in their stead an endless peace Its fair unbroken reign begin, — What comfort have ye? What shall blot The memories of bitter years, CHANGES— A L ONE. 67 Of joys which have been, but are not, And floods of unforgotten tears ? The painful records graven clear On carven rock or deathless page ; The long unceasing reign of fear, The weary tale of lust and rage ; The ills whose dark sum baffles thought, Done day by day beneath the sun ? "That which is done," the old sage taught, "Not God Himself can make un- done.'^ For that which has been, still must live, And 'neath the shallow Present last. Oh, who will sweet oblivion give, Who free us from the dreadful Past ? CHANGES. You see that tall house opposite? Three times within the fleeting year, Since last the summer-time was here. Great changes have gone over it. For first a bridal bright and gay Filled the long street with riotous sound ; And amid smiles from all around. The newly-wedded passed away. And when the violets came once more, And Iambs were born, a concourse went, Still gayer, still more innocent. To christening from that stately door. And now the mute house dull and drear. From blinded eyes, stares blank and white ; And amid dust and glaring light. The black lines slowly disappear. ALONE. What shall it profit a man To have stood by the source of things, To have spent the fair years of his youthful prim€ In mystical questionings ; To have scaled the lovely height, While his brothers slept below ; To have seen the vision bright Which but few on earth may knaw, — If when his task be done He lives his life alone ? If in the busy street None come whom he may greet ? If in his lonely room With the night the shadows deepen into ghostly shapes of gloom ? It may be his soul may say, " I have gained me a splendid dower ; I can look around on the toiling crowd. With the pride of a conscious power. I can hear the passer-by Tell of all my world-wide fame ; I have friends I shall not see Who dwell fondly on my name. If the sweet smile of wife Light not my joyless life. If to my silent home No childish laughter come, Shall I no solace find In communion with the monarchs of the fair broad realm of mind ? " But when sickness wears him, or age Creeps on, and his soul doth yearn For the tender hand and the soothing voice 68 SEA VOICES. That shall never more return When the lessening throng of friends, Not unkind, but each one set Safe within white walls of home, All the world without forget, — Shall not old memories rise 'Twixt book and weary eyes, Till knowledge come to seem A profitless vague dream ? Shall not he sometimes sigh For the careless past unlearned, and the happy days gone by ? Ah ! not to be happy alone. Are men sent, or to be glad. Oft-times the sweetest music is made By the voices of the sad. The thinker oft is bent By a too-great load of thought ; The discoverer's soul grows sick With the secret vainly sought : Lonely may be the home. No breath of fame may come, Yet through their lives doth shine A purple light Divine, And a nobler pain they prove Than the bloom of lower pleasures, or the fleeting spell of love. SEA VOICES. Peace, moaning Sea ; what tale have you to tell ? What mystic tidings, all unknown before ? Whether you break in thunder on the shore. Or whisper like the voice within the shell, O moaning Sea, I know your burden well. 'Tis but the old dull tale, filled full of pain ; The finger on tne dial-plate of time, Advancing slow with pitiless beat sublime, As stoops the day upon the fading plain ; And that has been which may not be again. The voice of yearning, deep but scarce expressed. For something which is not, but ma) be yet ; Too full of sad continuance to forget, Too troubled with desires to be at rest. Too self-conflicting ever to be blest. The voice of hopes and aspirations high, Swallowed in sand, or shivered on the rock ; Tumultuous life dashed down wivh sudden shock ; And passionate protests, narrowed to a sigh, From hearts too weak to live, — too strong to die. The voice of old beliefs which long have fled. Gone with a shriek, and leaving naught behind. But some vague utterance, cold as wintry wind, — Some dim remembrance of a ghostly dread Which lingers s'ill when faith itself is dead. And, above all, through thund'rous wintry roar, And summer ripple, this, and this alone, BERLIN, 1 87 1 — THE BEACON. 69 For ever do I make this barren moan : — No end, there is no end, — on Time's dull shore I wail, I beat, I thunder, evermore. BERLIN, 1871. The spring day was all of a flutter with flags ; The mad chimes were Ideating like surf in the air ; The beggars had slunk out of sight with their rags ; And the balconies teemed with the rich and the fair. And below, on each side, the long vistas were set In a frame-work of faces, patient and white, — Wives, mothers, sweethearts, with full eyes wet. And sick hearts longing to see the sight. Till at length, when the evening v/as waning, there ran ijb A stir through the crowd, and far-off, like a flame, The setting sun burned on the helms of the van, And with trampling of hoofs the proud conquerors came. And with every step they advanced, you might hear Women's voices, half-maddened with long-deferred joy : "Thank God! he is safe. See, my love, we are here ! See ! here am I, darling ; and this is our boy ! " Or, "Here am I, dearest, still faithful and true ; Your own love as of old!" Or an agonised cry, As the loved face came not with the comrades she knew And the rough soldiers found not a word to reply. And pitiful hands led her softly away. With a loving heart rent and broken in twain ; And the triumph sweeps onward, in gallant array, — The life and the hope, the despair and the pain. Where was it? In Egypt, Assyria, Greece, Rome? Ages since, or to-day ; in the old world, or new ? Who shall tell? P^rom all time these strange histories come ; And to-day, as of old, the same story is true. And the long line sweeps past, and the dull world rolls on Though the rapture is dead and the sad tears are dry. And careless of all, till the progress be done, Life rides like a conqueror triumph- ing by. THE BEACON, Fair shines the beacon from its lonely rock, Stable alone amid the unstable waves : 70 THE BEACOI^. In vain the surge leaps with continual Careless of praying hands or eyes shock, that burn, In vain around the wintry tempest Or aught that sense can feel or mind raves, discern. And ocean thunders in her sounding caves. Knowing but this, — that the unknown is blest. For here is life within the gate of death, Holding delight of free untrammelled Calm light and warmth amid the air : storm without ; Delight of toil sweeter than any rest, Here sleeping love breathes with un- Fierce storms with cores of calm for troubled breath. those who dare And faith, clear-eyed, pierces the Black rayless nights than fairest clouds of doubt noons more fair. And monstrous depths which com- pass her about. And drifting forth at eve in some frail boat. So calm, so pure, yet prisoned and Beholds the old light, like a setting confined ; star, Fenced by white walls from pleasure Sink in the sea, and still doth fare and as from pain. float Not always glooms the sea or shrieks Adown the night till day-break shows the wind : afar, — Sometimes light zephyrs curl the And hark the faint low thunders of azure main. the bar. And the sweet sea-nymphs glide with all their train. Nor if indeed he reach the Blessed Isle, Nor if those pitiless crests shall Or Aphrodite rises from the foam, plunge him down, And lies all rosy on the golden sand, Knows he ; but v/hether breathless And o'er the purple plains the Nereids azure smile. roam ; Or furious night and horrible tem- Sweet laughter comes, borne from pests frown, the joyous band. Living or dying. Freedom wears a And faint sweet odours from the crown. far-off land. And straightway the impatient soul THE GARDEN OF REGRET. within Loathes its white house which to a Beyond the dim walls of the shadowy jail doth turn ; Past, Careless of true or false, of right or A sweet vague host of fancies sin. flourishes, THE GARDEN OF REGRET. ^,\ Like garden seeds in some rough hollow cast, Which all unasked the kind earth nourishes, And sends up tender blooms more sweet and fair Than the dull Present rears with all its care. Tiiere on its thin stem hangs the frail white flower; Far sweeter now she shines within the shade. Than when of old within the trim-kept bower And perfumed lush parterres her home she made ; Because her sister blooms are past and gone. And this alone it is that lingers on. The same white flower, — but oh, the depths of change ! Before, the creamy petals, broad and strong. Were all adust with gold, and filled with strange Sweet scents, which lurked the odorous depths among ; Deep in her honeyed wells, the bee would stay Content, and birds sing round the live- long day. The same white flower — yet changed in scent and hue. Now the fair feeble petals curl and shrink ; The dead smooth surfaces are veined with blue ; No honeyed draughts they hold for bee to drink, Nor busy hum, nor joyous song is heard. What hath she left to charm or bee or bird? Only a faint sweet odour lingers yet. Dearer than those rich scents of former years : A fragile fairness, fairer through regret. And watered by the dewy fount of tears. To me that outcast flower is dearer. grown. Than when in those fair gardens over- blown. I set her in the garden of my heart. And water her from life's sincerest spring ; And lo ! once more the frail stems quicken and start, Fair honeyed blooms arise and blithe birds sing : The old sweet flower in scent and gorgeous hue, But not the tender grace that once I knew, Alas ! not in the Present will she grow : The Present has its own blooms sweet and bright ; Within its four walls life's fair pleasures blow, And each gay season brings its own delight : Far off" in dewy shades the exile sweet Grows fair, and paths untrodden by living feet. There let her stay. I know not if my theme Be love, or some fair child of heart or mind : 72 TO AN UNKNOWN POET. Young friendships, hopes, beliefs, which Hke a dream Pass from us leaving some sweet ghost behind. Leave them behind, they have been ; others are. And shall be. Lo ! the spring time is not far. SECOND SERIES (1874) TO AN UNKNOWN POET.'' Dear friend, who, two long centuries Didst tread where since my grandsires trod. Along thy devious Usk's untroubled flow, Breathing thy soul to God. I seek, I, born in these our later days, Using the measure thou didst love. With halting tribute of too tardy praise, A poet throned above. I in the self-same veneral)le halls And gray quadrangles made my home. Which heard, new-built, within their recent walls. Thy youthful footsteps come. A little grayer now and stiller grown. The tranquil refuge now, as then. Where our dear country glories in her own. Apart from alien men. There, on thy musings broke the painful sound Of arms ; the long-plumed cavaliers Clanged thro' the courts — the low fat fields around Were filled with strife and tears. * Henry Vaughan, the Silurist, died near Brecon, 1695. Constrained by promptings of thy ancient race. Thy gown and books thou flungst away, To meet the sturdy Roundhead face to face On many a hard -fought day, Till thy soft soul grew sick, and thou didst turn To our old hills ; and there, ere long, Love for thy Amoret, at tunes, would burn In some too fervid song. But soon thy wilder pulses stayed, and, life Grown equable, thy sweet muse mild, Sobered by tranquil love of child and wife, Flowed pure and undefiled. A humble healer thro' a life obscure, Thou didst expend thy homely days ; Sweet Swan of Usk ! few know how clear and pure Are thy unheeded lays. One poet shall become a household name Into the nation's heart ingrown ; One more than equal miss the meed of fame, And live and die unknown. COMFORT. n So thou, surviving in thy lonely age, All but thy own undying love Didst pour upon the sympathetic page, Words which all hearts can move — So quaintly fashioned as to add a grace To the sweet fancies which they bear, Even as a bronze delved from some ancient place For very rust shows fair, "They all are gone into the world of light ! " It is thy widowed muse that sings. And then mounts upward from our dazzled sight On heavenward soaring wings. "He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know " ** At first sight if the bird be flown ; " " But what fair dell or grove he sings in now," *' That is to him unknown." " And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams " " Call to the soul when man doth sleep," *' So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes," " And into glory peep." " O father of eternal life and all " Created glories under Thee ! " " Resume Thy Spirit from this world of thrall " " Into true liberty." * » * ♦ Thou hast rejoined thy dear ones now, and art, Dear soul, as then thou wouldst be, free. I, still a prisoner, strive to do my part In memory of thee. Thou art so high, and yet unknown : shall I Repine that I too am obscure ? Nay, what care I, though all my verse shall die. If only it is pure ? So some new singer of the days to be, Reading this page with soft young eyes. Shall note the tribute which I pay to thee With youth's sweet frank surprise. And musing in himself, perchance shall say, " Two bards whom centuries part are here — One whose high fame and name defy decay. And one who held him dear." COMFORT. Tho' love be bought and honour sold, The sunset keeps its glow of gold. And round the rosy summits cold The white clouds hover, fold on fold. Tho' over-ripe the nations rot, Tho' right be dead and faith forgot, Tho' one dull cloud the heavens may blot, The tender leaf delayeth not. Tho' all the world He sunk in ill. The bounteous autumns mellow still, By virgin sand and sea-worn hill The constant waters ebb and fill. 74 SONG— OH, SNOWS SO PURE! From out the throng and stress of lies, From out the painful noise of sighs, One voice of comfort seems to rise : " It is the meaner part that dies." SONG. If ever, dear, I might at last the barren victory gain, After long struggle and laborious pain, And many a secret tear, To think, since think I must of thee, Not otherwise than thou of me. Haply I might Thy chilling coldness, thy disdain, ihy pride, Which draw me, half reluctant, to ihy side, With a like meed requite, And I my too fond self despise, Seeing with disenchanted eyes. But now, alas ! So fast a prisoner am I to my love, No power there is that can my chains remove, So sweet the caged hours pass, That, if it parted me from thee, I would not willingly grow free. Nor would I dare To ask for recompense of love again. Who love thee for the height of thy disdain. Thou wouldst not show so fair If we should own an equal flame, Unequal souls, in love the same. Full well I know That what I worship is not wholly thee, But a fair dream, a pious fantasy. Such as at times doth grow On yearnings of the cloistered mind, Or the rapt vision of the blind. Scorn me then, sweet, I would not thou shouldst leave thy lofty place. Thy lover should not see thee face to face. But prostrate at thy feet. No recompense, no equal part I seek, Only that thou be strong and I be weak. OH, SNOWS SO PURE! Oh, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high ! [ lift to you a hopeless eye. I see your icy ramparts drawn Between the sleepers and the dawn. I see you, when the sun has set. Flush with the dying daylight yet. I see you, passionless and pure. Above the lightnings stand secure ; But may not climb, for now the hours Are spring's, and earth a maze of flowers. And now, 'mid summer's dust and heat, I stay my steps for childish feet. And now, when autumn glows, I fear To lose the harvest of the year. Now winter frowns, and life runs slow. Even on the plains I tread thro' snow. While you are veiled, or, dimly seen. Only reveal what might have been ; THE BEGINNINGS OF FAITH^THE NEW ORDER. 75 And where high hope would once aspire Broods a vast storm-cloud dealing fire. Oh, snows so pure ! oh, peaks so high ! I shall not reach you till I die ! THE BEGINNINGS OF FAITH. All travail of high thought, All secrets vainly sought, All struggles for right, heroic, perpe- tually fought. Faint gleams of purer fire, Conquests of gross desire, Whereby the fettered soul ascends con- tinually higher. Sweet cares for love or friend Which ever heavenward tend. Too deep and true and tender to have on earth their end. Vile hearts malign and fell, Lives which no tongue may tell, So dark and dread and shameful that they breathe a present hell. White mountain, deep-set lake, Sea wastes which surge and break. Fierce storms which, roarmg from the north, the midnight forests shake. j Fair morns of summer days, I Rich harvest eves that raise I The soul and heart o'erburdened to an ecstasy of praise. Low whispers, vague and f trange. Which through our being range. Breathing perpetual presage of some mighty coming change. These in the soul do breed Thoughts which, at last, shall lead To some clear, firm assurance of a satis- fying creed. A MEMORY. Down dropped the sun upon the sea^ The gradual darkness filled the land. And 'mid the twilight, silently, I felt the pressure of a hand. And a low voice : " Have courage, friend. Be of good cheer, 'tis not for long j He conquers who awaits the end. And dares to suffer and be strong." I have seen many a land since then, Known many a joy and many a pain. Victor in many a strife of men, Vanquished again and yet again. The ancient sorrow now is not, Since time can heal the keenest smart ; Yet the vague memory, scarce forgot. Lingers deep down within the heart. Still, when the ruddy flame of gold Fades into gray on sea and land, I hear the low sweet voice of old, I feel the pressure of a hand. THE NEW ORDER. The old lives are dead and gone and rotten. The old thoughts shall never more be thought. The old faiths have failed and are forgotten, The old strifes are done, the fight is fought. THE NEW ORDER. And with a clang and roll, the new creation Bursts forth 'mid tears and blood and tribulation. Sweet they were, the old days that are ended, The golden years, the happy careless hours Then, like Pagan gods on the asphodel extended, Dreaming, men wove them fancies fair as flowers. Love laid near them. Art to cheer them, youthful Beauty Sitting crowned upon the marble throne of Duty. All good things were theirs to cherish — lives grown finer From the heritage of long ancestral ease. And a nobler port, and temperate mien diviner Than their labours and their vigils leave to these ; Gentler voices, smiles more gracious, and the fashion Of their soft lives tuned to pity and compassion. Naught men knew of science, now grown rigid With its teaching of inexpiable sin ; Nor the dull pedantic gospel, dead and frigid. Of a heaven where mind alone may enter in. Doom awaiting, stern and silent, all transgression. And no saint with power to make an intercession. For a Ruler, as men thought they saw above them, More than earthly rulers, pitiful and mild, A Father with a stronger love to love them Than the love an earthly father bears his child — God above them, and for pleader and defender Christ's face stooping, like his mother's, true and tender. But now there seems no place for the Creator To hold his long unbroken chain of law, Nor any need for heaven-sent Mediator, Nor the Providence our fathers thought they saw. Only a dull world-system, always tend- ing To a blind goal, by a blind rule unbending. And for the courtesy and tender graces, The chivalries and charities of old, K dull and equal arrogance effaces Soft sympathies by hard demands and cold ; And the giver giveth not, lest any blame him. And the taker may not take, lest taking shame him. Be still, oh ye of little faith, repining That the purpose of the Eternal will is dead. The silent stars forget not yet their shining. Daily the full sun journeys over- | head. I AT MIDNIGHT. 77 How shall mind's realm alone foigeL its reason, When the sure years roll season after season ? There shall rise from this confused sound of voices A firmer faith than that our fathers knew, A deep religion, which alone rejoices In worship of the Infinitely True, Not built on rite or portent, but a finer And purer reverence for a Lord diviner. There shall come from out this noise of strife and groaning A broader and a juster brotherhood, A deep equality of aim, postponing All selfish seeking to the general good. There shall come a time when each shall to another Be as Christ would have him — brother unto brother. There shall come a time when know- ledge wide extended. Sinks each man's pleasure in the general health. And all shall hold irrevocably blended The individual and the common- wealth, When man and woman in an equal union Shall merge, and marriage be a true communion. There shall come a time when brother- hood shows stronger Than the narrow bounds which now distract the world ; When the cannons roar and trumpets blare no longer. And the ironclad rusts, and battle flags are furled ; When the bars of creed and speech and race, which sever, Shall be fused in one humanity for ever. Oh, glorious end ! oh, blessed consum- mation ! Oh, precious day ! for which we wait and yearn. Thou shalt come, and knit men nation unto nation. But not for us, who watch to day and burn. Thou shalt come, but after what long years of trial. Weary watchings, baffled longings, dull denial ! AT MIDNIGHT. They were two poor young girls, little older than children, Who passed through the midnight streets of the city Singing. Poorly clad, morning-eyed, with a strange look of shyness. Linked arms, and round cheeks, and smooth heads bent together. Singing. Singing, great Heaven ! with their fresh childish voices. Some low-murmured ditty, half hymn- tune, half love-song, Singing, Always by hushed square, and long street deserted. As from school by the old village street on fair evenings, Singing, 78 .YEMESIS. vSinging, and knowing it not, the old burden That is born out of secular wrongs and oppressions, Singing, Of selfish riches, of misery and hun- ger, Of sin that is bred of the wants of the wretched, Singing, Of poor bribes that purchase souls, of the endless, Perpetual harvest of pain and of evil, Singing, So, they passed to the flaring sin- befouled places. And amid the thick throng of the fallen I lost them. Singing, A hymn-tune, a love-song, a prayer chanted backward, . A witch spell unholy, a sweet suffrage saintly Singing. NEMESIS. Who, without fear Piercing the inmost deeps of silent thought, lias won the prize with lonely labour sought. And many a bitter tear, He in his breast doth hold A rarer thing than gold. And a fair treasure greater than in words is told. For he shall learn, Not from another's lore, but his own soul, Whither life's hidden ocean currents roll, And with sure helm shall turn Into a haven fair, Where, on the breathless air. Nor wave nor storm shall break, but peace is everywhere. There, in light boat Laid on the soft breast of the summer sea, Lapt day by day in great tranquillity, He carelessly shall float. He scarce shall see or hear A sight or sound of fear, Only a low-voiced siren always gliding near Without the bar The enormous surges leap from sea to sky. Upon the ghostly inland summits high The avalanche thunders far. On the dull plains below, In long successions slow The toiling generations sow, and reap, and sow. Dream-like, he sees The lurid smoke blot the beleaguered town. Or the great earthquake shake the city down ; Labours and miseries ; Fire takes them — famine, flood, And fever's hideous brood. By night the black skies redden with a glare like blood. TO A CHILD OF FANCY— SONG. 79 For him, meanwhile. Laid in the shelter of his silken sail. The' wind and storm on sea and land prevail, The enchanted waters smile. Always in that calm deep, Wherein life's currents sleep, He sees high heaven reflected, tho' all men may weep. Yet now and then Between the stars and him, deep, sunk below, He starts to see a strange dead sem- blance grow, Gone from the eyes of men. Some thin and pale-eyed ghost. By marred reflections crost, Of thoughts, and faiths, and yearnings long since lost. And if these fade Betimes, he slowly gains to peace again ; But if too long they tarry, such a pain Those clear depths doth invade, That for sheer terror he, And utter misery, Flies to the storm- wrapt hills and hungry calling sea. TO A CHILD OF FANCY, My little dove, my little lamb, In whom again a child I am ; My innocent, on whose fair head The glories of the unknown are shed Who thro' the laughing summer day Spend est the rosy hours in play. Too much by joyous life possest To give a willing thought to rest ; Who, with the earliest shades of night, White-robed, in happy slumbers light, Recallest in thy stainless calm An angel resting from its psalm ; power Whence art thou come ? What could teach The secret of thy broken speech ? What agile limb, what stalwart arm, Like thy sweet feebleness can charm ? With what a rapture of surprise This fair world meets thy steadfast eyes, As if they saw reflected there Faint images of scenes more fair. Leaving another heaven behind, A heaven on earth thou cam'st to find ; This world, so full of misery, Opens celestial gates for thee. Oh ! if thou mightst not e'er grow wise With the sad learning born of sighs ; If those soft eyes might never here Grow dim for any bitter tear. Vain thought, — no creature born of earth Blooms best 'neath cloudless skies of mirth ; Only soft rains and clouds can dress Life's tree with flowers of blessedness Whate'er the lot thy fate shall give, At least, while life is mine to live. Thou shalt not lack a share of love. My little lamb, my little dove ! SONG. It was not that thy eyes Were blue as autumn skies, It was not that thy hair Was as an angel's fair. 8o THE ORG AN- BOY. No excellence of form could move They were stern cold rulers. A finer soul to so much love. Those Romans of old, Scorning art and letters Nor that in thee I sought For conquest and gold ; For precious gems of thought, Yet leavening mankind, In mind and in tongue, With the laws that they made Nor ever hoped to find Hid treasure in thy mind. Gray v^^isdom comes with time and age, And the songs that they sung : Sitting rose-crowned. And thine was an unwritten page. With pleasure- choked breath. As the nude young limbs crimsoned, But that I seemed in thee Then stiffened in death ; My other self to see. Piling up monuments Yet purer and more high Greater than praise. Than meets my inner eye, Thoughts and deeds that shall live Like that enamoured boy who, gazing To the latest of days : down, Adding province to province, His lower self would in his higher And sea to sea. drown. Till the idol fell down And the world rose up free. THE ORGAN-BOY, And this is the outcome. This vagabond child Great brown eyes. With that statue-like face Thick plumes of hair, And eyes soft and mild, Old corduroys This creature so humble, The worse for wear ; So gay, yet so meek. A buttoned jacket. Whose sole strength is only And peeping out The strength of ihe weak ; An ape's grave poll, Of those long cruel ages Or a guinea pig's snout ; Of lust and of guile. A sun-kissed face, Naught left us to-day And a dimpled mouth. But an innocent smile. With the white flashing teeth For the laboured appeal And soft smile of the south ; Of the orator's art, A young back bent, A few childish accents Not with age or care, That reach to the heart. But the load of poor music For those stern legions speeding 'Tis fated to bear : O'er sea and o'er land, But a commonplace picture But a pitiful glance To commonplace eyes. And a suppliant hand. Yet full of a charm I could moralize still ; Which the thinker will prize. But the organ begins, 7 HE ORG AN- BOY. 8i And the tired ape swings downward I turn v^'ith grave thought And capers and grins : To this child of the ages, And to all that is WTit And away flies romance. In Time's hidden pages. And yet, time after time, Shall young Howards or Guelph.s, As I dwell on days spent In the days that shall come, In a sunnier clime. Wander forth seeking bread Of blue lakes deep set Far from England and home ? In the olive-clad mountains, Of gleaming white palaces Shall they sail to new continents, Girt with cool fountains. English no more. Of minsters where every Or turn — strange reverse — Carved stone is a treasure. To the old classic shore ? Of sweet music hovering Shall fair locks and blue eyes, 'Twixt pain and 'twixt pleasure ; And the rose on the cheek, Of chambers enriched, Find a language of pity On all sides, overhead. The tongue cannot speak — With the deathless creations " Not English, but angels ? " Of hands that are dead ; Shall this tale be told Of still cloisters holy, Of Romans to be And twilight arcade, As of Romans of old ? Where the lovers still saunter Shall they too have monkeys Thro' chequers of shade ; And music ? Will any Of tomb and of temple, Try their luck with an engine Arena and column, Or toy spinning-jenny ? 'Mid to-day's garish splendours, Sombre and solemn ; Shall we too be led Of the marvellous town By that mirage of Art With the salt-flowing street, Which saps the true strength Where colour burns deepest, Of the national heart ? And music most sweet ; The sensuous glamour. Of her the great mother, The dreamland of grace, Who centuries sate Which rot the strong manhood 'Neath a black shadow blotting They fail to replace ; The days she was great ; Which at once are the glory. Who was plunged in such shame — The ruin, the shame, She, our source and 'our home — Of the beautiful lands That a foul spectre only And ripe souls whence they came ? Was left us of Rome ; She who, seeming to sleep Oh, my England ! oh. Mother Thro' all ages to be, Of Freemen ! oh, sweet, Was the priests', is mankind's. Sad toiler majestic. Was a slave, and is free ! With labour- worn feet ! 82 PROCESSIONS. Brave worker, girt round, See the poor children swarm Inexpugnable, free, From dark court and dull street. With tumultuous sound As the gay music quickens And salt spume of the sea. The lightsome young feet. Fenced off from the clamour See them now whirl away, Of alien mankind Now insidiously come, By the surf on the rock, With a coy grace which conquers And the shriek of the wind, The squalor of home. Tho' the hot Gaul shall envy, See the pallid cheeks flushing The cold German flout thee, With innocent pleasure Thy far children scorn thee. At the hurry and haste Still thou shalt be great. Of the quick-footed measure. Still march on uncaring, See the dull eyes now bright, Thy perils unsharing. And now happily dim, Alone, and yet daring For some soft-dying cadence Thy infinite fate. Of love-song or hymn. Yet ever remembering Dear souls, little joy The precepts of gold. Of their young lives have they, That were written in part So thro' hymn-tune and song-tune For the great ones of old — Play on, my child, play. " Let other hands fashion The marvels of art ; For tho' dull pedants chatter To thee fate has given Of musical taste. A loftier part. Talk of hindered researches. To rule the wide peoples ; And hours run to waste ; To bind them to thee " Tho' they tell us of thoughts By the sole bond of loving. To ennoble mankind That bindeth the free. Which your poor measures chase To hold thy own place, From the labouring mind ; Neither lawless nor slave ; While your music rejoices Not driven by the despot. One joyless young heart. Nor tricked by the knave. Perish bookworms and books. Perish learning and art — Of my vagabond fancies But these thoughts are too solemn, I'll e'en take my fill. So play, my child, play, "Qualche cosa, signor?" Never heeding the connoisseur Yes, my child, that I will. Over the way. The last dances of course ; Then, with scant pause betvveen. PROCESSIONS. "Home, Sweet Home," the "Old Hundredth," To and fro, to and fro. And "God Save the Queen." The long, long processions go, FOR LIFE. 83 P'ainter now and now more bright, Now in shadow, now in light ; Gay and sad, and gay again, Mixed of pleasure, mixed of pain. Bridal song and burial dirge, Rippling blue and leaden surge ; Sunlit plain and storm-wrapt hill, Saintly lives or stained with ill ; Youth and fire and frolic mirth, Cold age bending back to earth ; Hope and faith and high endeavour. Dead lives slowly waning ever ; Gleams of varying sun and shade, Buds that burst, and flowers that fade ; Lives that spring, and lives that fall, And a Hidden Will o'er all. FOR LIFE. Shut in by self, as by a brazen wall. In a dry, windless court alone. Where no refreshing dews of eve may fall, Nor morning sun has shone. But ever broader, ever higher, higher. And ever yearly stronger grown, In long circuitous folds high towers aspire Around her central throne. And every year adds some fair outer- court, Green, lit with fountains, tended well, Some dainty pleasaunce fit for joy and sport, But not wherein to dwell. Or some high palace spired with fretted gold. And tricked with gems of thought and art; In blank perspective ranks its chambers cold. Too fair to touch the heart. For far within the inmost coil of towers, Wrapt round with shadows like a cloak. Where on the twilight hush of slow- paced hours Full utterance never broke ; Neither of laughter nor the painful sound Of great thoughts come to sudden birth, Nor murmurs from the Sea that frets around The dull laborious earth ; Nor voice of love or child, nor note of glee, Nor sigh, nor any weal nor woe — Naught but a chill, at times, as hope- lessly The slow years come and go ; She broods immured, a devil or a saint, Shut fast within a lonely cell, Peopled with beatific visions faint, Or ghostly shapes of hell. And every year she hears from some high gate That breaks the dizzy circuit of the wall, By hands invisible, but strong as fate, The loud portcullis fall. And every year upon her duller ear Faint and more faint the outward echoes come, Fainter the mingled tones of hope and fear. To this her cloistered ho.v.e. 84 IN THE PARK. Till, when the weary circuit's done and past, The last gate clangs, the tall towers sway and fall, A great voice calls with thunders, and at last The captive breaks her thrall ! IN THE PARK. The stock-jobbers' madams dash In splendour thro' park and street. 'Tis a lightning of wheels that flash, 'Tis a thunder of high-stepping feet. Shrink aside, vile churl, for these prin- cesses bold — These creatures of jewels and ermine and gold — As they loll by in insolent pride, Scarce deigning a glance of the eye, They scatter their mud stains far and wide On the humbler passer-by — Some rhymester it may be, whose bitter pen Shall pay them their mud stains with intei-est again. And, meanwhile, in some fetid street Their spouse and provider sits — A swindler fattening on lie and cheat. Sole fruit of his sordid wits — Full fed and bloated, or wan and pale, And haunted with fears of an imminent gaol. When my lady of high degree Rolls by with her lackeys ablaze. It gladdens my heart, good madams, to see The disdain of you in her gaze. I love her little, but, matched with you, I could fall on my knees to a pride so true. Or when Lais rattles by In her vesture of visible shame. Poor child, I whisper, and who am I To call her dead life by its name ? Sad tawdry splendours that, one sure day. Will spread swift pinions and flutter away ! But with you, vile spawn of deceit. What need to be chary of ire? Get down, I say, on your useless feet, And cleanse them with honest mire. Down with you, 'tis time, ere your coaches be made The central block of a new barricade. Yet, perhaps, since in this poor life Things are double, each against each. Among you sometimes is the mother and wife With her darlings to cherish and teach. The gentle lady, tender and kind, With no shadow of evil on heart or mind. Ah, riddle of things ! ah, great Perpetual struggle and war ! The good which should be, in- separate. From the evil things that are — IIow shall I, with purblind vision, arraign The marvellous measures of joy and pain? LOSS AND GAIN— SONG— THE A TO LOGY. 8^ Roll by then, brave dames, roll by ; You are part of a scheme, I trow. No more will I look with a covet- ous eye On your splendours of pomp and show ; For I see in your gorgeous chariots the strife, The problem, the wonder, the satire, of Hfe. LOSS AND GAIN. From day to day, from year to year. New waves of change assail us here ; Each day, each year, prolongs the chain Where pleasure alternates with pain. New earth-born exhalations rise, To hide the heavens from our eyes ; New clouds obscure the vision fair, Which once was round us everywhere. New precious obligations come, New sanctities of love and home. New tender hopes, new anxious fears, And sweet experiences of tears. Old tastes are lost, old thoughts grow strange, Old longings gradually change. Old faiths seem no more dear or true, Lost in the full light of the new. Youth's boundless aspirations fled, And every wild ambition dead ; Love not a meteor blinding sight, ]]ut a pure ray of sober light. And for the passionate self of old, A deep affection, calm, not cold ; A pitying love serenely kind, A broader trust, a juster mind, A faith which occupies the heart, Tho' the brain halts to bear its part, Which threat and promise fail to move, Like the dim consciousness of love. Tho' much be taken, much is left, Not all forsaken nor bereft ; From change on change we come to rest, And the last moment is the best. SONG. "Only a woman's hair," A fair lock severed and dead ; But where is the maiden — where That delicate head ? Perhaps she is rich and fair. Perhaps she is poor and worn. And 'twere better that one somewhere Had never been born. And the careless hand that threw That faded tress away — Ah ! the false heart that once seemed true. Ah ! love flung away. THE APOLOGY. I MAY not scorn, I cannot prize Those whose quick-coming fancies ri-e Only in quaint disguise — ■ Some trick of speech, or mien, or dress, Some obsolete uncomeliness, Some ancient wickedness. 86 THE APOLOGY. Strange words antique for things not strange, Like broken tower and mould'ring grange, Made fair through time and change. Legends of knight, and squire, and dame, With this our common life the same In glory and in shame. Mean lives and narrow aims which owe The glamour and the charm they show To that strange *' Long ago ; " Nay, meaner, lower than our own. Because To-day is wider grown. Knows deeper, and is known. I doubt if anything there be Which best thro' mask of chivalry, Reveals myself to me ; Myself, its yearnings and desires, Its glimpses of supernal fires, The something which aspires ; Myself, the thing of blot and stam, Which fallen, rises, falls again, A mystery of pain ; Myself, the toiler slow to earn, The thinker sowing words that burn. The sensuous in turn. The vanquished, the disgraced, the saint. Now free as air, now bound and faint. By everyday constraint. Or, if too near the present lies For common brains and common eyes To probe its mysteries. If feeble fancy fails to tear The outer husk of fact, and bare The seed to vital air, But too extended, too immense, Life's orb a vast circumference Stretches for mortal sense ; If simpler shows the past, more fair, Set in a pure and luminous air. Not dimmed by mists of care, Seeming to breathe a lighter strain Of lutes and lyres where none complain With undertones of pain ; — If haply there we seem to view Ourselves, behind a veil, yet true The germ from which we grew ; Not less our duty and our pride Forbid to leave unsought, untried, The glories at our side. What ? shall the limner only paint Blue hills with adumbrations faint, Or misty aureoled saint, And scorn to ponder flower or tree, Ripe fields, child-faces, summer sea, And all fair things that be ; Nor care thro' passion's endless play, Our living brethren to portray, Who fare to doom to-day. When the sun's finger deigns to trace Each line and feature of man's face. Its beauty and disgrace ? Or shall the skilled musician dare Only to sound some jocund air Arcadian, free from care. THE APOLOGY. 87 Round wliom in strains that scorn control The mighty diapasons roll, That speak from soul to soul ; W' hose lives were chequered, but whose verse The generations still rehearse ; Yet never soul grew worse. Our mystical modern music deep, Not piped by shepherds to their sheep, But wrung from souls that weep ; What is it that these would ? shall I, Born late in time, consent to He In the old misery ? Where seldom melody is heard. Nor simple woodland note of bird, So deep a depth is stirred. I — who have learnt that flesh is dust, What gulfs dissever love from lust, The wrongful from the just — Such blended harmonies divine Across the core of sweetness twine As round the grape the vine ? Put on again the rags of sense, A Pagan without innocence, A Christian in offence ? Or shall some false cold dream of art Corrupt the voice and chill the heart, And turn us from our part, Perish the thought ! I am to-day What God and Time have made me ; they Have ordered, I obey. Blot out the precious lesson won From all the ages past and done, That bard and seer are one ? And day by day the labouring earth Whirls on — glad mysteries of birth. Sad death throes, sorrow, mirth, Dull creed of earthy souls ! who tell That, be the song of heaven or hell, Who truly sings, sings well, Youth's flower just bursting into bloom, Wan age, a sun which sets in gloom. The cradle, and the tomb ; And with the same encomiums greet The satyr baring brutish feet. And pure child -angels sweet ; These are around me— hope and fear, Not fables, but alive and near. Fresh smile and scarce-dried tear ; Whose praise in equal meed can share The Mrenad with distempered hair, The cold Madonna fair. These are around me, these I sing, These, these of every thought and thing. My verse shall heavenward wing. Great singers of the past 1 whose song Still streams down earthward pure and strong, Free from all stain of wrong. The sun but seems to kiss the hill. And all the vast eternal Will Is moving, working, still 88 THE APOLOGY. God is, Truth lives, and overhead Behold a visible glory spread ; Only the past is dead. Courage ! arise ; if hard it seem To sing the present, yet we deem 'Tis worthier than a dream. Awake, arise, for to the bold The seeming desert comes to hold Blossoms of white and gold. * » * * Shall I then choose to take my side With those who love their thoughts to hide In vague abstractions wide? Whose dim verse struggles to recall The hopes, the fears that rise and fall Deep in the souls of all. Who fitly choose a fitting theme. Not things which neither are nor seem, No visionary dream, But the great psalm of life, the long Harmonious confluence of song, Thro' all the ages strong, But grown to wider scale to-day, And sweeping fuller chords than they Knew who have passed away. A worthy theme for worthy bard But all too often blurred and marred By intonations hard. So that the common eye and ear Can dimly see and faintly hear What should be bright and clear. Who wing the fieiy thought so high, An arrow shot into the sky. Its failing forces die, And all the straining eye discerns Is but a spark which feebly burns, Then quenched to earth returns. Or with a borrowed lyre devote Hoarse accent and untuneful throat To sound a difficult note, By currents of conflicting thought, And counter themes which rise unsought, And jangling chords distraught. Not song, but science, sign not sound, Not soaring to high heaven, but bound Fast to the common ground. Who with a pitiless skill dissect What secret sources, vexed and checked. Surge upward in effect. And trace in endless struggling rhyme How hearts forlorn of love and time Have rotted into crime. Or those who, baffled and opprest By life's incessant fierce unrest, Where naught that is seems best, Assail the tyrant, lash the wrong, Till but a wild invective long, Is left in lieu of song. Most precious all, yet this is sure. The song which longest shall endure Is simple, sweet, and pure. Not psychologic riddles fine, Not keen analysis, combine In verse we feel divine. Nor fierce o'erbalanced rage alone. Which mars the rhyme, and dulls the tone — They may not sing who groan ; THE APOLOGY 89 But a sweet cadence, wanting much Of depth, perhaps, and fire, but such As finer souls can touch, To finer issues ; such as come To him who far afield must roam, Thinking old thoughts of home. Or who in Sabbath twilights hears His children lisp a hymn, and fears Lest they should see his tears. Wherefore, my soul, if song be thine. If any gleam of things divine Thro' thee may dimly shine. If ever any faintest note Of far-off sweetness swell thy throat, True echo tho' remote, This is my task, to sing To-day, Not dead years past and fled away, But this alone— To-day. Or if I pause a little space Striving, across the gulf, to trace Some fine, forgotten face— Some monarch of the race whose name Still lives upon the lips of fame. Touched by no stain of shame ; Some sweet old love-tale, ever young, Which of old time the burning tongue Of god -like bard has sung ; Some meed of effort nobly won. Some more than human task begun, Precious though left undone ; Some awful story, strong to show How passions unrestricted flow Into a sea of woe ; Not less my powers I strive to bend, Not less my song aspires to tend To one unchanging end, By lofty aspirations, stirred Thro' homely music, daily heard, Trite phrase and common word, Simple, but holding at the core Thoughts which strange speech and varied lore Have hid from men before. To lift how little howsoe'er The hearts of toilers struggling here, In joyless lives and sere. To make a little lighter yet Their lives by daily ills beset, Whom men and laws forget. To sing, if sing I must, of love As a pure spell, with power to move Dull hearts to things above. But choosing rather to portray The warring tides of thought which stray Thro' doubting souls to-day. Or if at times, with straining eye And voice, I dwell on things which lie Hidden in Futurity, And strive to tell in halting rhyme The glorious dawn, the golden prime, The victories of Time, The race transfigured, wrong redressed, None worn with labour, nor oppressed, But peace for all and rest, 90 SOATG—AS IN A PICTURE— AT AN ALMSHOUSE. And knowledge throwing wide the shrine From whose broad doorways seems to shine An effluence Divine ; — If of these visions fain to dream, Not less I hold, whate'er may seem, The Present for my theme. The vain regret remembering. Which lost occasion knows to bring,— Afraid, yet bound, to sing. SONG. Ah ! love is like a tender flower Hid in the opening leaves of life, Which, when the springtide calls, has power To scorn the elemental strife — So strong, that well it knows to gain Fresh sweetness from the wind and rain. -So strong, and yet so weak, alas ! It waits the wooing of the sun ; 'Mid frosts and snows the brief hours pass, And when they melt the spring is done. Gay blooms and honeyed fruits may come, But spring is dead, and birds are dumb. AS IN A PICTURE. White, on a cliff they stood ; Beyond, a cypress wood. Three there were — one who wept. And one as though he slept ; One with wide steadfast eyes Fixed in a sad surprise. Day, like a dying hymn, Grew gradually dim. A solitary star Gleamed on them from afar. Beneath, by sand and cave Sobbed the continual wave. Long time in reverent thought Who these might be I sought. Then suddenly I said, " Oh, Lord of quick and dead ! " AT AN ALMSHOUSE. Beneath these shadows holy Age rests, or paces slowly. And muses, muses always On that which once has been, Recalling years long ended. And vanished visions splendid ; The throb, the flush of old days, When all the world was green. W^hen every hour brought pleasure. And every flower a treasure. And whispered words were spoken. And love was everywhere. The swift brief hour of passion. And then the old, old fashion. The childish accents broken — Oh, precious days and fair ! The years of self-denial. Blissful tho' full of trial. The young blooms waxing stronger, The older come to fruit. A YORKSHIRE RIVER— FOR JUDGMENT. The tranquil days of gladness, And the waves part as in a dream, 'J he gradual calm and sadness, From broad bow and sunken side ; When childhood cheers no longer, And 'tis "greed, greed ! " hisses from And all the house is mute. coal and from steam, Foul freightage and turbid tide, Gone, but not wholly taken ; Left, yet not all forsaken. Like the life of a slumb'ring soul Again the worn hearts cherish Grown dull in content and health, The memories of home ; Whose dark depths lazily roll, Again love-whispers greet them, Whose still currents creep by stealth. Their children run to meet them, Nor sorrow nor yearning comes to Blest dreams which never perish control Until the end be come. The monotonous tide of wealth. Fair or foul, in life as in death, A YORKSHIRE RIVER. One blight and corruption o'er all. Blow on them, great wind, with thy The silent surfaces sleep breath, With a sullen viscous flow, Fall, bhnding water-floods, fall. And scarce in the squalid deep Till the dead life below awakeneth. Swing the dead weeds to and fro, And deep unto deep doth call ! And no living thing is there to swim or creep In the sunless gulfs below. FOR JUDGMENT. And beneath are the ooze and the The form was young, the face was slime. fair. Where the corpse lies as it fell. Her hands seemed still together tied, The hidden secrets- of crime 'Twas as if Eve was standing there, Which no living tongue shall tell. With the stern guardian at her side. The shameful story of time, The old, old burden of hell. I mused on all the depths of will. Of judgment, knowledge, right, and All the grasses upon the bank wrong. Are bitter with scurf and drift, The pleadings crept their course, and And the reeds are withered and dank ; still And sometimes, when the smoke clouds I sat in musings sad and long. shift. You may see the tall shafts in a hideous But when they ceased the tale of rank shame. Their sulphurous fumes uplift. And the cold voice pronounced her name From the black blot up the stream But one thought held me, that was all, The funeral barges glide, 'Twas thus we did my sister call. 92 ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. Come, friend, let us forget The turmoil of the world a little while, For now the soft skies smile, With dew the flowers are wet. Let us away awhile With fierce unrest and carking thoughts of care, And breathe a little while the jocund air. And sing the joyous measures sung By blither singers, when the world was young. For still the world is young, for still the spring Renews itself, and still the lengthening hours Bring back the month of flowers ; The leaves are green to-day as those of old. For Chaucer and for Shakspeare ; still the gold Of August gilds the rippling breadths * of wheat ; Young maids are fair and sweet As when they frolicked gay, with flash- ing feet, Round the old May-pole. All young things rejoice. No sorrow dulls the blackbird's mellow voice, Thro' the clear summer dawns or twi- lights long. With aspect not more dim Thro' space the planets swim Than of old time o'er the Chaldean plain. We only, we alone, Let jarring discords mar our song. And find our music take a lower lone. We only with dim eyes And laboured vision feebly strain, And flout the undying splendours of the skies. Oh, see how glorious show. On this fair morn in May, the clear-cut hills, The dewy lawns, the hawthorns white, Argent on plains of gold, the growing light Pure as when first on the young earth The faint warm sunlight came to birth. There is a nameless air Of sweet renewal over all which fills The earth and sky with life, and every- where, Before the scarce seen sun begins to glow^. The birds awake which slumbered all night long. And with a gush of song. First doubting of their strain, then full and wide Raise their fresh hymns thro' all the country side ; Already, above the dewy clover, The soaring lark begins to hover Over his mate's low nest ; And soon, from childhood's early rest In hall and cottage, to the casement rise The little ones with their fresh opened eyes. And gaze on the old Earth, which still grows new. And see the tranquil heaven's unclouded blue, I And, since as yet no sight nor sound of ! toil The fair spread, peaceful picture comes to soil, ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. 93 Look with their young and steadfast gaze Fixed in such artless sweet amaze As Adam knew, when first on either hand He saw the virgin landscapes of the morning land. Oh, youth, dawn, springtide, triune miracle. Renewing life in earth, and sky, and man, By what eternal plan Dost thou revive again and yet again ? There is no morn that breaks, No bud that bursts, no life that comes to birth, But the rapt fancy takes, Far from the duller plains of mind and earth. Up to the source and origin of things, Where, poised on brooding wings, It seems to hover o'er the immense inane, And see the suns, like feeble rings of light, Orb from the gray, and all the young- ling globe A coil of vapour circling like a dream, Then fixed compact for ever ; the first beam Strike on the dark and undivided sea. And wake the deeps with life. Oh, mystery That still dost baffle thought, Though by all sages sought. And yet art daily done With each returning sun. With every dawn which reddens in the skies, With every opening of awakened eyes ! How shall any dare to hold That the fair world growing old, Hath spent in vanished time The glories of its prime ? Beautiful were the days indeed Of the Pagan's simple creed. When all of life was made for girl and boy. And all religion was but to enjoy ; The fair chivalric dream To some may glorious seem. When from the sleeping centuries. Awakened Europe seemed to rise ; It may be that we cannot know. In these ripe years, the glory and the glow Of those young hours of time, and careless days. Borne down too much by knowledge, and opprest. To halt a little for the needed rest. And yield ourselves awhile to joy and praise ; Yet every year doth bring With each recurrence of the genial hour The infancy of spring. With store of tender leaf and bursting flower. And still to every home Fresh childish voices come. And eyes that opened last in Paradise, And with each rosy dawn Are night and death withdrawn ; Another world rises for other eyes ; Again begins the joy, the stress, the strife. Ancient as time itself, and wide as life. We are the ancients of the world indeed ; No more the simple creed. When every hill and stream and grove Was filled with shy divinities of love, Allures us, serving as our King A Lord of grief and suffering. 94 ODE ON A FAIR SPRING MORNING. Too much our wisdom burdens to permit The fair, thin visions of the past, to tlit From shade to shade, or float from hill to hill. We are so compassed round by ill. That all the music of our lives is dumb, Amid the turbulent waves of sound that rise, The discord born of doubts, and tears, and sighs, Which daily to the listening ear do come ; Nay, oft, confounded by the incessant noise Of vast world-engines, grinding law on law, We lose the godhead that our fathers saw, And all our higher joys, And bear to plod on daily, deaf and blind. To a dark goal we dare not hope to find. But grows the world then old ? Nay, all things that are born of time Spring upwards, and expand from youth to prime, Ripen from flower to fruit. From song-tide till the days are mute, Green blade to ear of gold. But not the less through the eternal round The sleep of winter wakes in days of spring. And not the less the bare and frozen ground Grows blithe with blooms that burst and birds that sing. Nature is deathless ; herb and tree, Through time that has been and shall be, Change not, although the outward form Seem now the columned palm Nourished in zones of calm. And now the gnarled oak that defies the storm. The cedar's thousand summers are no moi'e To her than are the fleeting petals gay Which the young spring, ere March is o'er. Scarce offered, takes away. Eternal are her works. Unchanging she. Alike in short-lived flower and ever- I changing sea. We, too, are deathless ; we, Eternal as the Earth, We cannot cease to be While springtide comes or birth. If our being cease to hold Reflected lights divine On budding lives, with every day they shine With unabated gold. Though lost it may be to our mortal sight. It cannot be that any perish quite — Only the baser part forgets to be. And if within the hidden Treasury Of the great Ruler we awhile should rest, To issue with a higher stamp imprest. With all our baser alloy purged and spent, Were we not thus content ? Our thoughts too mighty are To be within our span of years con- fined, Too deep and wide and far, The hopes, the fears, that crowd the labouring mind, LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 95 The sorrows that oppress, The sanctities that bless, Are vaster than this petty stage of things. The soaring fancy mounts on careless wings Beyond the glimmer of the furthest star. The nightly watcher who with patient eye Scans the illumined sky, Knows when the outward rushing fire shall turn, And in far ages hence shall brightly burn For eyes to-day undreamt of. The clear voice From Greece or Israel thro' the cen- turies heard Still bids us tremble or rejoice. Stronger than living look or word ; The love of home or race, Which doth transfigure us, and seems to bring On every heaven-lit face Some shadow of the gloiy of our King, Fades not on earth, nor with our years doth end ; Nay, even earth's poor physical powers transcend The narrow bounds of space and time. The swift thought by some mystic sym- pathy Speeding through desert sand, and storm-tost sea. And shall we hold the range of mind Is to our little lives confined ; That the pure heart in some blest sphere above, Loves not which here was set on fire of love ; The clear eye scans not still, which here could scan The confines of the Universal plan ; The seer nor speaks nor thinks his thoughts sublime, And all of Homer is a speck of lime ? Nay, friend, let us forget The conflicts of our doubt a little while. Again our springs shall smile ; We shall not perish yet. If God so guide our fate. The nobler portions of ourselves shall last Till all the lower rounds of life be past, And we, regenerate. We too again shall rise, The same and not the same, As daily rise upon the orient skies New dawns with wheels of flame. So, if it worthy prove, Our being, self-perfected, shall upward move To higher essence, and still higher grown. Not sweeping idle harps before a throne, Nor spending praise where is no need of praise, But through unnumbered lives and ages come From pure laborious days. To an eternal home. Where spring is not, nor birth, nor any dawn. But life's full noontide never is with- drawn. LOVE TRIUMPHANT. Love took me up, a naked, helpless child, Love laid me sleeping on the tender breast, 96 TOLERANCE— A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS. Love gazed on me with saintly eyes and mild, Love w^atched me as I lay in happy rest, I/Ove was my childhood's stay, my chiefest good, My daily friend, my solace, and my food. But when to Love's own stature I was come, Treading the paths where fabled Loves abound, Hard by the Cytherean's magic home, Loveless I paced alone the enchanted ground. Some phantoms pale I marked, which fled away, And lo, my youth was gone ; my hair turned gray. Loveless I lived long time, until I knew A thrill since childish hours unknown before, My cloistered heart forth to the wicket flew, And Love himself was waiting at the door. And now, howe'er the treacherous seasons move, Love dwells with me again, and I with Love. Love folds me round. Love walks with me. Love takes My heart and burns it with a holy fire ; Love lays me on his silver wings, and makes My fainting soul to thinner air aspire. Love of the Source, the Race, the True, the Right, This is my sole companion day and night. TOLERANCE. Call no faith false which e'er has brought Relief to any laden life. Cessation from the pain of thought, Refreshment 'mid the dust of strife. What though the thing to which they kneel Be dumb and dead as wood or stone, Though all the rapture which they feel Be for the worshipper alone ? They worship, they adore, they bow Before the Ineffable Source, before The hidden soul of good ; and thou. With all thy wit, what dost thou more ? Kneel with them, only if there come Some zealot or sleek knave who strives To mar the sanctities of home. To tear asunder wedded lives ; Or who by subtle wile has sought, By shameful promise, shameful threat, To turn the thinker from his thought, To efface the eternal landmarks set, 'Twixt faith and knowledge ; hold not peace For such, but like a sudden flame Let loose thy scorn on him, nor cease Till thou hast covered him with shame. A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS. Though they may crowd Rite iipon rile, and mystic song on song; A HYMN m TIME OF IDOLS. 97 Though the deep organ loud Through the long nave reverberate full and strong ; Though the weird priest, Whom rolling clouds of incense half conceal, By gilded robes increased, Mutter and sign, and proudly prostrate kneel ; Not pomp, nor song, nor bended knee Shall bring them any nearer Thee. I would not hold Therefore that those who worship still where they. In dear dead days of old, Their distant sires, knelt once and passed away, May not from carven stone, High arching nave and reeded column fine. And the thin soaring tone Of the keen organ catch a breath divine, Or that the immemorial sense Of worship adds not reverence. But by some bare Hill side or plain, or crowded city street, Wherever purer spirits are. Or hearts with love inflamed together meet. Rude bench and naked wall. Humble and sordid to the world- dimmed sight. On these shall come to fall A golden ray of consecrating light, And thou within the midst shalt there Invisible receive the prayer. In every home. Wherever there are Icving hearts and mild, Thou still dost deign to come, Clothed with the likeness of a little child ; Upon the hearth thou still Dwellest with them at meat, or work, or play ; Thou who all space dost fill Art with the pure and humble day by day; Thou treasurest the tears they weep, And watchest o'er them Avhile they sleep. Spirit and Word ! That still art hid in every faithful heart. Indwelling Thought and Lord — ■ How should they doubt who know thee as thou art ? . How think to bring thee near By magic words, or signs, or any spell, Who art among us here, Who always in the loving soul dost dwell. Who art the staff and stay indeed Of the weak knees and hands that bleed ? Then let them take Their pagan trappings, and their lifeless lore ; Arise O Lord and make A worthy temple where was none before. Each soul its own best shrine. Its priesthood, its sufficient sacrifice, Its cleansing fount divine, Its hidden store of precious sanctities. • Those only fit for priestcraft are From whom their Lord and King is far, fl 98 ON A MODERN PAINTED WINDOW— A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. ON A MODERN PAINTED WINDOW. Time was they lifted thee so high Between the gazer and the sky, That all the worshipper might see Was God no more, but only thee. So high was set thy cross, that they Who would thy every thought obey, Saw not thy gracious face, nor heard More than an echo of thy word. But now 'tis nearer to the ground. The weeping women kneel around, The scoffers sneering by, deride Thy kingly claims, thy wounded side. Only two beams of common wood, And a meek victim bathed in blood, Rude nails that pierce the tortured limb, Mild eyes with agony grown dim. Aye, but to those who know thee right Faith strengthens with the nearer sight ; Love builds a deeper, stronger, creed On those soft eyes and hands that bleed. Raised but a little from the rest, But higher therefore and more blest ; No more an empty priestly sign. But the more human, more divine. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. The long day wanes, the broad fields fade ; the night, The sweet June night, is like a curtain drawn. The dark lanes know no faintest sound, and white The pallid hawthorn lights the smooth- pleached lawn. The scented earth drinks from the silent skies Soft dews, more sweet than softest harmonies. There is no stir nor breath of air, the plains Lie slumbering in the close embrace of night, Only the rustling landrail's note com- plains ; The children's casement shows the half-veiled light, Only beneath the solemn elm trees tall The fountain seems to fall and cease to fall. No change will come, nor any sound be made Thro' the still hours which shall pre- cede the day ; Only the bright-eyed stars will slowly fade. And a thin vapour rise up cold and g'-ay, Then a soft breeze will whisper fresh and cold, And up the swift sun hurries red as gold. And then another dawn, another link, To bind the coming to the vanished day, Another foot-pace nearer to the brink Whereon our perilous footsteps hardly stay, Another line upon the secular page Of birth-throes, bridals, sick-beds, youth and age. GOOD IN EVERYTHING — THE REPLY— THE TOUCHSTONE. 99 Sweet summer night, than summer days more fair, Safe haven of the weary and forlorn, Splendid the gifts the luminous noon- tides bear, Lovely the opening eyelids of the morn ; But thou with softest touch trans- figures t This toilworu earth into a heaven of rest. GOOD IN EVERYTHING. The white shafts of the dawn dispel The night clouds banked across the sky; The sluggish vapours curl and die, And the day rises. It is well. Unfold, ye tender blooms of life ; Sing, birds ; let all the world be gay : 'Tis well, — the morning of our day Must rise 'mid joyous songs and strife. Beat, noonday sun, till all the plain Swoons, and life seems asleep or dead : 'Tis well, — the harvest of our bread Is sown in sorrow and reaped in pain. Close, evening shadows, soft and deep, When life reviving breathes once more ; Fall, silent night, when toil is o'er. And the soul folds her wings in sleep. Come joy or grief, come right or wrong, In good or evil, life or death ; We are the creatures of His breath : Nor shall his hand forsake us long. THE REPLY. If I were to answer you As you would, my soul would soar Like the lark from earth-born eyes. Soar and hide in far-off skies, Soar and come to mortal view Nevermore. Whatsoever chance befall, Of myself I'd die possest. If they hold a willing mind Silken threads like steel can bind. Only to be free is blest — Free is all. Press me not, of earth am I ; Paths there are I dare not tread. Sweet are fields and flowers, the smile Of girlhood ; but a little while Blossoms youth, and overhead Laughs the sky. What have we to do with love, — We for whom the seasons bring Nothing else than golden hours. Sun that bui-ns, nor cloud that lowers. Thro' whose veins the tides of spring Lightly move ? But if any pain should come To o'ercloud your summer, dear, Pain another's heart may share. Come and we our fate will dare, — Come, forgetting doubt and fear, To your home. THE TOUCHSTONE. Said one, " 'Tis Use must lend The clue our thoughts to bend To the true end." THE TOUCHSTONE. Then I. " But can your thought Reach thus for ages sought, The eternal 'Ought?'" " Would not the martyr spurn The truth you teach, to learn, Rot, rather,— burn?" " Were not death's self more sweet Than to live incomplete A life efifete ? " Then he. *' But who shall hold They grasped not over bold Their faith of old," " Hoarding a random creed For which they bore to bleed. Not proved indeed? " ' ' I'"or who the truth shall seize Grasps it by slow degrees, Not snatched, as these." "And who would save his kind Must spend, the clue to find, ' Not heart, but mind." Then I. " But mind alone, Is dead as wood or stone, Stirs naught and none." ' ' And who with prying eyes Will motive analyze, For him it dies." " And all his hours remain A barren, endless plain, Not joy nor pain : " *' A tideless, windless sea, A blank eternity, Still doomed to be." Then he. ''The Use we teach All forms of being can reach. Saves all by each." "No hasty glance or blind, To passing goods confined. Changeful as wind ; " " But with a steadfast view, Piercing the boundless blue. Up to the True." " Contented to efface Self, if from out its place Blossoms the race ; " " If from lives crushed and wrecked, A perfected effect, Man stands erect." " To whom all pleasures show An aspect mean and low Beside to know." " Holding all other thought Than which for this is sought A thing of naugh^." "This seeking, nothing les';, What broader happiness Most lives may bless ? " - Then I. " If the desire To which your thoughts aspire Blazed forth afire ; " " If all the task were done. All stubborn contests won Beneath the sun ; " " If hope came not to cheer, Nor bracing chill of fear, Sweet sigh nor tear ; " THE TOUCHSTONE. lol " But all the race should sleep In a broad calm, too deep For one to weep." *'And o'er all lands should reign A dull content inane, Worse far than pain ; " "If, all its griefs forgot, Slowly the race should rot. Fade and be not ; " *' Would not the thought oppress The dream that once could bless, With such distress," " That, from the too great strain, Life withered, heart and brain, Would rise in vain ? " Then he. ' ' The outcome this Of all philosophies, ' Who seeks shall miss.' " " Who toil aright, for those Life's pathway, ere it close, Is as the rose." " The spires of wisdom stand. Piled by the unconscious hand. From grains of sand." "And pleasure comes unsought. To those who take but thought For that, they ought ; " "A bloom, a perfume rare, A deep-hid jewel fair For those who dare." * ' So who the race aright Loveth, a clearer sight Shall yet requite ; " " And, since he seeks it less, An unsought happiness His toil shall bless." Then I. *' 'Twere strange indeed Should not our longing need A clearer creed." " If only this were blest, To ponder well how best To serve the rest." " Since grows ; 'tis understood, The happy multitude, From each man's good," ' ' From general sacrifice. How should for each arise, Content for sighs ? " " Or shall we deem it true That who the road pursue To gain the True," " May not the summit gain By paths direct and plain To heart and brain," " But with averted mind, And sedulously blind, The end must find ? " " Is truth a masker, then. Rejoiced to mock the ken Of toiling men? " " Now tricked as Use, now Right, Bat always in despite Of our poor sight." " Doth it not rather seem We live, whate'er we deem, As in a dream," lo: NOTHING LOST. *' Acting, but acting still The dictates to fulfil Ofa sure Will," " Seeing in Use and Right, Twin rays indefinite Ofa great Light," *' A mystic Sun and clear. Which through mind's atmosphere Can scarce appear," "But which not less we know ; In all fair flowers that grow, Loud storms that blow," *' In noble thought and word, In aspirations heard. When hearts are stirred," " In eveiy breathing breath, Life that awakeneth, Life that is death," " Whether serene it shine Or clouds our view confine. Wondrous, Divine ? " Then he. *' Shall this excuse Him who a dream should choose Rather than Use," *' That he prefer to hold Some dark abstraction old. Remote and cold," " Some thin ghost, fancy-dressed, Whereby men's souls oppressed. Forfeit the best," " And for a dream neglect What splendours of effect Their lives had decked ? " Then I. "Though mind and brain Wither and are in vain. And thought a pain ; " ■ Though sorrow, like a thief, Follow to rob belief, And faith be grief; " ' Though my obedience sliow No fruit I here may know Save utter woe ; " ' Though health and strength decay ; Yea, though the Truth shall slay, I will obey." NOTHING LOST. Where are last year's snows, Where the summer's rose, — Who is there who knows? Or the glorious note ■ Of some singer's throat, Heard in years remote ? Or the love they bore Who, in days of yore. Loved, but are no more ? Or the faiths men knew When, before mind grew, All strange things seemed true ? * * * i The snows are sweet spring rain, The dead rose blooms again, Young voices keep the strain. The old affection mild Still springs up undefiled For love, and friend, and child. THE HIDDEN SELF— MARCHING. 103 The old faiths giown more wide, Purer and glorified, Are still our lifelong guide. Nothing that once has been, Tho' ages roll between And it be no more seen, Can perish, for the Will Which doth our being fulfil, Sustains and keeps it still. THE HIDDEN SELF. I KNOW not if a keener smart Can come to finer souls than his Who hears men praise him, mind or heart, For something higher than he is. Who say. Behold mc, fain would friends, That which I am, not what you deem, A thing of low and narrow ends, Sordid, not golden as I seem. See here the hidden blot of shame. The weak thought that you take for strong, The brain too dull to merit fame, The faint and imitative song." But dares not, lest discovery foul Not his name only, but degrade Heights closed but to the soaring soul. Names w^hich scorn trembles to in- vade ; And doth his inner self conceal From all men in his own despite, Hiding what he would fain reveal, t And a most innocent hypocrite. MARCHING. Once, and once again, From the thick crowd of men. Loud toil and high endeavour, There comes a secret sound, Where the thinkers stand around, And sometimes 'tis "For ever," Sometimes "Never." Always that ceaseless throng Has filed those paths along. Those painful hills ascended ; Thro' fair meads of success, Thro' barren sands they press. Defeats and triumphs splendid, Till 'tis ended. The glory and the shame Different, and yet the same The efforts and the aspirations, Unlike in mien and speech, Pressed onwards each on each. Go the endless alternations Of the nations. And the rhythm of their feet. The ineffable low beat Of those vast throngs pacing slowly. Floats on the sea of Time Like a musical low chime From a far isle, mystic, holy, Tolling slowly. And from the endless column Goes up that strange rhyme solemn Of thoughts which naught shall sever, The contrast sad and sweet, Of opposite streams which meet ; Sometimes the glad " For ever," Sometimes "Never." [04 COURAGE!— GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. COURAGE! There are who, bending supple knees, Live for no end except to please, Rising to fame by mean degrees ; But creep not thou with these. They have their due reward ; they bend Their lives to an unworthy end — On empty aims the toil expend Which had secured a friend. But be not thou as these, whose mind Is to the passing hour confined ; Let no ignoble fetters bind Thy soul, as free as wind. Stand upright, speak thy thought, de- clare The truth thou hast that all may share ; Be bold, proclaim it everywhere : They only live who dare. GILBER T BECKE TT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. The last crusader's helm had gleamed Upon the yellow Syrian shore ; No more the war-worn standards streamed, The stout knights charged and fell no more ; No more the Paynim grew afraid — The crescent floated o'er the cross. But to one simple Heathen maid Her country's gain was bitter loss ; For love, which knows not race or creed, Had bound her with its subtle chain,— • Love, which still makes young hearts to bleed. For this one, mingled joy with pain, And left for one brief hour of bliss. One little span of hopes and fears. The memory of a partmg kiss. And what poor solace comes of tears. A lowly English squire was he, A prisoner chained, enslaved, and sold ; A lady she of high degree. 'Tis an old tale and often told : 'Twas pity bade the brown cheek glo\^■, 'Twas love and pity drew the sigh, 'Twas love that made the soft tear flow, The sweet sad night she bade him fly. Far from the scorching Syrian plain The brave ship bears the Saxon home ; Once more to mists and rains again. And verdant Englishlawns, they come. I know not if as now 'twas then, Or if the growing ages move The careless, changeful hearts of men More slowly to the thoughts of love ; But woman's heart was then, as now, Tender and passionate and true. Think, gentle ladies, ye who know Love's power, what pain that poor heart knew ; How, living always o'er again The sweet short past, she knew, loo late, 'Twas love had bound the captive's chain, Which broken, left her desolate. TjU by degrees the full young cheek Grew hollow, and the liquid eyes Still gazing seaward, large and meek, Took something of a sad surprise ; GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. 105 As one who learns, with a strange chill, 'Mid youth and wealth's unclouded day, Of sad lives full of pain and ill, And thinks, ' ' And am I too as they ? " And by degrees most hateful grew All things that once she held so dear — The feathery palms, the cloudless blue, Tall mosque and loud muezzin clear, The knights who flashed by blinded street, The lattice lit by laughing eyes, The songs around the fountain, sweet To maidens under Eastern skies. And oft at eve, when young girls told Tales precious to the girlish heart, She sat alone, and loved to hold Communion with her soul apart. Till at the last, too great became The hidden weight of secret care, And girlish fears and maiden shame Were gone, and only love was there. And so she fled. I see her still In fancy, desolate, alone. Wander by arid plain and hill, From early dawn till day was done ; Sun-stricken, hungry, thirsty, faint. By perilous paths I see her move, Clothed round with pureness like a saint. And fearless in the might of love. Till lo ! a gleam of azure sea, And rude ships moored upon the shore. j Strange, yet not wholly strange, for he j Had dared those mystic depths i before. And some good English seaman bold. Remembering those he left at home, Put gently back the offered gold. And for love's honour bade her come. And then they sailed. No pirate bark Swooped on them, for the Power of Love Watched o'er that precious wandering ark, And this his tender little dove. I see those stalwart seamen still Gaze wondering on that childish form, And shelter her from harm and ill, And guide her safe through wave and storm. Till under grayer skies a gleam Of white, and taking land she went. Following our broad imperial stream, Or rose-hung lanes of smiling Kent. Friendless I see her, lonely, weak, Thro' fields where every flower was strange, Go forth without a word to speak, By burgh and thorp and moated grange. For all that Love himself could teach This passionate pilgrim to our shore. Were but two words of Saxon speech. Two little words and nothing more — "Gilbert" and "London"; like a flame To her sweet lips these sounds would come. The syllables of her lover's name. And the far city of his home. I see her cool her weary feet \\\ dewy depths of crested grass ; By clear brooks fringed with meadow- sweet, And daisied meads, I see her pass ; io5 GILBERT BECKETT AND THE FAIR SARACEN. I see her innocent girlish glee, '■ I see the doubts which on her crowd, O'erjoyed with bird, or flower, or tree. Despondent for the fleeting cloud. I see her passing slow, alone, By burgh and thorp and moated grange. Still murmuring softly like a moan Those two brief words in accents strange. Sometimes would pass a belted earl With squires behind in brave array ; Sometimes some honest, toilworn churl Would fare with her till close of day. The saintly abbess, sweet and sage, Would wonder as she ambled by, Or white-plumed knight or long-haired page Ride by her with inquiring eye. The friar would cross himself, and say His paternosters o'er and o'er ; The gay dames whisper Welladay ! And pity her and nothing more. But tender women, knowing love And all the pain of lonelihood, Would feel a sweet compassion move. And welcome her to rest and food. And walk with her beyond the hill. And kiss her cheek when she must go ; And " Gilbert " she would murmur still, And "London" she would whisper low. And sometimes sottish boors would rise From wayside tavern, where they sate, And leer from heated vinous eyes, . And stagger forth with reeling gait, And from that strong unswerving will And clear gaze shrink as from a blow ; And " Gilbert " she would murmur still, And " London " she would whisper low. Then by the broad suburban street, And city groups that outward stray To take the evening, and the sweet Faint breathings of the dying day-^ The gay young 'prentice, lithe and slim, The wimpled maid, demurely shy, The merchant somewhat grave and prim. The courtier with his rolling eye. And more and more the growing crowd Would gather, wondering whence she came And why, with boorish laughter loud. And jeers which burnt her cheek with flame. For potent charm to save from ill But one word she made answer now : For " Gilbert " she would murmur still, And "Gilbert" she would whisper low. Till some good pitiful soul — not then Our London was as now o'ergrown— Pressed through the idle throng of men, And led her to his home alone, And signing to her he would find Him whom she sought, went forth again And left her there with heart and mind Distracted by a new-born pain. For surely then, when doubt was o'er, A doubt before a stranger came, " He loved me not, or loves no more." Oh, virgin pride ! oh, maiden shame I TO A CHILD OF FANCY. 107 Almost she fled, almost the past Seemed better than the pain she knew ; Her veil around her face she cast : Then the gale swung — and he was true. Poor child ! they christened her, and so She had her wish. Ah, yearning heart, V/ns love so sweet then ? would you know Again the longing and the smart ? Came there no wintry hours when you Longed for your native skies again. The creed, the tongue your girlhood knew. Aye, even the longing and the pain ? Peace ! Love is Lord of all. But I, Seeing her fierce son's mitred tomb, Conjoin with fancy's dreaming eye This love tale, and that dreadful doom. Sped hither by a hidden will. O'er sea and land I watch her go ; '* Gilbert " I hear her murmur still. And "London" still she whispers low. TO A CHILD OF FANCY. The nests are in the hedgerows, The lambs are on the grass ; With laughter sweet as music Thy hours lightfooted pass. My darling child of fancy. My winsome prattling lass. Blue eyes, with long brown lashes, Thickets of golden curl, Red little lips disclosing Twin rows of fairy pearl, Cheeks like the apple blossom, Voice lightsome as the merle. A whole Spring's fickle changes In every short-lived day, A passing cloud of April, A flowery smile of May, A thousand quick mutations From graver moods to gay. Far off, I see the season When thy childhood's course is run, And thy girlhood opens wider Beneath the growing sun. And the rose begins to redden. But the violets are done. And further still the summer. When thy fair tree, fully grown. Shall burgeon, and grow splendid With blossoms of its own. And the fruit begins to gather. But the buttercups are mown. If I should see thy autumn, 'Twill not be close at hand. But with a spirit vision. From some far distant land. Or, perhaps, I hence may see thee Amongst the angels stand. I know not what of fortune The future holds for thee, Nor if skies fair or clouded Wait thee in days to be, But neither joy nor sorrow Shall sever thee from me. Dear child, whatever changes Across our lives may pass, I shall see thee still for ever, Clearly as in a glass. The same sweet child of fancy, The same dear winsome lass. io8 A CYNiaS DAY-DREAM. A CYNICS DAY-DREAM. Some men there be who can descry No charm in earth or sea or sky, Poor painful bigot souls, to whom All sights and sounds recall the tomb, And some who do not fear to use God's world for tavern or for stews. Some think it wisdom to despoil Their years for gold and troublous toil ; While others with cold dreams of art Would feed the hunger of the heart, And dilettanti dare to stand, Eternities on either hand ! But with no one of these shall I Make choice to live my life or die, — Rather let me elect to give W^hat span of life is mine to live, To honest labour, daily sought, Crowned with the meed of patient thought ; To precious friends for ages dead, But loved where'er their words are read ; To others living with us still, Who sway the nation's mind and will By eloquent pen or burning word, Where hearts are fired and souls are stirred. So thro' the tranquil evenings long. Let us awake our souls with song. Such song as comes where no words come. And is most mighty when most dumb. Then soar awhile on wings of art ; Not that which chokes the vulgar mart, But subtle hints and fancies fine, When least completed most divine, — Sun-copies of some perfect thought. Thro' bronze or canvas fitly wrought. Known when in youth 'twas ours to see Thy treasure-houses, Italy ! Then turn from these to grave debate What change of laws befits the State, By what wise schemes and precepts best To raise the humble and oppressed, And slay the twin reproach of Time, The fiends of Ignorance and Crime. Or what if I might come to fill A calmer part, and dearer still, With one attempered soul to share The joys and ills 'tis ours to bear ; To grow together, heart with heart. Into a whole where each is part ; To blend together, soul with soul, Neither a part, but each the whole ; With strange creative thrills to teach The dawning mind, the growing speech, To bind around me precious bands Of loving hearts and childish hands. And lose the stains of time and sense In those clear deeps of innocence ? So if kind fate should grant at length, Ere frame and brain have lost their strength. In my own country homestead dear, To spend a portion of the year ; What joys I'll prove if modest wealth Should come with still unbroken health ! There, sheltered from the ruder wind, Thro' the thick woods we'll range, to find The spring's first flower, the autumn's fruit, Strange fungus or misshapen root. Mark where the wood-quist or the thrush Builds on tall pine or hazel bush ; See the brave bird with speckled breast Brood fearless on the teeming nest, And bid the little hands refrain From every act of wrong and pain. A CYNICS DAY-DREAM. 109 Observe the gossip conies sit By their own doors, the white owl flit Thro' the dim fields, while I enjoy The wondering talk of girl or boy. Sweet souls, which at life's portal stand, And all within, a wonderland — Oh, treasure of a guileless love, Fit prelude of the joys above ! There, when the swift week nears its end, To greet the welcome Sunday friend, Through the still fields we'll wend our way. To meet the guest at close of day. And then, when little eyes in vain Long time have sought the coming train, A gradual distant sound, which fills The bosom of the folded hills, Till with white steam or ruddy light The wayworn convoy leaps to sight, Then stops and sets the traveller down, Bringing the smoke and news of town. And then the happy hours to come, The walk or ride which leads us home. Past the tall woods through which 'twould seem Home's white walls hospitablygleam, — The well-served meal, the neighbour guest, The rosy darlings curled and dressed ; And, when the house grows silent, then The lengthened talk on books and men ; I And on the Sunday morning still, I The pleasant stroll by wood-crowned I hill ! To church, wherein my eyes grow dim I Hearing my children chant the hymn ; ' And seeing in their earnest look Something of innocent rebuke, I lose the old doubt's endless pain, And am a little child again. If fate should grant me such a home, So sweet the tranquil days would come, I should not need, I trust, to sink My weariness in lust or drink. Scant pleasure should I think to gain From endless scenes of death and pain ; 'Twould little profit me to slay A thousand innocents a day ; I should not much delight to tear With wolfish dogs the shrisking hare ; With horse and hound to track to death A helpless wretch that gasps for breath ; To make the fair bird check its wing, And drop, a dying, shapeless thing ; To leave the joy of all the wood A mangled heap of fur and blood, Or else escaping, but in vain, To pine, a shattered wretch, in pain ; Teeming, perhaps, or doomed to see Its young brood starve in misery ; With neither risk nor labour, still To live for nothing but to kill — I dare not ! If perplexed I am Between the tiger and the lamb ; If fate ordain that these shall give Their poor brief lives that I may live : Whate'er the law that bids them die. Others shall butcher them, not I, — Not such my work. Surely the Lord, Who made the devils by a word. Not men, but those who'd wield them well (jave these sad tortures of his Hell. Ah ! fool and blind, to wander so ; Who hast lived long enough to know With what insane confusions teem The mazes of our waking dream, — no TO A LOST LOVE. The dullard surfeited with gold His bloated coffers fail to hold, While the keen mind and generous brain From penury aspire in vain ; Love's choicest treasures flung away On some vile lump of coarsest clay ; Pure girlhood chained to M'retches foul, Tainted in body as in soul ; The precious love of wife or child Not for the loving heart and mild, But for the sullen churl, who ne'er Knew any rule but that of fear ; Fame, like Titania, stooping down To set on asses' ears a crown ; The shallow dunce, the fluent fool. The butt and laughter of the school. By fortune's strange caprice grown great, A light of forum or debate ; The carnal lump devoid of grace. With each bad passion in his face, A saintly idol, round whose knees Crowd throngs of burning devotees. Great heaven ! how strange the tangle is, W^hat old perplexity is this ? The very words of my complaint, What else are they than echoes faint Of the full fire, the passionate scorn, Of high-souled singers and forlorn, Who, in our younger England, knew No care for aught but what was true. But loved to lash with bitter hate The shameless vices of the great ; Who bade, in far-off days of Rome, In verse their indignation come ; Who, when we learn the secrets hid Beneath the eldest Pyramid, Or in those dim daj's further still, Whose nameless ruin builds the hill, Push back our search where'er we can, Till first the ape became the man, Will in rude satire bid us find The earliest victories of mind ? Strong souls, rebellious with their lot, Who longed for right and found it not ; Too strong to take things as they seem, Too weak to comprehend the scheme, Too deeply fired with honest trust To dream that God might be unjust j Yet, seeing how unequal show His providences here below. By paradoxes girt about, Grew thro' excess of faith to doubt. Oh, faithful souls, who love the true, Tho' all be false, yet will not you ; Tho' wrong shall overcome the right, Still is it hateful in your sight ; Tho' sorely tempted, you, and tried. The truth stands always at your side ; Tho' falsehood wear her blandest smile, You only she shall ne'er beguile ; For you, 'xnid spectral sights and shows, Life blushes with a hidden rose ; Thro' the loud din of lower things You hear the sweep of angel wings, And with a holy scorn possest. Wait till these clamours sink to rest. TO A LOST LOVE. CoLU snowdrops which the shrinking new-born year Sends like the dove from out the storm-tost ark ; Sweet violets which may not tarry here Beyond the earliest flutings of the lark ; Bright celandines which gild the tufted brake Before the speckled thrush her nest has made ; IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND. Fair frail anemones which star-like shake And twinkle by each sunnj' bank and glade ; Pale primroses wherewith the virgin spring, As with a garland, wreathes her comely head ; No eyes have I for you, nor voice to sing. ]\Iy love is dead ! For she was young and pure and while as you, And fairer and more sweet, and ah ! as frail. I dare not give to her the honour due, Lest, for a strain so high, my voice should fail. Like you, she knew the springtide's changeful hours ; Like you, she blossomed ere the coming leaf; Like yoii, she knew not summer's teem- ing showers ; Like you, as comely, and, alas ! as brief. You may not see the roses, nor might she ; vSuch swift short beauty is its only fruit ; So a sweet silence is her eulogy, And praise is mute. IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND* Beneath the feathery fronds of palm The white stone of a double grave. And on the horizon, blue and calm. The tropic ocean wave. • Ernest Schalch, Attorney-General for Jamaica, who, with his only sister, died of yellow fever in February, 1874. 'Tvvas three years since, no more, that thou. Dear friend, with us, in daily round, Didst labour where we labour now, 'Mid London's surge of sound. Treading the dull slow paths of law, With little of reward or gain. To feel a high ambition gnav/ Thy heart with tooth of pain, And mark with scant content the crowd Fulfil the immemorial rule Which drives the fool with plaudits loud To glorify the fool. And so with patient scorn didst gain To winnow from the growing heap Of barren precedent the grain Which hides there buried deep. Till last, congenial labour came. To call thee o'er the tropic sea. And exile, gilt by toil and fame, Severed thy friends from thee. Brief as we hoped, but ah, how long ! Though lit by news of days well spent. Of rights defined, of law made strong, Of rebels grown content. Of ordered codes so reasoned out, Speaking with voice so true and clear, That none who hear them still may doubt " 'Tis Justice speaketh here." Yet not the less thou barest part In the old talk we loved before ; The newest growths of thought or art Delighted more and more. IT SHALL BE WELL— A REMONSTRANCE, And all the marvels of thy isle, The lavish wealth of sea and land, The skies with their too constant smile, Loud surf on breathless strand, The shallow nature fierce, yet gay, Of our dark brethren ; thou didst learn, Noting — but gazing, far away, With eyes that still would yearn, For that fair time when, toil being done, The happy day at length should come, When with our kindly autumn sun Thou should'st revisit home. ♦ * * * It was this very year ; and then The plague, which long time, dealing death, Had vexed the shores of kindred men. On those breathed deadly breath. And one, I know not who, their guest, Sickening, Love drew them forth to tend, Careless of needful food and rest, Their fever-stricken friend. Who owed to them life's refluent power ; While for those duteous martyrs twain. Brother and Sister, one blest hour Brought one release from pain. Too generous natures ! kindred souls !— And now, round those twin tombs the wave, Forgetful of their story, rolls. And the palms shade their grave. * * * * And we — what shall we say of thee ?— Thou hast thy due reward, oh, friend— We serve a High Necessity, To an Invisible End. That waste nor halting comes at all In all the scheme is all we know ; The force was formed that bade thee fall, Millions of years ago. The clouds of circumstance unite, The winds of fate together roll ; They meet ; there bursts a sudden light, And consecrates a soul ! IT SHALL BE WELL.. If thou shall be in heart a child, Forgiving, tender, meek, and mild, Though with light stains of earth defiled. Oh, soul, it shall be well. It shall be well with thee indeed, Whate'er thy race, thy tongue, thy creed ; Thou shalt not lose thy fitting meed. It shall be surely well. Not where, nor how, nor when we know, Nor by what stages thou shalt grow ; We may but whisper faint and low, "It shall be surely well." It shall be well with thee, oh, soul, Tho' the heavens wither like a scroll ; Tho' sun and moon forget to roll. Oh, soul, it shall be well. A REMONSTRANCE. If ever, for a passing day, My careless rhymes shall gain to please, I would that those who read may say, " Left he no more than these?'" SONG. i'3 For sure it is a piteous thing That those blest souls to whom is given The instinct and the power to sing, The choicest gift of heaven, Not from high peak to peak alone Our faithful footsteps care to guide, But oft by plains of sand and stone, Dull wastes, and naught beside. Who the low crawling verse prolong, Careless alike of fame and time ; The form, but not the soul of song — A dreary hum of rhyme. A straight road, by a stagnant stream, Where the winged steed, which late would soar From the white summits like a dream, Creeps slowly evermore. A babble of sound, like that flat noise Which, when the harmonies grow dumb, Between the symphony's awful joys. Too oft is heard to come. Grave error ; since not all of life Is rhythmic ; oft by level ways We walk ; the sweet creative strife, The inspired heroic days, Are rare for all, — no food for song, Are common hours ; and those who hold The gift, the inspiration strong. More precious far than gold. Only when heart is fired and brain. And the soul spreads its soaring wing. Only when nobler themes constrain, Should ever dare to sing. THIRD SERIES (1875). SONG. Tell me where I may quench the too fierce fire Of hope and of desire ; Tell me how I may from my soul remove The sting and pain of love ; Tell me, and I will give to thee, Magician, my whole soul in fee. And yet I know not what of fit reward, For enterprise so hard, I might convey thee in a loveless soul, Whose currents no more roll : A corpse, corruptible and cold, Were no great prize to have and hold. Time only is it that will deign to take Such things for their own sake, Preferring age to youth, grey hairs to brown. And to bright smiles the frown. Time takes the hope, Time dulls the smart. And first makes slow, then stops tlie heart. Wherefore to Time I will address my song. Time, equable and strong, Take thou all hope and longing clean away — - And yet I prithee stay ; Forbear, for rather I would be Consumed than turn to ice with thee. 114 -I HE HOME ALT. AR—THE VOYAGE. What giveth He who gives them THE HOME ALTAR. sleep, But a brief death less deep ? Why should we seek at all to gain Or what the fair dreams given By vigils, and in pain, But ours who, daily dying, dream a By lonely life and empty heart, happier heaven ? To set a soul apart Within a cloistered cell, Then not within a cloistered wall For whom the precious, homely hearth Will we expend our days ; would serve as well ? But dawns that break and eves that fall There, with the early breaking Shall bring their dues of praise. morn, This best befits a Ruler always Ere quite the day is born, near. The lustra! waters flow serene. This duteous worship mild, and reason- And each again grows clean ; able fear. From sleep, as from a tomb. Born to another dawn of joy, and hope. and doom. THE VOYAGE. There through the sweet and toil- Who climbs the Equatorial main some day, Drives on long time through mist and To labour is to pray ; cloud. There love with kindly beaming Through zones of storm, through thun- eyes ders loud. Prepares the sacrifice ; For many a night of fear and pain. And voice and innocent smile Of childhood do our cheerful liturgies Till one night all is clear, and lo ! beguile. He sees with wondering, awe-struck eyes, There, at his chaste and frugal In depths above, in depths below. feast, Strange constellations light the skies- Love sitteth as a Priest ; And with mild eyes and mien New stars, moire splendid and more fair. sedate. Yet not without a secret loss ; Plis deacons stand and wait ; He seeks in vain the Northern Bear, And round the holy table And finds instead the Southern Cross. Pat?n and chalice range in order sei-viceable. Yet dawns the self-same sun— the same The deep below the keel which lies ; And when ere night, the vespers Though this may burn with brighter said, flame, Low lies each weary head, And that respond to bluer skies. THE FOOD OF SONG. li: The self-same earth, the self-same sky : And though through clouds and tem- pests driven, The self-same seeker lifts an eye That sees another side of heaven. No change in man, or earth, or aught, Save those strange secrets of the night : Nor there, save that another thought Has reached them through another sight, Which may but know one hemisphere, The earth's mass blotting out the blue. Till one day, leaving shadows here, It' sees all heaven before its view. THE FOOD OF SOXG. How best doth vision come To the poet's mind, — Lonely beneath the blue, unclouded dome, Or battling with the mighty ocean- wind ; In fair spring mornings, wdth the soar- ing lark. Or amid roaring midnight forests dark ? Shall he attune his voice To sweetest song, "When earth and sea and sky alike rejoice. And men are blest, and think no thought of wrong, J:i some ideal heaven, some happy isle, Where life is stiffened to a changeless smile ? Or best amid the noise Of high designs, Loud onsets, shatterings, awful battle joys, NVherefor the loftier spirit longs and pines ; Or by the depths of Thought's un- fathomed sea ; Or to loud thunders of the Dawn to be ? Nature is less than naught In smile or frown, But for the formless, underlying thought Of mind and purpose greater than our own ; This only can these empty shows inform, Smiles through the calm, and animates the storm. Nor 'mid the clang and rush Of mightier thought. The steeps, the snows, the gulfs, that whelm and crush The seeker with the treasure he has sought ; Too vast, too swift, too formless to inspire The Active hand, or touch the lips with fire. Rather amid the throng Of toiling men He finds the food and sustenance of song. Spread by hidden hands, again, and yet again, Where'er he goes, by crowded city street, He fares thro' springing fancies sad and sweet — Some innocent baby smile ; A close-wound waist ; Fathers and children ; things of shame and guile ; Dim eyes, and lips at parting kissed in haste ; ii6 THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT The the halt, the blind, me prospei thing of ill ; The thief, the wanton, touch and vex him still. Or if sometimes he turn With a new thrill. And strives to paint anew with words that burn The inner thought of sea, or sky, or hill : Ifis because a breath of human life Has touched them : joy and suffering, rest and strife. And he sees mysteries Above, around, Fair spiritual fleeting agencies Haunting each foot of consecrated ground : And so, these fading, raises bolder eyes Beyond the furthest limits of the skies, And every thought and word, And all things seen. And every passion which his heart has stirred, And every joy and sorrow which has been. And every step of life his feet have trod. Lead by broad stairs of glory up to God. THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT Oh happy days ! oh joyous time ! When thought was gay and man was young, And to a golden flow of rhyme, Life like a melody was sung ; Wlien, in the springtime of the earth, The cloud-capt hill, the dewy grove. Clear lake and rippling stream gave birth To shy Divinities of love ; When often to the jovial feast Of love or wine the people came, And Nature was the only priest. And Youth and Pleasure knew not shame. Nor darker shape of wrong or ill The fearful fancy might inspire, Than vine-crowned on some shady hill, The Satyr nursing quaint desire. And if some blooming youth or maid In depths of wood or stream were lost. Some love-lorn Deity, 'twas said. The blissful truant's path had crossed, Sweet time of fancy, giving place To times of thinking scarce less blest, When Wisdom wore a smiling face. And Knowledge was like Fancy drest. And Art with Language lived ingrown, The cunning hand and golden tongue : By this the form Divine was shown, By that its deathless praises sung. When in cool temples fair and white, By purple sea, or myrtle shade, The gods took shape to mortal sight, By their own creatures' hands re- made. THE YOUTH OF THOUGHT. 117 Vnd daily, to the cheerful noise Of wrestling, or the panting race — Mid the clear laughter of the boys, And tender forms of youthful grace — Grave sages walked in high debate Beneath the laurel grove, and sought To solve the mysteries of Fate, And sound the lowest deeps of Thought ; Nor knew that they, as those indeed, Were naked, taking fair for right ; With beauty only for all creed, Yet not without some heaven-sent light. Now preaching clear the deathless soul ; Now winging love from sloughs of shame ; And oft from earthly vapours foul, Soaring aloft with tongues of flame. Knew they no inward voice to vex The careless joyance of their way — Xo pointing finger stern, which checks The sad transgressor of to-day? Fair dream, if any dream be fair, Which knows np fuller life than thine ; Which only moves through earthly air, And builds on shadows half divine ; How art thou fled ! For us no more Dryad or Satyr haunts the grove ; No Nereid sports upon the shore. Nor with wreathed horn the Tritons Who breathe a fuller, graver air, Long since to manhood's stature grown ; Who leave our childhood's fancies fair, For pains and pleasures of our own. For us no more the young vine climbs, Its gadding tendrils flinging down ; Who move in sadder, wiser times, Whose thorns are woven for a crown. The lily and the passion-flower Preach a new tale of gain and loss, And in the wood-nymph's closest bower The springing branches form the Cross. "A great hope traversing the earth," Has taken all the young world's bloom, And for the joy and flush of birth, Has left the solemn thought of doom ; And made the body no more divine. And built our Heaven no longer here. And given for joyous fancies fine. Souls bowed with holy awe and fear. And far beyond the suns, removed The godhead seen by younger eyes, Leaving the people once beloved. Girt round by dreadful mysteries ; Fulfilled with thoughts, more fair and dear Than all the lighter joys of yore, Immeasurable hopes brought near, And Heaven laid open more and more. But not with love and peace alone Time came, which older joys could take ; ii8 SONG. But with fierce brand and hopeless groan, Red war, the dungeon, and the stake ; And hves by Heaven too much opprest, And cloisters dim with tears and sighs, And young hearts withered in the breast, And fasts and stripes and agonies ; And for Apollo breathing strength, And Aphrodite warm with life ; A tortured Martyr come at length, To the last pang of lifelong strife. While round us daily move no more Those perfect forms of youthful grace, No more men worship as before The rounded limb, the clear-cut face ; "Who see the dwarfed mechanic creep. With hollow cheek, and lungs that bleed, Or the swart savage fathom-deep, Who comes to air, to sleep, and breed. Aye, but by loom, or forge, or mine. Or squalid hut, there breaks for these Hope more immense, awe more divine Than ever dawned on Sok rates. Who if they seek to live again In careless lives the pagan charm, May only prove a lifelong pain, For that clear conscience void of harm. For in the manhood of God's days We live, and not in careless youth ; The essence more than form we praise, And Beauty moves us less than Truth. From youth to age ; till cycles hence Another and a higher Spring, And with a truer innocence, Again the world shall think and sing. SONG. I WOULD thou might'st not vex me with thine eyes, Thou fair Ideal Beauty, nor wouid'st shame All lower thoughts and visions as they rise. As in mid-noon a flame. For now thy presence leaves no prospect fair, Nor joy in act, nor charm in any maid, Nor end to be desired, for which men dare. Thou making nre afraid. Because life seems through thee a thing too great To spend on these, which else might grow to thee ; So that fast bound, I idly hesitate ; I prithee set me free ; Or, hold me, if thou wilt, but come not near. Let me pursue thee still in ghostly grace ; Far off let me pursue thee, for I fear To faint before thy face. AT CHAMBERS. '9 AT CHAMBERS. To the chamber, where now uncaring I sit apart from the strife, While the fool and the knave are sharing The pleasures and profits of life, There came a faint knock at the door, Not long since on a terrible day ; One faint little knock, and no more ; And I brushed the loose papers away. And as no one made answer, I rose, With quick step and impatience of look, And a glance of the eye which froze, And a ready voice of rebuke. But when the door opened, behold ! A mother, low-voiced and mild. Whose thm shawl and weak arms enfold A pale little two-year-old child. What brought her there? Would I relieve her ? Was all the poor mother could say ; For her child, scarce recovered from fever, Left the hospital only that day. Pale, indeed, was the child ; yet so cheerful, That, seeing me wonder, she said. Of doubt and repulse, grown fearful, " Please look at his dear little head ; " And snatched off the little bonnet, And so in a moment laid bare A shorn little head, and upon it No trace of the newly-come hair. When, seeing the stranger's eye Grow soft ; of an innocent guile The child looked up, shrinking and shy. With the ghost of a baby smile. Poor child ! I thought, so soon come To the knowledge of lives oppressed. To whom poverty comes with home. And sickness brings food and rest : Who art launched forth, a frail little boat, In the midst of life's turbulent sea, To sink, it may be, or to float On great waves that care nothing for thee. What awaits thee? An early peace In the depths of a little grave. Or, despite all thy ills to increase. Through some dark chance, mighty to save 'j Till in stalwart manhood you meet The strong man, who regards you to- day, Crawling slowly along the street, In old age withered and gray ? Who knows ? But the thoughts I have told In one instant flashed through my brain. As the poor mother, careful of cold. Clasped her infant to her again. And I, if I searched for my purse. Was I selfish, say you, and wrong ? Surely silver is wasted worse Than in earning the right to a song 1 EVENSONG. E VENSONG. The hymns and the prayers were done, and the village church was still, As I lay in a waking dream in the churchyard upon the hill. The graves were all around, and the dark yews over my head, And below me the winding stream and the exquisite valley were spread. The sun was sloping down with a glory of dying rays, And the hills were bathed in gold, and the woods were vocal with praise. But from the deep-set valley there rose a vapour of grey, And the sweet day sank, and the glory waxed fainter and faded away. Then there came, like a chilling wind, a cold, low whisper of doubt, Which silenced the echo of hymns, and blotted the glories out. And I wrestled with powers unseen, and strove with a Teacher divine, Like Jacob who strove with the angel, and found with the dawn a sign. ****** For I thought of the words they sang : " It is He that hath made us indeed " ; And my thought flew back to the Fathers of thought and their atheist creed- How atom with atom at first fortuitously combined, Formed all, from the worlds without to the innermost worlds of mind ; And I thought : What, if this be true, and no Maker there is indeed, And God is the symbol alone of a feeble and worn-out creed ; And from uncreate atoms, impelled by a blind chance driving on free. Grew together the primal forms of all essences that be ! Then a voice : If they were, indeed, they were separate one from one By a gulph as broad as yawns in space betwixt sun and sun — Self-centred and self-contained, disenvironed and isolate ; Drawn together by a hidden love, torn apart by a hidden hate. What power was this — chance, will you say ? But chance, what else can it mean Than the hidden Cause of things by human reason unseen ? Chance ! Then Chance were a name for God, or each atom bearing a soul Indivisible, like with like, part and whole of the Infinite Whole, EVENSONG. 121 Were God, as the Pantheist faught, God in earth, and in sky, and in air, God through every thought and thing, and made manifest everywhere ; The spring and movement of things — the stir, the breathing of breath, I Without which all things were quenched in the calm of an infinite death ; Or, if within each there lay some germ of an unborn power, God planted it first, God quickened, God raised it from seed to flower. Though beneath the weird cosmical force, which we wield and yet cannot nr.me, From the germ or the rock we draw out low gleams of life's faintest flame ; Though we lose the will that commands, and the muscles that wait and serve, ] In some haze of a self-set spring of the molecules of nerve ; Though we sink all spirit in matter, and let the Theogonies die, Life and death are ; thinker and thought ; outward, inward ; I, and not T, And the I is the Giver of life, and without it the matter must die, ****** Then I ceased for a while from thought, as I lay on the long green grass, Hearing echoes of hymns anew, and letting the moments pass. The evening was mounting upward ; the sunbeams had left the hill ; But the dying daylight lingered, and all the valley was still. 1 ****** I Then I said : But if God there be, how shall man by his thinking find, I Who is only a finite creature, the depths of the Infinite Mind — I Who sounds with a tiny plummet, who scans with a purblind eye, . The depths of that fathomless ocean, the wastes of that limitless sky ? I I _. Shall we bow to a fetish, a symbol, which maybe nor sees nor hears ; Or, seeing and hearing indeed, takes no thought for our hopes or fears ; Who is dumb, though we long for a word ; who is deaf, though his children cry; Who is Master, yet bears with evil— Lord, and lets all precious things die? I j Or if in despair we turn from the godless and meaningless plan, What do we, but make for ourselves a God in the image of man— A creature of love and hate, a creature who makes for good, But barred by an evil master from working the things that he would ? £y£XSOXG. If he be not a reflex image, we may not know him at all ; If he be, we are God ourselves — to ourselves we sh;ill stand or fall. Then the voice : But what folly is this ! Cannot God indeed be known. If we know not the hidden essence that forms Ilini and builds His throne? Is all our knowledi^e naught, of sea, and of sky, and of star, Till we know them, not as they seem to our thinkins;, but as they are ? \\'e who build the whole fabric of knowledge on vague abstractions sublime ; We who whirl through an intinite space, and live in an infinite time ; We who prate of Motion and Force, not knowing that on either side Black gulphs unavoidable yawn, dark riddles our thought deride ; Shall we hold our science as naught in all things of earth, because We know but the seemiugs and shows, the relations, and not the cause — Not only as he who admires the rainbow and cloud of goUl, Knows that 'tis but a form of vapour his wondering eyes behold ; But as he who sees and knows, and knowing would fain ignore What he knows since the essence of things is hid, and he knows not more — Or who would not love his love, or walk hand in hand with his fiieml. Since he sees not the roots of the tree from whose branches life's blossoms depend ? Or how should the sight we see, any more than the sound we hear, Be a thing which exists for our thought, apart from the eye or the ear ; Is not every atom of dust, which compacted we call the earth, A miracle batfling our thought with insoluble wonders of birth ? And know we not, indeed, that the matter which men have taught. Is itself an essence unseen and untouched— but by spirit and thought ? Tush ! It is but a brain-sick dream. What was it that taught us the laws Which stand as a bar between us and the thought of the Infinite Cause ? Is He infinite, out of relation, and absolute, past finding out ? Reach we not an antinomy here? feel we here no striving of doubt ? EVENSONG. How, then, shall the finite define the bounds of the infinite plan, This is finite, and infinite this : here is Deity, here is man. If our judgment be relative only, how then shall our brain transcend The limits of relative thought ; grown too eager to comprehend ? For he passes the bounds of relation, if any there be who can Distinguish the absolute God from the relative in man : He has bridged the gulph ; he has leaped o'er the bound ; he has seen with his eyes For a moment the land unseen, that beyond the mountain peaks lies. Nay ! we see but a part of God, since we gaze with a finite sight ; And yet not Darkness is He, but a blinding splendour of light. Do we shrink from this light, and let our dazzled eyeballs fall ? . Nay ! a God fully known or utterly dark, were not God at all. Though we hold not that in some sphere which our thought may never conceive. There comes not a time when, to know may be all, and not, to believe ; Nor yet that the right which we love, and the wrong which we hate to-day, , May not show as reversed, or as one, when the finite has passed away ; God we know in our image indeed, since we are in the image of Him, Of His splendour a faint low gleam, of His glor)' a reflex dim. Bowing not to the all unknown, nor to that ^hich is searched out quite ; But to That which is known, yet unknown — to the darkness that comes of light. To the contact of God with man, to the struggle and triumph of right. ******* Then I ceased for a while from thought, as I lay on the long green grass. Hearing echoes of hymns grown nearer, and letting the moments pass. ( Exult, oh dust and ashes I the low voices seemed to say j And then came a sudden hush, and the jubilance faded away. The evening was dying now, and the moon-rise was on the hill, .\nd the soft light touched the river, and all the valley was still. ♦ ***♦♦«■ Then I thought : But if God there be, and our thought may reach Him indeed, How should this bare knowledge alone stand in lieu of a fuller creed ? 124 EVENSONG. If He be and is good, as they say, how yet can our judgment approve, 'Mid the rule of His iron laws, the place of His infinite love? The rocks are built up of death, earth and sea teem with ravin and wrong ; The sole law in Nature vi^e learn, is the law that strengthens the strong. Through countless ages of time, the Lord has withdrawn Him apart From all the world He has made, save the world of the human heart. Without and within all is pain, from the cry of the child at birth, To its parting sigh in age, when it looks for a happier earth. Should you plead that God's order goes forth with a measured footstep sublime, Know you not that you thrust Him back thus to the first beginnings of time, — That a spark, a moment, a flash, and His work was over and done ; And the worlds Avere sent forth for ever, each circling around its sun. Bearing with it all secrets of being, all potencies undefined. All forms and changes of matter, all growths and achievements of mind. What is there for our worship in this, and should not our reason say, He is, and made us indeed, but hides Him too far away ? Though He lives, yet is He as one dead ; and we, who would prostrate fall Before the light of His Presence, we see not nor know Him at all. Then the voice : Oh folly of doubt ! what is time that we deem so far, What else but a multiple vast of the little lives that are ? He who lives for the fifty years, which scarce rear thought to its prime, i Already a measure has lived of a thousand years of time. I Twice this, and Christ spoke not yet, and from this what a span appears, The space till our thought is lost in the mists of a million years ! A thousand millions of years — we have leapt with a thought, with a word ; To the time when no flutter of life 'neath the shield of the trilobite stirred. All time is too brief for our thought, and yet we would bring God nigh. Till He worked in His creature's sight, man standing undazzled by. EVENSONG. 125 Such a God were not God indeed ; nor, if He should change at all, Should we hold, as we hold Him now, the God of both great and small. How know we the great things from small ? how mark we the adequate cause, j Which might make the Creator impede the march of His perfect laws, — I We,* who know but a part, not the whole ? Or were it a fitting thought He should stoop in our sight to amend the errors His hand had wrought, So His laws were not perfect at all ? or should He amend them indeed, How supply by a fitful caprice the want of a normal creed ? All life is a mode of force, and all force that is force must move ; 'Tis a friction of Outward and Inward, a contrast of Hatred and Love. Toy and Grief, Right and Wrong, Life and Death, Finite, Infinite, Matter and These are the twin wheels of the Chariot of Life, which without them stood still. Would you seek in an order reversed and amended a Hand divine ? Nay the Wonder of wonders lies in unchangeable design. Should God break His law as He might ; should He stoop from His infinite skies To redress that which seems to us wrong, to raise up the life that dies ; Should He save from His wolf His lamb, from His tiger His innocent child ; j Should He quench the fierce flames, or still the great waves clamouring wild, I think a great cry would go up from an orderless Universe, And all the fair fabric of things would wither, as under a curse. 'Tis the God of the savage, is this. What do we who rise by degrees To the gift of the mind that perceives, and the gift of the eye that sees ? Does not all our nature tend to a law of unbending rule, j Till equity comes but to mend the law that was made by the fool ? I Who shows highest ? — the child or the savage, whose smiles change to rage or to tears ? Or the statesman moving, unmoved, through a nation's desires and fears ? Or the pilgrim whose eyes look onward, as If to a distant home, j Never turning aside from his path, whatever alluirements may come ? 126 EVENSONG. All Higher is more Unmoved ; and the more unbroken the law, The more sure does the Giver show to the eyes of a wondering awe. Nor is it with all of truth that they make their voices complain, Who weary our thought with tales of a constant ruin and pain. It is but a brain-sick dream that would gloat o'er the hopeless bed, Or the wreck, or the crash, or the fight, with their tales of the dying and dead. Pain comes ; hopeless pain, God knows and we know, again and again ; But even pain has its intervals blest, when 'tis heaven to be free from pain. And I think that the wretch who lies pressed by a load of incurable ill, With a grave pity pities himself, but would choose to have lived to it still ; And, as he whom the tiger bears in his jaws to his blood-stained den Feels no pain nor fear, but a wonder, what comes in the wonderful " Then," He pities himself and yet knows, as he casts up life's chequered sum, It were best on the whole to have lived, whatever calamity come. And the earth is full of joy. Every blade of grass that springs ; Every cool worm that crawls content as the eagle on soaring wings ; Every summer day instinct with life ; every dawn when from waking bird And morning hum of the bee, a chorus of praise is heard ; Every gnat that sports in the sun for his little life of a day ; Every flower that opens its cup to the dews of a perfumed May ; Every child that wakes with a smile, and sings to the ceiling at dawn ; Every bosom which knows a new hope stir beneath its virginal lawn ; Every young soul, ardent and high, rushing forth into life's hot fight ; Every home of happy content, lit by love's own mystical light ; Every worker who works till the evening, and earns before niglit his wage. Be his work a furrow straight-drawn, or the joy of a bettered age ; EVENSONG. 127 Every thinker who, standing aloof from the throng, finds a high delight In striking with tongue or with pen a stroke for the triumph of right ; — All these know that life is sweet ; all these, with a consonant voice. Read the legend of Time with a smile, and that which thev read is, " Rejoice ! " Then again I ceased from thought, as I lay on the l^.ig green grass, I Hearing hymns which grew fuller and fuiier, and letting the moments pass. I Exult, oh dust and ashes ! exult and rejoice ! they said, For blessed are they who live, and blessed are they who are dead. I Then again they ceased and Mere still, and my thought began once more, Kut touched with a silvery gleam of hopes that were hidden before ; The moon had climbed up the clear sky, far above the black pines on the hill, And the ri\er ran molten silver, and all the valley was still. ******** Then I said : But if God there be, who made us indeed and is good, What guide has He left for our feet to walk in the ways that He would ? For though He should speak indeed, yet, as soon as His voice grew dumb, It were only through human speech that the message it bore might come, j Sunk to levels of human thought, and always marred and confined By the chain of a halting tongue, and the curse of a finite mind ; So that he who would learn, indeed, what precepts His will has taught, Must dim with a secular learning the brightness his soul has sought. Who can tell how those scattered leaves through gradual ages grew. Adding chaff and dust from the world to the accents simple and true? If one might from the seer's wild visions, or stories of fraud and blood, Or lore of the world«worn Sultan, discern the sure voice of good. Such a mind were a God to itself; or if you should answer. For each God has set a sure mentor within, with power to convince and teach ; 128 EVENSONG. Yet it speaks with a changeful voice, which alters with race and clime, Nay, even in the self-same lands is changed with the changes of time ; So that 'twixt the old Europe of story and that which we know to-day, Yawns a gulph, as wide almost as parts us from far Cathay ; What power has such voice to help us ? Or if we should turn instead To the precious dissonant pages, which keep what the Teacher said ; How reduce them to one indeed, or how seek in vain to ignore The forgotten teachers who taught His counsels of mercy before ? Not " an eye for an eye " alone, was the rule which they loved to teach, But Mercy, and Pity, and Love, though they spoke with a halting speech, And He spake with the tongue of those who had spoken and then were dumb, And clothed in the words of the Law, which He loved, would His precepts come ; Other teachers have drawn more millions, who follow more faithful than we ; Other teachers have taught a rule as stern and unselfish as He. If we shrink from the Caliph fierce, who carved out a faith with his sword, What say we of the pilgrim who sways the old East with his gentle word ? Or what of the sage whose vague thoughts, over populous wastes of earth, Have led millions of fettered feet to the grave from the day of birth ? Or how can we part indeed, the show, the portent, the sign, From the simple words which glow with the light of a teaching Divine? And if careless of these, as of growths which spring up and bear fruit and fall. Yet how shall our thought accept the crowning wonder of all ? \ Yet if this we reject, wherein, doth our faith and assurance lie? , What is it to us that God lives, we who live for a little and die ; Or why were it not more wise to live as the beasts of to-day. Taking life, while it lasts, as a gift, and secure of the future as they? Then the voice : Oh, disease of doubt ! now I seem to hold you indeed, Keeping fast in my grasp at length the sum of your dreary creed. - I EVENSONG. 129 How else should man prove God's will, than through methods of human thought ? How else than through human words should he gather the things that he ought r If the Lord should speak day by day from Sinai, mid clouds and fire, SHould we hear 'mid those thunders loud the still voices which now inspire ? Would not either that awful sound, like that vivid and scorching blaze. Confuse our struggHng thought, and our tottering footsteps amaze ? Or, if it should peal so^clear that to hear were to obey indeed, 'Twere a thing of dry knowledge alone, not one of a faithful creed ; No lantern for erring feet, but a glare on a white, straight road, Where life struggled its weary day, to sink before night with its load ; ' Where the blinded soul might long for the shade of a cloud of doubt, I And yearn for dead silence, to blot that terrible utterance out. Yet God is not silent indeed ; not seldom from every page^ From the lisping story of eld to the seer with his noble rage ; From the simple life divine, with its accents gentle and true. To the thinker who formed by his learning and watered the faith as it grew ; All are fired by the Spirit of God. Nor true is the doubt you teach. That God speaks not to all men the same, but differs 'twixt each and each, ! Each differs from each a little, with difference of race and of clime ; Each is changed, but not transformed, with the onward process of time ; ' Each nation, each age, has its laws, whereto it shall stand or fall. But built on a wider Law, which is under and over them all. Nor doubt we that from Western wilds to the long-sealed isles of Japan, There runs the unbroken realm of a Law that is common to man. I Not as ours shows the law they obey, and yet it is one and the same, Though it comes in a varying shape, and is named by another name. Not so shall your doubt prevail ; nor if any should dream to-day. By praise of Jew or of Greek, to dissolve His glory away, I30 EVENSONG. Can they hold that God left His world with no gleam of glory fiom Him, No light clouds edged with splendour, no radiance of Godhead dim. Others were before Christ had come. Oh ! dear dead Teacher, whose word, Long before the sweet voice on the Hill, young hearts had quickened and stirred ; Who spak'st of the soul and the life ; with limbs chilled by the rising death. Yielding up to thy faith, with a smile, the last gasp of thy earthly breath ; — And thou, oh golden-mouthed sage, who with brilliance of thought as of tongue, Didst sing of thy Commonwealth fair, the noblest of epics unsung ; In whose pages thy Master's words shine forth, sublimed and refined In the music of perfect language, inspired by a faithful mind ; — And ye seers of Israel and doctors, whose breath was breathed forth to move The dry dead bones of the Law with the life of a larger love ; — Or thou, great Saint of the East, in whose footsteps the millions have trod Till from life, like an innocent dream, they pass'd and were lost in God ; — And thou, quaint teacher of old, whose dead words, though all life be gone. Through the peaceful Atheist realms keep the millions labouring on ; — Shall I hold that ye, as the rest, spake no echo of things divine. That no gleam of a clouded sun through the mists of your teaching may shine ? Nay ; such thoughts were to doubt of God. Yet, strange it is and yet sure. No teacher of old was full of mercy as ours, or pure. 'Twixt the love that He taught, and the Greek with his nameless, terrible love, Yawns a gulph as wide as parts hell beneath and heaven above ; 'Twixt His rule of a Higher Mercy and that which the Rabbi taught, Lies the gulph between glowing Act and barren ashes of Thought. For the pure thought smirched and fouled, or buried in pedant lore. He brought a sweet Reason of Force, such as man knew never before. What to us are the men of the East, though they preach their own Gospel indeed? We are men of the West, and shall stand or fall by a Western creed. EVENSONG. Though we see in those Scriptures antique, faint flames of Diviner fire, Who would change to Buddha from Christ, as a change from lower to higlier ? Nay ! He is our Teacher indeed. Little boots it to-day to seek To arraign, with a laboured learning, the words that men heard Him speak ; To cavil, to carp, to strive, through the mists of an age-long haze, To dim to a common light the star which could once amaze ; To fix by some pigmy canon, too short for the tale of to-day, The facts of a brief life, fled eighteen centuries away ; To mark by a guess, and to spurn, as born of a later age, The proofs which, whenever writ, bear God's finger on every page ; Or to sneer at the wonders they saw Him work, or believed they saw ; We who know that unbending sequence is only a johase of law, No wonder which God might do if it rested on witness of men, Would turn to it our thought of to-day as it turned the multitudes then. Nor proved would avail a whit if the teaching itself were not pure ; Nor if it were pure as His would make it one whit more sure. And for the great Wonder of all. If any there be who fears That the spark of God in his breast may be quenched in a few short years ; Who feels his faith's fire blaze aloft more clear than it burnt before, By the thought of the empty tomb and the stone rolled back from the door : For him was the miracle done. If no proof makes clearer to me Than His word to my inner sense, the Higher life that shall be ; If no Force that has once leapt forth can ever decline and fall. From the dead forces stirring the world?;, to the Life-force which dominates all ; But the sum of life is the same, and shall be when the world is done, As it was when its first faint spark was stirred by the kiss of the sun ;- Tf I feel a sure knowledge within, which shall never be blotted out, A Longing, a Faith, a Conviction, too strong for a Whisper of Doubt That my life shall be hid with a Lord, who shall do the thing that is best — To be purged, it may be, long time, or taken at once to rest, — 132 EVENSONG. To live, it may be, myself; from all else, individual, sole, Or blended with other lives, or sunk in the Inlinite whole— Though I doubt not that that which is I may endure in the ages to be, Since I know not what bars hold apart the Not-Me and the mystical Me ;— How else than thro' Him do I grasp the faith that for Greek and Jew Was hidden, or but dimly seen, which nor Moses nor Sokrates knew ? Ay ! He is our Teacher indeed. He is risen, and we shall rise ; But if only as we He rose, not the less He lives in the skies. And if those who proclaim Him to day in the dim gray lands of the East, Prove him not by portent or sign, not by trick or secret of priest ; But for old cosmogonies dead, and faint precepts too weak for our need, Offer God brought nearer to man in a living and glowing creed. The pure teaching, the passionate love, taking thought for the humble and weak, The pitiful scorn of wrong, which His Scriptures everywhere speak. Not writ for the sage in his cell, but preached 'mid the turmoil and strife, And touched with a living brand from the fire of the Altar of Life. So, of all the wonders they tell, no wonder our hearts has stirred Like the Wonder which Uves with us still in a living and breathing Word. More than portents, more than all splendours of rank loyal hearts devise, More than visions of heavenly forms caught up and lost in the skies, This the crowning miracle shows, before which we must prostrate fall ; For this is the living voice of the Lord and Giver of all. ****** Then I ceased again from thought, as I lay on the long grave -grass, Thrilled through by a music 6f hymns, and letting the moments pass. "Exult and rejoice" ! they sang in high unison, now combined Which were warring voices before, the voices of heart and mind. The earth was flooded with light, over valley and river and hill, And this is the hymn which I heard them sing, while the world lay still : *' Exult, oh dust and ashes ! Rejoice, all ye that are dead ! For ye live too who lie beneath, as we live who walk overhead. EVENSONG. 133 As God lives, so ye are living ; ye are living and moving to-day, Not as they live who breathe and move, yet living and conscious as they. And ye too, oh living, exult. Young and old, exult and rejoice ; For the Lord of the quick and the dead lives for ever : we hear His voice. We have heard His voice, and we hear it sound wider and more increased, To the sunset plains of the West from the peaks of the furthest East. For the quick and the dead, it was given ; for them it is sounding still, And no pause of silence arrests the clear voice of the Infinite Will. Not only through Christ long since, and the teachers of ages gone. But to-day He speaks, day by day, to those who are toiling on ; More clear perhaps then, to the ear, and with nigher voice and more plain. But still the same Teacher Divine, speaking to us again and again. ] For I like not his creed, if any there be, who shall dare to hold That GoJ comes to us only at times far away in the centuries old. Not so ; but He dwells with us still ; and maybe, though I know not indeed, He will send us a Christ again, with a fuller and perfecter creed— A Christ who shall speak to all men, East and West, and North and South, I Till the whole world shall hear and believe the gracious words of His mouth. I I When knowledge has pierced through the wastes, chaining earth together and sea. And the bars of to-day are lost in the union of all that shall be ; I And the brotherhood that He loved is more than a saintly thought, I And the wars and the strifes which we mourn are lost in the peace He taught ; Then Christ coming shall make all things new. Or it may be that ages of pain Shall quench the dim light of to-day, bringing back the thick darkness again. And then, slow as the tide which flows on though each wave may seem to recede, Man advances again and again to the Rock of a higher creed. rOr it may be no teacher shall come down again with God in his face, |But the light which before was reflected from One shall shine on the race. ^34 EVENSONG. And as this wide earth grows smaller, and men to men nearer draw, There may spring from the root of the race the flower of a nobler law, Growing fairer, and still more fair ; or maybe, through long ages of lime, Man shall rise up from type to type, to the strength of an essence sublime, Removed as far in knowledge, in length of life, and in good From us, as we from the mollusc which gasped in the first warm flood,— A creature so wise and so high that he scorns all allurement of ill. Marching on through an ordered life in the strength of a steadfast will. Who knows? But, however it be, we live, and shall live indeed. In ourselves or in others to come. What more doth our longing need ? Hid with God, or on earth, we shall see, burning brighter and yet more bright. The sphere of humanity move throughout time on its pathway of light ; Circling round with a narrower orbit, as age upon age fleets away, The Centre of Force and of Being, the Fountain of Light and of Day, Till, nearer drawn, and more near, at last it shall merge and fall In its source ; man is swallowed in God, the Part is lost in the All ; One more world is recalled to rest, one more star adds its fire to the sun, One light less wanders thro' space, and the story of man is done ! "' ****** Then slowly I rose to go from my place on the long grave-grass, W^here so long I had lain in deep thought, and letting the moments pass : A great light was flooding the plains of the earth and the uttermost sky. The low church and the deep-sunk vale, and the place where one day I shall lie, The fresh graves of those we have lost, the dark yews with their reverend gloom, And the green wave which only marks the place of the nameless tomb ; And thro' all the clear spaces above — oh wonder ! oh glory of Light ! — Came forth myriads on myriads of worlds, the shining host of the night, — The vast forces and fires that know the same sun and centre as we ; The faint planets which roll in vast orbits round suns we shall never see ; The rays which had sped from the first, with the awful swiftness of light, To reach only then, it might be, the confines of mortal sight : SONG. Oh, wonder of Cosmical Order ! oh, Maker and Ruler of all, Before whose Infinite greatness in silence we worship and fall ! Could I doubt that the Will which keeps this great Universe steadfast and sure Might be less than His creatures thought, full of goodness, pitiful, pure ? Could I dream that the Power which keeps those great suns circling around, Took no thought for the humblest life which flutters and falls to the ground ? " Oh, Faith ! thou art higher than all." Then I turned from the glories above. And from every casement new-lit there shone a soft radiance of love : Young mothers were teaching their children to fold little hands in prayer ; Strong fathers were resting from toil, 'mid the hush of the Sabbath air ; Peasant lovers strolled thro' the lanes, shy and diffident, each with each. Yet knit by some subtle union too fine for their halting speech : Humble lives, to low thought, and low ; but linked, to the thinker's eye, By a bond that is stronger than death, with the lights of the ultimate sky : Here as there, the great drama of life rolled on, and a jubilant voice Thrilled through me ineffable, vast, and bade me exult and rejoice ; Exult and rejoice, oh soul ! sang my being to a mystical hymn As I passed by the cool bright wolds, as I threaded my pinewoods dim ; Rejoice and be sure ! as I passed to my fair home under the hill, Wrapt round with a happy content,— and the world and my soul were still ! SONG. Beam on me, fair Ideal, beam on me ! Too long thou hast concealed thee in a cloud ; Mine is no vision strong to pierce to thee. Nor voice complaining loud, Whereby thou mightest find thy dear, and come To thine own heart, and long-expecting home. Too long thou dost withdraw thee from mine eyes ; Too long thou lingerest. Ah, truant sweet ! Dost thou no reckoning take of all my sighs. While Time with flying feet Speeds onward, till the westering sun sinks low — With cruel feet so swift and yet so slow ? 136 AT LAST. Time was I tliought that thou wouldst come a maid White-armed, with deep blue eyes and sunny head ; But, ah ! too long the lovely vision stayed. And then, when this was fled. Fame, with blown clarion clear, and wide-spread wings, Fame, crown and summit of created things. And then in guise of Truth, when this grew faint. Truth in Belief and Act, and Life and Thought, White-robed and virginal, a pure cold saint. Thou cam'st awhile, long sought ; But only in glimpses earnest thou, so I Watch wearily until thou passest by. I wait, I watch, I hunger, though I know Thou wilt not come at all who stay'st so long. My hope has lost its strength, my heart its glow ; I grow too cold for song : Long since I might have sung, hadst thou come then, A song to echo through the souls of men. Yet, since 'tis better far to dream in sleep, Than wholly lose the treacheries of time, I hold it gain to have seen thy garments sweep On the far hills sublime : Still will I hope thy glorious face to see, — Beam on me, fair Ideal, beam on me ! AT LAST. Let me at last be laid On that hillside I know which scans the vale. Beneath the thick yews' shade, For shelter when the rains and winds prevail. It cannot be the eye Is blinded when we die, So that we know no more at all The dawns increase, the evenings fall ; Shut up within a mouldering chest of wood Asleep, and careless of our children's good. Shall I not feel the spring. The yearly resurrection of the earth, Stir thro' each sleeping thing With the fair throbbings and alarms of birth, Calling at its own hour On folded leaf and flower. Calling the lamb, the lark, the bee. Calling the crocus and anemone. Calling new lustre to the maiden's eye, And to the youth love and ambition high ? ' Shall I no more admire The winding river kiss the daisied plain ? Nor see the dawn's cold fire Steal downward from the rosy hills again ? Nor watch the frowning cloud. Sublime with mutterings loud. Burst on the vale, nor eves of gold, Nor crescent moons, nor starlights cold, Nor the red casements glimmer on the hill At Yule-tides, when the frozen leas are still ? SONG. 137 Or should my children's tread Through Sabbath twilights, when the hymns are done, Come softly overhead, Shall no sweet quickening through my bosom run, Till all my soul exhale Into the primrose pale, And every flower which springs above Breathes a new perfume from my love ; And I shall throb, and stir, and thrill beneath With a pure passion stronger far than death ? Sweet thought ! fair, gracious dream. Too fair and fleeting for our clearer view ! How should our reason deem That those dear souls, who sleep beneath the blue In rayless caverns dim, 'Mid ocean monsters grim, Or whitening on the trackless sand. Or with strange corpses on each hand [n battle- trench or city graveyard lie. Break not their prison-bonds till time shall die ? 'Vay, 'tis not so indeed. pVith the last fluttering of the failing I breath i The clay-cold form doth breed I V viewless essence, far too fine for i death ; I Ind ere one voice can mourn, ')n upward pinions borne. They are hidden, they are hidden, in some thin air, ""ar from corruption, far from care, Vhere through a veil they view their former scene, )nly a little touched by what has been. Touched but a little ; and yet. Conscious of every change that doth befal, By constant change beset. The creatures of this tiny whirling ball, Filled with a higher being. Dowered with a clearer seeing, Risen to a vaster scheme of life, To wider joys and nobler strife. Viewing our little human hopes and fears As we our children's fleeting smiles and tears. Then, whether with fire they burn This dwelling-house of mine when I am fled, And in a marble urn My ashes rest by my beloved dead, Or in the sweet cold earth I pass from death to birth. And pay kind Nature's life-long debt In heart's-ease and in violet — In charnel-yard or hidden ocean wave, Where'er I lie, I shall not scorn my grave. SONG. I-OVE-siGHS that are sighed and spent in vain, Ah ! folly, folly, Thou dost transmute into a precious pain. Sweet melancholy. Ah ! folly, folly, Ah ! fair melancholy, Sweeter by far thy mild remedial pain, Than if fierce hope should rise and throb again. THE DIALOGUE — THE BIRTH OF VERSE. High hopes of glory sunk to naught, " For thou wilt stand in the East, Ah ! folly, folly, The night withdrawn, And deep perplexities of baffled thought White-robed as is a priest, Thou healest, melancholy. At the door of dawn ; Ah ! folly, folly, While I within the ground. Ah ! sweet melancholy, In misery fast bound, Thou dost bear with thee a balm un- Shall lie, blind, deaf, and foul. sought. Since thou art fled, soul." To heal the wounds of love and pride and thought. Then said my soul to me : ''Thy lot is best; Yet thou art a trivial cure for ill, For thou shalt tranquil be, Pale melancholy. Sunk deep in rest. Fitting best a feebler brain and will, While naked I shall know Ah ! folly, folly, The intolerable glow Ay, sweet melancholy. When as, the sun, shall rise Folly art thou, folly. A fire in fiery skies. "Who only may not trivial ills endure Will to thy pharmacy entrust his cure. "Thou shalt lie cool and dark, Forgetting all ; Since thou shalt not heal the wounds I I shall float shamed and stark, know. Till the sun fall : Pale melancholy, Thou shalt be earth in earth, I will seek if any comfort grow Preparing for new birth ; In jovial folly, While me in the heaven fierce, Ah ! folly, folly, Pure glories fright and pierce," Worse than melancholy, No other cure there is for Fortune's Then said I to my soul. smart And she to me : Than a soul self-contained, and a proud " Where'er life's current roll innocent heart ! We twain shall be, Part here and part not here. Partners in hope and fear. Until, our exile done, i THE DIALOGUE. We meet at last in one." Unto my soul I said. " Oh, vagrant soul ! THE BIRTH OF VERSE. When o'er my living head A few years roll. Blind thoughts which occupy the Is't true that thou shalt fly brain. Far away into the sky. Dumb melodies which fill the ear, Leaving me in my place Dim perturbations, precious pain. Alone with my disgrace ? A gleam of hope, a chill of fear, — SONG — THE ENIGMA. 139 These seize the poet's soul, and mould The ore of fancy into gold. And first no definite thought there is In all that affluence of sound, Like those sweet formless melodies Piped to the listening woods around, l]y birds which never teacher had Bat love and knowledge : they are glad. Till, when the chambers of the soul Are filled with inarticulate airs, A spirit comes which doth control The music, and its end prepares ; And, with a power serene and strong, Shapes these wild melodies to song. Or haply, thoughts which glow and burn Await long time the fitting strain, Which, swiftly swelling, seems to turn The silence to a load of pain ; x\nd somewhat in him seems to cry, *' I will have utterance, or I die ! " Then of a sudden, full, complete, The strong strain bursting into sound. Words come with rhythmic rush of feet, Fit music girds the language round, And with a comeliness unsought. Appears the winged, embodied thought. But howsoever they may rise. Fit words and music come to birth ; There soars an angel to the skies. There walks a Presence on the earth — A something which shall yet inspire Myriads of souls unborn with fire. And when his voice is hushed and dumb, The flame burnt out, the glory dead. He feels a thrill of wonder come At that which his poor tongue has said ; And thinks of each diviner line — " Only the hand that wrote was mine." SONG. Oh ! were I rich and mighty, With store of gems and gold, x\nd you, a beggar at my gate. Lay starving in the cold ; I wonder, could I bear To leave you pining there ? Or, if I were an angel , And you an earth-born thing. Beseeching me to touch you In rising with my wing ; I wonder should I soar Aloft, nor heed you more ? Or, dear, if I were only A maiden cold and sweet, And you, a humble lover, Sighed vainly at my feet ; I wonder if my heart W^ould know no pain or smart ? THE ENIGMA. The gaslights flutter and flare On the cruel stones of the street. And beneath in the sordid glare Pace legions of weary feet ; Fair faces that soon shall grow hard, Shy glances already grown bold. The wrecks of a girlhood marred r>y shame and hunger and cold. 40 THE ENIGMA. But here, as she passes along, Is one whose young cheek still shows, 'Mid the pallid, pitiful throng. The fresh bloom of a tender rose. Not long has she walked with vice, A recruit to the army of 111, A fresh lamb for the sacrifice That steams up to Moloch still. And the spell through which youth draws all, The faint shyness in hurrying walk, The lithe form slender and tall. The soft burr in her simple talk, Constrains the grave passer, whose brain Is long leagues of fancy apart, To thrill with a sudden pain And an emptiness of heart. Poor child ! since it is not long Since you were indeed but a child, A gay thing of bird-like song, And even as a bird is wild ; With no shadow of thought or care, Laughing all the sweet hours away. When every morning was fair. And every season a May. Through the red fallow on the hill The white team laboured along, While you roamed the green copses at will. And mimicked the cuckoo's song ; While they tossed and carried the hay, While the reapers were hid in the wheat, You had only to laugh and to play. Or to bathe in the brook your feet. For your mother left you a child, Your rough father's pride and joy : Rejoiced that his girl was as wild And fearless as any boy. Though you would not plunder the nest, Nor harry the shrieking hare. You could gallop bare-backed with the best, And knew where the orchises were. " Like a boy" was what they said, With your straight limbs and fearless face ; Like a girl in the golden head. Gay fancies, and nameless grace. Like a boy in high courage and all Quick forces, and daring of will ; Like a girl in the peril to fall, And innocent blindness to ill. And even now, on the sordid street. As you pass by the theatre door. You 1) ing with you some freshness sweet Of the brightness and breezes of yore. Not yet are the frank eyes grown bold, Not yet have they lost all their joy ; Not yet has time taken the gold From the short crisp curls of the boy. And if truly a boy's they were. Not thus would he pace forlorn ; Nor would careless passers-by dare To shoot out the lips of scorn. Is it Nature or man that makes An unequal judgment arraign Those whose equal nature takes The mark of the self-same stain ? Leaving this one, shame and disgrace ; Leaving that one, honour and fame ; To this one, confusion of face, To that one, a stainless name : 10 THE TORMENTORS. HI A high port and respect and wealth For the one who is guilty indeed, While the innocent walks by stealth Through rough places with feet that bleed. Do I touch a deep ulcer of Time, A created or ultimate ill, A primal curse or a crime. Self-inflicted through ignorance still ? But meanwhile, poor truant, you come With a new face year after year, Leaving innocence, freedom, and home For these dens of weeping and fear. To decline by a swift decay, To a thing so low and forlorn. That, for all your fresh beauty to-day, It were better you never were born ; Or to find in some rare-sent hour, As a lily rooted in mire. Love spring with its pure white flower From the lowest depths of desire. Heaven pity you ! So little turns The stream of our lives from the right ; So like is the flame that burns To the hearth that gives warmth and light ; So fine the impassable fence. Set for ever 'twixt right and wrong, Between white lives of innocence And dark lives too dreadful for song. TO THE TORMENTORS. Dear little friend, who, day by day. Before the door of home Art ready waiting till thy master come, With monitory paw and noise, Swelling to half delirious joys, Whether my path I take By leafy coverts known to thee before, Where the gay coney loves to play. Or the loud pheasant whirls from out the brake Unharmed by us, save for some frolic chase. Or innocent panting race ; Or who, if by the sunny river's side Haply my steps I turn, With loud petition constantly dost yearn To fetch the whirling stake from the warm tide ; Who, if I chide thee, grovellest in the dust, And dost forgive me, though I am unjust, Blessing the hand that smote : who with fond love Gazest, and fear for me, such as doth move Those finer souls which know, yet may not see, And are wrapped round and lost in ecstasy ; — And thou, dear little friend and soft, Breathing a gentle air of hearth and home ; Whose low purr to the lonely ear doth oft With deep refreshment come ; Though thy quick nature is not frank and gay As that one's, yet with graceful play Thou dost beguile the evenings, and dost sit With mien demurely fit ; With half-closed eyes, as in a dream Responsive to the singing steam, Most delicately clean and white, Thou baskest in the flickering light ; 142 TO THE TORMENTORS. Quick-tempered art thou, and yet, if a child Molest thee, pitiful and mild ; And always thy delight is, simitly neat, To seat thee faithful at thy master's feet ;— And thou, good friend and strong, Who art the docile labourer of the world ; Who groanest when the battle mists are curled On the red plain ; who toilest all day long To make our gain or sport ; who art the care That cleanses idle lives, which, Init for thee And thy pure, noble nature, perhaps might sink To lower levels, born of lust and drink, And half-forgotten sloughs of infamy, Which desperate souls could dare ; — And ye, fair timid things, who lightly play By summer woodlands at the close of day ;— What are ye all, dear creatures, tame or wild ? What other nature yours tlian of a child. Whose dumbness finds a voice mighty to call, In wordless pity, to the souls of all Whose lives I turn to profit, and whose mute And constant friendship links the man and brute ? Shall I consent to raise A torturing hand against your few and evil days ? Shall I indeed delight To take you, helpless kinsmen, fast and bound, And while ye lick my hand Lay bare your veins and nerves in one red wound, Divide the sentient brain ; And v/hile the raw flesh quivers with the pain, A calm observer stand, And drop in some keen acid, and watch it bite The writhing life : wrench the still beating heart. And with calm voice meanwhile dis- course, and bland. To boys who jeer or sicken as they gaze. Of the great Goddess Science and her gracious ways ? Great Heaven ! this shall not be, this present hell, And none denounce it ; well I know, too well. That Nature works by ruin and by wrong, Taking no care for any but the strong, Taking no care. But we are more than she ; We touch to higher levels, a higher love Doth through our being move : Though we know all our benefits bought by blood, And that by suffering only reach we good ; Yet not with mocking laughter, nor in play. Shall we give death or carve a life away. CHILDREN OF THE STREET. M3 And if it be indeed For some vast gain of knowledge, we might give These humble lives that live. And for the race should bid the viclim bleed, Only for some great gain, Some counterpoise of pain ; And that with solemn soul and grave, Like his who from the fire 'scapes, or the flood. Who would save all, ay, with his heart's best blood. But ofhis children chooses which to save! Surely a man should scorn To owe his weal to otliers' death and ]Dain? Sure 'twere no real gain To batten on lives so weak and so ' forlorn ? Nor were it right indeed To do for others what for self were wrong. 'Tis but the same dead creed, Preaching the naked triumph of the strong ; And for this Goddess Science, hard and stern. We shall not let her priests torment and burn : We fought the priests before, and not in vain ; And as we fought before, so will we light again. CHILDREN OF THE STREET, Bright boys vociferous, Girl-children clamorous. Shrill trebles echoing, Down the long street ; Every day come they there. Afternoon foul or fair. Shouting and volleying ; Through wintry winds and cold, Through summer eves of gold. Running and clamouring : Never a day but brings, Ragged and thinly clad, Battling with poverty, Hunger, and wretchedness, Brave little souls forlorn, Gainiiig hard bread. *' Terrible accident ; Frightful explosion, Sir ; News from Australia, News from America ; Only one halfpenny, Special edition. Sir, Echo, Sir, Echo I '^ Thus they shout breathlessly, Dashing and hurrying, Threading the carriages, Under the rapid feet ; Frightening the passer-by, Down the long street : On till they chance to meet Some vague philosopher, * * * And straightway the hurry. And bustle, and noise, Fade away in his thought Before tranquiller joys. Here are problems indeed. Not to solve, it is true. But on every side filling The fanciful view ; Which ere he has grasped them Are vanished and gone. But leave him in solitude Never alone : Thoughts of Fate, and of Life, And the end of it all. [44 CHILDREN OF THE STREET. Of the struggle and strife Where few rise, many fall ; Thoughts of Counti-y and Empire, Of Future and Past, And the centuries gliding So slow, yet so fast : Old fancies, yet strange, Thoughts sad and yet sweet, Of lives come to harvest, And lives incomplete ; Of the lingering march. Of the Infinite plan. Bringing slowly, yet surely. The glory of man ; Of our failures and losses, Our victory and gain ; Of our treasure of hope And our Present of pain. And, higher than all, That these young voices teach A glowing conviction Too precious for speech ; That somewhere down deep In each natural soul Sacred verities sleep, Holy waterfloods roll ; That to young lives untaught. Without friend, without home, Some gleams of a light That is heavenlier come ; That to toil which is honest A voice calls them still, Which is more than the tempter's And stronger than ill. For, poor souls, 'twere better. If pleasure were all. Not to strive thus and labour. But let themselves fall ; They might gain, for a time. Higher wages than this, And that sharp zest of sinning The innocent miss : They might know fuller life, And, should fortune befriend, Escape the Law's pains F'rom beginning to end ; Or, if they should fail, What for them does home bring Which should make of a prison So dreadful a thing ? These children, whom formalists, Narrow and stern, Have denied what high principle Comes from to learn ; To whom this great empire. Whose records they cry, Is a book sealed as close As the ages gone by ; Who bear a name great Among nations of earth, But are English alone By the fortune of birth ; These young mouths that come To a board well-nigh bare. Who elsewhere were riches, But here a grave care. Great Empire ! fast bound By invisible bands, That convey to earth's limits Thy rulers' commands ; Who sittest alone By thy rude northern sea, On an ocean-built throne. The first home of the free. Whom thy tall chimneys shroud In a life-giving gloom ; Who clothest mankind With the work of thy loom ; Who o'er all seas dost send out Thy deep-laden ships ; Who teachest all nations The words of thy lips ; Who despatchest thy viceroys Imperially forth CHILDREN OF THE STREET. 145 To the palms of thy East Till, with poor minds still childish, And the snows of thy North ; These children are grown "Who governest millions To the age that shall give them Of dark subtle men Young lives of their own ; By the might of just laws Think of those, who to-day And the sword of the pen ; In the sweet country air Who art planted wherever Live, as soulless, almost, A white foot may tread, As the birds which they scare ; On the poisonous land Think of all those for whom, Which for ages lies dead ; To the immature brain, Who didst nourish the freeman The dull whirr of the loom With milk from thy breast, Brings a throbbing of pain ; To the measureless Commonwealth Think of countless lives fallen. Lording the West ; Sunk, never to rise, Who boldest to-day For the lack of the warning Of those once subject lands Their country denies, — A remnant too mighty Fallen, ruined, and lost, For weaklier hands ; Through all time that shall be. Who in thy isle-continent, Fallen for ever and lost Yearly increased, To themselves and to thee ; — Rearest empires of freemen Thou who standest, girt round To sway the far East ; By strong foes on each side, Who art set on lone islets Foes who envy thy greatness, Of palm and of spice, Thy glory, thy pride ; On deserts of sand Thou, who surely shalt need And on mountains of ice ; Heart and soul, brain and hand. Who bring'st Freedom wherever Brain to plan, hand to bleed, Thy flag is unfurled : For thy might, O dear land ! The exemplar, the envy. The crown of the World ! * * * * What is't thou dost owe Till, while slowly he ponders To these young lives of thine, These thoughts in his brain. What else but to foster See I there swiftly comes rushing This dim spark divine ? A young troop again. Think of myriads like these. Without teaching or home, Who with pitiful accents "Terrible accident; Beseeching thee come ; Frightful explosion. Sir ; Think how Time, whirling on. News, Sir, from Germany ; Time that never may rest, Brings the strength of the loins And the curve of the breast, Latest from India ; Special edition, Sir, Only one half-penny 146 SOULS IN prison: Thus the levoluble Assonant Echo. Again they rush breathlessly Dashing and hurrying, Frighting the passer-by, Shouting and volleying. Bright boys vociferous, Girl-children clamorous, On till they meet again Some vague philosopher. SOULS IN PRISON. I THOUGHT that I looked on the land of the lost, A stony desert, arid and bare, Gray under a heavy air. Not a bird was there, nor a flower, nor a tree, Nor rushing river, nor sounding sea ; And I seemed to myself like a ghost. A land of shadows, a herbless plain, . A faint light aslant on the barren ground, And never a sight nor a sound : Only at times, of invisible feet. Wearily tracking one dull, sad beat. Too spiritless to complain ; And of faces hid by a blank white mask, From which there glared out cavernous eyes, Full of hate and revolt and lies : As if the green earth on which others live Had nothing of hope or of fear to give But a hopeless, perpetual task. Far in the distance a vast gray pile Stretched out its spider-like, echoing ways In long centrifugal rays ; And sometimes dimly I seemed to see Dumb gangs of poor workers, fruitless'" Bent in hard tasks useless and vile, To which, issuing silent, in single rank, Along narrow pathways stony and blank The hopeless toilers would come. Or else each was idly cooped in a cell NarroWj and gloomy, and hard, as hell, Which was all that they knew of home. And around them frowning, grimy and tall. With no ivy or lichen, a circling wall Shut God and life utterly out ; And in the midst, with unclosing eye, A muffled watcher stood silently, As they paced about and about. Never alone — for, wherever they went, From some central tower an eye was bent Along all the long, straight-drawn ways. Never alone — for an unseen eye, As the stealthy footstep went noiselessly by, Swept each lonely cell with its gaze. Always alone — for in all the throng No word or glance as they shuffled along But the order-word, sharp and loud. A SEPARATION DEED. 147 Always alone — for in all the crowd No glance of comfort from pitying eyes Might pierce through the thick disguise. Nor, if husband were there, or child, or wife, Could the subtle communion of love and life Escape that terrible eye. Yet husbands and wives and children there were. Young limbs, and age bent in a dumb despair, Too strong or too weak to die. Nothing remained, as it seemed, but thought Of the old hopes vanished and come to nought, And the hopeless, perpetual care, — Nought but to sit, as the night would fall, Tracing black ghosts on the blank white wall In a silent rage of despair ; Or, before the dull daylight began to break, To start at the iron-tongued summons and wake To the curse of another day. And so, in silence, to brood and plot To regain the poor freedom and life which were not, Though it bartered a soul away ; Or, later, to cherish the old offence ^Vith a secret lurking devil of sense. And a spring of desire self-bent, Till at last all longing was sunk and spent In a lifeless, fathomless slough o^ con- tent. Not repentance, nor fear, nor grief, Nor beUef at all, nor yet unbelief ; But a soul which skulks from itself like a thief, And is damned for ever and dead. » * * * Thus I thought to myself; and, though straight I saw It Avas only the house of retributive Law, I shuddered and shrank, and fled. A SEPARA TlOiV DEED. Whereas we twain, who still are bound for life, Who took each other for better and for worse, Are now plunged deep in hate and bitter strife, And all our former love is grown a curse ; So that 'twere better, doubtless, we should be In loneliness, so that we were apart, Nor in each other's changed eyes look- ing, see The cold reflection of an alien heart : To this insensate parchment we reveal Our joint despair, and seal it with our seal. Forgetting the dear days not long ago, When we walked slow by starlight through the corn : Forgetting, since our hard fate wills it so, 148 A SEPARATION DEED. All but our parted lives and souls forlorn ; Forgetting the sweet fetters strong to bind Which childish fingers forge and baby smiles, Our common pride to watch the gro\\- ing mind, Our common joy in childhood's simple wiles. The common tears we shed, the kiss we gave. Standing beside the open little grave ; Forgetting these and more, if to forget Be possible, as we would fain indeed. And if the past be not too deeply set In our two hearts, with roots that, touched, will bleed Yet, could we cheat by any pretext fair The world, if not ourselves — 'twere so far well — We would not put our bonds from us, and bare To careless eyes the secrets of our hell ; So this indenture witnesseth that we, As follows here, do solemnly agree. We will take each our own, and will abide Separate from bed and board for all our life ; Whatever chance of weal or woe betide. Naught shall re-knit the husband and the wife. Though one grow gradually poor and weak, The other, lapt in luxury, will not heed ; Though one, in mortal pain, the other seek, The other may not answer to the need ; We, who through long years did 'to- gether rest In wedlock, heart to heart, and breast to breast. One shall the daughter take, and one the boy, — Poor boy, who shall not hear his mother's name, Nor feel her kiss ; poor girl, for whom the joy Of her sire's smile is changed for sullen shame : Brother and sister, who, if they should meet, \Vith faces strange, amid the careless crowd, AVill feel their hearts beat with no quicker beat. Nor inward voice of kinship calling loud : Two widowed lives, whose fulness may not come ; Two orphan lives, knowing but half of home. We have not told the tale, nor will, indeed, Of dissonance, whether cruel wrong or crime. Or sum of petty injuries which breed The hate of hell when multiplied by time. Dishonour, falsehood, jealous fancies, blows, Which in one moment wedded souls can sunder ; But, since our yoke intolerable grows, Therefore we set our seals and souls as under : Witness the powers of W^rong and Hate and Death. And this Indenture also witnesseth. SONG — FREDERIC. 149 Then a sudden revolt and rebellion SONG. Assail me and fetter my heart, They mount from glory to glory, As he went on with boyish prattle, They sink from deep unto deep, Before I had courage to speak : They proclaim their sweet passionate "He died of consumption, they said, story, Sir; They tremble on chords that weep, And he earned sixteen shillings a And with them my soul spreads her week." wings. And my heart goes out to them and " How old was he ? " " Just seventeen, sings. Sir: He had grown very tall and white." And chord within chord interlaces, And I thought of the childish features. Like the leaves that protect some The bright cheeks, and eyes still more fair bloom ; bright, And with subtle and tremulous graces, And tender lights dappled with When, withdrawn from his school far gloom. too early. Like the fall of an ocean-borne bell, He came with his treasured prize, The harmonies quicken and swell. To show to his new-found master, With a simple pride in his eyes ; Then swift from those languishing voices And accents which marry and die, And how it soon proved that his writing Like the sound of a trumpet, rejoices Was so clear, and skilful, and fine, One clear note unfaltering, high, That I set him the task to decipher And my soul, through its magical power, The hieroglyphs which are mine. Bursts and dies like an aloe in flower. 'Twas four years ago, and so splendid Did my first book of songs appear. FREDERIC. That, though ofttimes already rejected. I sent them forth then without fear. As these sheets came in from the printer, Nor in vain. For now many minds My lad who had brought me them know them, said. And many are kindly in praise. " Please, Sir, as I passed his office. But the cold little hand that adorned They told me that Frederic was them dead." Has cast up the sum of its days ! And I knew in a moment thrill through Sixteen shillings ! this pittance could me, purchase A keen little sorrow and smart, The flower of those boyish years ! ISO TO MY MOTHERLAND. This could give to that humble ambition Dull entries, whose total is tears ! Poor young life which was bursting to blossom, Which had borne its own fruitage one day. Had those budding years mingled together Slow labour with healthfuller play ! Is it man that has done this, or rather, These dead blasts that blow, blow, blow, blow. Week by week, month by month, till beneath them Life withers and pulses beat slow? The dull winds that to-day are slaying Young and old with their poisonous breath. Which slew the rash singer who praised them, Not the less with a premature death. Is it man with bad laws and fools' customs, False pride, poverty, ignorant greed ? Is it God making lives for His pleasure, 'Dooms these innocent victims to bleed ? Great riddle which one day shall be clearer, Be our doubts with all reverence said ; But a strong power constrained me to Avrite them, When I heard little Frederic was dead. TO MY MOTHERLAND. Dear motherland, forgive me, if too long I hold the halting tribute of my song ; Letting my wayward fancy idly roam Far, far from thee, my early home. There are some things too near. Too infinitely dear For speech ; the old ancestral hearth, The hills, the vales that saw our birth. Are hallowed deep within the reverent breast : And who of these keeps silence, he is best. Yet would not I appear. Who have known many a brighter land and sea Since first my boyish footsteps went from thee. The less to hold thee dear ; Or lose in newer beauties the immense First love for thee, O birth-land, which fulfils My inmost heart and soul, — Love for thy smiling and sequestered vales. Love for thy winding streams which sparkling roll Through thy rich fields, dear Wales, From long perspectives of thy folded hills. Ay ! these are sacred, all ; I cannot sing of them, too near they are. What if from out thy dark yews, gazing far, I sat and sang, Llangunnor ! of the vale Through which fair Towy winds her lingering fall, TO MY MOTHERLAND. 151 Gliding by Dynevor's wood-crowned steep, And, alternating swift with deep. By park and tower a living thing Of loveliness meandering ; And traced her flowing, onward still. By Grongar dear to rhyme, or Drys- llvvyn's castled hill, Till the fresh upward tides prevail, Which stay her stream and bring the sea-borne sail, And the broad river rolls majestic down Beneath the gray walls of my native town. Would not my fancy quickly stray To thee, sea-girt St. David's, far away, A minster on the deep ; or, further still. To you, grand mountains, which the stranger knows : Eryri throned amid the clouds and snows, The dark lakes, the wild passes of the north ; Or Cader, a stern sentinel looking forth Over the boisterous main ; or thee, dear Isle Not lovely, yet which canst my thought beguile — Mona, from whose fresh wind-sv.'ept pastures came My grandsire, bard and patriot, like in name Whose verse his countrymen still love to sing At bidding-feast or rustic junketing ? Ah, no ! too near for song, and ye too near. My brethren of the ancient race and tongue ; The bardic measures deep, the sweet songs sung At congresses, which fan the sacred fire Which did of old your ancestors inspire; The simple worship sternly pure, The faith unquestioning and sure. Which doth the priest despise and his dark ways, And riseth best to fullest praise Beneath some humble roof-tree, rude and bare, Or through the mountains' unpolluted air ; Who know not violence nor blood, And who, if sometimes ye decline from good. Sin the soft sins which gentler spirits move, Which warmer Fancy breeds, and too much love. I may not sing of you. Or tell my love — others there are who will, Who haply bear not yet a love so true As that my soul doth fill — If to applause it lead, or gain, or fame ; Better than this it were to bear the pain Which comes to higher spirits when they know They fire in other souls no answering glow ; Love those who love me not again, And leave my country naught, not even a name. THE EPIC OF HADES. BOOK I. TARTARUS. In February, when the dawn was slow, And winds lay still, I gazed upon the fields Which stretched before me, lifeless, and the stream Which laboured in the distance to the sea, Sullen and cold. No force of fancy took My thought to bloomy June, when all the land Lay deep in crested grass, and through the dew The landrail brushed, and the lush banks were lit With strawberries, and the hot noise of bees Wooed the chaste flowers. Rather I seemed to move Thro' that weird land, Hellenic fancy feigned, Beyond the fabled river and the bark Of Charon ; and forthwith on every side Rose the thin throng of ghosts. First thro' the gloom Of a dark grove I strayed — a sluggish wood, Where scarce the faint fires of the setting stars. Or some cold gleam of half-discovered dawn. Might pierce the darkling pines. A twilight drear Brooded o'er all the depths, and filled the dank And sunken hollows of the rocks with shapes Of terror, — beckoning hands and noise- less feet Flitting from shade to shade, wide eyes that stared With horror, and dumb mouths which seemed to cry. Yet cried not. An ineffable despair Hung over them and that dark world and took The gazer captive, and a mingled pang Of grief and anger, grown to fierce revolt And hatred of the Invisible Force which holds The issue of our lives and binds us fast Within the net of Fate ; as the fisher takes The little quivering sea-things from the sea And flings them gasping on the beach to die Then spreads his net for more. And then again I knew myself and those, creatures who lie TANTALUS. 153 Safe in the strong grasp of Unchanging The touch of human hand, but broods Law, a ghost, Encompassed round by hands unseen, Hating the bare blank cell— the other and chains self. Which do support the feeble life that Which brought it thither— hating man else and God, Were spent on barren space ; and thus And all that is or has been. I came To look with less of horror, more of thought. And bore to see the sight of pain that yet A great fear Should grow to healing, when the con- And pity froze my blood, who seemed crete stain to see Of life and act were purged, and the A half- remembered form. cleansed soul, An Eastern King Renewed by the slow wear and waste It was who lay in pain. He wore a of time. crown Soared after reons of days. Upon his aching brow, and his white They seemed alone, robe Those prisoners, thro' all time. Each Was jewelled with fair gems of price. soul shut fast the signs In its own jail of woe, apart, alone, Of pomp and honour and all luxury, For evermore alone ; no thought of Which might prevent desire. But as I kin, looked Or kindly human glance, or fellowship There came a hunger in the gloating Of suffering or of sin, made light the eyes, load A quenchless thirst upon the parching Of solitary pain. Ay, though they lips, walked And such unsatisfied strainings in the Together, or were prisoned in one cell hands With the partners of their wrong, or Stretched idly forth on what I could with strange souls not see, Which the same Furies tore, they knew Some fatal food of fancy ; that I knew them not. The undying worm of sense, which frets But suffered still alone ; as in that and gnaws shape The unsatisfied stained soul. Of hell, fools build on earth, where Seeing me, he said : hopeless sin "What? And art thou too damned Rots slow in solitude, nor sees the as I ? Dost know face This thirst as I, and see as I the cool Of men, nor hears the sound of speech. Lymph drawn from thee and mock nor feels thy lips ; and parch 154 TANTALUS. For ever in continual thirst ; and mark Or sober harvest fields, show like a The fair fruit offered to thy hunger dream ; fade And nought is left, but the young life Before thy longing eyes ? I thought which floats there was Upon the depths of death, to sink. No other as I thro' all the weary maybe. lengths And drown in pleasure, or rise at length Of Time the gods have made, who grown wise pined so long And gain the abandoned shore. And found fruition mock him. Ah, but at last Long ago, The swift desire burns stronger and When I was young on eartli, 'twas a more strong, sweet pain And feeding on itself, grows tyrannous ; To ride all day in the long chase, and And the parched soul no longer finds feel delight Toil and the summer fire my blood and In the cool stream of old ; nay, this parch itself. My lips, while in my father's halls I Smitten 1)y the fire of sense as by a knew flame. The cool bath waited, with its marble Holds not its coolness more ; and floor; fevered limbs, And juices from the ripe fruits pressed, Seeking the fresh tides of their youth, and chilled may find With snows from far-off peaks ; and No more refreshment, but a cauldron troops of slaves ; fired And music and the dance ; and fair With the fires of nether hell ; and a young forms. black rage And dalliance, and every joy of Usurps the soul, and drives it on to sense, slake That haunts the dreams of youth, which Its thirst with crime and blood. strength and ease Longing Desire ! Corrupt, and vacant hours. Ay, it Unsatisfied, sick, impotent Desire ! was sweet Oh, I have known it ages long. I For a while to plunge in these, as fair knew boys plunge Its pain on earth ere yet my life had Naked in summer streams, all veil of grown shame To its full stature, thro' the weary Laid by, only the young dear body years bathed Of manhood, nay, in age itself; I And sunk in its delight, while the firm knew earth, The selfsame weary thirst, unsatisfied The soft green pastures gay with inno- By all the charms of sense, by wealth cent flowers. and power TANTALUS. 155 And homage ; always craving, never quenched — The undying curse of the soul ! The ministers And agents of my will drave far and wide Over all lands and seas, seeking to find Fresh pleasures for me, who had spent my sum Of pleasure, and had power, not even in thought, Nor faculty to enjoy. They tore apart The sacred claustral doors of home for me, Defiled the inviolate hearth for me, laid waste The flower of humble lives, in hope to heal The sickly fancies of the King, till rose A cry of pain from all the land ; and I Grew happier for it, since I held the power To quench desire in blood. But even thus The old pain faded not, but swift again Revived ; and thro' the sensual dull lengths Of my seraglios I stalked, and marked The glitter of the gems, the precious webs Plundered from every clime by cruel wars That strewed the sands with corpses ; lovely eyes That looked no look of love, and fired no more Thoughts of the flesh ; rich meats, and fruits, and wines Grown flat and savourless ; and loathed them aH, And only cared for power ; content to shed Rivers of innocent blood, if only thus I might appease my thirst. Until I grew A monster gloating over blood and pain. Ah, weary, weary days, when every sense Was satisfied, and nothing left to slake The parched unhappy soul, except to watch The writhing limbs and mark the slow blood drip, Drop after drop, as the life ebbed with it; In a new thrill of lust, till blood itself Palled on me, and I knew the fiend I was, Yet cared not — I who was, brief years ago, Only a careless boy lapt round with ease, Stretched by the soft and stealing tide of sense Which now grew red ; nor ever dreamed at all What Furies lurked beneath it, but had shrunk In indolent horror from the sight of tears And misery, and felt my inmost soul Sicken with the thought of blood. There comes a time When the insatiate brute within the man, Weary with wallowing in the mire, leaps forth Devouring, and the cloven satyr-hoof Grows to the rending claw, and the lewd leer To the horrible fanged snarl, and the soul sinks And leaves the man a devil, all his sin 156 TANTALUS. Grown savourless, and yet he longs to I kept the inner mysteries of Zeus sin And knew the secret of all Being ; who And longs in vain for ever. was Yet, methinks. A sick and impotent wretch, so sick. It was not for the gods to leave me so tired, thus. That even bloodshed palled. I stinted not their worship, building For my stained soul, shrines Knowing its sin, hastened to purge To all of them ; the Goddess of Love I itself served With every rite and charm which the With hecatombs, letting the fragrant dark lore fumes Of priestcraft offered to it. Spells Of incense and the costly steam ascend obscene, From victims year by year ; nay, my The blood of innocent babes, sorceries own son foul relops, my best beloved, I gave to Muttered at midnight — these could them occupy Offering, as he must orfer who would My weary days ; till all my people gain shrank The great gods' grace, my dearest. To see me, and the mother clasped her 1 had gained child Through long and weary orgies that Who heard the monster pass. strange sense They would not hear, Of nothingness and wasted days which They listened not — the cold ungrateful blights gods — The exhausted life, bearing upon its For all my supplications ; nay, the front more Counterfeit knowledge, when the bitter I sought them were they hidden. ash At the last Of Evil, which the sick soul loathes, A dark voice whispered nightly : appears ' Thou, poor wretch, Like the pure fruit of Wisdom. I had That art so sick and impotent, thyself grown The source of all thy misery, the great As wizards seem, who mingle sensual gods rites Ask a more precious gift and excel- And forms impure with murderous lent spells and dark Than alien victims which thou prizest not Enchantments ; till the simple people held And givest without a pang. But shouldst My very weakness wisdom, and thou take believed Thy costliest and fairest offering, That in my blood-stained palace-halls, 'Twere otherwise. The life which thou withdrawn, hast given TANTALUS. '57 Thou mayst recall. Go, offer at the * Strike, fool ! thou art in hell ; strike, shrine fool ! and lose Thy best beloved Pelops, and appease The burden of thy chains.' Then with Zeus and the averted gods, and know slow step again I crept as ci-eeps the tiger on the deer, The youth and joy of yore.' Raised high my arm, shut close my eyes, Night after night, and plunged While all the halls were still, and the My dagger in his heart. cold stars And then, with a flash, Were fading into dawn, I lay awake The veil fell downward from my life Distraught with warring thoughts, my and left throbbing brain Myself to me — the daily sum of sense — P'illed with that dreadful voice. I had The long continual trouble of desire — not shrunk The stain of blood blotting the stain of From blood, but this, the strong son of lust— my youth — The weary foulness of my days, which How should I dare this thing? And wrecked all day long My heart and brain, and left me at the I would steal from sight of him and last men, and fight A madman and accursed ; and I knew, Against the dreadful thought, until the Far higher than the sensual slope which voice held Seared all my burning brain, and cla- The gods M'hom erst I worshipped, a moured, ' Kill ! white peak Zeus bids thee, and be happy.' Then Of Purity, and a stern voice pealing I rose doom— At midnight, when the halls were still, Not the mad voice of old — which and raised pierced so deep The arras, and stole soft to where my Within my life, that with the reeking son blade Lay sleeping. For one moment on his Wet with the heart's blood of my child face I smote And stalwart limbs I gazed, and marked My guilty heart in twain. the rise Ah ! fool, to dream And fall of his young breast, and the That the long stain of time might fade soft plume and merge Which drooped upon his brow, and In one poor chrism of blood. They felt a thrill taught of yore. Of yearning ; but the cold voice urging My priests who flattered me — nor knew me at all Burned me like fire. Three times I The greater God I know, who sits afar gazed and turned Beyond those earthly shapes, passion- Irresolute, till last it thundered at me. less, pure, :S8 TANTALUS. And awful as the Dawn — that the gods The yearning, the fruition. Earth is cared hell For costly victims, drinking in the Or heaven, and yet not only earth ; but steam still, Of sacrifice when the choice hecatombs After the swift soul leaves the gates of Were offered for my wrong. Ah no ! death, there is The pain grows deeper and less mixed. No recompense in these, nor any charm the joy To cleanse the stain of sin, but the long Purer and less alloyed, and wc are Avear damned Of suffering, when the soul which Or blest, as we have lived." seized too much He ceased, with a wail Of pleasure here, grows righteous by Like some complaining wind among the pain the pines That doth redress its ill. For what is Or pent among the fretful ocean caves. Right A sick, sad sound. But equipoise of Nature, alternating Then as I looked, I saw The Too Much and Too Little ? Not His eyes glare horribly, his dry parched on earth lips Tlie salutary silent forces work Open, his weary hands stretch idly Their final victory, but year on year forth Passes, and age on age, and leaves the As if to clutch the air — infinite pain debt And mockery of hope. " Seest thou Unsatisfied, while the o'erburdened them now ? " soul He said. " I thirst, I parch, I famish. Unloads itself in pain. yet Therefore it is They still elude me, fair and tempting I suffer as I suffered ere swift death fruit Set me not free, no otherwise ; and yet And cooling waters. Now they come There comes a healing purpose in my again. pain See, they are in my grasp, they are at I never knew on earth ; nor ever here my lips, The once-loved evil grows, only the Now I shall quench me. Nay, again tale they fly Of penalties grown greater hourly And mock me. Seest thou them, or dwarfs am I shut The accomplished sum of wrong. And From hope for ever, hungering, thirst- yet desire ing still. Pursues me still — sick, impotent desire. A madman and in Hell ? " Fiercer than that of earth. And as I passed We are ourselves In horror, his large eyes and straining Our heaven and hell, the joy, the hands penalty, Froze all my soul witli pity. PHMDRA. '59 Then it was A woman whom I saw : a dark pale Queen, With passion in her eyes, and fear and pain Holding her steadfast gaze, like one wlio sees Some dreadful deed of wrong worked out and knows Himself the cause, yet now is powerless To stay the wrong he would. Seeing me gaze In pity on her woe, she turned and spake With a low wailing voice — "Thou well mayst gaze With horror on me, sir, for I am lost ; I have shed the innocent blood, long years ago, Nay, centuries of pain. I have shed the blood Of him I loved, and found for recom- pense But self-inflicted death and age-long woe. Which purges not my sin. And yet not I It was who did it, but the gods, who took A woman's loveless heart and tortured it With love as with a fire. It was not I W^ho slew my love, but Fate. Fate 'twas which brought My love and me together, Fate which barred The path of blameless love, yet set Love's flame To burn and smoulder in a hopeless heart, W^here no relief might come. The King was old. And I a girl. 'Tis an old tale which runs Thro' the sad ages, and 'twas mine. He had spent His sum of love long since, and I— I knew not A breath of Love as yet. Ah, it is strange To lose the sense of maidenhood, drink deep Of life to the very dregs, and yet not know A flutter of Love's wing. Love takes no thought For pomp, or palace, or respect of men ; Nor always in the stately marriage bed. Closed round, by silken curtains, laid on down, Nestles a rosy form ; but 'mid wild flowers Or desert tents, or in the hind's low cot. Beneath the aspect of the unconscious stars. Dwells all night and is blest. My love, my life ! He was the old man's son, a fair white soul — Not like the others, whom the fire of youth Burns like a flame and hurries un- restrained Thro' riotous days and nights, but virginal And pure as any maid. No careless glance He deigned for all the maidens young and fair Who sought their Prince's eye. But evermore. On the high pastures wandering alone, He dwelt unwed ; weaving to Artemis, i6o PHALDRA. Fairest of all Olympian maids, a wreath From the unpolluted meads, where never herd Drives his white flock, nor ever seythc has come, F)Ut the bee sails upon unfettered wing Over the spring-like lawns, and Purity Waters them with soft dews ; * and yet he showed Of all his peers most manly — heart and soul A very man, tender and true, and strong And pitiful, and in his limbs and mien Fair as Apollo's self. It was at first In Trcezen that I saw him, when he came To greet his sire. Amid the crowd of youths He showed a Prince indeed ; yet knew I not Whom 'twas I saw, nor that I held the place Which was his mother's, only from the throng Love, with a barbed dart aiming, pierced my heart Ere yet I knew what ailed me. Every glance I'^ired me ; the youthful grace, the tall straight limbs. The swelling sinewy arms, the large dark eyes Tender yet full of passion, the thick locks Tossed from his brow, the lip and cheek which bore The down of early manhood, seemed to feed My heart with short-lived joy. For when he stood Forth from the throng and knelt before his sire, * Euripides, " Hippolytus," lines 70-78. Then raised his gaze to mine, I felt the curse Of Aphrodite burn me, as it burned My mother before me, and I dared not meet His innocent, frank young eyes. Said I then young ? Ay, but not young as mine. But I had known The secret things of life, whicli age the soul In a moment, writing on its front their mark * Too early ripe ; ' and he was innocent, My spouse in fitted years, within whose arms I had defied the world, I turned away Like some white bird that leaves the flock, which sails High in mid air above the haunts of men, Feeling some little dart within her breast. Not death, but like to death, and slowly sinks Down to the earth alone, and bears her hurt Unseen, by herbless sand and bitter pool , And pines until the end. Even from that day I strove to gain his love. Nay, 'twas not I, But the cruel gods who drove me. Day by day We were together ; for in days of old Women were free, not pent in gilded jails As afterwards, but free to M-alk alone. For good or evil, free. I hardly took Thought for my spouse, the King. For I had found PH/EDRA. i6i My love at last : what matter if it were A guilty love ? Yet love is love indeed, Stronger than heaven or hell. Day after day I set myself to tempt him from his proud And innocent way, for I had spurned aside Care for the gods or men — all but my love. What need to tell the tale ? Was it a sigh, A blush, a momentary glance, which brought Assurance of my triumph ? It is long Since I have lived, I cannot tell ; I know Only the penalty of death and hell Which followed on my sin, I knew he loved. It was not wonderful, seeing that we dwelt A boy and girl together. I was fair, And Eros fired my eyes and lent my voice His own soft tremulous tones. But when our souls Trembled, upon the verge, and fancy feigned. His arms around me as we fled alone To some free land of exile, came a scroll ; * Dearest, it may not be ; I fear the Gods ; We dare not do this wrong. I go from hence And see thy face no more. Farewell ! Forget The love we may not own ; go, seek for both Forgiveness from the gods.' When I read the words, The cruel words, methought my heart stood still. And when the ebbing life returned I seemed To have lost all thought of Love. Only Revenge Dwelt with me still, the fiercer tliat I knew My long-prized hope, which came so near success, Snatched from me and for ever. When I rose From my deep swoon, I bade a mes- senger Go, seek the King for me. He came and sate Beside my couch, and all the doors were closed, And all withdrawn. Then with the liar's art, And hypocrite tears, and feigned re- luctancy. And all the subtle wiles a woman draws From the armoury of hate, I did instil The poison on his soul. Cunning devices, False grief, false anger with his son, regrets, And half confessions — these, with hate- ful skill Confused together, drove the old man's brain To frenzy ; and I watched him, with a sneer, Turn to a dotard thirsting for the life Of his own child. But how to do the deed. Yet shed no blood, nor know the people's hate, Who loved the Prince, I knew not. Till one day The old man, looking out upon the sea, M l62 PH.^DRA. Besought the dread Poseidon to avenge The treachery of his son. And as we stood Gazing upon the breathless blue, a cloud Rose from the deep, a little fleecy cloud, Which sudden grew and grew, and turned the blue To purple ; and a keen wind rose and sang Higher and higher, and the wine-dark sea Grew ruffled, and within the circling bay The tiny ripples, stealing up the sand. Plunged loud with manes of foam, until they swelled To misty surges thundering on the shore. Then at the old man's elbow as I stood, A deep dark thought, sent by the powers of ill, Answering, as now I know, my own black hate And not my poor dupe's anger, fired my soul And bade me speak. ' The god has heard thy prayer,' I whispered ; ' See the surge which wakes and swells To fury ; well I know what things shall be. It is Poseidon's voice sounds in the storm And sends thy vengeance. Young Hip- polytus Loves, as thou knowest, on the yellow sand, Hard by the rippled margin of the wave, To urge his flying steeds. Bid him go forth— He will obey — and see what recompense The god will send his wrong. In the old man's eyes A watery gleam of malice played awhile — I hate him for it — and he bade his son, Yoking his three young fiery colts, drive forth His chariot on the sand. And still the storm Blew fiercer and more fierce, and the white crests Plunged on the strand, and the loud promontories Thundered back repercussive, and a mist Of foam, torn landv/ard, hid the sound- ing shore. Then saw I him come forth and bid them yoke His untamed colts, I had not seen his face Since that last day, but, seeing him, I felt The old love spring anew, yet mixed with hate — A storm of warring passions. Tho' I knew What end should come, yet would I speak no word That might avert it. The old man looked forth ; I think he had well-nigh forgotten all The wrong he fancied and the doom he prayed, All but the father's pride in the strong son, Who was so young and bold. I saw a smile Upon the dotard's face, when now the steeds Were harnessed and the chariot, on the sand Along the circling margin of the bay. PH^DRA. 163 Flew, swift as liglit. A sudden gleam Swelled swiftly towards tlie land ; the of sun lesser waves Flashed on the silver harness as it went, Sank as it came, and to its toppling Burned on the brazen axles of the crest wheels, The spume-flecked waters, from the And on the golden fillets of the Prince strand drawn back. Doubled the gold. Sometimes a larger Left dry the yellow shore- Onward it wave came. Would dash in mist around him, and in Hoarse, capped with breaking foam. fear lurid, immense. The rearing coursers plunged, and then Rearing its dreadful height. The again chariot sped The strong young arm constrained Nearer and nearer. I could see my love th^m, and they flashed With the light of victory in his eyes. To where the wave-worn foreland ends the smile the bay. Of daring on his lips : so near he came To where the marble palace-wall con- And then he turned his chariot, a fined bright speck The narrow strip of beach— his brave Now seen, now hidden, but always, young eyes tho' the surge Fixed steadfast on the goal, in the pride Broke round it, safe ; emerging like a of life, star Without a thought of death. I strove From the white clouds of foam. And to cry. as I watched. But terror choked my breath. Then, Speaking no word, and breathing scarce like a bull a breath. Upon the windy level of the plain I saw the firm limbs strongly set apart Lashing himself to rage, the furious Upon the chariot, and the reins held wave, high. Poising itself a moment, tossing high And the proud head bent forward, with Its bristling crest dashed downward on long locks the strand. Streaming behind, as nearer and more With a stamp, with a rush, with a roar. near And when I looked. The swift team rushed — until, with a The shore, the fields, the plain, were half joy. one white sea It seemed as if my love might yet elude Of churning, seething foam — chariot The slow sure anger of the god, dull and steeds wrath Gone, and my darling on the wild mad Swayed by a woman's lie. surge But on the verge. Tossed high, whirled down, beaten. As I cast my eyes, a vast and purple and bruised, and flung. wall Dying upon the marble. i64 PH/EDRA. My great love Sprang up redoubled, and cast out my hate And spurned all thought of fear ; and down the stair I hurried, and upon the bleeding form I threw myself, and raised his head, and clasped His body to mine, and kissed him on the lips. And in his dymg ear confessed my wrong. And saw the horror in his dying eyes And knew that I was damned. And when he breathed His last pure breath, I rose and slowly spake — Turned to a Fury now by love and pain — To the old man who knelt, while all the throng Could hear my secret : ' See, thou fool, I am The murderess of thy son, and thou my dupe. Thou and thy gods. See, he was innocent ; I murdered him for love. I scorn ye all, Thee and thy gods together, who are deceived By a woman's lying tongue ! Oh, doting fool. To hate thy own ! And ye, false powers, which punish The innocent, and let the guilty soul Escape unscathed, I hate ye all — I curse, I loathe you ! ' Then I stooped and kissed my love, And left them in amaze ; and up the stair Swept slowly to my chamber, and therein. Hating^ my life and cursing men and gods, I did myself to death. But even here, I find my punishment. Oh, terrible doom Of souls like mine ! To see their evil done Always befoie their eyes, the one dread scene Of horror. See, the wild wave on the verge Towers horrible, and he Oh, Love, my Love ! Safety is near ! quick ! quicker ! urge them on ! Thou wilt 'scape it yet : — Nay, nay, it bursts on him ! I have shed the innocent blood I Oh, dreadful gaze Within his glazmg eyes ! Hide them, ye gods ! Hide them ! I cannot bear them. Quick ! a dagger ! I will lose their glare in death. Nay, die I cannot ; I must endure and live — Death brings not peace To the lost souls in Hell." And her eyes stared. Rounded with horror, and she stooped and gazed So eagerly, and pressed her fevered hands Upon her trembling forehead with such pain As drives the gazer mad. SISYPHUS. 165 Downwaid, and marking every crag with gore And long gray hairs, it plunged, yet Then as I passed, living still, I marked against the hardly dawning sky To the black hollow ; and then a A toilsome figure standing, bent and silence came strained, More dreadful than the noise, and a Before a rocky mass, which with great low groan pain Was all that I could hear. And agony of labour it would thrust When to the foot Up a steep hill. But when upon the cresi Of the dark steep I hurried, half in hope It poised a moment, then I held my To find the victim dead — not recog- breath nizing With dread, for, lo ! the poor feet The undying life of Hell— I seemed to seemed to clutch see The hillside as in fear, and the poor An aged man, bruised, bleeding, with hands gray hairs. With hopeless fingers pressed into the And eyes from ^^•hich the cunning leer stone of greed In agony, and the limbs stiffened, and Was scarcely yet gone out. a cry A crafty voice Like some strong swimmer's, whom the It was that answered me, the voice of mightier stream guile Sweeps downward, and he sees his Part purified by pain : children's eyes " There comes not death Upon the bank ; broke from him ; and To those who live in Hell, nor hardly at last, pause After long wrestlings with despair, the Of suffering longer than may serve to limbs make Relaxed, and as I closed my fearful eyes. The pain renewed, more piercing. Seeing the inevitable doom — a crash, Long ago, A horrible thunderous noise, as down I thought that I had cheated Death, the steep and now The shameless fragment leapt. From I seek him ; but he comes not, nor crag to crag know I It bounded ever swifter, flashing fire If ever he will hear me. Whence art And wreathed with smoke, as to the thou ? lowest depths Comest thou from earthly air, or Of the vale it tore, and seemed to take whence ? What power with it Has brought thee hither ? For I know The miserable form whose painful gaze indeed I caught, as with the great rock whirled Thou art not lost as I ; for never here and dashed I look upon a human face, nor see \ [o6 SISYPHUS. The ghosts who doubtless here on eveiy side Suffer a common pain, only at times I hear the echo of a shriek far off, Like some faint ghost of woe which fills the pause And interval of suffering ; but from ■whom The voice may come, or whence, I know not, only The air teems with vague pain, which doth distract The ear when for a moment comes surcease Of agony, and the sense of effort spent In vain and fruitless labour, and the pang Of long-deferred defeat, which waits and takes The world-worn heart, and maddens it when all — Heaven, conscience, happiness, -are staked and lost For gains which still elude it. Yet 'twas sweet, A King in early youth, when pleasure is sweet, To live the fair successful years, and know The envy and respect of men. I cared For none of youth's delights : the dance, the song, Allured me not ; the smooth soft ways of sense Tempted me not at all. I could despise The follies that I shared not, spending all The long laborious days in toilsome schemes To compass honour and wealth, and, as I grew In name and fame, finding my hoarded gains Transmuted into Power. The seas were white With laden argosies, and all were mine. The sheltering moles defied the wintry storms. And all were mine. The marble aque- ducts, The costly bridges, all were mine. Fair roads Wound round and round the hills — my work. The gods Alone I heeded not, nor cared at all. For aught but that my eyes and ears might take, Spurning invisible things, nor built I to them Temple or shrine, v/rapt up in life, set round With earthly blessings like a god. I rose To such excess of weal and fame and pride, My people held me god-like. I grew drunk With too great power, scoffing at men and gods. Careless of both, but not averse to fling To those too weak themselves, what benefits My larger wisdom spurned. Then suddenly I knew the pain of failure. Summer storms Sucked down my fleets even within sight of port. A grievous blight wasted the harvest- fields, Mocking my hopes of gain. Wars came and drained My store,and I grewneedy,knowing now The hell of stronger .souls, the loss of power Wherein they exulted once. There comes no pain Deeper than to have known delight of power, SISYFBUS. 167 And then to lose it all. But T, I would not Sit tame beneath defeat, trimming my sails To wait the breeze of Fortune — fickle breath Which perhaps might breathe no more — but chose instead By rash conceit and bolder enterprise To win her aid again. I had no thought Of selfish gain, only to be and act As a god to those, feeding my sum of pride With acted good. But evermore defeat Dogged me, and more and more my people grew To doubt me, seeing not the wealth, the force, Which once they worshipped. Then the lust of power Loved, not for sake of others, but itself, Grew on me, and the pride which can dare all, Save failure only, seized me. Evil finds Its ready chance. There were rich argosies Upon the seas : I sank them, ship and crew. In the unbetraying ocean. Wayfarers Crossing the passes with rich mer- chandise My creatures, hid behind the crags, o'erwhelmed With rocks hurled downward. Yet I spent my gains For the public weal, not otherwise ; and they. The careless people, took the piteous spoils Which cost the lives of many, and a man's soul, And blessed the giver. Empty venal blessings. Which sting more deep than curses ! For awhile I was content with this, but at the last A great contempt and hatred of them took me, The base, vile churls ! Why should I stain my soul For such as those — dogs that would fawn and lick The hand that fed them, but, if food should fail. Would turn and rend me? I would none of them ; I would grow rich and happy, being indeed Godlike in brain to such. So with all craft. And guile, and violence I enriched me, loading My treasuries with gold. My deep-laid schemes Of gain engrossed the long laborious days. Stretched far into the night. Enjoy, I might not, Seeing it was all to do, and life so brief That ere a man might gain the goal he would, Lo ! Age, and with it Death, and so an end ! For all the tales of the indignant gods. What were they but the priests'? I had myself Broken all oaths ; long time deceived and ruined With every phase of fraud the j^ious fools Whom oath-sworn Justice bound ; battened on blood ; And what was I the w orse ? How should the gods 1 68 SISYPHUS. Bear rule if I were happy? Death alone Was certain. Therefore must I haste to heap Treasure sufficient for my need, and then Enjoy the gathered good. But gradually There came — not great disasters which might crush All hope, but petty checks which did decrease My store, and left my labour vain, and iiie Unwilling to enjoy ; and gradually I felt the chill approach of age, which stole Higher and higher on me, till the life. As ki a paralytic, left my limbs And heart, and mounted upwards to my brain, Its last resort, and rested there awhile Ere it should spread its wings. But even thus, Tho' powerless to enjoy, the insatiate greed And thirst of power sustained me, and supplied Life's spark with some scant fuel, till it seemed, Year after year, as if I could not die. Holding so fast to life. I grew so old That all the comrades of my youth, my prime, My age, were gone, and I was left alone With those who knew me not, bereft of all Except my master passion — an old man Forlorn, forgotten of the gods and Death. Yet all the people, seeing me grow old And prosperous, held me wise, and spread abroad Strange fables, growing day by day more strange — How I deceived the very gods. They thought That I was blest, remembering not the wear Of anxious thought, the growing sum of pain, The failing ear and eye, the slower limbs. Whose briefer name is Age : and yet I trow I was not all unhappy, though I knew It was too late to enjoy, and though my store Increased not as my greed — nay, even sunk down A little, year by year. Till, last of all, When now my time was come and I had grown A little tired of living, a trivial hurt Laid me upon my bed ; and as I mused On my long life and all its villanies, The wickedness I did, the blood I shed, The guile, the frauds of years — they came with news. One now, and now another ; how my schemes Were crushed, my enterprises lost, my toil And labour all in vain. Day after day They brought these tidings, while I longed to rise And stay the tide of ill, and raved to know I could not. At the last the added sum Of evil, like yon great rock poised awhile Uncertain, gathered into one, o'er- whelmed My feeble strength, and left me ruined and lost, SISYPHUS. 169 And showed me all I was, and all the depth And folly of my sin, and racked my brain, And sank me m despair and misery, And broke my heart and slew me. Therefore 'tis 1 spend the long, long centuries which have come Between me and my sin, in such dread tasks As that thou sawest. In the soul I sinned : In body and soul I sufler. What I bade My minions do to others, that of woe I bear myself; and in the pause of ill, As now, I know again the bitter pang Of failure, which of old pierced thro' my soul And left me to despair. The pain of mind Is fiercer far than any bodily ill, And both are mine — the pang of tor- ture-pain Always recurring ; and, far worse, the pang Of consciousness of black sins sinned in vain — The doom of constant failure. Will, fierce Will ! Thou parent of unrest and toil and woe, Measureless effort ! growing day by day To force strong souls along the giddy steep That slopes to the pit of Hell, where effort serves Only to speed destruction ! Yet I know Thou art not, as some hold, the primal curse Which doth condemn us ; since thou bearest in thee No power to satisfy thyself ; but rather. The spring of act, whereby in earth and heaven Both men and gods do breathe and live and are. Since Lifer is Act and not to Do is Death— I do not blame thee : but to work in vain Is bitterest penalty : to find at last The soul all fouled with sin and stained with blood In vain ; ah, this is hell indeed — the hell Of lost and striving souls ! " Then as I passed, The halting figure bent itself again To the old task, and up the rugged steep Thrust the great rock wuth groanings. Horror chained My parting footsteps, like a nightmare dream Which holds us that we flee not, with fixed eyes That loathe to see, yet cannot choose but gaze Till all be done. Slowly, with dread- ful toil And struggle and strain, and bleeding hands and knees. And more than mortal strength, against the hill He pressed, the wretched one ! till with long pain He trembled on the summit, a gaunt form. With that great rock above him, poised and strained, Now gaining, now receding, now in act To win the summit, now borne down again. And then the inevitable crash — the CL YT/EMNESTRA. Leaping from crag to crag. But ere it Honour or pity, when the swift fire takes ceased A woman's heart, and burns it out, and In dreadful silence, and the low groan leaps came, With fierce forked tongue around it, My limbs were loosed with one con- till it lies vulsive bound ; In ashes, a dead heart, nor aught re- I hid my face within my hands, and fled. mains Surfeit with horror. Of old affections, naught but the new flame Which is unquenched desire ? It did not come, My blessing, all at once, but the slow Then it was again fruit A woman whom I saw, pitiless, stern, Of solitude and midnight loneliness. Bearing the brand of blood — a lithe And weary waiting for the tardy news dark form, Of taken Troy. Long years I sate alone, And cruel eyes which burned beneath Widowed, within my palace, while my the gems Lord That argued her a Queen, and on her Was over seas, waging the accursed war, side First of the file of Kings. Year after An ancient stain of gore, which did year befoul Came false report, or harder, no report Her royal robe. A murderess in thought Of the great fleet. The summers waxed And dreadful act, who took within the and waned. toils The wintry surges smote the sounding Her kingly Lord, and slew him of old shores. time And yet there came no end of it. They After burnt Troy. I had no time to brought speak Now hopeless failure, now great vic- When she shrieked thus : tories ; " It doth repent me not. And all alike were false, all but delay I would 'twere yet to do, and I would And hope deferred, which coming not, do it can break Again a thousand times, if the shed The strong heart sufi'ering wrings not. blood So I bore Might for one hour restore me to the Long time the solitary years, and sought kisses To solace the dull days with motherly Of my ^gisthus. Oh, he was divine, cares My hero, with the godlike locks and For those my Lord had left me. My eyes firstborn, Of Eros' self ! What boots it that they Iphigeneia, sailed at first with him prate Upoii that fatal voyage, but the young Of wifely duty, love of spouse or child, Orestes and Electra stayed with me — CL YTMMNES TRA . 171 Not dear as she was, for the firstborn The wickedness, breathing no word of takes wrath. The mother's heart, and, with the milk Till all was done ! The cowards ! the it draws dull cowards ! From the mother's virgin breast, drains I would some black storm, bursting all the love suddenly, It bore, ay, even tho' the sire be dear ; Had whelmed them and their fleets, ere Much more, then, when he is a King yet they dared indeed, To waste an innocent life ! Mighty in war and council, but too high I had gone mad, To stoop to a woman's love. But she I know it, but for him, my love, my was gone, dear, Nor heard I tidings of her, knowing not My fair sweet love. He came to com- If yet she walked the earth, nor if she fort me bare With words of friendship, holding that The load of children, even as I had my Lord borne Was bound, perhaps, to let her die — Her in my opening girlhood, when I ' The gods leapt Were ofttimes hard to appease— or was From child to Queen, but never loved it indeed the King. The priests who asked it ? Were there any gods ? Thus the slow years rolled onward. Or only phantoms, creatures of the brain, till at last Born of the fears of men, the greed of There came a dreadful rumour — ' She priests, is dead, Useful to govern women? Had he Thy daughter, years ago. The cruel been priests Lord of the fleet, not all the sooth- Clamoured for blood ; the stern cold sayers Kings stood round Who ever frighted cowards should have Without a tear, and he, her sire, with sunk them. His soul to such black depths.' I To see a virgin bleed. They cut with hearkening to him knives As 'twere my own thought grown The slender girlish throat; they watched articulate, the blood Found my grief turn to hate, and hate Drip slowly on the sand, and the young to love — life Hate of my Lord, love of the voice Meek as a lamb come to the sacrifice which spoke To appease the angry gods.' And he. Such dear and comfortable words. And the King, thus. Her father, stood by too, and saw them Love to a storm of passion growing, work swept 72 CL YTy^MNESTRA . My wounded soul and dried my tears, as dries The hot sirocco all the bitter pools Of salt among the sand. I never knew True love before ; I was a child, no more, When the King cast his eyes on me. What is it To have borne the weight of offspring 'nealh the zone If Love be not their sire ; or live long years Of commerce, not of love ? Better a day Of Passion than the long unlovely years Of wifely duty, when Love cometh not To wake the barren days ! And yet at first I hesitated long, nor would embrace The blessing that was mine. We are hedged round, We women, by such close-drawn ordi- nances. Set round us by our tyrants, tliat we fear To overstep a hand's breadth the dull bounds Of custom ; but at last Love, waking in me, Burst all my chains asunder, and I lived For naught but Love. My son, the young Orestes, I sent far off; my girl Electra only Remained, too young to doubt me, and I knew At last what 'twas to live. vSo the swift years Fleeted and found me happy, till the black Ill-omened day when Rumour, thou- sand-tongued. Whispered of taken Troy ; and from my dream Of happiness, sudden I woke, and knew The coming retribution. We had grown Too loving for concealment, and our tale Of mutual love was bruited far and wide Through Argos. All the gossips bruited it,' And were all tongue to tell it to the King When he should come. And should the cold proud Lord I never loved, the murderer of my girl, Come 'twixt my love and me? A swift resolve Flashed through me pondering on it : Love for Love And Blood for Blood — the simple golden rule Taught by the elder gods. When I had taken My fixed resolve, I grew impatient for it, Counting the laggard days. Oh, it was sweet To simulate the yearning of a wife Long parted from her Lord, and mock the fools Who dogged each look and word, and but for fear Had torn me from my throne — the pies, the jays. The impotent chatterers, who thought by words To stay me in the act ! 'Twas sweet to mock them And read distrust within their eyes, when I, Knowing my purpose, bade them quick prepare CL YT/E MNES TRA . '3 All fitting honours for the King, and knew They dared not disobey — oh, 'twas enough To wing the slow-paced hours. But when at last I saw his sails upon the verge, and then The sea worn ship, and marked his face grown old, The body a little bent, which was so straight. The thin grny hairs which were the raven locks Of manhood when he went, I felt a moment I could not do the deed. But when I saw The beautiful sad woman come with him, The future in her eyes, and her pale lips Silent, but charged with doom, two thoughts at once Assailed me, bidding me despatch with a blow Him and his mistress, making sure the will Of fate, and my revenge. Oh, it was strange To see all happen as we planned ; as 'twere Some drama oft rehearsed, wherein each step. Each word, is so prepared, the poorest player Knows his turn come to do — the solemn landing— The ride to the palace gate — the cour- tesies Of welcome — the mute crowds without —the bath Prepared within — the precious circling folds Of tissue stretched around him, shutting out The gaze, and folding helpless like a net The mighty limbs — the battle-axe laid down Against the wall, and I, his wife and Queen, Alone with him, waiting and watching still, Till the woman shrieked without. Then with swift step I seized the axe, and struck him as he lay Helpless, once, twice, and thrice — once for my girl, Once for my love, once for the woman, and all For Fate and my Revenge ! He gave a groan. Once only, as I thought he might ; and then No sound but the quick gurgling of the blood. As it flowed from him in streams, and turned the pure And limpid water of the bath to red — I had not looked for that — it flowed and flowed. And seemed to madden me to look on it, Until my love with hands bloody as mine. But with the woman's blood, rushed in, and eyes Rounded with horror ; and Ave turned to go. And left the dead alone. But happiness Still mocked me, and a doubt un- known before Came on me, and amid the ^^ilken shows 174 CL YT/EMNESTRA. And luxury of power I seemed to see Another answer to my riddle of life Than that I gave myself, and it was * murder ; ' And in my people's sullen mien and eyes, ' Murder ; ' and in the mirror, when I looked, ' Murder ' glared out, and terror lest my son Returning, grown to manhood, should avenge His father's blood. For somehow, as 'twould seem. The gods, if gods there be, or the stern Fate Which doth direct our little lives, do filch Our happiness— though bright with Love's own ray, There comes a cloud which veils it. Yet, indeed. My days were happy. I repent me not ; I would wade through seas of blood to know again Those keen delights once more. But my young girl Electra, grown to woman, turned from me Her modest maiden eyes, nor loved to set Her kiss upon my cheek, but, all dis- traught With secret care, hid her from all the pomps And revelries which did befit her youth, Walking alone ; and often at the tomb Of her lost sire they found her, pouring out Libations to the dead. And evermore I did bethink me of my son Orestes, WIio now should be a man ; and yearned sometimes To see his face, yet feared lest fr^m his eyes His father's soul should smite me. So I lived Plappy and yet unquiet — a stern voice Speaking of doom, which long time softer notes Of careless weal, the music that doth spring From the fair harmonies of life and love, Would drown in their own concord. This at times. Nay, day by day, stronger and dread- fuller, W^ith dominant accent, marred the sounds of joy By one prevailing discord. So at length I came to lose the Present in the dread Of what might come ; the penalty that waits Upon successful sin ; who, having sinned. Had missed my sin's reward. Until one day I, looking from my palace casement, saw A humble suppliant, clad in pilgrim garb. Approach the marble stair. A sudden throb Thrilled thro' me, and the mother's heart went forth Thro' all disguise of garb and rank and years. Knowing my son. How fair he was, how tall And vigorous, my boy ! What strong straight limbs CLYTMMNESTRA. 175 And noble port ! How beautiful the shade Of manhood on his lip ! ■ I loneed to ' burst From my chamber down, yearning to throw myself Upon his neck within the palace court, Before the guards — spurning my queenly rank, All but my motherhood. And then a chill Of doubt o'erspread me, knowini); what a gulf Fate set between our lives, impass- able As that great gulf which yawns 'twixt life and death And 'twixt this Hell and Heaven. I shrank back. And turned to think a moment, half in fear. And half in pain ; dividing the swift mind, Yet all in love. Then came a cry, a groan, From the inner court, the clash of swords, the fall Of a corpse upon the pavement ; and one cried, ' The King is dead, slain by the young Orestes, Who cometh hither.' With the word, the door Flew open, and my son stood straight before me, His drawn sword dripping blood. Oh, he was fair And terrible to see, when from his limbs, The~suppliant's mantle fallen, left the mail And arms of a young warrior. Love and Hate, Which are the offspring of a common sire. Strove for the mastery, till within his eyes I saw his father's ghost glare unappeased From out Love's casements. Then I knew my fate And his — mine to be slain by my son's hand, And his to slay me, ' since the Furies drave Our lives to one destruction ; and I took His point within my breast. But I praise not The selfish, careless gods who wrecked our lives. Making the King the murderer of his girl, And me his murderess; making my son The murderer of his mother and her love — A mystery of blood !— I curse them all, The careless Forces, sitting far with- drawn Upon the heights of Space, taking men's lives For playthings, and deriding as in sport Our happiness and woe — I curse them all. We have a right to joy ; we have a right, I say, as they have. Let them stand confessed The puppets that they are — too weak to give The good they feign to love, since Fate, too strong For them as us, beyond their painted sky, 176 CL YT/EMl^ESTRA Sits and derides them, all. I curse Fate loo, The deaf blind Fury, taking human souls And crushing them, as .a dull fretful child Crushes its toys and knows not with Avhat skill Those feeble forms are feigned. I curse, I loathe, I spit on them. It doth lepent me not. I would 'twere yet to do. I have lived my life. I have loved. See, there he lies within the bath, And thus I smite him! thus! Didst hear him groan ? Oh, vengeance, thou art sweet ! What, living still? Ah me ! we cannot die ! Come, torture me, Ye Furies— for I love not soothing words — As once ye did my son. Ye miserable Blind ministers of Hell, I do defy you; Not all your torments can undo the Past Of Passion and of Love ! " Even as she spake There came a viewless trouble in the air. Which took her, and a sweep of wings unseen, And terrible sounds, which swooped on her and hushed Her voice, and seemed to occupy her soul With horror and despair ; and as she passed I marked her agonized eyes. But as I went. Full many a dreadful shape of lonely pnin 1 saw. What need to tell them ? We are filled Who live to-day with a more present sense Of the great love of God, than those of old Who, groping in the dawn of Know- ledge, saw Only dark shadows of the Unknown ; or he, First born of later singers, who swept deep His awful lyre, and woke the voice of song. Dumb thro' the age-long night. We dread to-day To dwell on those long agonies its sin Brings on the offending soul ; who hold a creed Of deeper Pity, knowing what chains of ill Confine our petty lives. Each phase of woe. Suffering, and torture which the gloomy thought Of bigots feigns for others — all were there. One there was stretched upon a rolling wheel, Which was the barren round of sense, that still Returned upon itself and broke the limbs Bound to it day and night. Others I saw Doomed, with unceasing toil, to fill tlic urns HADES. 177 Whose precious waters sank ere ihey could slake Their burning thirst. Another shapeless soul, Full of revolts and hates and tyrannous force, The weight of earth, which was its earth-born taint, Pressed groaning down, while with fierce beak and claw. The vulture of remorse, piercing his breast, Preyed on his heart. For others, over- head, Great crags of rock impending seemed to fall. But fell not nor brought peace. I felt my soul Blunted with horrors, yearning to escape To where, upon the limits of the wood. Some scanty twilight grew. But ere I passed From those grim shades a deep voice sounded near, A voice without a form. " There is an end Of all things that thou seest ! There is an end Of Wrong and Death and Hell, when the long wear Of Time and Suffering has effaced the stain Ingrown upon the soul, and the cleansed spirit, Long ages floating on the wandering winds Or rolling deeps of Space, renews itself And doth regain its dwelling, and, once more Blent with the general order, floats anew Upon the stream of Things,* and comes at length, After new deaths, to that dim waiting- place Thou next shalt see, and with the justified White souls awaits the End ; or,snatched at once, If Fate so will, to the pure sphere itself. Lives and is blest, and works the Eternal Work Whose name and end is Love ! There is an end Of Wrong and Death and Hell ! " Even as I heard, I passed from out the shadow of Death and Pain, Crying, " There is an end ! " BOOK II. HADES. There stirred no breath of air to \Aake Then from those dark And dreadful precincts passing, ghostly fields And voiceless took me. A faint twilight veiled The leafless, shadowy trees and herb- less plains. to life The slumbers of the world. The sl;y above Was one gray, changeless cloud; there looked no eye Of Life from the veiled heavens ; but Sleep and Death Virgil, "/Eneid " vi. 740. I 17H AMA\SV/IS\ Com[)assecl luc evcrywhcic. And yd no fear Nor horror look nic Ikic, wlicic was no ]iain First I saw Nor dread, save thai slrangc tremor A youth who pensive leaned against which assails the trunk (J)iie\vh() in life's hot noontide looks on Of a daik cypress, and an idle flute death Hung at his side. A sorrowful sad And knows he too shall die. The soul, ghosts which rose Such as sometimes he kntnvs, who l'"ioui every darklinc; copse showed meets the gaze. thin and pale — l\I\ile, uncomplaining yet niost pitiful, Thinner and paler far than those I left 0( one whom Nature, by some secret In agony ; even as I'lty seems to wear spite, A thinner form than J-'ear. lias niaimed and left imperfect ; or the Not caged alone ])ain Like those the avenging J-'uries jxngcd Which fills a poet's eyes. Uenealh his we re these, r.,be Niir that dim land as those Mack \ seemed to sec the scar of cruel stripes, cave tnous dei)llis Too hastdy concealed. N'et was he W'lieie no hope comes. fair souls not woe they and white Wholly unhappy, but from o\it the Whom there I saw, waiting as we shall C( )re wail, Of sufiering Howed a secret spring of The Ijcatific Knd, but thin and pale j'>y» As the yoang faith which made them , Which mocked the droughts of h'ate, touched a little and left him glad lly the sad memories of the earth , And glorying in his sorrow. As I made glad ga/.ed A little by past joys: no more; and He raised his silent llute, and, half wrapt ashamed, In musing on the brief i)lay i)la)ed by IJlew a soft note ; and as I stayed them awhile Upon the livrly earth, yet ignorant 1 heaid him thus discourse — Uf the long lapse ol years, and what " The llute is sweet had been 1\) gods and men, but sweeter far the Since Ihey too breathed Life's air, or if ly.e they knew Ami voice of a true singer. Shall T Keeping some echo only ; but their fear pain To tell of that gieat trial, when I Was fainter than theii joy, ami a gieat strove liopc And Pho'bus eon(iuered? Nay, no Like ours possessed them dimly. shame it is MARSYAS. 79 To bow to an immortal melody ; But glory. Once among the Phrygian hills I lay a-musing, — while the silly sheep Wandered among the thyme — upon the bank Of a clear mountain stream, beneath the pines, Safe hidden from the noon. A dreamy haze Played on the uplands, but the hills were clear In sunlight, and no cloud was on the sky. It was the time when a deep silence comes Upon the summer earth, and all the birds Have ceased from singing, and the world is still As midnight, and if any live thing move — • Some fur-clad creature, or cool gliding snake — Within the pipy overgrowth of weeds, The ear can catch the rustle, and the trees And earth and air are listening. As I lay. Faintly, as in a dream, I seemed to hear A tender music, like the ^olian chords, Sound low within the woodland, whence the stream, Flowed full, yet silent. Long, with ear to ground, I hearkened ; and the sweet strain, fuller grown, Rounder and clearer came, and danced along In mirthful measure now, and now grown grave In dying falls, and sweeter and more clear. Tripping at nuptials and high revelry. Wailing at burials, rapt in soaring thoughts. Chanting strange sea-tales full of mystery. Touching all chords of being, life and death, Now rose, now sank, and always was divine, So strange the music came. Till, as I lay Enraptured, shrill a sudden discord rang, Then all the sounds were still. A light- ning-flash, As from a sun-kissed gem, revealed the wood. A noise of water smitten, and on the heights A fair white fleece of cloud, which swiftly climbed Into the furthest heaven. Then, as I mused. Knowing a parting goddess, straight I saw A wayward splendour float ujwn the stream, And knew it for this jewelled flute, which paused Before me on an eddy. It I snatched Eager, and to my ardent lips I bore The wonder, and behold, with the fust breath — The first warm human breath, the silent strains. The half-drowned notes which late the goddess blew. Revived, and sounded clearer, sweeter far Than mortal skill could make. So with delight [8o MARSYAS. I left my flocks to wander o'er the wastes Untended, and the wolves and eagles seized The tender lambs, but I was for my art- Nought else; and though the high- pitched notes divine Grew faint, yet something lingered, and at last So sweet a note I sounded of my skill, That all the Phrygian highlands, all the far Hill villages, were fain to hear the strain. Which the mad shepherd made. So, overbold, And rapt in my new art, at last I dared To challenge Phoebus' self. 'Twas a fair day When sudden, on the mountain side, I saw A train of fleecy clouds in a white band Descending. Down the gleaming pinnacles And difficult crags they floated, and the arch. Drawn with its thousand rays against the sun, Hung like a glory o'er them. Midst the pines They clothed themselves with form, and straight I knew The immortals. Young Apollo, with his lyre, Kissed by the sun, and all the Muses clad In robes of gleaming white ; then a great fear, Yet mixed with joy, assailed me, for T knew Myselt a mortal equalled with the gods. Ah me ! how fair they were ! how fair and dread In face and form, they showed, when now they stayed Upon the thymy slope, and the young god Lay with his choir around him, beautiful And bold as Youth and Dawn ! There was no cloud Upon the sky, nor any sound at all When I began my strain. No coward fear Of what might come restrained me; but an awe Of those immortal eyes and ears divine Looking and listening. All the earth seemed full Of ears for me alone — the woods, the fields. The hills, the skies were listening. Scarce a sound My flute might make ; such subtle harmonies The silence seemed to weave round me and flout The half unuttered thought. Till last I blew, As now, a hesitating note, and lo ! The breath divine, lingering on mortal lips. Hurried my soul along to such fair rhymes. Sweeter than wont, that swift I knew my life Rise up within me, and expand, and all The human, which so nearly is divine, Was glorified, and on the Muses' lips. And in their lovely eyes, I saw a fair Approval, and my soul in me was glad. MARSYAS. i8i For all the strains I blew were strains of love — Love striving, love triumphant, love that lies Within beloved arms, and wreathes his locks With flowers, and lets the world go by and sings Unheeding; and I saw a kindly gleam Within the Muses' eyes, who were indeed, Women, though god-like. But upon the face Of the young Sun-god only haughty scorn Sate, and he swiftly struck his golden lyre. And played the Song of Life ; and lo, I knew My strain, how earthy ! Oh, to hear the young Apollo playing ! and the hidden cells And chambers of the universe displayed Before the charmed sound ! I seemed to float In some enchanted cave, where the wave dips In from the sunlit sea, and floods its depths With reflex hues of heaven. My soul was rapt By that I heard, and dared to wish no more For victory ; and yet because the sound Of music that is born of human breath Comes straighter from the soul than any strain The hand alone can make ; therefore I knew, With a mixed thrill of pity and delight. The nine immortal Sisters hardly touched By that fine strain of music, as by mine. And when the high lay trembled to its close. Still doubting. Then upon the Sun-god"s face There passed a cold proud smile. He swept his lyre Once more, then laid it down, and with clear voice. The voice of godhead, sang. Oh, ecstasy, Oh happiness of him who once has heard Apollo singing ! For his ears the sound Of grosser music dies, and all the earth Is full of subtle undertones, which change The listener and transform him. As he sang — Of what I know not, but the music touched Each chord of being — I felt my secret life Stand open to it, as the parched earth yawns To drink the summer rain ; and at the call Of those refreshing waters, all my thought Stir from its dark and sunless depths, and burst Into sweet, odorous flowers, and from their wells Deep call to deep, and all the mystery Of all that is, laid open. As he sang, I saw the Nine, with lovely pitying eyes. Sign 'He has conquered.' Yet I felt no pang Of fear, only deep joy that I had heard Such music while I lived, even though it brought Torture and death. For what were it to lie 1 82 MARSYAS. Sleek, crowned with roses, drinking That suffering weds with song, from vulgar praise, him of old, And surfeited with offerings, the dull Who solaced his blank darkness with gift his lyre ; Of ignorant hands — all which I might Through all the story of neglect and have known — scorn. To this diviner failure? Godlike 'tis Necessity, sheer hunger, early death, To climb upon the icy ledge, and fall Which smite the singer still. Not only Where other footsteps dare not. So I those knew Who keep clear accents of the voice My fate, and it was near. divine For to a pine Are honourable — they are happy, in- They bound me willing, and with cruel deed, stripes Whate'er the world has held — but those Tore me, and took my life. who hear But from my blood Some fair faint echoes, though the Was born the stream of song, and on crowd be deaf, its flow And see the white gods' garments on My poor flute, to the clear swift river the hills, borne, Which the crowd sees not, though they Floated, and thence adown a lordlier may not find tide Fit music for their thought ; they too Into the deep, wide sea. I do not are blest, blame Not pitiable. Not from arrogant Phoebus, or Nature which has set this pride bar Nor over-boldness fail they who have Betwixt success and failure, for I know striven How far high failure overleaps the To tell what they have heard, with bound voice too weak Of low successes. Only suftering draws For such high message. More it is The inner heart of song and can elicit than ease. The perfumes of the soul. 'Tvvere not Palace and pomp, honours and luxuries. enough To have seen white Presences upon the To fail, for that were happiness to hills. him To have heard the voices of the Eternal Who ever upward looks with reverent Gods." eye And seeks but to admire. So^ since So spake he, and I seemed to look on the race him. Of bards soars highest ; as who seek to Whose sad young eyes grow on us from show the page Our lives as in a glass ; therefore it Of his own verse : who did himself to comes death : ANDROMEDA. 183 Or whom the dullard slew : or whont The harvest to the ocean ; all the land the sea Was wasted. A great serpent from the Rapt from us : and I passed without a deep. word, Lifting his horrible head above their Slow, grave, with many musings. homes, Devoured the children. And the people prayed In vain to careless gods. On that dear land, Then I came Which now was turned into a sullen On one a maiden, meek with folded sea, hands, Gazing in safety from the stately towers vSeated against a rugged face of cliff, Of my sire's palace, I, a princess, saw, In silent thought. Anon she raised her Lapt in soft luxury, within my bower arms, The wreck of humble homes come Her gleaming arms, above her on the whirling by. rock, The drowning, bleating flocks, the With hands which clasped each other, bellowing herds. till she showed The grain scarce husbanded by toiling As in a statue, and her white robe fell hands Down from her maiden shoulders, and Upon the sunlit plain, rush to the sea, I knew With floating corpses. On the rain- The fair form as it seemed chained to swept hills the stone The remnant of the people huddled By some invisible gyves, and named close. her name : Homeless and starving. All my being And then she raised her frightened eyes was filled to mine With pity for them, and I joyed to As one who, long expecting some great give fear, What food and shelter and compas- Scarce sees deliverance come. But sionate hands when she saw Of woman might. I took the little Only a kindly glance, a softer look ones Came in them, and she answered to my And clasped them shivering to the thought virgin breast With a sweet voice and low. Which knew no other touch but theirs. " I did but muse and gave Upon the painful past, long dead and Raiment and food. My sire, not stern done. to me, Forgetting I was saved. Smiled on me as he saw. My gentle The angry clouds mother. Burst always on the low flat plains, and Who loved me with a closer love than swept binds 1 84 ANDROMEDA. A mother to her son ; and sunned her- self But my sire Hid his face from me, and the crowd of In my fresh beauty, seeing in my young gaze priests And nobles looked not at us. And no Her own fair vanished youth ; doted on me, word Was spoken till at last one drew a And fain had kept my eyes from the sad sights scroll And gave it to the queen, who straight- That pained them. But my heart was faint in me, way swooned, Having read it, on my breast, and then Seeing the ineffable miseries of life, And that mysterious anger of the gods, And helpless to allay them. All in vain I saw, I the young girl whose soft life scarcely knew Shadow of sorrow, I whose heart was Were prayer and supplicalion, all in vain full Of pity for the rest, what doom was The costly victims steamed. The vengeful clouds Hid the fierce .sky, and still the ruin mine. r think I hardly knew in that dread came. hour And wallowing his grim length within the flood, The fear that came anon ; I was trans- formed Over the ravaged fields and homeless homes. The fell sea-monster raged, sating his jaws With blood and lapine. Into a champion of my race, made strong With a new courage, glorying to meet. In all the ecstasy of sacrifice, Death face to face. Some god, I know Then to the dread shrine Of Amnion went the priests, and reverend chiefs Of all the nation. White-robed, at not who, O'erspread me, and despite my mother's tears And my stern father's grief, I met my their head. fate Went slow my royal sire. The oracle Spoke clear, not as ofttimes in words obscure. Unshrinking. When the moon rose clear from cloud Once more again over the midnight sea, Ambiguous. And as we stood to meet The suppliants — she who bare me, with her head And that vast watery plain, Avhere were before Hundreds of hapjiy homes, and well- Upon my neck — we cheerful and with song Welcomed their swift return ; auguring well From such a quick-sped mission. tilled fields, And purple vineyards ; from my father's towers The white procession went along the paths, ANDROMEDA. 185 The high cliff paths, which well I loved There stood I in the moonlight, left of old, alone Among the myrtles. Priests with cen- Against the sea-worn rock. Hardly I sers went knew. And offerings, robed in white, and Seeing only the bright moon and round their brows summer sea. The sacred fillet. With his nobles Which gently heaved and surged, and walked kissed the ledge My sire with breaking heart. My With smooth warm tides, what fate was mother clung mine. I seemed. To me the victim, and the young girls Soothed by the quiet, to be resting still went Within my maiden chamber, and to With wailing and with tears. A solemn watch strain The moonlight thro' my lattice. Then The soft flutes sounded, as we went by again night Fear came, and then the pride of sacri- To a wild headland,rock-basedin thesea. fice Filled me, as on the high cliff lawns I There on a sea-worn rock, upon the heard verge, The wailing cries, the chanted liturgies, To some rude stanchions, high above And knew me bound forsaken to the my head. rock. They bound me. Out at sea, a black And saw the monster-haunted depths of reef rose, sea. Washed by the constant surge, therein a cave So all night long upon the sandy Sheltered deep down the monster. The shores sad queen I heard the hollow murmur of the wave. Would scarcely leave me, though the And all night long the hidden sea caves priests shrunk back made In terror. Last, torn from my endless A ghostly echo ; and the sea birds kiss, mewed Swooning they bore her upwards. All Around me ; once 1 heard a mocking my robe laugh, Fell from my lifted arms, and left dis- As of some scornful Nereid ; once the played waters The virgin treasure of my breasts ; and Broke louder on the scarped reefs, and then ebbed The white procession through the moon- As if the monster coming ; but again light streamed He came not, and the dead moon sank, Upwards, and soon their soft flutes and still sounded low Only upon the cliffs the wails, the Upon the high lawns, leaving me alone. chants, ib6 ANDROMEDA. And I forsaken on my sea-worn rock, And lo, the monster-haunted deptlis of sea. Till at the dead dark hour before the dawn, When sick men die, and scarcely fear itself Bore up my weary eyelids, a great surge Burst on the rock, and slowly, as it seemed, The sea sucked downward to its depths, laid bare The hidden reefs, and then before my eyes — Oh, terrible ! a huge and loathsome snake Lifted his dreadful crest and scaly side Above the wave, in bulk and length so large. Coil after hideous coil, that scarce the eye Could measure its full horror ; the great jaws Dropped as with gore ; the large and furious eyes Were fired with blood and lust. Nearer he came, And slowly, with a devilish glare, more near, Till his hot fcetor choked me, and his tongue, Forked horribly from out his poisonous jaws, Played lightning-like around me. For awhile I swooned, and when I knew my life again. Death's bitterness was past. Then with a bound Leaped up the broad red sun above the sea. And lit the horrid fulgour of his scales, .\nd struck upon the rock ; and as I turned My head in the last agony of death, I knew a brilliant sunbeam swiftly leaping Downward from crag to crag, and felt new hope Where all was hopeless. On the hills a shout Of joy, and on the rocks the ring of mail ; And while the hungry serpent's gloating eyes Were fixed on me, a knight in casque of gold And blazing shield, who with his flash- ing blade Fell on the monster. Long tlie conflict raged. Till all the rocks were red with blood and slime, And yet my champion from those horrible jaws And dreadful coils was scatheless. Zeus his sire Protected, and the awful shield he bore Withered the monster's life and left him cold ; Dragging his helpless length and grovelling crest : And o'er his glaring eyes the films of death Crept, and his writhing flank and hiss of hate The great deep swallowed down, and blood and spume Rose on the waves ; and a strange wailing cry Resounded o'er the waters, and the sea Bellowed within its hollow-sounding caves. ANDROMEDA. 187 Then knew I, I was saved, and with nie all The people. From my wrists he loosed the gyves, My hero; and within his godlike arms Bore me by slippery rock and difficult path, To where my mother prayed. There was no need To ask my love. Without a spoken Avord Love lit his fires within me. My young heart Went forth. Love calling, and I gave him all. Dost thou then wonder that the memory Of this supreme brief moment lingers still, While all the happy uneventful years Of wedded life, and all the fair young growth Of offspring, and the tranquil later joys. Nay, even the fierce eventful fight which raged When we were wedded, fade and are deceased, Lost in the irrecoverable past ? Nay, 'tis not strange. Always the memory Of overwhelming perils or great joys. Avoided or enjoyed, writes its own trace With such deep characters upon our lives, That all the rest are blotted. In this place, Where is not action, thought, or count of time. It is not weary as it were on earth. To dwell on these old memories. Time is born Of dawns and sunsets, days that wax and wane x\nd stamp themselves upon the yielding face Of fleeting human life ; but here there is Morning nor evening, act nor suffering. But only one unchanging Present holds Our being suspended. One blest day indeed, Or centuries ago or yesterday. There came among us one who was Divine, Not as our gods, joyous and breathing strength And careless life, but crowned with a new crown Of suffering, and a great light came with him, And with him he brought Time and a new sense Of dim, long- vanished years ; and since he passed I seem to see new meaning in my fate. And all the deeds I tell of. Evermore The young life comes, bound to the cruel rocks Alone. Before it the unfathomed sea Smiles, filled with monstrous growths that wait to take Its innocence. P^ar off the voice and hand Of love kneel by in agony, and entreat The seeming careless gods. Still when the deep Is smoothest, lo, the deadly fangs and coils Lurk near, to smite with death. And down the crags Of Duty, like a sudden sunbeam, springs Some golden soul half mortal, half divine, Heaven-sent, and breaks the cliain ; and evermore i88 ACT/EON. For sacrifice they die, through sacrifice I seemed to question of his fate, and he They live, and are for others, and no Answered me thus : grief " 'Twas one hot afternoon Which smites the humblest but rever- That I, a hunter, wearied with my day, berates Heard my hounds baying fainter on Thro' all the close-set files of life, and the hills. takes Led by the flying hart ; and when the The princely soul that from its royal sound towers Faded and all was still, I turned to seek, Looks down and sees the sorrow. O'ercome by heat and thirst, a little Sir, farewell! glade. If thou shouldst meet my children on Beloved of old, where, in the shadowy the earth wood. Or here, for maybe it is long ago The clear cold crystal of a mossy pool Since I and they were living, say to Lipped the soft emerald marge, and them gave again I only muse a little here, and wait The flower- starred lawn where ofttimes The waking." overspent And her lifted arms sank down I lay upon the grass and careless bathed Upon her knees, and as I passed I saw My limbs in the sweet lymph. her But as I n eared Gazing with soft rapt eyes, and on her The hollow, sudden through the leaves lips I saw A smile as of a saint. A throng of wood-nymphs fair, sporting undraped Round one, a goddess. She with timid hand Loosened her zone, and glancing round And then T saw let fall A manly hunter pace along the lea. Her robe from neck and bosom, pure His bow upon his shoulder, and his and bright, spear (For it was Dian's self I saw, none Poised idly in his hand : the face and else) form As when she frees her from a fleece of Of vigorous youth ; but in the full cloud brown eyes And swims along the deep blue sea of A timorous gaze as of a hunted hart. heaven Brute-like, yet human still, even as the On sweet June nights. Silent awhile I Faun stood, Of old, the dumb brute passing into Rooted with awe, and fain had turned man, to fly. And dowered with double nature. As But feared by careless footstep to he came affright ACTION. Those chaste cold eyes. Great awe and reverence Held me, and fear ; then Love with passing wing Fanned me, and held my eyes, and checked my breath, Signing ' Beware ! ' So for a time I watched. Breathless as one a brooding niglitmare holds. Who fleeth some great fear, yet fleeth not ; Till the last flutter of lawn, and veil no more Obscured, and all the beauty of my dreams Assailed my sense. But ere I raised my eyes, As one who fain would look and see the sun, The first glance dazed my brain. Only I knew The perfect outline flow in tender curves, To break in doubled charms ; only a haze Of creamy white, and dimpled depths divine : And then no more. For lo ! a sudden chill. And such thick mist as shuts the hills at eve, Oppressed me gazing ; and a heaven- sent shame. An awe, a fear, a reverence for the unknown, Froze all the springs of will and left me cold, And blinded all the longings of my eyes, Leaving such dim reflection still as mocks Him who has looked on a great light, and keeps On his closed eyes the image. Pre- sently, My fainting soul, safe hidden for awhile Deep in Life's mystic shades, renewed herself. And straight, the innocent brute within the man Bore on me, and with half-averted eye I gazed upon the secret. As I looked, A radiance, white as beamed the frosty moon On the mad boy and slew him, beamed on me ; Made chill my pulses, checked my life and heat ; Transformed me, withered all my soul, and left My being burnt out. For lo ! the dreadful eyes Of Godhead met my gaze, and through the mask And thick disguise of sense, as through a wood. Pierced to my life. Then suddenly I knew An altered nature, touched by no desire For that which showed so lovely, but declined To lower levels. Nought of fear or awe, Nothing of love was mine. Wide-eyed I gazed. But saw no spiritual beam to blight My brain with too much beauty, no undraped And awful majesty ; only a brute, Dumb charm, like that which draws the brute to it, Unknowing it is drawn. So gradually I knew a dull content o'ercloud my sense, And unabashed I gazed, like that duml) bird [90 ACTJEON. Which thinks no thouj^jht and speaks That once I ruled them, — brute pur- no word, yet fronts suing brute. The sun that blinded Homer — all my And I the quarry? Then I turned and fear ■fled,— Sunk with my shame, in a base happi- If it was I indeed that feared and fled — ness. Down the long glades, and through the tangled brakes. But as I gazed, and careless turned Where scarce the sunlight pierced ; and passed fled on and on, Through the thick wood, forgetting And panted, self-pursued. But ever- what had been, more And thinking thoughts no longer, swift The dissonant music which I knew so there came sweet. A mortal terror : voices that I knew, When by the windy hills, the echoing My own hounds' hayings that I loved vales. before, And whispering pines it rang, now far. As with them often o'er the purple hills now near, I chased the flying hart from slope to As from my rushing steed I leant and slope, cheered Before the slow sun climbed the With voice and horn the chase — this Eastern peaks, brought to me Until the swift sun smote the Western Fear of I knew not what, which bade plain ; me fly. Whom often I had cheered by voice Fly always, fly ; but when my heart and glance. stood still. Whom often I had checked with hand And all my limbs were stiffened as I fled, and thong. Just as the white moon ghost- like Grim followers, like the passions, firing climbed the sky, me ; Nearer they came and nearer, baying True servants, like the strong nerves. loud. urging me With bloodshot eyes and red jaws On many a fruitless chase, to find and dripping foam j take And when I strove to check their Some too swift-fleeting beauty ; faithful savagery, feet Speaking with words; no voice articu- And tongues, obedient always : these late came, I knew. Only a dumb, low bleat. Then all the Clothed with a new-born force and throng fiercer grown. Leapt swift on me, and tare me as I lay. And stronger than their master ; and And left me man again. I thought. Wherefore I walk What if they tare me with their jaws, Along these dim fields peopled with nor cai-ed the ghosts ACTAiON. 191 Of heroes who have left the ways of With jaws unsated and a thirst for act, earth Bears down on him with clanging For this faint ghost of them. Some- shock, and whelms times I think, His prize and him in ruin. Pondering on what has been, that all And sometimes my days I seem to myself a thinker, who at last, Were shadows, all my life an allegory ; Amid the chase and capture of low ends, And, though 1 know sometimes some Pausing by some cold well of hidden fainter gleam thought Of the old beauty move me, and some- Comes on some perfect truth, and times looks and looks Some beat of the old pulses ; that my Till the fair vision blinds him. And fate, the sum For ever hurrying on in hot pursuit, Of all his lower self pursuing him. To fall at length self-slain, was but a The strong brute forces, the unchecked tale desires, Writ large by Zeus upon a mortal life. Finding him bound and speechless. Writ large, and yet a riddle. For deem him now sometimes No more their master, but some soul- I read its meannig thus : Life is a chase, less thing ; And Man the hunter, always following And leap on him, and seize him, and on, possess With hounds of rushing thought or His life, till 'hiougli death's gate he fiery sense. pass to life, Some hidden truth or beauty, fleeting And, his own ghost, revives. Put still looks no more For ever through the thick-leaved Upon the truth unveiled, save through coverts deep a cloud And wind-worn wolds of time. And Of creed and faith and longing, which if he turn shall change A moment from the hot pursuit to seize One day to perfect knowledge. Some chance-brought sweetness, other But whoe'er than the search Shall read the riddle of my life, I walk To which his soul is set, — some dal- In this dim land amid dim ghosts of liance, kings, Some outward shape o{ Art, some As one day thou shalt ; meantime, fare lower love, thou well." Some charm of wealth and sleek con- tent and home, — Then passed he ; and I marked him Then, if he check an instant, the swift slowly go chase Along the winding ways of that weird Of fierce untempered energies wliich land. pursue^ And vanish in a wood. 192 HELEN. And next I knew A woman perfect as a young man's dream, And breathing as it seemed the nimble air Of the fair days of old, when man was young And life an Epic. Round the lips a smile Subtle and deep and sweet as hers who looks From the old painter's canvas, and derides Life and the riddle of things, the aim- less strife, The folly of Love, as who has proved it all, Enjoyed and suffered. In the lovely eyes A weary look, no other than the gaze Which ofttimes as the rapid chariot whirls, And ofttimes by the glaring midnight streets, Gleams out and chills our thought. And yet not guilt Nor sorrow was it ; only weariness, No more, and still most lovely. As I named Her name in haste, she looked with half surprise. And thus she seemed to speak : " What ? Dost thou know, Thou too, the fatal glances which be- guiled Those strong rude chiefs of old ? Has not the gloom Of this dim land withdrawn from out mine eyes The glamour which once filled them ? Does my cheek Retain the round of youth and still defy The wear of immemorial centuries ? And this low voice, long silent, keeps it still The music of old time? Aye, in thine eyes I read it, and within thine eyes I see Thou knowest me, and the story of my life Sung by the blind old bard when I was dead, And all my lovers dust. I know thee not, Thee nor thy gods, yet would I soothly swear I was not all to blame for what has been, The long fight, the swift death, the woes, the tears, The brave lives spent, the humble homes uptorn, To gain one poor fair face. It was not I That curved these lips into this subtle smile, Or gave these eyes their fire, nor yet made round This supple frame. It was not I, but Love, Love mirroring himself in all things fair, Love that projects himself upon a life. And dotes on his own image. Ah ! the days, The weary years of Love and feasts and gold. The hurried flights, the din of clatter- ing hoofs At midnight, when the heroes dared for me, HELEN. 193 And bove me o'er the hills ; the swift pursuits Baffled and lost ; or when from isle to isle The high-oared galley spread its wings and rose ' Over the swelling surges, and I saw, Time after time, the scarce familiar town, The shadowy hills, the well-loved palaces, The gleaming temples fade, and all for me, Me the dead prize, the shell, the soul- less ghost. The husk of a true woman ; the fond words Wasted on careless ears, that feigned to hear, Of love to me unloving ; the rich feasts, The silken dalliance and soft luxury. The fair observance and high reverence For me who cared not, to whatever land My kingly lover snatched me. I have known How small a fence Love sets between the king And the strong hind, who breeds his brood, and dies Upon the field he tills. I have ex- changed People for people, crown for glittering crown. Through every change a queen, and held my state Hateful, and sickened in my soul to lie Stretched on soft cushions to the lutes' low sound, While on the wasted fields the clang of arms Rang, and the foemen perished, and swift death, Hunger, and plague, and every phase of woe Vexed all the land for me. I have heard the curse Unspoken, when the wife widowed for me Clasped to her heart her orphans starved for me ; As I swept proudly by. I have prayed the gods, Hating my own fair face which wrought such woe, Some plague divine might light on it and leave My curse a ruin. Yet I think indeed They had not cursed but pitied, those true wives Who mourned their humble lords, and straining felt The innocent thrill which swells the mother's heart Who clasps her growing boy ; had they but known The lifeless life, the pain of hypocrite smiles. The dead load of caresses simulated, When Love stands shuddering by to see his fires Lit for the shrine of gold. What if they felt The weariness of loveless love which grew And through the jealous palace portals seized The caged unloving woman, sick of toys. Sick of her gilded chains, her ease, herself. Till for sheer weariness she flew to mee Some new unloved seducer ? What if they knew No childish loving hands, or worse than all, o 194 HELEN. Had borne them sullen to a sire un- Came o'er me, lest he were some youth- loved, ful god And left them without pain ? I might Disguised in shape of man, so fair he have been, was; I too, a loving mother and chaste v^^ife, But when he spoke, the kindly face was Had Fate so willed. full For I remember well Of manhood, and the large eyes full of How one day straying from my father's fire halls Drew me without a word, and all the Seeking anemones and violets, flowers A girl in Spring-time, when the heart Fell from me, and the little milk-white makes Spring lamb Within the buddmg bosom, that I Strayed through the l^rake, and took came with it the white Of a sudden through a wood upon a Fair years of childhood. Time fulfilled bay, my being A little sunny land-locked bay, whose With passion like a cup, and with one banks kiss Sloped gently downward to the yellow Left me a woman. sand. Ah ! the precious hours, Where the blue wave creamed soft When on the warm bank crowned with with fairy foam. flowers we sate And oft the Nereids sported. As I And thought no harm, and his thin strayed reed pipe made Singing, with fresh-pulled violets in my Low music, and no witness of our love hair Intruded, but the tinkle of the flock And bosom, and my hands were full of Stole from the hill, and 'neath the flowers, odorous shade I came upon a little milk-white lamb, We dreamed away the day, and watched And took it in my arms and fondled it, • the waves And wreathed its neck with flowers. Smile shoreward, and beyond the and sang to it sylvan capes And kissed it, and the Spring was in The innumerable laughter of the sea ! my life, And I was glad. Ah youth and love ! So passed the And when I raised my eyes happy days Behold, a youthful shepherd with his Till twilight, and I stole as in a dream crook Homeward, and lived as m a happy Stood by me and regarded as I lay, dream. Tall, fair, with clustering curls, and And when they spoke answered as in a front that wore dream, A budding manhood. As I looked a And through the darkness saw, as in a fear glass, HELEN. 195 The happy, happy day, and thrilled and glowed And kept my love in sleep, and longed for dawn And scarcely stayed for hunger, and with morn Stole eager to the little wood, and fed My life with kisses. Ah ! the joyous days Of innocence, when Love was Queen in heaven. And nature unreproved ! Break they then still, Those azure circles, on a golden shore? Smiles there no glade upon the older earth Where spite of all, gray wisdom, and new gods. Young lovers dream within each other's arms Silent, by shadowy grove, or sunlit sea ? Ah days too fair to last ! There came a night When I lay longing for my love, and knew Sudden the clang of hoofs, the broken doors. The clash of swords, the shouts, the groans, the stain Of red upon the marble, the fixed gaze Of dead and dying eyes, — that was the time When first I looked on death, — and when I woke .^ From my deep swoon, I felt the night air cool Upon my brow, and the cold stars look down, As swift we galloped o'er the darkling plain ; And saw the chill sea glimpses slowly wake, With arms unknown around me. ^^'hen the dawn Broke swift, we panted on the pathless steeps. And so by plain and mountain till we came To Athens, where they kept me till I grew Fairer with every year, and many wooed. Heroes and chieftains, but I loved not one. And then the avengers came and snatched me back To Sparta. All the dark high-crested chiefs Of Argos wooed me, striving king with king For one fair foolish face, nor knew I kept No heart to give them. Vet since I was grown Weary of honeyed words and suit of love, I wedded a brave chief, dauntless and true. But what cared I ? I could not prize at all His honest service. I had grown so tired Of loving and of love, that when they brought News that the fairest shepherd on the hills, Having done himself to death for his lost love, Lay, like a lovely statue, cold and white Upon the golden sand, I hardly knew More than a passing pang. Love, like a flower. Love, springing up too tall in a young breast, HELEN. The growth of morning, Life's too scorching sun Had withered long ere noon. Love, like a flame On his own altar offering up my heart, Had burnt my being to ashes. Was it love That drew me then to Paris ? He was fair, I grant you, fairer than a summer morn. Fair with a woman's fairness, yet in arms A hero, but he never had my heart, Not love for him allured me, but the thirst For freedom, if in more than thought I erred. And was not rapt but willing. For my child Born to an unloved father, loved me not. The fresh sea called, the galleys plunged, and I Fled willing from my prison and the pain Of vmdesired caresses, and the wind Was fair, and on the third day as we sailed. My heart was glad within me when I saw The towers of Ilium rise beyond the wave. Ah, the long years, the melancholy years. The miserable melancholy years ! For soon the new grew old, and then I grew Weary of him, of all, of pomp and state And novel splendour. Vet at times I knew Some thrill of pride within me as I saw From those high walls, a prisoner and a foe. The swift ships flock at anchor in the bay. The hasty landing and the flash of arms, The lines of royal tents upon the plain, The close-shut gates, the chivalry within Issuing in all its pride to meet the shock Of the bold chiefs without ; so year by year The haughty challenge from the warring hosts Rang forth, and I with a divided heart Saw victory incline, now here, now there, And helpless marked the Argive chiefs I knew. The spouse I left, the princely loves of old, Now with each other strive, and now with Troy : The brave pomp of the morn, the fair strong limbs. The glittering panoply, the bold young hearts, Athirst for fame of war, and with the night The broken spear, the shattered helm, the plume Dyed red with blood, the ghastly dying face, And nerveless limbs laid lifeless. And I knew The stainless Hector whom J could have loved. But that a happy love made l)lind his eyes To all my baleful beauty ; fallen and dragged His noble, godlike head upon the sand By young Achilles' chariot ; him in turn Fallen and slain ; my fair false Paris slain ; HELEN. 197 Plague, famine, battle, raging now That is no other than the outward shell within. Of a once loving woman.' . And now without, for many a weary As I spake. year. My pity fired my eyes and flushed my Summer and winter, till I loathed to cheek live. With some soft charm ; and as I spread Who was indeed, as well thev said, the my hands, Hell The purple, glancing down a little, left Of men, and fleets, and cities. As I The marble of my breasts and one pink stood bud Upon the walls, ofttimes a longing Upon the gleaming snows. And as- 1 came, looked Looking on rage, and fight, and blood. With a mixed pride and terror, I beheld and death. The brute rise up within them, and my To end it all, and dash me down and words die; Fall barren on them. So I sat apart, But no god helped me. Nay, one day Nor ever more looked forth, while every I mind day I would entreat them, ' Pray you. Brought its own woe. lords, be men. The melancholy years. What fatal charm is this which Ate The miserable melancholy years, gives Crept onward till the midnight terror To one poor foolish face ? Be strong, came. and turn And by the glare of burning streets I In peace, forget this glamour, get you saw home Palace and temple reel in ruin and fall. With all your fleets and armies, to the And the long-baffled legions, bursting land in I love no longer, where your faithful By gate and bastion, blunted sword and wives spear Pine widowed of their lords, and your With unresisted slaughter. From my young boys tower Grow wild to manhood. I have nought I saw the good old king ; his kindly to give. eyes No heart, nor prize of love for any In agony, and all his reverend hairs man. Dabbled with blood, as the fierce Nor recompense. I am the ghost alone foeman thrust Of the fair girl ye knew ; she still And stabbed him as he lay ; the youths, abides. the girls. If she still lives and is not wholly dead, Whom day by day I knew, their silken Stretched on a flowery bank upon the ease sea And royal luxury changed for blood In fair heroic Argos. Leave this form and tears. 19^ HELEN. Haled forth to death or worse. Then a great hate Of life and fate seized on me, and I rose And rushed among them, crying, ' See, 'tis I, I who have brought this evil ! Kill me ! kill The fury that is I, yet is not I ! And let my soul go outward through the wound Made clean by blood to Hades ! Let me die, Not these who did no wrong ! ' But not a hand Was raised, and all shrank back amazed, afraid, As from a goddess. Then I swooned and fell And knew no more, and when I woke I felt My husband's arms around me, and the wind Blew fair for Greece, and the beaked galley plunged ; And where the towers of Ilium rose of old, A pall of smoke above a glare of fire. What then in the near future .? Ten long years Bring youth and love to that deep summer-tide When the full noisy current of our lives Creeps dumb through wealth of flowers. I think I knew Somewhat of peace at last, with my good Lord Who loved too much, to palter with the past. Flushed with the present. Young Her- mione Had grown from child to woman. She was wed ; And was not I her mother? At the pomp Of solemn nuptials and requited love, I prayed she might be happy, happier far Than ever I was ; so in tranquil ease I lived a queen long time, and because wealth And high observance can make sweet our days When youth's swift joy is past, I did requite With what I might, not love, the kindly care Of him I loved not ; pomps and robes of price And chariots held me. But v/hen Fate cut short His life and love, his sons who were not mine Reigned in his stead, and hated me and mine : And knowing I was friendless, I sailed forth Once more across the sea, seeking for rest And shelter. Still I knew that in my eyes Love dwelt, and all the baleful charm of old Burned as of yore, scarce dimmed as yet by time : I saw it in the mirror of the sea, I saw it in the youthful seamen's eyes. And was half proud again I had such power Who now kept nothing else. So one calm eve, Behold, a sweet fair isle blushed like a rose HELEN. 199 Upon the summer sea ; there my swift Of wedlock was but half a life, what ship fiend Cast anchor, and they told me it was Came 'twixt my love and me, but that Rhodes. fair face ? What left his children orphans, but There, in a little wood above the sea. that face ? Like that dear wood of yore, 1 wandered And me a widow ? Fiend ! I have forth thee now ; Forlorn, and all my seamen were apart, Thou hast not long to live. I will And I, alone ; when at the close of day requite 1 knew myself surrounded by strange Thy murders ; yet, oh fiend ! that art churls so fair, With angry eyes, and one who ordered Were it not haply better to deface them, Thy fatai loveliness, and leave thee A woman, whom I knew not, but who bare walked Of all thy baleful power? And yet I In mien and garb a queen. She, with doubt. the file And looking on thy face I doubt the Of hate within her eyes, ' Quick, bind more. her, men ! Lest all thy dower of beauty be the I know her ; bind her fast ! ' Then to gift the trunk Of Aphrodite, and I fear to fight Of a tall plane they bound me with Against the immortal Gods. ' rude cords That cut my arms. And meantime. Even with the word. far below. And she relenting, all the riddle of The sun was gilding fair with dying life rays Flashed through me, and the inextri- Isle after isle and purple wastes of sea. cable coil Of Being, and the immeasurable depths And then she signed to them, and all And irony of Fate, burst on my thought. withdrew And left me smiling in the eyes of Among the woods and left us, face to death. face. With this deep smile thou seest. Then Two women. Ere I spake, 'I know,' with a shriek she cried, The woman leapt on me, and with ' I know that evil fairness. This it blind rage was, Strangled my life. And when she had Or ever he had come across my life. done the deed That made him cold to me, who had She swooned, and those her followers my love hasting back And left me half a heart, If all my Fell prone upon their knees before the life corpse HELEN. As to a goddess. Then one went and brought A sculptor, and within a jewelled shrine They set me in white marble, bound to a tree Of marble. And they came and knelt to me, Young men and maidens, through the secular years. While the old gods bore sway, but I was here, And now they kneel no longer, for the world Has gone from beauty. But I think, indeed, They well might worship still, for never yet Was any thought or thing of beauty born Except with suffering. That poor wretch who thought I injured her, stealing the foolish heart Which she prized but I could not, what knew she Of that I suffered ? She had loved her love, Though unrequited, and had borne to him Children who loved her. What if she had been Loved yet unloving : all the fire of love Burnt out before love's time in one brief blaze Of passion. Ah, poor fool ! I pity her, Being blest and yet unthankful, and forgive. Now that she is a ghost as I, the hand Which loosed my load of life. For scarce indeed Could any god who cares for mortal men Have ever kept me happy. I had tired Of simple loving, doubtless, as I tired Of splendour and being loved. There be some souls For which love is enough, content to bear From youth to age, from chesnut locks to gray The load of common, uneventful life. And penury. But I was not of these ; I know not now, if it were best indeed That I had reared my simple shepherd brood, And lived and died unknown in some poor hut Among the Argive hills ; or lived a queen As I did,' knowing every day that dawned Some high emprise and glorious, and in death To fill the world with song. Not the same meed The gods mete out for all, or She, the dread Necessity, who rules both gods and men. Some to dishonour, some to honour moulds. To happiness some, some to unhappi- ness. We are what Zeus has made us, dis- cords playing In the great music, but the harmony Is sweeter for them, and the great spheres ring In one accordant hymn. But thou, if e'er There come a daughter of thy love, oh pray To all thy gods, lest haply they should mar Her life with too great beauty ! " So she ceased, The fairest woman that the poet's dream EUR YD ICE. Or artist hand has fashioned. All the gloom Seemed lightened round her, and I heard the sound Of her melodious voice when all was still, And the dim twilight took her. Next there came Two who together walked : one with a lyre Of gold, which gave no sound ; the other hung Upon his breast, and closely clung to him, Spent in a tender longing. As they came, I heard her gentle voice recounting o'er Some ancient tale, and these the words she said : "Dear voice and lyre now silent, which I heard Across yon sullen river, bringing to me All my old life, while he, the ferry- man. Heard and obeyed, and the grim monster heard And fawned on you. Joyous thou cam'st and free Like a white sunbeam from the dear blithe earth, Where suns shone clear, and moons beamed bright, and streams Laughed with a rippling music, — nor as here The dumb stream stole, the veiled sky slept, the fields Were lost in twiUgbt. Like a truant breeze. Which steals in summer from the gates of dawn To kiss the fields of spice, and wakes to life Their slumbering perfume, through this silent land Of whispering voices and of half-closed eyes, Where scarce a footstep sounds, nor any strain Of earthly song, thou cam'st ; and suddenly The pale cheeks flushed a little, the murmured words Rose to a faint, thin treble j the throng of ghosts Pacing along the sunless ways and still, Felt a new life. Thou camest, dear, and straight The dull cold river broke in sparkling foam, The pale and scentless flowers grew perfumed ; last To the dim chamber, where with the sad queen I sat in gloom, and silently inwove Dead wreaths of amaranths ; thy music came Laden with life, and I, who seemed to know Not life's voice only, but my own, arose Along the hollow pathways following The sound which brought back earth and life and love. And memory and longing. Yet I went With half-reluctant footsteps, as of one Whom passion draws, or some high fantasy, Despite himself, because some subtle spell, EURYDICE, Part born of dread to cross that sullen stream And its grim guardians, part of secret shame Of the young airs and freshness of the earth, Being that I was, enchained me. Then at last, From voice and lyre so high a strain arose As trembled on the utter verge of being, And thrilling, poured out life. Thus nearer drawn I walked with thee, enclosed by honeyed sound And soft environments of harmony, Beyond the ghostly gates, beyond the dim Calm fields, where the beetle hummed and the pale owl Stole noiseless from the copse, and the white blooms Stretched thin for lack of sun : so fair a light Offspring of consonant airs environed me. Nor looked I backward, as we seemed to move To some high goal of thought and life and love, Like twin birds flying fast with equal wing Out of the night, to meet the coming sun Above a sea. But on thy dear fair eyes. The eyes that well I knew on the old earth, I looked not, for with still averted gaze Thou leddest, and I followed ; for, indeed, While that high strain was sounding, I was rapt In faith and a high courage, driving out All doubt and discontent and womanish fear, Nay, even love itself. But when awhile It sank a little, or seemed to sink and fall To lower levels, seeing that use makes blunt The too accustomed ear, straightway, desire , To look once more on thy recovered eyes Seized me, and oft I called with piteous voice, Beseeching thee to turn. But thou long time Wert even as one unmindful, with grave sign And waving hand, denying. At the last. When now we neared the stream, on whose far shore Lay life, great terror took me, and I shrieked Thy name, as in despair. Then thou, as one Who knows him set in some great jeopardy, A swift death fronting him on either hand. Didst slowly turning gaze ; and lo ! I saw Thine eyes grown awful, life that looked on death. Clear purity on black and cankered sin, The immortal on corruption, — not the eyes That erst I knew in life, but dread- fuller. And stranger. As I looked, I seemed to swoon, ORPHEUS. 203 Some blind force whirled me back, and Comes to the low fat fields, and sunny when I woke vales I saw thee vanish in the middle stream, Joyous with fruits and flowers, and the A speck on the dull waters, taking white arms with thee Of laughing love ; and there awhile he My life, and leaving Love with me. stays But I Content, forgetting all the joys he Not for myself bewail, but all for thee, knew, Who, but for me, wert now among the When first the morning broke upon stars the hills. With thy great Lord ; I sitting at thy And the keen air breathed from the feet: Eastern gates But now the fierce and unrestrained rout Like a pure draught of wine ; forget- Of passions woman-natured, finding ting all thee The strains which float, as from a Scornful of love within thy lonely cell, nearer heaven. With blind rage falling on thee, tore To him who treads at dawn the un- thy limbs. trodden snows. And left them to the Muses' sepulture. While all the warm world sleeps ; — While thy soul dwells in Hades. But forgetting these I wail And all things that have been. And My weakness always, who for Love if he gain destroyed To raise to his own heights the simpler The life that was my Love. I prithee, souls dear, That dwell upon the plains, the un- Forgive me if thou canst, who hast lost tutored thought, heaven The museless lives, the unawakened To save a loving woman." brain He with voice That yet might soar, then is he blest Sweeter than any mortal melody, indeed. And plaintive as the music that is But if he fail, then, leaving love made behind, By the yEolian strings, or the sad bird The wider love of the race, the closer That sings of summer nights : love *' Eurydice, Of some congenial soul, he turns again Dear love, be comforted ; not once To the old difficult steeps, and there alone alone That which thou mournest is, but day Pines, till the widowed passions of his by day heart Some lonely soul, which walks apart Tear him and rend his soul, and drive ' and feeds him down On high hill pastures, far from herds To the low plains he left. And there of men, he dwells, 204 DEIANEIRA. Missing the nearer skies, and the white peaks, And the keen air of old ; but in their stead Finding the soft sweet sun of the vale, the clouds Which veil the heavens indeed, but give the rains That feed the streams of life and make earth green. And bring at last the harvest. So I walk In this dim land content with thee, O Love, Untouched by any yearning of regret For those old days ; nor that the lyre which made Erewhile such potent music now is dumb ; Nor that the voice that once could move the earth (Zeus speaking through it), speaks in household words Of homely love : Love is enough for me ' With thee, O dearest ; and perchance at last, Zeus willing, this dumb lyre and whispered voice Shall wake, by Love inspired, to such clear note As soars above the stars, and swelling, lifts Our souls to highest heaven." Then he stooped, And, folded in one long embrace, they went And faded. And I cried, *' Oh, strong God, Love, Mightier than Death and Hell ! " And then I chanced On a fair woman, whose sad eyes were full Of a fixed self-reproach, like his who knows Himself the fountain of his grief, and pines In self-inflicted sorrow. As I spake Enquiring of her grief, she answered thus : "Stranger, thou seest of all the shades below The most unhappy. Others sought their love In death, and found it, dying ; but for me The death that took me, took from me my love. And left me comfortless. No load I bear Like those dark wicked women, who have slain Their Lords for lust or anger, whom the dread Propitious Ones within the pit below Punish and purge of sin ; only unfaith, If haply want of faith be not a crime Blacker than murder, when we fail to trust One worthy of all faith, and folly bring No harder recompense than comes of scorn And loathing of itself. Ah, fool, fool, fool, Who didst mistrust thy love, who was the best. And truest, manliest soul with whom the gods Have ever blest the earth ; so brave, so strong, Fired with such burning hate of power- ful ill. DEIANEIRA. 205 So loving of the race, so swift to raise The strenuous arm and ponderous club, and smite All monstrous growths with ruin — Zeus himself Showed scarce more mighty — and yet was the while A very man, not cast in mould too fine For human love, but ofttimes snared and caught By womanish wiles, fast held within the net ,, His passions wove. Oh, it was joy to hear How he went forth, the champion of his race, Conquering in warfare as in love, now bent To more than human tasks, now lapt in ease. Now suffering, now enjoying. Strong, vast soul, Tuned to heroic deeds, and set on high Above the range of common petty sins — Too high to mate with an unequal soul, Too full of striving for contented days. Ah me, how well 1 do recall the cause Of all our ills ! I was a happy bride When that dark Ate which pursues the steps Of heroes — innocent blood-guiltiness — Drove us to exile, and I joyed to be His own, and share his pain. To a swift stream Fleeing we came, where a rough ferry- man Waited, more brute than man. My hero plunged In those fierce depths and battled with their flow, And with great labour gained the strand, and bade The monster speed me to him. But with lust And brutal cunning in his eyes, the thing Seized me and turned to fly with me, when swift An arrow hissed from the unerring bow, Pierced him, and loosed his grasp. Then as his eyes Grew glazed in death there came in them a gleam Of what I know was hate, and he said, ' Take This white robe. It is costly. See, my blood Has stained it but a little. I did wrong : I know it, and repent me. If there come A time when he grows cold — for all the race Of heroes wander, nor can any love Fix theirs for long — take it and wrap him in it. And he shall love again.' Then, from the strange Deep look within his eyes I shrank in fear. And left him half in pity, and I went To meet my Lord, who rose from that fierce stream Fair as a god. Ah me, the weary days We women live, spending our anxious souls, Consumed with jealous fancies, hunger- ing still For the beloved voice and ear and eye. And hungering all in vain ! For life is more 2o6 DEIANEIRA. To youthful manhood than to sit at When first he loved me, held him in home the toils Before the hearth to watch the children's Of scarce dissembled love. Not easily •ways, Might I believe this evil, but at last And lead the life of petty household care The oft -repeated malice finding me Which doth content us women. Day Forlorn, and sitting imp-like at my ear, by day Possessed me, and the fire of jealous I pined in Trachis for my love, while love he, Raged through my veins, not turned as Now in some warlike exploit busied, yet to hate — now Too well I loved for that— but l^reeding Slaying some monster, now at some in me fair court, Unfaith in him. Love, setting him so Resting awhile till some new enterprise high Called him, returned not. News of And self so low, betrayed me, and I treacheries prayed, Avenged, friends succoured, dreadful Constrained to hold him false, the monsters slain. immortal gods Came from him : always triumph. To make him love again. always fame, But still he came not. And honour, and success, and reverence, And still the maddening rumours And sometimes, words of love for me worked, and still who pined * Fair, young, and a king's daughter,' For more than words, and would have the same words gone to him Smote me and pierced me. Oh, there But that the toils of such high errantry is no pain Asked more than woman's strength. In Hades— nay, nor deepest Hell itself. So the slow years Like that of jealous hearts, the torture- Vexed me alone in Trachis, left forlorn pain In solitude, nor hearing at the gate Which racked my life so long. The frank and cheering voice, nor on Till one fair morn the stair • There came a joyful message. ' He The heavy tread, nor feeling the strong has come ! arm And at the shrine upon the promontory, Around me in the darkling night, when all My being ran slow. Last, subtle The fair white shrine upon the purple sea. He waits to do his solemn sacrifice whispers came To the immortal gods ; and with him Of womanish wiles which kept my Lord comes from me, A young maid beautiful as Dawn.' And one who, young and fair, a fresh- Then I, blown life Mingling despair with love, rapt in deep And virgin, younger, fairer far than I joy DEIANEIRA. 207 That plunged in the he was come, depths of hell That she came too, bethought me of the robe The Centaur gave me, and the words he spake, Forgetting the deep hatred in his eyes, And all but love, and sent a messenger Bidding him wear it for the sacrifice To the Immortals, knowing not at all Whom Fate decreed the victim. Shall my soul Forget the agonized message which he sent, Bidding me come ? For that accursed robe, Stained with the poisonous accursed blood. Even in the midmost flush of sacrifice Clung to him a devouring fire, and ate The piteous flesh from his dear limbs, and stung His great sof( soul to madness. When I came, Knowing it was my work, he bent on me, W^ise as a god through suftering and the near Inevitable Death, so that no word Of mine was needed, such a tender look Of mild reproach as smote me. * Couldst not thou Trust me, who never loved as I love thee? What need was there of magical arts (o draw The love that never wavered ? I have lived As he lives who through perilous paths must pass, And lifelong trials, striving to keep down The brute within him, born of too much strength And sloth and vacuous days ; by difli- cult toils. Labours endured, and hard'fought fights with ill, Now vanquished, now triumphant ; and sometimes. In intervals of too long labour, finding His nature grown too strong for him, falls prone Awhile a helpless prey, then once again Rises and spurns his chains, and fares anew Along the perilous ways. Deaiest, I would That thou wert wedded to some knight who stayed At home within thy gates, and were content To see thee happy. But for me the fierce Rude energies of life, the mighty thews, The god-sent hate of Wrong, these drove me forth To quench the thirst of battle. See, this maid. This is the bride I destined for our son Who grows to manhood. Do thou see to her When I am dead, for soon I know again The frenzy comes, and with it ceasing, death. Go, therefore, ere I harm thee when my strength Has lost its guidance. Thou wert rich in love, Be now as rich in faith. Dear, for thy wrong I do forgive thee.' When I saw the glare Of madness fire his eyes, and my ears heard The groans the torture wrung from his great soul, 208 LAOCOON. I fled with broken heart to the white shrine, And knelt in prayer, but still my sad ear took The agony of his cries. Then I who knew There was no hope \n god or man for me Who had destroyed my Love, and with him slain The champion of the suffering race of men, And that my jealous soul, though innocent Of blood, was guilty of unfaith and vile Mistrust, and wrapt in weakness like a cloak, And made the innocent tool of hate and wrong, Against all love and good ; grown sick and filled With hatred of myself, rose from my knees, And went a little space apart, and found A gnarled tree on the cliff, and with my scarf Strangling myself, swung lifeless. But in death I found him not. For, building a vast pile Of scented woods on Oeta, as they tell, My hero with his own hand lighted it, And when the mighty pyre flamed far and wide Over all lands and seas, he climbed on it And laid him down to die ; but pitying Zeus, Before the swift flames reached him, in a cloud Descending, snatched the strong brave soul to heaven, And set him mid the stars. Therefore am I Of all the blameless shades within this place The most unhappy, if of blame, indeed, I bear no load. For what is Sin itself, But Error when we miss the road which leads Up to the gate of heaven ? Ignorance ! What if we be the cause of ignorance ? Being blind who might have seen ! Yet do I know But self-inflicted pain, nor stain there is Upon my soul such as they bear who know The dreadful scourge with which the stern judge still Lashes their sins. I am forgiven, I know. Who loved so much, and one day, if Zeus will, I shall go free from hence, and join my Lord, And be with him again. " And straight I seemed. Passing, to look on some tormented life. Which knows to-day the irony of Fate In self-inflicted pain. Together clung The ghosts whom next I saw, bound three in one By some invisible bond. A sire, of port God-like as Zeus, to whom on either hand A tender stripling clung. I knew them well. As all men know them. One fair youth spake low : "Father, it does not pain me now, to be LAOCOON. 209 Drawn close to thee, and by a double bond, With this my brother." And the other : *' Nay, Nor nie, O father ; but I bless the chain Which binds our souls in union. If some trace Of pain still linger, heed it not — 'tis past : Still let us cHng to thee." He with grave eyes Full of great tenderness, upon his sons Looked with the father's gaze, that is so far ]More sweet, and sad, and tender, than the gaze Of mothers, — now on this one, now on that. Regarding them. '■'■ Dear sons, whom on the earth I loved and cherished, it was hard to watch Your pain ; but now 'tis finished, and we stand For ever, through all future days of time, Symbols of patient suffering undeserved. Endured and vanquished. Yet sad memory still Brings back our time of trial. The young day Broke fair when I, the dread Poseidon's priest, Joyous because the unholy strife was done. And seeing the blue waters now left free Of hostile keels — save where upon the verge Far off the white sails faded — rose at dawn. And whiterobed,andin garb of sacrifice, And with the sacred fillet round my brows, Stood at the altar ; and behind, ye twain, Decked by your mother's hand with new-cleansed robes, And with fresh flower-wreathed chaplets on your curls. Attended, and your clear young voices made Music that touched your father's eyes with tears, If not the careless gods. I seem to hear Those high sweet accents mounting in the hymn Which rose to all the blessed gods who dwelt Upon the far Olympus— Zeus, the Lord, And Sovereign Here, and the immortal choir Of Deities, but chiefly to the dread Poseidon, him who sways the purple sea As with a sceptre, shaking the fixed earth With stress of thundering surges. By the shrine The meek-eyed victim, for the sacrifice, Stood with his gilded horns. The hymns were done, And I in act to strike, when all the crowd Who knelt behind us, with a common fear Cried, with a cry that well might freeze the blood, And then, with fearful glances towards the sea, Fled, leaving us alone — me, the high priest, And ye, the acolytes ; forlorn of men. Alone, but with our god. But we stirred not We dared not fly, who in the solemn act Of worship, and the ecstasy which comes P 2IO LAOCOON. To the believer's soul, saw heaven Ourselves the victims? They were revealed, wrong who taught The mysteries unveiled, the inner sky That 'twas some jealous goddess thus Which meets the enraptured gaze. assailed How should we fear Our lives, revengeful for discovered Who thus were god-encircled ! So we wiles. stood Or hateful of our Troy. Not readily While the long ritual spent itself, nor Should such base passions sway the cast immortal gods ; An eye upon the sea. Till as I came But rather do I hold it sooth indeed To that great act which offers up a That Zeus himself it was, who pitying life The ruin he foreknew, yet might not Before life's Lord, and the full mystery stay. Was trembling to completion, quick I Since mightier Fate decreed it, sent in heard haste A stifled cry of agony, and knew Those dreadful messengers, and bade My children's voices. And the father's them take heart. The pious lives he loved, before the Which is far more than rile or service din done Of midnight slaughter woke, and the By man for god, seeing that it is divine fair town And comes from God to men— this Flamed pitifully to the skies, and all rising in me, W^as blood and ruin. Surely it was Constrained me, and I ceased my prayer. best and turned To die as we did, and in death to live, To succour you, and lo ! the awful A vision for all ages of high pain coils Which passes into beauty, and is Which crushed your lives already. merged bound me round In one accordant whole, as discords And crushed me also, as you clung to merge me, In that great Harmony which ceaseless In common death. Some god had rings heard the prayer. From the tense chords of life, than to And lo ! we were ourselves the sacri- have lived fice— Our separate lives, and died our separate The priest, the victim, the accepted deaths. life. And left no greater mark than drops The blood, the pain, the salutary loss. which rain Upon the unwrinkled sea. Those hosls Was it not better thus to cease and die which fell Together in one blest moment, mid the Before the Scsean gate upon the sand, flush Nor found a bard to sing their fate, but And ecstasy of worship, and to know left NARCISSUS. 211 Their bones to dogs and kites — were they more blest Than we who, in the people's sight before Ilium's imshattered towers, lay down to die Our swift miraculous death? Dear sons, and good, Dear children of my love, now doubly dear For this our common sorrow ; suffer- ing binds Not gyves of pain alone, but fashions for us A chain of purest gold, which though withdrawn Or felt no longer, knits 'tween soul and soul, Indissoluble bonds, and draws our lives So close, that though the individual life Be merged, there springs a common life which grows To such dread beauty, as has power to take The sting from sorrow, and transform the pain Into transcendent joy : as from the storm The unearthly rainbow draws its myriad hues And steeps the world in fairness. All our lives Are notes that fade and sink, and so are merged In the full harmony of Being. Dear sons, Cling closer to me. Life nor Death has torn Our lives asunder, as for some, but drawn Their separate strands together in a knot Closer than Life itself, stronger than Death, Insoluble as Fate." Then they three clung Together — the strong father and young sons, And in their loving eyes I saw the Pain Fade into Joy, Suffering in Beauty lost, And Death in Love ! By a still sullen pool, Into its dark depths gazing, lay the ghost Whom next I passed. In form, a comely youth, Scarce passed from boyhood. Golden curls were his, And wide blue eyes. The semblance of a smile Came on his lip — a girl's but for the down Which hardly shaded it ; but the pale cheek Was soft as any maiden's, and his robe Was virginal, and at his breast he bore The perfumed amber cup which, when March comes, Gems the dry woods and windy wolds, and speaks The resurrection. Looking up, he said : " Methought I saw her then, my love, my fair, My beauty, my ideal ; the dim clouds Lifted, methought, a little — or was it Fond Fancy only ? For I know that here No sunbeam cleaves the twilight, but a mist 212 NARCISSUS. Creeps over all the sky and fields and pools, And blots them ; and I know I seek in vain My earth-sought beauty, nor can Fancy bring An answer to my thought from these blind depths And unawakened skies. Yet has use made The quest so precious, that I keep it here, Well knowing it is vain. On the old earth 'Twas otherwise, when in fair Thes- saly I walked regardless of all nymphs who sought My love, but sought in vain, whether it were Dryad or Naiad from the woods or streams, Or white-robed Oread fleeting on the side Of fair Olympus^ echoing back my sighS; In vain, for through the mountains day by day I wandered, and along the foaming brooks. And by the pine-woods dry, and never took A thought for love, nor ever 'mid the throng Of loving nymphs who knew me beau- tiful I dallied, unregarding ; till they said Some died for love of me, who loved not one. And yet I cared not, wandering still alone Amid the mountains by the scented pines. Till one fair day, when all the hills were still, Nor any breeze made murmur through the boughs, Nor cloud was on the heavens, I wandered slow, Leaving the nymphs who fain with dance and song Had kept me 'midst the glades, and strayed away Among the pines, enwrapt in fantasy. And by the beechen dells which clothe the feet Of fair Olympus, wrapt in fantasy. Weaving the thin and unembodied shapes Which Fancy loves to body forth, and leave In marble or in song ; and so strayed down To a low sheltered vale above the plains. Where the lush grass grew thick, and the stream stayed Its garrulous tongue ; and last upon the bank Of a still pool I came, where was no flow Of water, but the depths were clear as air, And nothing but the silvery gleaming side Of tiny fishes stirred. There lay I down Upon the flowery bank, and scanned the deep, Half in a waking dream. Then swift there rose, From those enchanted depths, a face more fair Than ever I had dreamt of, and I knew My sweet long-sought ideal : the thick curlsj NARCJSSUS. 213 Like these, were golden, and the white Rose, a blue vault above us, and no robe showed shade Like this ; but for the wondrous eyes Of earthly thing obscured us, as we and lips, lay The tender loving glance, the sunny Two reflex souls, one and yet different, smile Two sundered souls longing to be Upon the rosy mouth, these knew I not, Not even in dreams ; and yet I seemed at one. There, all day long, until the light was to trace gone Myself within them too, as who should And took my love away, I lay and find loved His former self expunged, and him The image, and when night was come, transformed 'Farewell,' To some high thin ideal, separate I whispered, and she whispered back, From what he was, by some invisible •Farewell,' bar, With oh, such yearning ! Many a day And yet the same in difference. As I we spent moved By that clear pool together all day long. My arms to clasp her to me, lo ! she And many a clouded hour on the wet moved grass Her eager arms to mine, smiled to my I lay beneath the rain, and saw her not, smile. And sickened for her ; and sometimes Looked love to love, and answered the pool longing eyes Was thick with flood, and hid her ; and With longing. When my full heart sometimes burst in words. Some cold wind ruffled those clear 'Dearest, I love thee,' lo ! the lovely wells, and left lips, But glimpses of her, and I rose at eve •Dearest, I love thee,' sighed, and Unsatisfied, a cold chill in my limbs through the air And fever at my heart : until, too soon ! The love-lorn echo rang. But when I The summer faded, and the skies were longed hid, To answer kiss with kiss, and stooped And my love came not, but a quench- my lips less thirst To her sweet lips in that long thrill Wasted my life. And all the winter which strains long Soul unto soul, the cold lymph came The bright sun shone not, or the thick between ribbed ice And chilled our love, and kept us Obscured her, and I pined for her, and separate souls knew Which fain would mingle, and the self- My life ebb from me, till I grew too same heaven weak 214 NARCISSUS. To seek her, fearing I should see no more My dear. And so the long dead winter waned And the slow spring came back. And one blithe day, When life was in the woods, and the birds sang, And soft airs fanned the hills, I knew again Some gleam of hope within me, and again "With feeble limbs crawled forth, and felt the spring Blossom within me ; and the flower- starred glades. The bursting trees, the building nests, the songs, The hurry of life revived me ; and I crept, Ghost like, amid the joy, until I flung My panting frame, and weary nerveless limbs, Down by the cold still pool. And lo ! I saw My love once more, not beauteous as of old, But oh, how changed ! the fair young cheek grown pale, The great eyes, larger than of yore, gaze forth With a sad yearning look ; and a great pain And pity took me which were more than love, And with a loud and wailing voice I cried, * Dearest, I come again. I pine for thee,' And swift she answered back, ' I pine for thee ; ' 'Come to me, oh, my own,' I cried, and she — Come to me, oh, my own. Then with a cry Of love I joined myself to her, and plunged Beneath the icy surface with a kiss, And fainted, and am here. And now, indeed, I know not if it was myself I sought, As some tell, or another. For I hold That what we seek is but our other self, Other and higher, neither wholly like Nor wholly different, the half-life the gods Retained when half was given — one the man And one the woman ; and I longed to round The imperfect essence by its comple- ment. For only thus the perfect life stands forth Whole, self-sufficing. Worse it is to live 111 -mated than imperfect, and to move From a false centre, not a perfect sphere. But with a crooked bias sent oblique Athwart life's furrows. 'Twas myself, indeed. Thus only that I sought, that lovers use To see in that they love, not that which is. But that their fancy feigns, and view themselves Reflected in their love, yet glorified. And finer and more pure. Wherefore it is : All love which finds its own ideal mate Is happy — happy that which gives itself Unto itself, and keeps, through long calm years, The tranquil image in its eyes, and knows MEDUSA. 215 Fulfilment and is blest, and day by For in those tender flo\\ ers is hid the day life Wears love like a white flower, nor That once was mine. All things are holds it less bound in one Though sharp winds bite, or hot suns In earth and heaven, nor is there any fade, or age gulf Sully its perfect whiteness, but inhales 'Twixt things that live,— the flower that Its fragrance, and is glad. But happier was a life. still The life that is a flower, — but one sure He who long seeks a high goal un- chain attained. Binds all, as now I know. And wearies for it all his days, nor If there are stiU knows Fair Oreads on the hills, say to them. Possession sate his thirst, but slill sir, pursues They must no longer pine for me, but The fleelii-j, .^veliness— now seen, now find lost, Some worthier lover,' who can love But evermore grown fairer, till at last again ; He stretches forth his arms and takes For I have found my love." the fair And to the pool In one long rapture, and its name is He turned, and gazed with dreaming Death." eyes, and showed Fair as an angel. Thus he ; and seeing me stand grave : *' Farewell. If ever thou shouldst happen on a wood In Thessaly, upon the plain-ward spuis Of fair Olympus, take the path which Leaving him enwrapt winds In musings, to a gloomy pass I came Through the close vale, and thou shalt Between dark rocks, where scarce a see the pool gleam of light, Where once I found my life. And if Not even the niggard light of that dim in Spring land. Thou go there, round the margin thou Might enter ; and the soil was black shalt know and bare. These amber blooms bend meekly, Nor even the thin growths which smiling down scarcely clothed Upon the crystal surface. Pluck them The higher fields might live. Hard by not. a cave But kneel a little while, and breathe a Which sloped down steeply to the lowest prayer depths, To the fair god of Love, and let them Whence dreadful sounds ascended. be. seated stilL 2l6 MEDUSA. Her head upon her hands, I saw a maid With eyes fixed on the ground — not Tartarus It was, but Hades ; and she knew no pain, Except her painful thought. Yet there it seemed, As here, the unequal measure which awaits The adjustment, and meanwhile, in- spires the strife Which rears life's palace walls ; and fills the sail W^hich bears our bark across unfathomed seas. To its last harbour ; this prevailed there too, And 'twas a luckless shade wliich sat and wept Amid the gloom, though blameless. Suddenly, She raised her head, and lo ! the long curls, writhed. Tangled, and snake-like — as the drip- ping hair Of a dead girl who freed from life and shame, From out the cruel wintry flow, is laid Stark on the snow with dreadful staring eyes Like hers. For when she raised her eyes to mine, They chilled my blood, so great a woe they bore ; And as she gazed, wide-eyed, I knew my pulse Beat slow, and my limbs stiffen. Then they wore. At length, a softer look, and life revived Within my breast as thus she softly spoke : *' Nay, friend, I would not harm thee. I have known Great sorrow, and sometimes it racks me still. And turns me into stone, and makes my eyes As dreadful as of yore ; and yet it comes But seldom, as thou sawest, now, for Time And Death have healing hands. Only I love To sit within the darkness here, nor face The throng of happier ghosts ; if any ghost Of happiness come here. For on the earth They wronged me bitterly, and turned to stone My heart, till scarce I knew if e'er I was The happy girl of yore. That youth who dreams Up yonder by the margin of the lake. Knew but a cold ideal love, but me Love in unearthly guise, but bodily form. Seized and betrayed. I was a priestess once, Of stern Athene, doing day by day Due worship ; raising, every dawn that came. My cold pure hymns to take her virgin ear ; Nor sporting with the joyous company Of youths and maids, who at the neigh- bouring shrine Of Aphrodite served. Nor dance nor song Allured me, nor the pleasant days of youth And twilights 'mid the vines. They held me cold MEDUSA. 217 Who were my friends in childhood. To wreak such vengeance on me ? I For my soul had erred, Was virginal, and at the virgin shrine It may be ; but on him, whose was the I knelt, athirst for knowledge. Day by guilt. day No heaven-sent vengeance lighted, but The long cold ritual sped, the liturgies he sped Were done, the barren hymns of praise Away to other hearts across the deep. went up Careless and free ; but me, the cold Before the goddess, and the ecstasy stern eyes Of faith possessed me wholly, till almost Of the pure goddess withered ; and the I knew not I was woman. Yet I knew scorn That I was fair to see, and fit to share Of maids, despised before, and the wSome natural honest love, and bear the great blank load Of love, this wrung my heart, whose Of children like the rest ; only my soul love was gone, Was lost in higher yearnings. And froze my blood ; set on my brow Like a god, despair. He burst upon those pallid lifeless days. And turned my gaze to stone, and filled Bringing fresh airs and salt, as from my eyes the sea. With horror, and stiffened the soft And wrecked my life. How should a curls which once virgin know Lay smooth and fair into such snake- Deceit, who never at the joyous shrine like rings Of Cypris knelt, but ever lived apart. As made my aspect fearful. All who And so grew guilty? For if I had saw. spent Shrank from me and grew cold, and My days among the throng, either my felt the warm, fault Full tide of life freeze in them, seeing Were blameless, or undone. For in me innocence Love's work, who sat wrapt up and The tempter spreads his net. For lost in shame, innocence As in a cloak, consuming my own heart. The gods keep all their terrors. Inno- And was in hell already. As they gazed cence Upon me, my despair looked forth so It is that bears the burden, which for cold guilt From out my eyes, that if some spoiler Is lightened, and the spoiler goes his came way, Fresh from his wickedness, and looked Uncaring, joyous, leaving her alone. on them. The victim and unfriended. Their glare would strike him dead ; and Was it just those fair curls In her, my mistress, who had had my Which once the accursed toyed with, youth. grew to be 2I8 MEDUSA. The poisonous things thou seest ; and Which too great sorrow left me j at one sOj with hate stroke Of man's injustice and the gods', who Clean from the trunk, and then o'er knew land and sea, Me blameless, and yet punished me ; Invisible, sped with winged heels, to and .sick wheie. Of life and love, and loathing earth Upon a sea worn cape, a fair young and sky. maid, And feeding on my sorrow, Hate at last More blameless even than I was, Left me a Fury. chained and bound. Ah, the load of life Waited a monster from the deep and Which lives for hatred ! We are made stood to love — In innocent nakedness. Then, as he We women, and the injury which turns rose. The honey of our lives to gall, trans- Loathsome, from out the depths, a forms monstrous growth. The angel to the fiend. For it is A creature wholly serpent, partly man, sweet The wrongs that I had known, stronger To know the dreadful sense of strength, than death. and smite Rose up with such black hate in me And leave the tyrant dead with a again, glance ; ay ! sweet, And wreathed such hissing poison In that fierce lust of power, to slay the through my hair. life And shot such deadly glance^ from my Which harmed not, when the sup- eyes, pliants' cry ascends That nought that saw might live. And To ears which hate has deafened. So the vile worm I lived W^as slain, and she delivered. Then I Long time in misery ; to my sleepless dreamt eyes My mistress, whom I thought so stern No healing slumbers coming ; but at to me, length. Athene, set those dreadful staring eyes. Zeus and the goddess pitying, I knew And that despairing visage, on her shield Soft rest once more veiling my dreadful Of chastity, and bears it evermore gaze To fright the waverer from the wrong In peaceful slumbers. Then a blessed he would. dream And strike the unrepenting spoiler, I dreamt. For, lo ! a god-like knight dead." in mail Of gold, who sheared with his keen Then for a little paused she, while I flashing blade ; saw With scarce a pang of pain, the visage Again her eyes grow dreadful, till cold once more, ADONIS. 219 And with a softer glance : " From that blest dream I woke not on the earth, but only here. And now my pain is lightened since I know My dream, which was a dream within the dream Which is our life, fulfilled. And I have saved Another through my suffering, and through her A people. Oh, strange chain of sacri- fice, That binds an innocent life, and from its blood And sorrow works out joy ! Oh, mystery Of pain and evil ! wrong grown salu- tary, And mighty to redeem ! If thou shouldst see A woman on the earth, who pays to- day Like penalty of sin, and the new gods (For after Saturn, Zeus ruled ; after him It may be there are others) love to take The tender heart of girlhood, and to immure "Within a cold and cloistered cell the life Which nature meant to bless, and if Love come Hold her accursed ; or to some poor maid. Forlorn and trusting, still the tempter conies And works his wrong, and leaves her in despair And shame and all abhorrence, while he goes His way unpunished, — if thou know her eyes Freeze thee like mine — oh ! bid her lose her pain In succouring others — say to her that Time And Death have healing hands, and here there comes To the forgiven transgressor only pain Enough to chasten joy ! " And a soft tear Trembled within her eyes, and her sweet gaze Was as the Magdalen's, the horror gone And a great radiance come. Then as I passed To upper air, I saw two figures rise Together, one a woman with a grave Fair face not all unhappy, and the robes And presence of a queen ; and with her walked The fairest youth that ever maiden's dream Conceived. And as they came, the throng of ghosts, For these who were not wholly ghosts, arose. And did them homage. Not the bond of love Bound them, but such calm kinship as is bred Of long and difficult pilgrimages borne Through common perils by two souls which share A common weary exile. Nor as ghosts These showed, but rather like two lives which hung Suspended in a trance. A halo of life ADONIS. Played round them, and they brought a sweet brisk air Tasting of earth and heaven, like sojourners Who stayed but for awhile, and knew a swift Release await them. First the youth it was Who spake thus as they passed : " Dread Queen, once more I feel life stir within me, and my blood Run faster, while a new strange cycle turns And grows completed. Soon on the dear earth. Under the lively light of fuller day, I shall revive me of my wound ; and thou, Passing with me yon cold and lifeless stream. And the grim monster who will fawn on thee, Shalt issue in royal pomp, and wreathed with flowers, Upon the cheerful earth, leaving behind A deeper winter for the ghosts who dwell Within these sunless haunts ; and I shall lie Once more within loved arms, and thou shalt see Thy early home, and kiss thy mother's cheek. And be a girl again. But not for long ; For ere the bounteous Autumn spreads her hues Of gold and purple, a cold voice will call And bring us to these wintry lands once more. As erst so often. Blest are we, indeed, Above the rest, and yet I would I knew The careless joys of old. For in hot youth. Oh, it was sweet to greet the balmy night That was love's nurse, and feel the weary eyes Closed by soft kisses, — sweet at early dawn To wake refreshed and, scarce from loving arms 'Scaping, to ride afield, with winding horn, By dewy heath and brake, and taste the fair Young breath of early morning ; and 'twas sweet To chase the bounding quarry all day long With my good hounds and trusty steed, and gay Young comrades of my youth, and with the eve To turn home laden with the spoil, and take The banquet which awaited, and sweet wine Poured out, and kisses pressed on loving lips ; Circled by snowy arms. Oh, it was sweet To be alive and young ! For sure it is The gods gave not quick pulses and hot blood And strength and beauty for no end, but would That we should use them wisely ; and the fair, Sweet mistress of my service was, indeed. Worthy of all observance. Oh, her eyes When I lay bleeding ! All day long we rode, PERSEPHONE. I and my youthful peers, with horse Being a goddess and in heaven, but and hound, smooths And knew the joy of swift pursuit and My path to the old earth, where still I toil know And peril. At the last, a fierce boar Once more the dear lost days, and once turned again At bay, and with his gleaming tusks Blossom on that soft breast, and am o'erthrew again My steed, and as I fell upon the A youth, and rapt in love ; and yet flowers, not all Pierced me as with a sword. Then, As careless as of yore ; but seem to as I lay. know I knew the strange slow chill which, The early spring of passion, tamed by stealing, tells time The young that it is death. Yet knew And suffering, to a calmer, fuller flow, I not Less fitful, but more strong." Or pain or fear, only great pity, indeed. Then ftie sad Queen : That she should lose her love, who was " Fair youth, thy lot I know, for I am so fond old And gracious. But when, lifting my As the old earth and yet as young dim gaze, as is I saw her bend o'er me, — the lovely The budding spring, and I was here a eyes Queen, Suffused with tears, and her sweet When Love was not or Time, and to smile replaced my arms By sweeter sorrow, — for a while I Thou camest as a little child, to dwell stayed Within the halls of Death, for without Life's ebbing tide, and raised my cold, Death M'hite lips, There were nor Birth nor Love, nor With a faint smile, to hers. Then, Avould Life yearn with a kiss — To lose itself within another life. One long last kiss, we mingled, and I And dying, to be born. I, too, have knew died No more. For love in part, and live again through But even in death, so strong is Love, love ; I could not wholly die ; and year by For in the far-off years, when Time year, was young. When the flowered Spring returns, and And Love unborn on earth, and Zeus the earth lives, in heaven Love opens these dread gates, and calls Ruled, a young sovereign ; I, a maiden. me forth dwelt Across the gulf. Not here, indeed, she With loved Demeter on the sunny comes, plains 222 PERSEPHONE. Of our own Sicily. There, day by day, Hiding my life in his, nor when I wept. I sported with my playmate goddesses, My flowers all withered, and my blood In virgin freedom. Budding age made ran slow gay Within a wintry land. Some voice Our lightsome feet, and on the flowery there was slopes Which said, 'Fear not. Thou shalt We wandered daily, gathering flowers return and see to weave Thy mother again, only a little while In careless garlands for our locks, and Fate wills that thou shouldst tarry, and passed become The days in innocent gladness. Thought Queen of another world. Thou seest of Love that all There came not to us, for as yet the Thy flowers are faded. They shall live earth again Was virginal, nor yet had Eros come On earth, as thou shalt, as thou livest With his delicious pain. now And one fair morn — The Life of Death— for what is Death Not all the ages blot it — on the side but Life Of ^tna we were straying. There was Suspended as in sleep ? The primal then rule Summer nor winter, springtide nor the Where life was constant, and the sun time o'erhead. Of harvest, but the soft unfailing sun Blazed forth unchanging, changes and Shone always, and the sowing time was is hidden one Awhile. This region which thou seest, With reaping ; fruit and flower together where all glowed The trees are lifeless, and the flowers Upon the trees ; and blade and ripened are dead, ear Is but the self-same earth on which Together clothed the plains. There, erewhile as I strayed, Thou sportedst fancy free.' Sudden a black cloud down the rugged So, without fear side I wandered on this bare land, seeing far Of ^tna, mixed with fire and dreadful Upon the sky the peaks of my own hills sound And crests of my own woods. Till, Of thunder, rolled around me, and I when I grew heard Hungered, ere yet another form I saw ; The maids who were my fellows turn Along the silent alleys journeying. and flee And leafless groves ; a fair and mystic With shrieks and cries for me. tree But I, I knew Rose like a heart in shape, and 'mid its No terror while the god o'ershadowed leaves me. One golden mystic fruit with a fair seed PERSEPHONE. 223 Hid in it. This, with childish hand, I took And ate, and straight I knew the tree was Life, And the fruit Death, and the hid seed was Love. Ah, sweet strange fruit ! the which if any taste They may no longer keep their lives of old Or their own selves unchanged, but some weird change And subtle alchemy comes which can transmute The blood, and mould the spirits of gods and men In some new magical form. Not as before, Our life comes to us, though the passion cools, Nviy, never as before. INIy mother came Too late to seek mc. She had power to raise A life from out Death's grasp, but from the arms Of Love she might not take me, nor undo Love's past for all her strength. She came and sought With fires her daughter over land and sea, Beyond the paths of all the setting stars, In vain, and over all the earth in vain, Seeking whom love disguised. Then on all lands She cast the spell of barrenness : the wheat Was blighted in the ear, the purple grapes Blushed no more on the vines, and all the gods Were sorrowful, seeing the load of ill My rape had laid on men. Last, Zeus himself, Pitying the evil that was done, sent forth His messenger beyond the western lim To fetch me back to earth. But not the same He found me who had eaten of Love's seed, But changed into another ; nor could his power Prevail to keep me wholly on the earth, Or make me maid again. The wintry life Is homelier often than the summer blaze Of happiness unclouded; so, when Spring Comes on the world, I, coming, cross with thee, Year after year, the cruel icy stream ; And leave this anxious sceptre and the shades Of those in hell, or those for whom, though blest, No Spring comes, till the last great Spring which brings New heavens and new earth ; and lay my head Upon my mother's bosom, and giow young, And am a girl again. A soft air breathes Across the stream and fills these barren fields With the sweet odours of the earth. I know Again the perfume of the violets Which bloom on Etna's side. Soon we shall pass Together to our home, while round our feet The crocus flames like gold, the wind- flowers white 224 ENDYMION. Wave their soft petals on the hreeze, and all The choir of flowers lift up their silent song To the unclouded heavens. Thou, fair boy, Shalt lie within thy love's white arms again, And I within my mother's. Sweet is Love In ceasing and renewal ; nay, in these It lives and has its being. Thou couldst not keep Thy youth as now, if always on the breast Of love too late a lingerer thou hadst known Possession sate thee. Nor might I have kept My mother's heart, if I had lived to ripe And wither on the stalk. Time calls and Change Commands both men and gods, and speeds us on We know not whither ; but the old earth smiles Spring after Spring, and the seed bursts again Out of its prison mould, and the dead lives Renew themselves, and rise aloft and soar And are transformed, clothing them- selves with change Till the last change be done." As thus she spake, I saw a gleam of light flash from the eyes Of all the listening shades, and a great Thrill through the realms of Death. And then again A youthful shade I saw, a comely boy. With lip and cheek just touched with manly down. And strong limbs wearing Spring ; in mien and garb A youthful chieftain, with a perfect face Of fresh young beauty, clustered curls divine. And chiselled features like a sculptured god. But warm and breathing life ; only the eyes, The fair large eyes, were full of dream- ing thought. And seemed to gaze beyond the world of sight, On a hid world of beauty. Him I stayed. Accosting with soft words of courtesy ; And, on a bank of scentless flowers reclined, He answered thus : *' Not for the garish sun I long, nor for the splendours of high noon In this dim land I languish ; for of yore Full often, when the swift chase swept along Through the brisk morn, or when my comrades called To wrestling, or the foot-race, or to cleave The sunny stream, I lovedi to walk apart. Self-centred, sole ; and when the laughing girls To some fair stripling's oaten melody Made ready for the dance, I heeded not ; Nor when to the loud trumpet's blast and blare ENDYMIOM. My peers rode forlli to battle. For, Nearer she drew and gazed ; and as I one eve, lay In Latmos, after a long day in June, Supine, beneath her spell, the radiance I stayed to rest me on a sylvan hill, stooped Where often youth and maid were wont And kissed me on the lips, a chaste. to meet sweet kiss. Toward moonrise ; and deep slumber Which drew my spirit with it. So I fell on me slept Musing on Love, just as the ruddy orb Each night upon the hill, until the Rose on the lucid night, set in a frame Dawn Of blooming myrtle and sharp tremulous Came in his golden chariot from the East, plane ; And chased my Love away. But ever Deep slumber fell, and loosed my limbs thus in rest. Dissolved in love as in a heaven-sent dream. Then, as the full orb poised upon the Whenever the bright circle of the moon peak, Climbed from the hills, whether in leafy There came a lovely vision of a maid. June Who seemed to step as from a silvery Or harvest-tide, or when they leapt and skiff pressed Out of the low-hung moon. No mortal Red-thighed the spouting must, I form, walked apart Such as oft times of yore I knew and From all, and took no thought for clasped mortal maid. At twilight 'mid the vines at the mad Nor nimble joys of youth ; but night feast by night Of Dionysus, or the fair maids cold I stole, when all were sleeping, to the Who streamed in white processions to hill, the shrine And slumbered and was blest ; until I Of the chaste Virgin Goddess ; but a grew shape Possest by love so deep, I seemed to Richer and yet more pure. No thinnest live veil In slumbers only, while the waking day Obscured her ; but each exquisite limb Showed faint as any vision. revealed, So I grew She seemed an ivory statue subtly Paler and feebler with the months, and wrought climbed By a great sculptor on the architrave The steep with laboured steps and Of some high temple-front— only in her difficult breath. The form was soft and loving, breath- But still I climbed. Ay, though the ing life. wintry frost And tender. As I seemed to gaze on Chained fast the streams and whitened her, all the fields, 226 END YMIOK I sought my mistress through the leafless Beamed, and the grapes grew purple. groves, Many a day And shimbered and was happy, till the They heaped up gold, they knelt at dawn festivals, Returning found me stretched out, cold They waxed in high report and fame of and stark, men. With life's fire nigh burnt out. Tdl They gave their girls in marriage ; while one clear night. for me When the birds shivered in the pines. Upon the untrodden peaks, the cold, and all grey morn. The inner heavens stood open, lo ! she The snows, the rains, the winds, the came. untempered blaze. Brighter and kinder still, and kissed Beat year by year, until I turned to my eyes stone, And half-closed lips, and drew my soul And the great eagles shrieked at me, through them. and wheeled And in one precious ecstasy dissolved Affrighted. Yet I judge it better My life. And thenceforth, ever on the indeed hill To seek in life, as now I know I sought. I lie unseen of man ; a cold, white form, Some fair impossible Love, which slays Still young, through all the ages ; but our life. my soul, Some fair ideal raised too high for man; Wearing this thin presentment of old And failing to grow mad, and cease to days, be, Walks this dim land, where never Than to decline, as they do who have moonrise comes. found Nor day-break, but a twilight waiting- Broad-paunched content and weal and time. happiness : No more ; and, ah ! how weary ! Yet And so an end. For one day, as I I judge know, My lot a higher far than his who spends The high aim unfulfilled fulfils itself; His youth on swift hot pleasure, quickly The deep, unsatisfied thirst is satisfied ; past ; And through this twilight, broken Or theirs, my equals', who through long suddenly. calm years The inmost heaven, the lucent stars of Grew sleek in dull content of wedded God, lives The Moon of Love, the Sun of Life;' And fair-grown offspring. Many a day and I, for them. I who pine here — I on the Latmian hill While I was wandering here, and my Shall soar aloft and find them." bones bleached With the word, Upon the rocks, the sweet autumnal There beamed a shaft of dawn athwart sun the skies, JFSYCHE. 227 I And straight the sentinel thrush within the yew Sang out reveille to the hosts of day, Soldierly ; and the pomp and rush of life Began once more, and left me there alone Amid the awaking world. Nay, not alone. One fair shade lingered in the fuller day, The last to come, when now my dream had grown Half mixed with waking thoughts, as grows a dream In summer mornings when the broader light Dazzles the sleeper's eyes ; and is most fair Of all and best remembered, and becomes Part of our waking life, when older dreams Grow fainter, and are fled. So this remained The fairest of the visions that I knew. Most precious and most dear. The increasing light Shone through her, finer than the thinnest shade, And yet most full of beauty ; golden wings, From her fair shoulders springing, seemed to raise Her stainless feet from the gross earth and lift Their wearer into air ; and in her eyes Was such fair glance as comes from virgin love, Long chastened and triumphant. Every soil Of life had vanished from her, and she showed As one who walks a saint already on earth, Virgin or mother. Immortality Breathed from those radiant eyes which yet had passed Between the gates of death. I seemed to hear The Soul of mortals speaking : " I was born Of a great race and mighty, and was grown Fair, as they said, and good, and kept a life Pure from all stain of passion. Love I knew not, Who M-as absorbed in duty ; and the Queen Of gods and men, seeing my life more calm Than human hating my impassive heart, Sent down her perfect son in wrath to earth. And bade him break me. But when Eros came. It did repent him of the task, for Love Is kin to Duty. And within my life I knew miraculous change, and a soft flame Wherefrom the snows of Duty flushed to rose, ■ And the chill icy depths of mind were stirred By a warm tide of passion. Long I lived Not knowing what had been, nor re- cognized A Presence walking with me through my life. As if by night, his face and form con- cealed : 228 PSYCHE. A gracious voice alone, which none but I Might hear, sustained me, and its name was Love. Not as the earthly loves which throb and flush Round earthly shrines was mine, but a pure spirit. Lovelier than all embodied love, more pure And wonderful ; but never on his eyes I looked, which still weie hidden, and I knew not The fashion of his nature ; for by night, When visual eyes are blind, but the soul sees, Came he, and bade me think not to make search Or whence he came or wherefore. Nor knew I His name. And always ere the coming day, As if he were the Sun-god, lingering With some too well-loved maiden, he would rise And vanish until eve. But all my being Thrilled with my fair unearthly visitant To higher duty and more glorious meed Of action than of old, for it was Love That came to me, who might not know his name. Thus, ever rapt by dreams divine, I knew The scorn that comes from weaker souls, which miss. Being too low of nature, the great joy Revealed to others higher ; nay, my sisters. Who being of one blood with me, made choice To tread the flowery ways of daily life, Grew jealous of me, bidding me take heed Lest haply 'twas some monstrous fiend I loved, Such as in fable ofttimes sought and won The innocent hearts of maids. Long time I h,eld My love too dear for doubt, who was so sweet And lovable. But at the" last the sneers. The mystery which hid him, the swift flight Before the coming dawn, the shape concealed. The curious girlish heart, these worked on me With an unsatisfied thirst. Not his own words : ' Dear, I am with thee only while I keep My visage hidden ; and if ihou once shouldst see My face, I must forsake thee : the high gods Link Love with Faith, and he with- draws himself From the full gaze of Knowledge' — not even these Could cure me of my longing, or the fear Those mocking voices worked : who fain would learn The worst that might befall. And one sad night, Just ere the day leapt from the hills and brought The hour when he should go : with tremulous hands. Lighting my midnight lamp in fear, I stood Long time uncertain, and at length turned round And gazed upon my love. He lay asleep, And oh, how fair he was ! The flicker- ing light PSYCHE. 229 Fell on the fairest of the gods, stretched I wandered over earth, and knelt in each, out Enquiring for my Love ; and I would ask In happy slumber. Looking on his The priests and worshippers, ' Is this locks Love's shrine ? Of gold, and faultless face and smile. Sirs, have you seen the god ? ' But and limbs never at all Made perfect, a great joy and trembling I found him. For some answered, took me * This is called Who was most blest of women, and in The Shrine of Knowledge ; ' and awe another, 'This, And fear I stooped to kiss him. One The Shrine of Beauty ; ' and another, warm drop — ' Strength ; ' From the full lamp within my trembling And yet another, 'Youth.' And I hand. would kneel Or a glad tear from my too happy eyes. And say a prayer to my Love, and rise Fell on his shoulder. And seek another. Long, o'er land Then the god unclosed and sea, His lovely eyes, and with great pity I wand(jred, till I was not young or fair, spake : Grown wretched, seeking my lost Love ; ' Farewell ! There is no Love except and last. with P'aith, Came to the smiling, hateful shrine And thine is dead ! Farewell ! I where ruled come no n^ore.' The queen of earthly love and all And straightway from the hills the full delight. red sun Cypris, but knelt not there, but asked Leapt up, and as I clasped my love of one again. Who seemed her priest, if Eros dwelt The lovely vision faded from his place, with her. And came no more. Then I, with breaking heart, Then to the subtle-smiling goddess' Knowing my life laid waste by my own self hand. They led me. She with hatred in her Went forth and would have sought to eyes : hide my life ' What ! thou to seek for Love, who Within the stream of Death ; but Death art grown thin came not And pale with watching ! He is not To aid me who not yet was meet foi- for thee. Death. What Love is left for such? Thou didst despise Then finding that Love came not Love, and didst dwell apart. Love back to me. sits within I thought that in the temples of the gods The young maid's eyes, making them Haply he dwelt, and so from fane to fane beautiful. 230 PSYCHE. Love is for youth, and joy, and happi- Ay, sweeter than of old, and ten- ness ; derer. And not for withered lives. Ho ! Speak to me, pierce me, hold me, fold bind her fast. me round Take her and set her to the vilest tasks, With arms Divine, till all the sordid And bend her pride by solitude and earth tears, Was hued like heaven, and Life's dull \Yho vi'iW not kneel to me, but dares to prison-house seek Turned to a golden palace, and those A disembodied love. My son has gone low tasks And left thee for thy fault, and thou Giew to be higher works and nobler shalt know gains The misery of my thralls. Than any gains of knowledge, and at Then in her house last They bound me to hard tasks and vile, He whispered softly, ' Dear, unclose and kept thine eyes. My life from honour, chained among Thou mayst look on me now. I go no her slaves more, And lowest ministers, taking despite But am thine own for ever.' And injury for food, and set to bind Then with wings Their wounds whom she had tortured. Of gold we soared, I looking m his and to feed eyes. The pitiful lives \s\\\c\\ in her prisons Over yon dark broad river, and this pent dim land, Languished in hopeless pain. There is Scarce for an instant staying till we no sight reached Of suffering but I saw it, and was set The inmost courts of heaven. To succour it j and all my woman's . But sometimes L^till heart I come here for a little, and speak a Was torn with the ineffable miseries word Which love and life have worked ; and Of peace to those who wait. The dwelt long time slow wheel turns. In groanings and in tears. The cycles round themselves and grow- And then, oh joy ! complete. Oh miracle ! once more again at length The world's year whitens to the I felt Love's arms around me, and the harvest-tide, kiss And one word only am I sent to say Of Love upon my lips, and in the chill To those dear souls, who wait here, or Of deepest prison cells, 'mid vilest tasks, who now The glow of his sweet breath, and the Breathe earthly air — one universal warm touch word Of his invisible hand, and his sweet To all things living, and the word i.s voice, 'Love.'" OL YMFUS. Then soared she visibly before my Some unheard measure, passing where gaze, I stood And the heavens took her, and I knew In fair procession, each with a faint my eyes smile Had seen the Soul of man, the death- Upon the lip, signing "Farewell, oh less Soul, shade ! Defeated, struggling, purified, and blest. It shall be well with thee, as 'tis with us, If only thou art true. The world of Life, The world of Death, are but opposing Then all the choir of happy waiting sides shades, Of one great orb, and the Light shines Heroes and queens, fair maidens and on both. brave youths. Oh, happy, happy shade ! Farewell ! Swept by me, rhythmic, slow, as if they Farewell ! " trod And so they passed away. BOOK III. OLYMPUS. But I, my gaze Following the soaring soul which now was lost In the awakening skies, floated with her, As in a trance, beyond the golden gates AYhich separate Earth from Heaven ; and to my thought. Gladdened by that broad effluence of light, The fair and fugitive fancies of a dream, Which vanish ere we fix them ? But me thinks He knows the scene, who knows the one fair day. One only and no more, which year by year In springtime comes, when lingering winter flies. This old earth seemed transfigured, and ; And lo ! the bare boughs prankt with the fields, So dim and bare, grew green and clothed themselves With lustrous hues. A fine ethereal air Played round me as I mused, and filled the soul With an ineffable content. What help In words to tell of things unreached by words ? Or how to engrave upon the treacherous thought white and pink. And golden clusters, and the green glades starred With delicate primrose and deep odorous beds Of violets, and on the tufted meads With kingcups lit, and cowslip bells, and blue Sweet hyacinths, and frail anemones, The broad West wind breathes softly, and the air 2^2 OL YMPUS. Is tremulous with the lark, and thro' the woods The soft full-throated thrushes all day long Flood the green dells with joy, and thro' the dry Brown fields the sower strides, sowing his seed. And all is life and song. Or he who first. Whether in fair free boyhood, when the world Is his to choose, or when his fuller life Beats to another life, or afterwards. Keeping his youth within his children's eyes. Looks on the snow-clad everlasting hills, And marks the sunset smite them, and is glad Of the beautiful fair world. A springtide land It seemed, where East winds came not. Sweetest song Was everywhere, by glade or sunny plain ; And thro' the golden valleys winding streams Rippled in glancing silver, and above, The blue hills rose, and overall a peak, White, awful, with a constant fleece of cloud Veiling its summit, towered. Unfailing Day Lighted it, for no turn of dawn and eve Came there, nor changing seasons, but a broad Fixed joy of Being, undisturbed by Time. There, in a happy glade shut in by groves Of laurel and sweet myrtle, on a green And (lower-lit lawn, I seemed to see the ghosts Of the old gods. Upon the gentle slope Of a fair hill, a joyous company, The Immortals lay. Hard by, a mur- murous stream Fell through the flowers ; below them, space on space, Laughed the immeasurable plains ; beyond, The mystic mountain soared. Height after height Of bare rock ledges left the climbing pines, And reared their giddy, shining terraces Into the ethereal air. Above, ihc snows Of the white summit cleft the fleece of cloud Which always clothed it round. Ah, fair and sweet, Yet with a ghostly fairness, fine and thin. Those godlike Presences. Not dreams indeed, But something dream-like, were they. Blessed Shades Heroic and Divine, as when, in days When Man was young, and Time, tlie vivid thought Translated into Form the unattained Impossible Beauty of men's dreams, and fixed The Loveliness in marble. As with awe Following my spotless guide, I stood apart, Not daring to draw near ; a shining form Rose from the throng, and floated, light as air, To where I trembled. And I knew the face And form of Artemis, the fair, the pure, The undefiled. A crescent silvery moon ARTEMIS. 233 Shone thro' her locks, and by her side she bore A quiver of golden darts, Al sight of whom I felt a sudden chill, like his who once Looked upon her and died ; yet could not fear, Seeing how fair she was. Her sweet voice rang Clear as a bird's : " Mortal, what fate hath brought Thee hither, uncleansed by death ? How canst thou breathe Immortal air, being mortal ! Yet fear not, Since thou art come. For we too are of earth Whom here thou seest : there were not a heaven Were there no earth, nor gods, had men not been, But each the complement of each and grown The other's creature, is and has its being, A double essence. Human and Divine. So that the God is hidden in the man. And something Human bounds and forms the God ; Which else had shown too great and undefined I'or mortal sight, and having no human eye To see it, were unknown. But we who bore Sway of old time, we were but attributes * Of the great God who is all Things that be — The Pillar of the Earth and starry Sky, The Depth of the great Deep ; the Sun, the Moon, The W'ord which Makes; the All- compelling Love — * See the Orphic Hymns. For all Things lie within His Lifinitc Form." Even as she spake, a throng of shapes divine Floated around me, filling all my soul With fair unearthly beauty, and the air \\'ith such ambrosial perfume as is born. When morning breathes upon a tropic sea. From boundless wastes of flowers ; and as I knelt hi rapture, lo ! the same clear voice again From out the throng of gods : " Those whom thou seest Were even as T, embodiments of Him Who is the Centre of all Life : myself The Maiden-Queen of Purity ; and Strength, Divine when unabused ; Love too, the .Spring And Cause of Things ; and Knowledge, which lays bare Their secret ; and calm Duty, Queen of all, And Motherhood in one ; and Youth, which bears, Beauty of Form and Life and Light, and breathes The breath of Inspiration ; and the Soul , The particle of God, sent down to man, W^hich doth in turn reveal the world and God. W^herefore it is men called on Artemis, The refuge of young souls ; for still in age They keep some dim reflection unefifaced Of a Diviner Purity than comes To the spring days of youth, when all the world 231 ARTEMIS. Smiles, and the rapid blood thro' the young veins Courses, and all is glad ; yet knowing too That innocence is young — before the soil And smirch of sadder knowledge, settling on it, Sully its primal whiteness. So they knelt At my white shrines, the eager boyish souls, To whom life's road showed like a dewy field In early summer dawns, when to the sound Of youth's clear voice, and to the cheerful rush Of the tumultuous feet and clamorous tongues Careering onwards, fair and dappled fawns, Strange birds with jewelled plumes, fierce spotted pards. Rise in the joyous chase, to be caught and slain By the young conqueror ; nor yet the charm Of sensual ease allures. And they knelt too, The pure sweet maidens fair and fancy- free, Whose innocent virgin hearts shrank from the touch Of passion as fi^om wrong — sweet moon- lit lives Which fade, and pale, and vanish, in the glare Of Love's hot noontide : these came robed in white, With holy hymns and soaring liturgies : And so men fabled me, a huntress now. Borne thro' the flying woodlands, fair and free j And now the pale cold Moon, Light without warmth, Zeal without touch of passion, heavenly love For human, and the altar for the home. But oh, how sweet it was to take the love And awe of my young worshippers ; to watch The pure young gaze and hear the pure young voice Mount in the hymn, or see the gay troop come With the first dawn of day, brushing the dew From the unpolluted fields, and wake to song The slumbering birds ; strong in their innocence ! I did not envy any goddess of all The Olympian company her votaries ! Ah, happy days of old which now are gone ! A memory and a dream ! for now on earth I rule no longer o'er young willing hearts In voluntary fealty, which would cease When Love, with fiery accents calling, woke The slumbering soul ; as now it should for those Who kneel before the purer, sadder shrine Which has replaced my own. But ah ! too oft. Not always, but too often, shut from life Within pale life-long cloisters and the bars Of hopeless convent prisons, year by year, HERAKLES. 23^ Age after age, the white souls fade and pine ^Vhich simulate the joyous service free Of those young worshippers. 1 would that I Might loose the captives' chain ; or Herakles, Who was a mortal once." But he who stood Colossal at my side : " I toil no more On earth, nor wield again the mighty strength ^\'hich Zeus once gave me for the cure of ill. I have run my race ; I have done my work ; I rest P\)r ever from the toilsome days I gave 'i"o the suffering race of men. And yet, indeed, Methinks they suffer still. Tyrannous growths And monstrous vex them still. Pesti- lence lurks And sweeps them down. Treacheries come, and wars, And slay them still. Vaulting ambition leaps And falls in bloodshed still. But I am here At rest, and no man kneels to me, or keeps Reverence for strength mighty yet un- abused — Strength which is Power, God's choicest gift, more rare And precious than all Beauty, or the charm Of Wisdom, since it is the instrument Thro' which all Nature works. For now the earth Is full of meekness, and a new God rules. Teaching strange precepts of humility And mercy and forgiveness. Yet I trow There is no lack of bloodshed and deceit And groanings, and the tyrant works his wrong Even as of old ; but now there is no arm Like mine, made 'strong by Zeus, to beat him down, Him and his wrong together. Yet I know I am not all discrowned. The strong brave souls, The manly tender hearts, whom tale of wrong To woman or child, to all weak things and small, Fires Hke a blow ; kindling the righteous flush Of anger on the brow ; knotting the cords Of muscle on the arm ; with one desire To hew the spoiler down, and make an end, And go their way for others ; making light Of toil and pain, and too laborious days. And peril ; beat unchanged, albeit they serve A Lord of meekness. For the world still needs Its champion as of old, and finds him still. Not always now with mighty sinews and thews Like mine, though still these profit, but keen brain I 236 APHRODITE. And voice to move men's souls to love But bearing, as it seemed, some faintest the right trace And hate the wrong ; even tho' the Of earthly struggle still, not the gay bodily form ease Be weak, of giant strength, strong to Of the elder heaven-born gods. assail The hydra heads of Evil, and to slay The monsters that now waste them : Ignorance, Self-seeking, coward fears, the hate of And then there came Man, Beauty and Joy m one, bearing the form Disguised as love of God. These Of woman. How to reach with halting labour still • 1' words With toil as hard as mine. P'or what That infinite Perfection? All have was it known To strive with bodily ills, and do great The breathing marbles which the Greek deeds has left Of daring and of strength, and bear the Who saw her near, and strove to fix her crown, charms, To his high task who wages lifelong And exquisitely failed ; or those fair strife forms With an impalpable foe ; conquering The Painter offered at a later shrine. indeed. And failed. Nay, what are words? — But, ere he hears the pcean or sees the he knows it well pomp Who loves, or who has loved. Laid low in the arms of Death? And She with a smile tho' men cease Playing around her rosy lips ; as plays To worship at my shrine, yet not the The sunbeam on a stream : less " Shall I complain It is the toils I knew, the pains I bore Men kneel to me no longer, taking to 'For others, which have kept the stead- them fast heart Some graver, sterner worship ; grown Of manhood undefiled, and nerved the too wise arm For fleeting joys of Love ? Nay, Love Of sacrifice, and made the martyr strong is Youth, To do and bear, and taught the race of And still the world is young. Still men shall I reign How godlike 'tis to suffer thro' life, and Within the hearts of men, while Time die shall last At last for others' good ! " And Life renews itself. All Life that The strong god ceased. is, And stood a little, musing ; blest in- From the weak things of earth or .^ea deed, or air, APHRODITE. ^yi Which creep or float for an hour ; to godlike man — All know me and are mine. I am the source And mother of all, both gods and men ; the spring Of Force and Joy, which, penetrating all Within the hidden depths of the Un- known, Sets the blind germ of Being, and from the bond Of incomplete and dual Essences Evolves the harmony which is Life. The world W^ere dead without my rays, who am the Light Which vivifies the world. Nay, but for me, The universal order which attracts Sphere unto sphere, and keeps them in their paths For ever, were no more. All things are bound W^ithin my golden chain, whose name is Love. And if there be, indeed, some sterner souls Or sunk in too much learning, or hedged round By care and greed, or haply too much rapt By pale ascetic fervours, to delight To kneel to me, the universal voice Scorns them as those who, spurning wilfully The good that Nature offers, dwell un- blest W^ho might be blest, but would not. Every voice Of bard in every age has hymned me. All The breathing marbles, all the glowing hues Of painting, praise me. Even the love- less shades Of dim monastic cloisters show some gleam, Tho' faint, of me. Amid the busy throngs Of cities reign I, and o'er lonely plains. Beyond the ice-fields of the frozen North And the warm waves of undiscovered seas. For I was born out of the sparkling foam Which lights the crest of the blue mystic wave, Stirred by the wandering breath of Life's pure dawn From a young soul's clear depths. There, without voice, Stretched on the breathing curve of a young breast. Fluttering a little, fiesh from the great deep Of life, and creamy as the opening rose. Naked I lie, naked yet unashamed, W^hile youth's warm tide steals round me with a kiss. And floods each limb with fairness. Shame I know not — Shame is for wrong, and not for inno- cence — The veil which Error grasps to hide itself From the awful Eye. But I, I lie un- veiled And unashamed — the livelong day I lie, The warm wave murmuring to me ; and, all night, 238 APHRODITE. Hidden in the moonlit caves of happy Sleep, I dream until the morning and am glad. Why should I seek to clothe myself, and hide The treasure of my Beauty ? Shame may wait On those for whom 'twas given. The sties of sense Are none of mine ; the brutish, loveless wrong, The venal charm, the simulated flush Of fleshly passion, they are none of mine, Only corruptions of me. Well I know The counterfeit the stronger, since gross souls And brutish sway the earth ; yet not the less All sense is consecrated, and I deem 'Twere better to grow soft and sink in sense Than gloat o'er blood and wrong. My kingdom is O'er infinite grades of life. Yet 'tis in man I find my worthiest worship. Where man is, A youth and a maid, a youth and a maid, nought else Is wanting for my temple. Every clime Kneels to me— the long breaker falls in foam Under the palms, swelling the merry noise Of savage bridals, and the straight brown limbs Know me, and over all the endless plains I reign, and by the tents on the hot sand And sea-girt isles am queen, and by the sides Of silent mountains, where the white cots gleam Upon the green hill pastures, and no sound But the thunder of the avalanche is borne To the listening rocks around ; and by fair lands Where all is peace ; where thro' the happy hush Of tranquil summer evenings, 'mid the corn, Or thro' cool arches of the gadding vines, The lovers stray together hand in hand, Hymning my praise ; and by the echoing streets Of stately cities — o'er the orbed earth. The burning South, the icy North, the old And immemorial East, the unbounded West, No new god conies to spoil me utterly — All M'orship and are mine ! ' With a sweet smile Upon her rosy mouth, the goddess ceased ; And when she spake no more, the silence weighed As heavy on my soul as when it takes Some gracious melody, and leaves the ear Unsatisfied and longing, till the fount Of sweetness springs again. ATHENE. 239 But while I stood Shows impotent. And yet I know Expectant, lo ! a fair pale form drew there is, near Far off, but not too far for mortal reach. With front severe, and wide blue eyes A calmer height, where, nearer to the which bore stars, Mild wisdom in their gaze. Clear Thought sits alone and gazes with rapt purity- gaze. Shone from her — not the young-eyed A large-eyed maiden in a robe of white, innocence Who brings the light of Knowledge Of her whom first I saw, but that which down, and draws comes To her pontifical eyes a bridge of gold, From wider knowledge, which restrains Which spans from earth to heaven. the tide For what were life. Of passionate youth, and leads the If things of sense were all, for those musing soul large souls By the calm deeps of Wisdom. And And high, whom grudging Nature has I knew shut fast My eyes had seen the fair, the virgin Within unlovely forms, or from whose Queen, life Who once within her shining Parthenon The circuit of the rapid glidmg years Beheld the sages kneel. Steals the brief gift of beauty? Shall She with clear voice men hold And coldly sweet, yet with a softness With idle singers, all the treasure of too. hope Such as befits a virgin : Is lost with youth — swift-fleeting. " She doth right treacherous youth. To boast her sway, my sister, seeing Which fades and flies before the ripen- indeed ing brain That all things are as by a double law, Crowns life' with Wisdom's crown ? And from a double root the tree of Nay, even in youth, Life Is it not more to tread the difficult Springs up to the face of heaven. Body heights and Soul, Alone— the cold free heights— and mark Matter and Spirit, lower joys of Sense the vale And higher joys of Thought, I know Lie breathless in the glare, or hidden that both and blurred Build up the shrine of Being. The By cloud and storm ; or pestilence and brute sense war Leaves man a brute ; but, winged with Creep on with blood and death ; while soaring thought the soul dwells Mounts to high heaven. The un- Apart upon the peaks, outfronts the sun embodied spirit, As the eagle does, or takes the coming Dwelling alone, unmated, void of sense, dawn 2 40 A THENE, While all the vale is dark, and knows the springs Of liny rivulets hurrying from the snows, Which soon shall swell to vast resistless floods, And feed the Oceans which divide the World ? Oh, ecstasy! oh, wonder! oh, delight ! Which neither the slow-withering wear of Time, That lakes all else — the smooth and rounded cheek Of youth ; the lightsome step ; the warm young heart Which beats for love or friend ; the treasure of hope Immeasurable ; the quick-coursing blood Which makes it joy to be, — ay, takes them all Or makes them naught — nor yet satiety Born of too full possession, takes or mars ! Oh, fair delight of learning ! which grows great And stronger and more keen, for slower limbs. And dimmer eyes and Idneliness, and loss Of lower good — wealth, friendship, ay, and Love — When the swift soul, turning its weary gaze From the old vanished joys, projects itself Into the void and floats in empty space, Striving to reach the mystic source of Things, The secrets of the earth and sea and air. But as they died, The Law that binds the process of the I heard an ampler voice ; and looking, suns, marked The awful depths of Mind and Thought ; the prime Unfathomable mystery of God ! Is there, then, any who holds my worship cold And lifeless? Nay, but 'tis the light which cheers The waning life ! Love thou thy love, brave youth ! Cleave to thy love, fair maid ! it is tlie Law Which dominates the world, that bids ye use Your nature ; but, when now the fuller tide Slackens a little, turn your calmer eyes To the fair page of Knowledge. It is power I give, and power is precious. It is strength To live four-square, careless of outward shows, And self-suflicing. It is clearer sight To know the rule of life, the Eternal scheme ; And, knowing it, to do and not to err, And, doing, to be blest." The calm voice soared Higher and higher to the close ; the cold Clear accents, fired as by a hidden fire, Glowed into life and tenderness, and throbbed As with some spiritual ecstasy Sweeter than that of Love. HERE. 241 A fair and gracious form. She seemed And yet is hard to tread, tho' seeming a Queen smooth, Who ruled o'er gods and men ; the And yet, tho' level, finds a worthier majesty crown. Of perfect womanhood. No opening bud For Knowledge is a steep which few Of beauty, but the full consummate may climb, flower While Duty is a path which all may tread . Was hers ; and from her mild large And if the Goal of Life and Thought eyes looked forth be this, Gentle command, and motherhood, and How best to speed the mighty scheme. home, which still And pure affection. Awe and reverence Fares onward day by day — the Life of O'erspread me, as I knew my eyes had the World, looked Which is the sum of petty lives, that On sovereign Here, mother of the gods. wane And die so this may live— how then She, with clear, rounded utterance. shall each sweet and calm : Of that great multitude of faithful souls "I know the charm of stainless Inno- Who walk not on the heights, fulfil cence : himself. I know Love's fruit is good and fair But by the duteous Life which looks to see not forth And taste, if any gain it, and I know Beyond its narrow sphere, and finds its How brief Youth's Passion-tide, which work, when it ebbs And works it out ; content, this done, Leaves Life athirst for Knowledge, and to fall I know And perish, if Fate will, so the great How fair the realm of Mind, where Scheme the keen soul Goes onward ? Yearning to rise, wings its impetuous Wherefore am I Queen in Heaven way And Earth, whose realm is Duty, bear- Beyond the bounds of Thought ; and ing rule yet there is More constant and more wide than A higher bliss than theirs, which best those whose words befits Thou heardest last. Mine are the A mortal life, compact of Body and Soul, striving souls And therefore double-natured— a calm Of fathers plodding day by day obscure path And unrewarded, save by their own Which lies before the feet, thro' common hearts, ways M id wranglings of the Forum or the mar t ; And undistinguished crowds of toiling Who long for joys of Thought, and yet men, must toil 242 HERE. Unmurmuring thro' dull lives from Which no man recks of, rear the stately youth to age ; tree Who haply might have worn instead Of Knowledge, not for itself sought the crown out, but found Of Honour and of Fame : mine the fair In the dusty waysof life— a fairer growth mothers Than springs in cloistered shades ; and Who, for the love of children and of from the sum home, Of Duty, blooms sweeter and more When pnssioa dies, expend their careful divine years The fair ideal of the Race, than comes lu loving labour sweetened by the From glittering gains of Learning. sense Life, full life. Of Duty : mine the statesman who Full-flowered, full-fruited, reared from toils on homely earth. Thro' vigilant nights and days, guiding Rooted in duty, and thro' long calm his State, years Yet finds no gratitude ; and those white Bearing its load of healthful energies ; souls Stretching its arms on all sides ; fed Who give themselves for others all their with dews years Of cheerful sacrifice, and clouds of care, In trivial tasks of Pity. The fine And rain of useful tears ; warmed by growths the sun Of Man and Time are mine, and spend Of calm affection, till it breathes itself themselves In perfume to the heavens— this is the For me and for the mystical End which prize lies I hold most dear, more precious than Beyond their gaze and mine, and yet is the fruit good, Of Knowledge or of Love." Tho' hidden from men and gods. The goddess ceased For as the flower As dies some gracious harmony, the Of the tiger-lily gay with varied hues child Is for a day, then fades and leaves be- Of wedded themes which single and hind alone Fairness nor fruit, while the green tiny Were discords, but united breathe a tuft sound Swells to the purple of the clustering Sweet as the sounds of heaven. grape Or golden waves of wheat ; so lives of men Which show most splendid, fade and are deceased And then stood forth And leave no trace ; while those, un- The last of the gods I saw, the first in marked, unseen, place APOLLO. 243 And dignity and beauty, the young god Who grows not old, the Light of Heaven and Earth, The Worker from afar, who darts tlie fire Of inspiration on the bard and bathes The world in hues of heaven — the golden link Between High God and Man. With a sweet voice Whose every note was perfect me- lody — The melody has fled, the words re- main — Apollo sang : " I know how fair the face Of Purity ; I know the treasure of Strength ; I know the charm of Love, the calmer grace Of Wisdom and of Duteous well-spent lives : And yet there is a loftier height than these. There is a Height higher than mortal thought ; There is a Love warmer than mortal love ; There is a Life which, taking not its hues From Earth or earthly things, grows white and pure And higher than the petty cares of men, And is a blessed life and glorified. Oh, fair young souls, strain upward, upward still, Even to the heavenly source of Purity ! Brave hearts, bear on and suffer ! Strike for right, Strong arms, and hew down wrong ! The world hath need Of all of you — the sensual, wrongful world ! Hath need of you, and of thee too, fair Love. Oh, lovers, cling together ! the old world Is full of Hate. Sweeten it ; draw in one Two separate chords of Life ; and from the bond Of twin souls lost in Harmony create A Fair God dwelling with you — Love the Lord ! Waft yourselves, yearning souls, upon the stars ; Sow yourselves on the wandering winds of space ; Watch patient all your days, if your eyes take Some dim, cold ray of Knowledge. The dull world Hath need of you — the purblind, slothful world \ Live on, brave lives, chained to the narrow round Of Duty ; live, expend yourselves, and make The orb of Being wheel on steadfastly Upon its path — the Lord of Life alone Knows to what goal of Good ; work on, live on : And yet there is a higher work than yours. To have looked upon the face of the Unknown And Perfect Beauty. To have heard the voice 244 AFOLLO. Of Godhead in the winds and in the seas. To have known Him in the circling of the suns, And in the changeful fates and lives of men. To be fulfilled with Godhead as a cup Filled with a precious essence, till the hand On marble or on canvas falling, leaves Celestial traces, or from reed or string Draws out faint echoes of the voice Divine That bring God nearer to a faithless world. Or, higher still and fairer and more blest. To be Plis seer, His prophet ; to be the voice Of the Ineffable Word ; to be the glass Of the Ineffable Light, and bring them down To bless the earth, set in a shrine of Song. For Knowledge is a barren tree and bare, Bereft of God, and Duty but a word, And Strength but Tyranny, and Love, Desire, And Purity a folly ; and the Soul, Which brings down God to Man, the Light to the world ; He is the Maker, and is blest, is blest !" He ended, and I felt my soul grow faint With too much sweetness. In a mist of grace They faded, that bright company, and seemed To melt into each other and shape themselves Into new forms, and those fair god- desses Blent in a perfect woman — all the calm High motherhood of Here, the sweet smile Of Cypris, fair Athene's earnest eyes. And the young purity of Artemis, Blent in a perfect woman ; and in her arms. Fused by some cosmic interlacing curves Of Beauty into a new Innocence, A child with eyes divine, a little child, A little child— no more. And those great gods Of Power and Beauty left a heavenly form Strong not to act but suffer ; fair and meek. Not proud and eager ; with soft eyes of grace, Not bold with joyous youth ; and for the fire Of song, and for the happy careless life, A sorrowful pilgrimage — changed, yet the same, Only Diviner far ; and bearing higher The Life God-lighted and the Sacrifice. And when these faded wholly, at my side, Tho' hidden before by those too-radiant forms, I was aware once more of her, my guide Psyche, who had not left me, floatmg near On golden wings ; and all the plains of heaven Were left to us, me and my soul alone. Then when my thought revived again, I said ZEUS. 24') Whispering, " But Zeus I saw not, the prime Source And Sire of all the gods." And she, bent low With downcast eyes : " Nay. Thou hast seen of Him All that thine eyes can bear, in those fair forms Which are but parts of Him and are indeed Attributes of the Substance which sup- ports The Universe of Things — the Soul of the World, The Stream which flows Eternal, from no Source Into no Sea. His Purity, His Strength, His Love, His Knowledge, His un- changing rule Of Duty, thou hast seen, only a part And not the whole, being a finite mind Too weak for infinite thought ; nor, couldst thou see All of Him visible to mortal sight, Wouldst thou see all His essence, since the gods — Glorified essences of Human mould. Who are but Zeus made visible to men — See Him not wholly, only some thin edge And halo of His glory ; nor know they What vast and unsuspected Universes Lie beyond thought, where yet He rules, like those Vast Suns we cannot see, round which our Sun Moves with his system, or those darker still Which not even thus we know, but yet exist Tho' no eye marks, nor thought itself, and lurk In the awful Depths of Space ; or that which is Not orbed as yet, but indiscrete, con- fused, Sown thro' the void — the faintest gleam of light Which sets itself to Be. And yet is He There too, and rules, none seeing. But sometimes To this our heaven, which is so like to earth But nearer to Him, for awhile He shows Some gleam of His own brightness, and methinks It Cometh soon; but thou, if thou shouldst gaze, Thy Life will rush to His — the tiny spark Absorbed in that full blaze— and what there is Of mortal fall from thee." But I: "Oh, soul, What holdeth Life more precious than to know The Giver and to die? " Then she: "Behold! Look upward and adore." And with the word, Unhasting, undelaying, gradual, sure, The floating cloud which clothed the hidden peak Rose slow in awful silence, laying bare Spire after rocky spire, snow after snow. Whiter and yet more dreadful, till at last It left the summit clear. Then with a bound, In the twinkling of an eye, in the flash of a thought, I knew an Awful Effluence of Light, Formless, Ineftable, Perfect, burst on me 246 THE EPIC OF HADES. And flood my being round, and draw And as I went my life Across the lightening fields, upon a Into itself. I saw my guide bent down bank Prostrate, her wings before her face ; I saw a single snowdrop glance, and and then bring No more. Promise of Spring ; and keeping my old thought In the old fair Hellenic vesture dressed, I felt myself a ghost, and seemed to be Now fair Adonis hasting to the arms But when I woke from my long Of his lost love — now sad Persephone trance Restored to mother earth— or that high Behold, it was no longer Tartarus, shade Nor Hades, nor Olympus, but the bare Orpheus, who gave up heaven to save And unideal aspect of the fields his love. Which Spring not yet had kissed— the And is rewarded— or young Marsyas, strange old Earth Who spent his youth and life for song. So far more fabulous now than in the and yet days Was happy though in torture— or the When Man was young, nor yet the fair mystery And dreaming youth I saw, who still Of Time and Fate transformed it. From awaits, the hills, Hopeful, the unveiling heaven, when The long night fled at last, the un- he shall see clouded sun, His fair ideal love. The birds sang The dear, fair sun, leapt upward swift, blithe ; and smote There came a tinkling from the waking My sight with rays of gold, and pierced fold ; my brain And on the hillside from the cot a girl With too much light ere my entranced Tripped singing with her pitcher. All eyes the sounds Could hide themselves. And thoughts which still are beautiful — And I was on the Earth Youth, Song, Dreaming the dream of Life again, as Dawn, Spring, Renewal — and my soul late was glad I dreamed the dream of Death. Of all the freshness, and I felt again Another day The youth and spring-tide of the w orld, Dawned on the race of men ; another and thought, world ; Which feigned those fair and gracious New heavens, and new earth. fantasies. For every dawn that breaks brings a new worlds THE EPIC OF HADES. 247 And every budding bosom a new life ; How should any hold These fair tales, which we know so Those precious scriptures only old- beautiful, world tales Show only finer than our lives to-day Of strange impossible torments and Because their voice was clearer, and false gods ; they found Of men and monsters in some brainless A sacred bard to sing them. We are dream. pent. Coherent, yet unmeaning, linked to- Who smg to-day, by all the garnered gether wealth By some false skein of song ? Of ages of past song. We have no Nay ! evermore, more All things and thoughts, both new and The world to choose from, who, old, are writ where'er we turn, Upon the unchanging human heart and Tread through old thoughts and fair. soul. Yet must we sing — Has Passion still no prisoners ? Pine We have no choice ; and if more hard there now the toil No lives which fierce Love, sinking into In noon, when all is clear, than in the Lust, fresh Has drowned at last in tears and blood White mists of early morn, yet do we —plunged down find To the blackest depths of Hell ? Have Achievement its own guerdon, and at not strong Will last And high Ambition rotted into Greed The rounder song of manhood grows And Wrong, for any, as of old, and more sweet whelmed Than the high note of youth. The struggling soul in ruin ? Hell lies For Age, long \g