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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 
 
 NORTH 
 
 CAF 
 
 .OLINA 
 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR5502 
 
 .GT5 
 
 1889 
 
 M^ - s C,|cO 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 0001306481 
 
 This book is due - .e ^ffl 1 ; 
 
 DATE 
 DUE 
 
 RET. 
 
 DATE 
 DUE 
 
 RET. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/selectionsfromposwin 
 

 SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
WORKS BY ALGERNON C. SWINBURNE. 
 
 Selections from Swinburne's 
 
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 SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM V7~7~ 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
 THIRD EDITION 
 
 SFmrtom 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1889 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ON THE VERGE 
 
 THE SUNBOWS . 
 
 IN THE WATER 
 
 BY THE NORTH SEA 
 
 IN THE SALT MARSHES 
 
 DUNWICH 
 
 OFF SHORE . 
 
 A FORSAKEN GARDEN 
 
 THE CAVES OF SARK 
 
 IN GUERNSEY . 
 
 A DIALOGUE 
 
 HERTHA 
 
 IN SAN LORENZO . 
 
 A YEAR'S BURDEN 
 
 MAZZINI 
 
 TO AURELIO SAFFI 
 
 A SUNSET . 
 
 CHILDREN 
 
 A CHILD'S LAUGHTER 
 
 A CHILD'S SLEEP 
 
 A SONG OF WELCOME 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 4 
 
 7 
 
 10 
 
 16 
 
 26 
 
 33 
 
 44 
 
 48 
 
 53 
 
 58 
 
 60 
 
 71 
 
 72 
 
 76 
 
 86 
 
 90 
 
 97 
 
 98 
 
 100 
 
 102 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 HERSE .... 
 
 CRADLE SONGS 
 
 A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND 
 
 ITYLUS 
 
 HOPE AND FEAR . . 
 
 A FOSTERLING . . 
 
 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL . 
 
 THE WIFE'S VIGIL . 
 
 KYNANCE COVE . 
 
 SEA AND SUNRISE . 
 
 ANADYOMENE . 
 
 THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 
 
 OREITHYIA 
 
 STORM AND BATTLE 
 
 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 
 
 MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY . 
 
 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART . 
 
 . 
 
 PAGE 
 105 
 108 
 113 
 115 
 118 
 119 
 129 
 142 
 151 
 155 
 162 
 168 
 178 
 182 
 191 
 211 
 218 
 225 
 
SELECTIONS 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE 
 
ON THE VEBGE. 
 
 Here begins the sea that ends not till the world's end. 
 
 Where we stand, 
 Could we know the next high sea-mark set beyond these 
 
 waves that gleam, 
 We should know what never man hath known, nor eye 
 
 of man hath scanned. 
 Nought beyond these coiling clouds that melt like fume 
 
 of shrines that steam 
 Breaks or stays the strength of waters till they pass our 
 
 bounds of dream. 
 Where the waste Land's End leans westward, all the seas 
 
 it watches roll 
 Find their border fixed beyond them, and a worldwide 
 
 shore's control : 
 These whereby we stand no shore beyond us limits: 
 
 these are free. 
 Gazing hence, we see the water that grows iron round 
 
 the Pole, 
 From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all 
 
 the sea. 
 
 B 
 
 Si 
 
2 ON THE VERGE 
 
 Sail on sail along the sea-line fades and flashes ; here on 
 
 land 
 Flash and fade the wheeling wings on wings of mews 
 
 that plunge and scream. 
 Hour on hour along the line of life and time's evasive 
 
 strand 
 Shines and darkens, wanes and waxes, slays and dies : 
 
 and scarce they seem 
 More than motes that thronged and trembled in the 
 
 brief noon's breath and beam. 
 Some with crying and wailing, some with notes like sound 
 
 of bells that toll, 
 Some with sighing and laughing, some with words that 
 
 blessed and made us whole, 
 Passed, and left us, and we know not what they were, 
 
 nor what were we. 
 Would we know, being mortal ? Never breath of answer- 
 ing whisper stole 
 From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all 
 
 the sea. 
 
 Shadows, would we question darkness ? Ere our eyes 
 
 and brows be fanned 
 Round with airs of twilight, washed with dews from 
 
 sleep's eternal stream, 
 Would we know sleep's guarded secret ? Ere the fire 
 
 consume the brand, 
 
ON THE VERGE 3 
 
 Would it know if yet its ashes may requicken ? yet we 
 
 deem 
 Surely man may know, or ever night unyoke her starry 
 
 team, 
 What the dawn shall be, or if the dawn shall be not : yea, 
 
 the scroll 
 Would we read of sleep's dark scripture, pledge of peace 
 
 or doom of dole. 
 Ah, but here man's heart leaps, yearning toward the gloom 
 
 with venturous glee, 
 Though his pilot eye behold nor bay nor harbour, rock 
 
 nor shoal, 
 From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all 
 
 the sea. 
 
 Friend, who knows if death indeed have life or life have 
 
 death for goal ? 
 Day nor night can tell us, nor may seas declare nor skies 
 
 unroll 
 What has been from everlasting, or if aught shall alway 
 
 be. 
 Silence answering only strikes response reverberate on 
 
 the soul 
 From the shore that hath no shore beyond it set in all 
 
 the sea. 
 
 b2 
 
TEE SUNBOWS. 
 
 Spbay of song that springs in April, light of love that 
 
 laughs through May, 
 Live and die and live for ever : nought of all things 
 
 far less fair 
 Keeps a surer life than these that seem to pass like fire 
 
 away. 
 In the souls they live which are but all the brighter that 
 
 they were ; 
 In the hearts that kindle, thinking what delight of old 
 
 was there. 
 Wind that shapes and lifts and shifts them bids perpetual 
 
 memory play 
 Over dreams and in and out of deeds and thoughts 
 
 which seem to wear 
 Light that leaps and runs and revels through the 
 
 springing flames of spray. 
 
 Dawn is wild upon the waters where we drink of dawn 
 
 today : 
 Wide, from wave to wave rekindling in rebound through 
 
 radiant air, 
 
THE SUN BOWS 5 
 
 Flash the fires unwoven and woven again of wind that 
 
 works in play, 
 Working wonders more than heart may note or sight 
 
 may wellnigh dare, 
 Wefts of rarer light than colours rain from heaven, 
 
 though this be rare. 
 Arch on arch unbuilt in building, reared and ruined ray 
 
 by ray, 
 Breaks and brightens, laughs and lessens, even till eyes 
 
 may hardly bear 
 Light that leaps and runs and revels through the 
 
 springing flames of spray. 
 
 Year on year sheds light and music rolled and flashed 
 
 from bay to bay 
 Round the summer capes of time and winter headlands 
 
 keen and bare 
 Whence the soul keeps watch, and bids her vassal 
 
 memory watch and pray, 
 If perchance the dawn may quicken, or perchance the 
 
 midnight spare. 
 Silence quells not music, darkness takes not sunlight 
 
 in her snare ; 
 Shall not joys endure that perish? Yea, saith dawn, 
 
 though night say nay : 
 Life on life goes out, but very life enkindles everywhere 
 Light that leaps and runs and revels through the 
 
 springing flames of spray. 
 
6 THE SUNBOWS 
 
 Friend, were life no more than this is, well would yet the 
 
 living fare. 
 All aflower and all afire and all flung heavenward, who 
 
 shall say 
 Such a flash of life were worthless ? This is worth a 
 
 world of care — 
 Light that leaps and runs and revels through the 
 
 springing flames of spray. 
 
IN THE WATER. 
 
 The sea is awake, and the sound of the song of the joy 
 
 of her waking is rolled 
 From afar to the star that recedes, from anear to the 
 
 wastes of the wild wide shore. 
 Her call is a trumpet compelling us homeward : if dawn 
 
 in her east be acold, 
 From the sea shall we crave not her grace to rekindle 
 
 the life that it kindled before, 
 Her breath to requicken, her bosom to rock us, her 
 
 kisses to bless as of yore ? 
 For the wind, with his wings half open, at pause in the 
 
 sky, neither fettered nor free, 
 Leans waveward and flutters the ripple to laughter : and 
 
 fain would the twain of us be 
 Where lightly the wave yearns forward from under the 
 
 curve of the deep dawn's dome, 
 And, full of the morning and fired with the pride of the 
 
 glory thereof and the glee, 
 Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and 
 
 beseeches, athirst for the foam. 
 
8 IN THE WATER 
 
 Life holds not an hour that is better to live in : the past 
 
 is a tale that is told, 
 The future a sun-flecked shadow, alive and asleep, with 
 
 a blessing in store. 
 As we give us again to the waters, the rapture of limbs 
 
 that the waters enfold 
 Is less than the rapture of spirit whereby, though the 
 
 burden it quits were sore, 
 Our souls and the bodies they wield at their will are 
 
 absorbed in the life they adore — 
 In the life that endures no burden, and bows not the fore- 
 head, and bends not the knee — 
 In the life everlasting of earth and of heaven, in the laws 
 
 that atone and agree, 
 In the measureless music of things, in the fervour of 
 
 forces that rest or that roam, 
 That cross and return and reissue, as I after yon and as 
 
 you after me 
 Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and 
 
 beseeches, athirst for the foam. 
 
 For, albeit he were less than the least of them, haply the 
 
 heart of a man may be bold 
 To rejoice in the word of the sea as a mother's that 
 
 saith to the son she bore, 
 Child, was not the life in thee mine, and my spirit the 
 
 breath in thy lips from of old ? 
 
IN THE WATER 9 
 
 Have I let not thy weakness exult in my strength, and 
 
 thy foolishness learn of my lore ? 
 Have I helped not or healed not thine anguish, or 
 
 made not the might of thy gladness more ? 
 And surely his heart should answer, The light of the love 
 
 of my life is in thee. 
 She is fairer than earth, and the sun is not fairer, the wind 
 
 is not blither than she : 
 From my youth hath she shown me the joy of her bays 
 
 that I crossed, of her cliffs that I clomb, 
 Till now that the twain of us here, in desire of the dawn 
 
 and in trust of the sea, 
 Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and 
 
 beseeches, athirst for the foam. 
 
 Friend, earth is a harbour of refuge for winter, a covert 
 
 whereunder to flee 
 "When day is the vassal of night, and the strength of 
 
 the hosts of her mightier than he ; 
 But here is the presence adored of me, here my desire 
 
 is at rest and at home. 
 There are cliffs to be climbed upon land, there are ways 
 
 to be trodden and ridden : but we 
 Strike out from the shore as the heart in us bids and 
 
 beseeches, athirst for the foam. 
 
10 
 
 BY THE NORTH SEA. 
 
 A land that is lonelier than ruin ; 
 
 A sea that is stranger than death ; 
 Far fields that a rose never blew in, 
 
 Wan waste where the winds lack breath ; 
 Waste endless and boundless and flowerless 
 
 But of marsh-blossoms fruitless as free ; 
 Where earth lies exhausted, as powerless 
 To strive with the sea. 
 
 Far flickers the flight of the swallows, 
 
 Far flutters the weft of the grass 
 Spun dense over desolate hollows 
 
 More pale than the clouds as they pass ; 
 Thick woven as the weft of a witch is 
 
 Eound the heart of a thrall that hath sinned, 
 Whose youth and the wrecks of its riches 
 Are waifs on the wind. 
 
 The pastures are herdless and sheepless, 
 
 No pasture or shelter for herds : 
 The wind is relentless and sleepless, 
 
 And restless and songless the birds ; 
 
BY THE NORTH SEA U 
 
 Their cries from afar fall breathless, 
 
 Their wings are as lightnings that flee ; 
 For the land has two lords that are deathless : 
 Death's self, and the sea. 
 
 These twain, as a king with his fellow, 
 
 Hold converse of desolate speech : 
 And her waters are haggard and yellow 
 
 And crass with the scurf of the beach : 
 And his garments are grey as the hoary 
 
 Wan sky where the day lies dim ; 
 And his power is to her, and his glory, 
 As hers unto him. 
 
 In the pride of his power she rejoices, 
 In her glory he glows and is glad : 
 
 In her darkness the sound of his voice is, 
 With his breath she dilates and is mad : 
 
 " If thou slay me, death, and outlive me, 
 Yet thy love hath fulfilled me of thee." 
 
 " Shall I give thee not back if thou give me, 
 sister, sea? " 
 
 And year upon year dawns living, 
 And age upon age drops dead : 
 
 And his hand is not weary of giving, 
 And the thirst of her heart is not fed 
 
12 BY THE NORTH SEA 
 
 And the hunger that moans in her passion, 
 
 And the rage in her hunger that roars, 
 As a wolf's that the winter lays lash on, 
 Still calls and implores. 
 
 Her walls have no granite for girder, 
 No fortalice fronting her stands : 
 
 But reefs the bloodguiltiest of murder 
 Are less than the banks of her sands : 
 
 These number their slain by the thousand ; 
 For the ship hath no surety to be, 
 
 When the bank is abreast of her bows and 
 Aflush with the sea. 
 
 No surety to stand, and no shelter 
 To dawn out of darkness but one, 
 
 Out of waters that hurtle and welter 
 No succour to dawn with the sun 
 
 But a rest from the wind as it passes, 
 Where, hardly redeemed from the waves, 
 
 Lie thick as the blades of the grasses 
 The dead in their graves. 
 
 A multitude noteless of numbers, 
 As wild weeds cast on an heap : 
 
 And sounder than sleep are their slumbers, 
 And softer than song is their sleep ; 
 
BY THE NORTH SEA 13 
 
 And sweeter than all things and stranger 
 
 The sense, if perchance it may be, 
 That the wind is divested of danger 
 And scatheless the sea. 
 
 That the roar of the banks they breasted 
 
 Is hurtless as bellowing of herds, 
 And the strength of his wings that invested 
 
 The wind, as the strength of a bird's ; 
 As the sea-mew's might or the swallow's 
 
 That cry to him back if he cries, 
 As over the graves and their hollows 
 Days darken and rise. 
 
 As the souls of the dead men disburdened 
 And clean of the sins that they sinned, 
 
 With a lovelier than man's life guerdoned 
 And delight as a wave's in the wind, 
 
 And delight as the wind's in the billow, 
 Birds pass, and deride with their glee 
 
 The flesh that has dust for its pillow 
 As wrecks have the sea. 
 
 When the ways of the sun wax dimmer, 
 Wings flash through the dusk like beams ; 
 
 As the clouds in the lit sky glimmer, 
 The bird in the graveyard gleams ; 
 
U BY THE NORTH SEA 
 
 As the cloud at its wing's edge whitens 
 
 When the clarions of sunrise are heard, 
 The graves that the bird's note brightens 
 Grow bright for the bird. 
 
 As the waves of the numberless waters 
 That the wind cannot number who guides 
 
 Are the sons of the shore and the daughters 
 Here lulled by the chime of the tides : 
 
 And here in the press of them standing 
 We know not if these or if we 
 
 Live truliest, or anchored to landing 
 Or drifted to sea. 
 
 In the valley he named of decision 
 
 No denser were multitudes met 
 When the soul of the seer in her vision 
 
 Saw nations for doom of them set ; 
 Saw darkness in dawn, and the splendour 
 
 Of judgment, the sword and the rod : 
 But the doom here of death is more tender 
 And gentler the God. 
 
 And gentler the wind from the dreary 
 Sea-banks by the waves overlapped, 
 
 Being weary, speaks peace to the weary 
 
 From slopes that the tide-stream hath sapped; 
 
BY THE NORTH SEA 15 
 
 And sweeter than all that we call so 
 The seal of their slumber shall be 
 Till the graves that embosom them also 
 Be sapped of the sea. 
 
16 
 
 IN THE SALT MABSHES. 
 
 Miles, and miles, and miles of desolation ! 
 
 Leagues on leagues on leagues without a change ! 
 Sign or token of some eldest nation 
 
 Here would make the strange land not so strange. 
 Time-forgotten, yea since time's creation, 
 
 Seem these borders where the sea-birds range. 
 
 Slowly, gladly, full of peace and wonder 
 Grows his heart who journeys here alone. 
 
 Earth and all its thoughts of earth sink under 
 Deep as deep in water sinks a stone. 
 
 Hardly knows it if the rollers thunder, 
 Hardly whence the lonely wind is blown. 
 
 Tall the plumage of the rush-flower tosses, 
 Sharp and soft in many a curve and line 
 
 Gleam and glow the sea-coloured marsh-mosses, 
 Salt and splendid from the circling brine. 
 
 Streak on streak of glimmering seashine crosses 
 All the land sea-saturate as with wine. 
 
IN THE SALT MARSHES 17 
 
 Far, and far between, in divers orders, 
 
 Clear grey steeples cleave the low grey sky ; 
 
 Fast and firm as time-unshaken warders, 
 
 Hearts made sure by faith, by hope made high. 
 
 These alone in all the wild sea-borders 
 Fear no blast of days and nights that die. 
 
 All the land is like as one man's face is, 
 Pale and troubled still with change of cares. 
 
 Doubt and death pervade her clouded spaces : 
 Strength and length of life and peace are theirs ; 
 
 Theirs alone amid these weary places, 
 
 Seeing not how the wild world frets and fares. 
 
 Firm and fast where all is cloud that changes, 
 
 Cloud-clogged sunlight, cloud by sunlight thinned, 
 
 Stern and sweet, above the sand-hill ranges 
 Watch the towers and tombs of men that sinned 
 
 Once, now calm as earth whose only change is 
 Wind, and light, and wind, and cloud, and wind. 
 
 Out and in and out the sharp straits wander, 
 In and out and in the wild way strives, 
 
 Starred and paved and lined with flowers that squander 
 Gold as golden as the gold of hives, 
 
 Salt and moist and multiform : but yonder, 
 See, what sign of life or death survives ? 
 
 
 
18 IN THE SALT MARSHES 
 
 Seen then only when the songs of olden 
 Harps were young whose echoes yet endure, 
 
 Hymned of Homer when his years were golden, 
 Known of only when the world was pure, 
 
 Here is Hades, manifest, beholden, 
 Surely, surely here, if aught be sure ! 
 
 Where the border-line was crossed, that, sundering 
 Death from life, keeps weariness from rest, 
 
 None can tell, who fares here forward wondering ; 
 None may doubt but here might end his quest. 
 
 Here life's lightning joys and woes once thundering 
 Sea-like round him cease like storm suppressed. 
 
 Here the wise wave -wandering steadfast-hearted 
 Guest of many a lord of many a land 
 
 Saw the shape or shade of years departed, 
 Saw the semblance risen and hard at hand, 
 
 Saw the mother long from love's reach parted, 
 Anticleia, like a statue stand. 
 
 Statue ? nay, nor tissued image woven 
 Fair on hangings in his father's hall ; 
 
 Nay, too fast her faith of heart was proven, 
 Far too firm her loveliest love of all ; 
 
 Love wherethrough the loving heart was cloven, 
 Love that hears not when the loud Fates call. 
 
IN THE SALT MARSHES 19 
 
 Love that lives and stands up re-created 
 Then when life has ebbed and anguish fled ; 
 
 Love more strong than death or all things fated, 
 Child's and mother's, lit by love and led ; 
 
 Love that found what life so long awaited 
 Here, when life came down among the dead. 
 
 Here, where never came alive another, 
 Came her son across the sundering tide 
 
 Crossed before by many a warrior brother 
 Once that warred on Ilion at his side ; 
 
 Here spread forth vain hands to clasp the mother 
 Dead, that sorrowing for his love's sake died. 
 
 Parted, though by narrowest of divisions, 
 Clasp he might not, only might implore, 
 
 Sundered yet by bitterest of derisions, 
 Son, and mother from the son she bore — 
 
 Here ? But all dispeopled here of visions 
 Lies, forlorn of shadows even, the shore. 
 
 All too sweet such men's Hellenic speech is> 
 
 All too fain they lived of light to see, 
 Once to see the darkness of these beaches, 
 
 Once to sing this Hades found of me 
 Ghostless, all its gulfs and creeks and reaches, 
 
 Skv, and shore, and cloud, and waste, and sea. 
 
 c 2 
 
IN TME SALT MARSHES 
 
 II. 
 
 But aloft and afront of ine faring 
 
 Far forward as folk in a dream 
 That strive, between doubting and daring, 
 
 Eight on till the goal for them gleam, 
 Full forth till their goal on them lighten, 
 
 The harbour where fain they would be, 
 What headlands there darken and brighten ? 
 What change in the sea ? 
 
 What houses and woodlands that nestle 
 
 Safe inland to lee of the hill 
 As it slopes from the headlands that wrestle 
 
 And succumb to the strong sea's will ? 
 Truce is not, nor respite, nor pity, 
 
 For the battle is waged not of hands 
 Where over the grave of a city 
 The ghost of it stands. 
 
 Where the wings of the sea-wind slacken. 
 Green lawns to the landward thrive, 
 
 Fields brighten and pine-woods blacken, 
 And the heat in their heart is alive ; 
 
IN TEE SALT MAE SEES 21 
 
 They blossom and warble and murmur, 
 
 For the sense of their spirit is free ; 
 But harder to shoreward and firmer 
 The grasp of the sea. 
 
 Like ashes the low cliffs crumble, 
 
 The banks drop down into dust, 
 The heights of the hills are made humble, 
 
 As a reed's is the strength of their trust : 
 As a city's that armies environ, 
 
 The strength of their stay is of sand : 
 But the grasp of the sea is as iron, 
 Laid hard on the land. 
 
 A land that is thirstier than ruin ; 
 
 A sea that is hungrier than death ; 
 Heaped hills that a tree never grew in ; 
 
 Wide sands where the wave draws breath ; 
 All solace is here for the spirit 
 
 That ever for ever may be 
 For the soul of thy son to inherit, 
 My mother, my sea. 
 
 delight of the headlands and beaches ! 
 
 desire of the wind on the wold, 
 More glad than a man's when it reaches 
 
 That end which it sought from of old 
 
22 IN THE SALT MARSHES 
 
 And the palru of possession is dreary 
 
 To trie sense that in search of it sinned ; 
 But nor satisfied ever nor weary 
 Is ever the wind. 
 
 The delight that he takes but in living 
 Is more than of all things that live ; 
 
 For the world that has all things for giving 
 Has nothing so goodly to give ; 
 
 But more than delight his desire is, 
 
 For the goal where his pinions would be 
 
 Is immortal as air or as fire is, 
 Immense as the sea. 
 
 Though hence come the moan that he borrows 
 From darkness and depth of the night, 
 
 Though hence be the spring of his sorrows, 
 Hence too is the joy of his might ; 
 
 The delight that his doom is for ever 
 To seek and desire and rejoice, 
 
 And the sense that eternity never 
 Shall silence his voice. 
 
 That satiety never may stifle 
 
 Nor weariness ever estrange 
 Nor time be so strong as to rifle 
 
 Nor change be so great as to change 
 
IN THE SALT MARSHES 23 
 
 His gift that renews in the giving, 
 
 The joy that exalts him to be 
 Alone of all elements living 
 The lord of the sea. 
 
 What is fire, that its flame should consume her ? 
 
 More fierce than all fires are her waves : 
 What is earth, that its gulfs should entomb her? 
 
 More deep are her own than their graves. 
 Life shrinks from his pinions that cover 
 
 The darkness by thunders bedinned : 
 But she knows him, her lord and her lover, 
 The godhead of wind. 
 
 For a season his wings are about her, 
 His breath on her lips for a space ; 
 
 Such rapture he wins not without her 
 In the width of his worldwide race. 
 
 Though the forests bow down, and the mountains 
 Wax dark, and the tribes of them flee, 
 
 His delight is more deep in the fountains 
 And springs of the sea. 
 
 There are those too of mortals that love him, 
 There are souls that desire and require, 
 
 Be the glories of midnight above him 
 Or beneath him the daysprings of fire : 
 
24 IN THE SALT MARSHES 
 
 And their hearts are as harps that approve him 
 
 And praise him as chords of a lyre 
 That were fain with their music to move him 
 To meet their desire. 
 
 To descend through the darkness to grace them 
 Till darkness were lovelier than light : 
 
 To encompass and grasp and embrace them, 
 Till their weakness were one with his might : 
 
 With the strength of his wings to caress them, 
 With the blast of his breath to set free ; 
 
 With the mouths of his thunders to bless them 
 For sons of the sea. 
 
 For these have the toil and the guerdon 
 That the wind has eternally : these 
 
 Have part in the boon and the burden 
 Of the sleepless unsatisfied breeze, 
 
 That finds not, but seeking rejoices 
 
 That possession can work him no wrong : 
 
 And the voice at the heart of their voice is 
 The sense of his song. 
 
 For the wind's is their doom and their blessing ; 
 
 To desire, and have always above 
 A possession beyond their possessing, 
 
 A love beyond reach of their love. 
 
IN THE SALT MARSHES 25 
 
 Green earth has her sons and her daughters, 
 And these have their guerdons ; but we 
 
 Are the wind's and the sun's and the water's, 
 Elect of the sea. 
 
DUNWICH. 
 
 Death, and change, and darkness everlasting, 
 Deaf, that hears not what the daystar saith, 
 
 Blind, past all remembrance and forecasting, 
 Dead, past memory that it once drew breath ; ' 
 
 These, above the washing tides and wasting, 
 Eeign, and rule this land of utter death. 
 
 Change of change, darkness of darkness, hidden, 
 
 Very death of very death, begun 
 When none knows, — the knowledge is forbidden — 
 
 Self-begotten, self-proceeding, one, 
 Born, not made — abhorred, unchained, unchidden^ 
 
 Night stands here defiant of the sun. 
 
 Change of change, and death of death begotten, 
 Darkness born of darkness, one and three, 
 
 Ghostly godhead of a world forgotten, 
 
 Crowned with heaven, enthroned on land and sea, 
 
 Here, where earth with dead men's bones is rotten, 
 God of Time, thy likeness worships thee. 
 
DUNWICH 27 
 
 Lo, thy likeness of thy desolation, 
 
 Shape and figure of thy might, Lord, 
 
 Formless form, incarnate miscreation, 
 Served of all things living and abhorred ; 
 
 Earth herself is here thine incarnation, 
 Time, of all things born on earth adored. 
 
 All that worship thee are fearful of thee ; 
 
 No man may not worship thee for fear : 
 Prayers nor curses prove not nor disprove thee, 
 
 Move nor change thee with our change of cheer i 
 All at last, though all abhorred thee, love thee, 
 
 God, the sceptre of whose throne is here. 
 
 Here thy throne and sceptre of thy station, 
 
 Here the palace paven for thy feet ; 
 Here thy sign from nation unto nation 
 
 Passed as watchword for thy guards to greet, 
 Guards that go before thine exaltation, 
 
 Ages, clothed with bitter years and sweet. 
 
 Here, where sharp the sea-bird shrills his ditty, 
 Flickering flame-wise through the clear live calm,. 
 
 Rose triumphal, crowning all a city, 
 
 Eoofs exalted once with prayer and psalm, 
 
 Built of holy hands for holy pity, 
 
 Frank and fruitful as a sheltering palm. 
 
28 DUNWICS 
 
 Church and hospice wrought in faultless fashion, 
 Hall and chancel bounteous and sublime, 
 
 Wide and sweet and glorious as compassion, 
 Filled and thrilled with force of choral chime, 
 
 Filled with spirit of prayer and thrilled with passion, 
 Hailed a God more merciful than Time. 
 
 Ah, less mighty, less than Time prevailing, 
 Shrunk, expelled, made nothing at his nod, 
 
 Less than clouds across the sea-line sailing, 
 Lies he, stricken by his master's rod. 
 
 " Where is man ? " the cloister murmurs wailing ; 
 Back the mute shrine thunders — "Where is God? 
 
 Here is all the end of all his glory — 
 
 Dust, and grass, and barren silent stones. 
 
 Dead, like him, one hollow tower and hoary 
 Naked in the sea-wind stands and moans, 
 
 Filled and thrilled with its perpetual story ; 
 
 Here, where earth is dense with dead men's bones. 
 
 Low and loud and long, a voice for ever, 
 Sounds the wind's clear story like a song. 
 
 Tomb from tomb the waves devouring sever, 
 Dust from dust as years relapse along ; 
 
 Graves where men made sure to rest, and never 
 Lie dismantled by the seasons' wrong. 
 
DUNWICH 2» 
 
 Now displaced, devoured and desecrated, 
 Now by Time's hands darkly disinterred, 
 
 These poor dead that sleeping here awaited 
 Long the archangel's re-creating word, 
 
 Closed about with roofs and walls high-gated 
 Till the blast of judgment should be heard, 
 
 Naked, shamed, cast out of consecration, 
 Corpse and coffin, yea the very graves, 
 
 Scoffed at, scattered, shaken from their station, 
 Spurned and scourged of wind and sea like slaves ,. 
 
 Desolate beyond man's desolation, 
 
 Shrink and sink into the waste of waves. 
 
 Tombs, with bare white piteous bones protruded, 
 Shroudless, down the loose collapsing banks, 
 
 Crumble, from their constant place detruded, 
 That the sea devours and gives not thanks. 
 
 Graves where hope and prayer and sorrow brooded 
 Gape and slide and perish, ranks on ranks. 
 
 Kows on rows and line by line they crumble, 
 They that thought for all time through to be. 
 
 Scarce a stone whereon a child might stumble 
 Breaks the grim field paced alone of me. 
 
 Earth, and man, and all their Gods wax humble- 
 Here, where Time brings pasture to the sea. 
 
30 DUNWICH 
 
 II. 
 
 But afar on the headland exalted, 
 But beyond in the curl of the bay, 
 
 From the depth of his dome deep-vaulted 
 Our father is lord of the day. 
 
 Our father and lord that we follow, 
 For deathless and ageless is he ; 
 
 A.nd his robe is the whole sky's hollow, 
 His sandal the sea. 
 
 Where the horn of the headland is sharper, 
 And her green floor glitters with fire, 
 
 The sea has the sun for a harper, 
 The sun has the sea for a lyre. 
 
 The waves are a pavement of amber, 
 By the feet of the sea-winds trod, 
 
 To receive in a god's presence-chamber 
 Our father, the God. 
 
 Time, haggard and changeful and hoary, 
 Is master and Grod of the land : 
 
 But the air is fulfilled of the glory 
 
 That is shed from our lord's right hand. 
 
DUNWICH 31 
 
 father of all of us ever, 
 
 All glory be only to thee 
 From heaven, that is void of thee never, 
 And earth, and the sea. 
 
 Sun, whereof all is beholden, 
 
 Behold now the shadow of this death, 
 
 This place of the sepulchres, olden 
 And emptied and vain as a breath. 
 
 The bloom of the bountiful heather 
 Laughs broadly beyond in thy light 
 
 As dawn, with her glories to gather, 
 At darkness and night. 
 
 Though the Gods of the night lie rotten 
 
 And their honour be taken away 
 And the noise of their names forgotten, 
 
 Thou, Lord, art God of the day. 
 Thou art father and saviour and spirit, 
 
 Sun, of the soul that is free 
 And hath grace of thy grace to inherit 
 Thine earth and thy sea. 
 
 The hills and the sands and the beaches, 
 
 The waters adrift and afar, 
 The banks and the creeks and the reaches. 
 
 How glad of thee all these are ! 
 
32 DUNWICH 
 
 The flowers, overflowing, overcrowded, 
 
 Are drunk with the mad wind's mirth : 
 The delight of thy coming unclouded 
 Makes music of earth. 
 
 I, last least voice of her voices, 
 
 Give thanks that were mute in me long 
 
 To the soul in my soul that rejoices 
 For the song that is over my song. 
 
 Time gives what he gains for the giving 
 Or takes for his tribute of me ; 
 
 My dreams to the wind everliving, 
 My song to the sea. 
 
OFF SHOBE. 
 
 When the might of the summer 
 
 Is most on the sea ; 
 When the days overcome her 
 With joy hut to be, 
 With rapture of royal enchantment, and sorcery that sets 
 her not free, 
 
 But for hours upon hours 
 As a thrall she remains 
 Spell-bound as with flowers 
 And content in their chains, 
 And her loud steeds fret not, and lift not a lock of their 
 deep white manes ; 
 
 Then only, far under 
 
 In the depths of her hold, 
 Some gleam of its wonder 
 Man's eye may behold, 
 Its wild-weed forests of crimson and russet and olive and 
 gold. 
 
 D 
 
34 OFF 8E0BE 
 
 Still deeper and dimmer 
 
 And goodlier they glow 
 For the eyes of the swimmer 
 Who scans them below 
 As he crosses the zone of their flowerage that knows not 
 of sunshine and snow. 
 
 Soft blossomless frondage 
 And foliage that gleams 
 As to prisoners in bondage 
 The light of their dreams, 
 The desire of a dawn unbeholden, with hope on the 
 wings of its beams. 
 
 Not as prisoners entombed 
 
 Waxen haggard and wizen, 
 But consoled and illumed 
 In the depths of their prison 
 With delight of the light everlasting and vision of dawn 
 on them risen, 
 
 From the banks and the beds 
 
 Of the waters divine 
 They lift up their heads 
 And the flowers of them shine 
 Through the splendour of darkness that clothes them, 
 of water that glimmers like wine. 
 
OFF SHORE 35 
 
 Bright bank over bank 
 
 Making glorious the gloom, 
 Soft rank upon rank, 
 
 Strange bloom after bloom, 
 They kindle the liquid low twilight, the dusk of the dim 
 sea's womb. 
 
 Through the subtle and tangible 
 
 Gloom without form, 
 Their branches, infrangible 
 Ever of storm, 
 Spread softer their sprays than the shoots of the wood- 
 land when April is warm. 
 
 As the flight of the thunder, full 
 
 Charged with its word, 
 Dividing the wonderful 
 Depths like a bird, 
 Speaks wrath and delight to the heart of the night that 
 exults to have heard, 
 
 So swiftly, though soundless 
 
 In silence's ear, 
 Light, winged from the boundless 
 Blue depths full of cheer, 
 Speaks joy to the heart of the waters that part not before 
 him, but hear. 
 
 i)2 
 
36 OFF SHORE 
 
 Light, perfect and visible 
 
 Godhead of God, 
 God indivisible, 
 Lifts but his rod, 
 A.nd the shadows are scattered in sunder, and darkness 
 is light at his nod. 
 
 At the touch of his wand, 
 At the nod of his head 
 From the spaces beyond 
 
 Where the dawn hath her bed, 
 Earth, water, and air are transfigured, and rise as one 
 risen from the dead. 
 
 He puts forth his hand, 
 
 And the mountains are thrilled 
 To the heart as they stand 
 In his presence, fulfilled 
 With his glory that utters his grace upon earth, and her 
 sorrows are stilled. 
 
 The moan of her travail 
 
 That groans for the light 
 Till dayspring unravel 
 The weft of the night, 
 At the sound of the strings of the music of morning, falls 
 dumb with delight. 
 
OFF SHORE 37 
 
 He gives forth his word, 
 
 And the word that he saith, 
 Ere well it be heard, 
 
 Strikes darkness to death ; 
 For the thought of his heart is the sunrise, and dawn 
 as the sound of his breath. 
 
 And the strength of its pulses 
 
 That passion makes proud 
 Confounds and convulses 
 The depths of the cloud 
 Of the darkness that heaven was engirt with, divided 
 and rent as a shroud, 
 
 As the veil of the shrine 
 
 Of the temple of old 
 When darkness divine 
 Over noonday was rolled ; 
 So the heart of the night by the pulse of the light is 
 convulsed and controlled. 
 
 And the sea's heart, groaning 
 
 For glories withdrawn, 
 And the waves' mouths, moaning 
 All night for the dawn, 
 Are uplift as the hearts and the mouths of the singers 
 on leaside and lawn. 
 
38 OFF SHORE 
 
 And the sound of the quiring 
 
 Of all these as one, 
 Desired and desiring 
 Till dawn's will be done, 
 Fills full with delight of them heaven till it burns as the 
 heart of the sun. 
 
 Till the waves too inherit 
 
 And waters take part 
 In the sense of the spirit 
 
 That breathes from his heart, 
 And are kindled with music as fire when the lips of the 
 morning part, 
 
 With music unheard 
 
 In the light of her lips, 
 In the life-giving word 
 Of the dewfall that drips 
 On the grasses of earth, and the wind that enkindles 
 the wings of the ships : 
 
 White glories of wings 
 As of seafaring birds 
 That flock from the springs 
 Of the sunrise in herds 
 With the wind for a herdsman, and hasten or halt at 
 the change of his words : 
 
OFF SHORE 39 
 
 At the watchword's change 
 
 When the wind's note shifts, 
 And the sides grow strange, 
 And the white squall drifts 
 Up sharp from the sea-line, vexing the sea till the low 
 cloud lifts. 
 
 At the charge of his word 
 
 Bidding pause, bidding haste, 
 When the ranks are stirred 
 And the lines displaced, 
 They scatter as wild swans parting adrift on the wan 
 green waste. 
 
 At the hush of his word 
 
 In a pause of his breath 
 When the waters have heard 
 His will that he saith, 
 They stand as a flock penned close in its fold for 
 division of death. 
 
 As a flock by division 
 
 Of death to be thinned, 
 As the shades in a vision 
 Of spirits that sinned ; 
 So glimmer their shrouds and their sheetings as clouds 
 on the stream of the wind. 
 
40 OFF SHORE 
 
 But the sun stands fast, 
 
 And the sea burns bright, 
 And the flight of them past 
 Is no more than the flight 
 Of the snow-soft swarm of serene wings poised and afloat 
 in the light. 
 
 Like flowers upon flowers 
 
 In a festival way 
 When hours after hours 
 Shed grace on the day, 
 White blossomlike butterflies hover and gleam through 
 the snows of the spray. 
 
 Like snow-coloured petals 
 
 Of blossoms that flee 
 From storm that unsettles 
 The flower as the tree, 
 They flutter, a legion of flowers on the wing, through the 
 field of the sea. 
 
 Through the furrowless field 
 
 Where the foam-blossoms blow 
 And the secrets are sealed 
 Of their harvest below 
 They float in the path of the sunbeams, as flakes or as 
 blossoms of snow. 
 
OFF SHORE . 41 
 
 Till the sea's ways darken, 
 
 And the God, withdrawn, 
 Give ear not nor hearken 
 If prayer on him fawn, 
 And the sun's self seem but a shadow, the noon as a 
 ghost of the dawn. 
 
 No shadow, but rather 
 God, father of song, 
 Shew grace to me, Father 
 God, loved of me long, 
 That I lose not the light of thy face, that my trust in thee 
 work me not wrong. 
 
 While yet I make forward 
 
 With face toward thee 
 Not turned yet in shoreward, 
 Be thine upon me ; 
 Be thy light on my forehead or ever I turn it again from 
 the sea. 
 
 As a kiss on my brow 
 
 Be the light of thy grace, 
 Be thy glance on me now 
 From the pride of thy place : 
 A.s the sign of a sire to a son be the light on my face of 
 thy face. 
 
42 OFF SHORE 
 
 Thou wast father of olden 
 
 Times hailed and adored, 
 And the sense of thy golden 
 Great harp's monochord 
 Was the joy in the soul of the singers that hailed thee 
 for master and lord. 
 
 Fair father of all 
 
 In thy ways that have trod, 
 That have risen at thy call, 
 That have thrilled at thy nod, 
 Arise, shine, lighten upon me, sun that we see to be 
 God. 
 
 As my soul has been dutiful 
 
 Only to thee, 
 God most beautiful, 
 Lighten thou me, 
 As I swim through the dim long rollers, with eyelids 
 uplift from the sea. 
 
 Be praised and adored of us 
 
 All in accord, 
 Father and lord of us 
 Alway adored, 
 The slayer and the stayer and the harper, the light of 
 us all and our lord. 
 
OFF SHORE 43= 
 
 At the sound of thy lyre, 
 
 At the touch of thy rod, 
 Air quickens to fire 
 
 By the foot of thee trod, 
 The saviour and healer and singer, the living and visible 
 God. 
 
 The years are before thee 
 
 As shadows of thee, 
 As men that adore thee, 
 As cloudlets that flee : 
 But thou art the God, and thy kingdom is heaven, andi 
 thy shrine is the sea. 
 
44 
 
 A FORSAKEN GARDEN. 
 
 In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, 
 At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, 
 Walled round with rocks as an inland island, 
 
 The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. 
 A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses 
 
 The steep square slope of the blossomless bed 
 Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its 
 roses 
 
 Now lie dead. 
 
 The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken, 
 To the low last edge of the long lone land. 
 
 If a step should sound or a word be spoken, 
 
 Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand ? 
 
 So long have the grey bare walks lain guestless, 
 Through branches and briers if a man make way, 
 
 He shall find no life but the sea-wind's, restless 
 Night and day. 
 
A FORSAKEN GARDEN 45 
 
 The dense hard passage is blind and stifled 
 That crawls by a track none turn to climb 
 
 To the strait waste place that the years have rifled 
 Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time. 
 
 The thorns he spares when the rose is taken ; 
 The rocks are left when he wastes the plain. 
 
 The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, 
 These remain. 
 
 Not a flower to be pressed of the foot that falls not ; 
 
 As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry ; 
 From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls 
 not, 
 Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. 
 Over the meadows that blossom and wither 
 
 Eings but the note of a sea-bird's song ; 
 Only the sun and the rain come hither 
 All year long. 
 
 The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels 
 One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. 
 
 Only the wind here hovers and revels 
 
 In a round where life seems barren as death. 
 
 Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, 
 Haply, of lovers none ever will know, 
 
 Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping 
 Years ago. 
 
•46 A FORSAKEN GARDEN 
 
 Heart liandfast in heart as they stood, " Look thither," 
 Did he whisper ? " look forth from the flowers to the 
 sea ; 
 For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms 
 wither, 
 And men that love lightly may die — but we ? " 
 And the same wind sang and the same waves whitened, 
 
 And or ever the garden's last petals were shed, 
 In the lips that had whispered,the eyes that had lightened, 
 Love was dead. 
 
 Or they loved their life through, and then went whither ? 
 
 And were one to the end ; but what end who knows ? 
 Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, 
 
 As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. 
 Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them ? 
 
 What love was ever as deep as a grave ? 
 They are loveless now as the grass above them 
 Or the wave. 
 
 All are at one now, roses and lovers, 
 
 Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea. 
 Not a breath of the time that has been hovers 
 
 In the air now soft with a summer to be. 
 Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter 
 
 Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep, 
 When as they that are free now of weeping and laughtei 
 We shall sleep. 
 
A FORSAKEN GARDEN 47 
 
 Here death may deal not again for ever ; 
 
 Here change may come not till all change end. 
 From the graves they have made they shall rise up never, 
 
 Who have left nought living to ravage and rend. 
 Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing, 
 
 While the sun and the rain live, these shall be ; 
 Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing 
 Eoll the sea. 
 
 Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, 
 Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, 
 
 Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble 
 The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, 
 
 Here now in his triumph where all things falter, 
 
 Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread, 
 
 As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, 
 Death lies dead. 
 
48 
 
 THE CAVES OF SABK. 
 
 {The island was visited by Victor Hugo during the first years of his exile,') 
 
 Feom the roots of the rocks underlying the gulfs thai 
 
 engird it around 
 Was the isle not enkindled with light of him landing, 
 
 or thrilled not with sound ? 
 Yea, surely the sea like a harper laid hand on the shore 
 
 as a lyre, 
 As the lyre in his own for a birthright of old that was 
 
 given of his sire, 
 And the hand of the child was put forth on the chords 
 
 yet alive and aflame 
 From the hand of the God that had wrought it in heaven ; 
 
 and the hand was the same. 
 And the tongue of the child spake, singing ; and never 
 
 a note that he sang, 
 But the strings made answer unstricken, as though for 
 
 the God they rang. 
 
THE CAVES OF SARK 49 
 
 And the eyes of the child shone, lightening ; and touched 
 
 as by life at his nod, 
 They shuddered with music, and quickened as though 
 
 from the glance of the God. 
 So trembled the heart of the hills and the rocks to 
 
 receive him, and yearned 
 With desirous delight of his presence and love that 
 
 beholding him burned. 
 Yea, down through the mighty twin hollows where never 
 
 the sunlight shall be, 
 Deep sunk under imminent earth, and subdued to the 
 
 stress of the sea, 
 That feel when the dim week changes by change of their 
 
 tides in the dark, 
 As the wave sinks under within them, reluctant, removed 
 
 from its mark, 
 Even there in the terror of twilight in bloom with its 
 
 blossoms ablush, 
 Did a sense of him touch not the gleam of their flowers 
 
 with a fierier flush ? 
 Though the sun they behold not for ever, yet knew they 
 
 not over them One 
 Whose soul was the soul of the morning, whose song was 
 
 the song of the sun ? 
 But the secrets inviolate of sunlight in hollows untrodden 
 
 of day, 
 Shall he dream what are these who beholds not ? or he 
 
 that hath seen, shall he say ? 
 
 E 
 
50 THE CAVES OF SARK 
 
 For the path is for passage of sea-mews ; and he that 
 
 hath glided and leapt 
 Ovsr sea-grass and sea-rock, alighting as one from a 
 
 citadel crept 
 That his foemen beleaguer, descending by darkness and 
 
 stealth, at the last 
 Peers under, and all is as hollow to hellward, agape and 
 
 aghast. 
 But afloat and afar in the darkness a tremulous colour 
 
 subsides 
 From the crimson high crest of the purple-peaked roof 
 
 to the soft-coloured sides 
 That brighten as ever they widen till downward the level 
 
 is won 
 Of the soundless and colourless water that knows not the 
 
 sense of the sun : 
 From the crown of the culminant arch to the floor of the 
 
 lakelet abloom, 
 One infinite blossom of blossoms innumerable aflush 
 
 through the gloom. 
 All under the deeps of the darkness are glimmering ; all 
 
 over impends 
 An immeasurable infinite flower of the dark that dilates 
 
 and descends, 
 That exults and expands in its breathless and blind 
 
 efflorescence of heart 
 As it broadens and bows to the wave-ward, and breathe3 
 
 not, and hearkens apart. 
 
THE CAVES OF SARK 51 
 
 As a beaker inverse at a feast on Olympus, exhausted of 
 
 wine, 
 But inlaid as with rose from the lips of Dione that left it 
 
 divine ; 
 From the lips everliving of laughter and love everlasting, 
 
 that leave 
 In the cleft of his heart who shall kiss them a snake to 
 
 corrode it and cleave. 
 So glimmers the gloom into glory, the glory recoils into 
 
 gloom, 
 That the eye of the sun could not kindle, the lip not of 
 
 Love could relume. 
 So darkens reverted the cup that the kiss of her mouth 
 
 set on fire : 
 So blackens a brand in his eyeshot asmoulder awhile 
 
 from the pyre. 
 For the beam from beneath and without it refrangent 
 
 again from the wave 
 Strikes up through the portal a ghostly reverse on the 
 
 dome of the cave, 
 On the depth of the dome ever darkling and dim to the 
 
 crown of its arc : 
 That the sun-coloured tapestry, sunless for ever, may 
 
 soften the dark. 
 But within through the side- seen archway aglimmer 
 
 again from the right 
 Is the seal of the sea's tide set on the mouth of the 
 
 mystery of night. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE CAVES OF SABK 
 
 And the seal on the seventh day breaks but a little, that 
 
 man by its mean 
 May behold what the sun hath not looked on, the stars 
 
 of the night have not seen. 
 
53 
 
 IN GUEBNSEY. 
 
 TO THEODORE WATTS. 
 
 The heavenly bay, ringed round with cliffs and moors, 
 Storm-stained ravines, and crags that lawns inlay, 
 Soothes as with love the rocks whose guard secures 
 The heavenly bay. 
 
 friend, shall time take ever this away, 
 This blessing given of beauty that endures, 
 This glory shown us, not to pass but stay ? 
 
 Though sight be changed for memory, love ensures 
 What memory, changed by love to sight, would say — 
 The word that seals for ever mine and yours 
 The heavenly bay. 
 
 ii. 
 
 My mother sea, my fostress, what new strand, 
 What new delight of waters, may this be, 
 The fairest found since time's first breezes fanned 
 My mother sea ? 
 
54 IN GUERNSEY 
 
 Once more I give me body and soul to thee, 
 Who hast my soul for ever : cliff and sand 
 Recede, and heart to heart once more are we. 
 
 My heart springs first and plunges, ere my hand 
 Strike out from shore : more close it brings to me, 
 More near and dear than seems my fatherland, 
 My mother sea. 
 
 in. 
 
 Across and along, as the bay's breadth opens, and o'er 
 
 us 
 Wild autumn exults in the wind, swift rapture and strong 
 Impels us, and broader the wide waves brighten before 
 
 us 
 
 Across and along. 
 
 The whole world's heart is uplifted, and knows not 
 
 wrong ; 
 The whole world's life is a chant to the sea-tide's chorus ; 
 Are we not as waves of the water, as notes of the song ? 
 
 Like children unworn of the passions and toils that wore 
 
 us, 
 We breast for a season the breadth of the seas that 
 
 throng, 
 Rejoicing as they, to be borne as of old they bore us 
 Across and along. 
 
IN GUERNSEY 55 
 
 IV. 
 
 On Dante's track by some funereal spell 
 Drawn down through desperate ways that lead not back 
 We seem to move, bound forth past flood and fell 
 On Dante's track. 
 
 The grey path ends : the gaunt rocks gape : the black 
 Deep hollow tortuous night, a soundless shell, 
 Glares darkness : are the fires of old grown slack ? 
 
 Nay, then, what flames are these that leap and swell 
 As 'twere to show, where earth's foundations crack, 
 The secrets of the sepulchres of hell 
 On Dante's track ? 
 
 v. 
 
 By mere men's hands the flame was lit, we know, 
 From heaps of dry waste whin and casual brands : 
 Yet, knowing, we scarce believe it kindled so 
 By mere men's hands. 
 
 Above, around, high-vaulted hell expands, 
 
 Steep, dense, a labyrinth walled and roofed with woe, 
 
 Whose mysteries even itself not understands. 
 
 The scorn in Farinata's eyes aglow 
 Seems visible in this flame : there Geryon stands : 
 No stage of earth's is here, set forth to show 
 By mere men's hands. 
 
56 IN GUERNSEY 
 
 VI. 
 
 Night, in utmost noon forlorn and strong, with heart 
 
 athirst and fasting, 
 Hungers here, barred up for ever, whence as one whom 
 
 dreams affright 
 Day recoils before the low-browed lintel threatening 
 
 doom and casting 
 Night. 
 
 All the reefs and islands, all the lawns and highlands, 
 
 clothed with light, 
 Laugh for- love's sake in their sleep outside : but here 
 
 the night speaks, blasting 
 Day with silent speech and scorn of all things known 
 
 from depth to height. 
 
 Lower than dive the thoughts of spirit -stricken fear in 
 
 souls forecasting 
 Hell, the deep void seems to yawn beyond fear's reach, 
 
 and higher than sight 
 Rise the walls and roofs that compass it about with 
 
 everlasting 
 Night. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The house accurst, with cursing sealed and signed, 
 Heeds not what storms about it burn and burst : 
 No fear more fearful than its own may find 
 The house accurst. 
 
IN GUERNSEY 57 
 
 Barren as crime, anhungered and athirst, 
 
 Blank miles of moor sweep inland, sere and blind, 
 
 Where summer's best rebukes not winter's worst. 
 
 The low bleak tower with nought save wastes behind 
 Stares down the abyss whereon chance reared and nurst 
 This type and likeness of the accurst man's mind, 
 The house accurst. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Beloved and blest, lit warm with love and fame, 
 The house that had the light of the earth for guest 
 Hears for his name's sake all men hail its name 
 Beloved and blest. 
 
 This eyrie was the homeless eagle's nest 
 
 When storm laid waste his eyrie : hence he came 
 
 Again, when storm smote sore his mother's breast. 
 
 Bow down men bade us, or be clothed with blame 
 And mocked for madness : worst, they sware, was best : 
 But grief shone here, while joy was one with shame, 
 Beloved and blest. 
 
53 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Death, if thou wilt, fain would I plead with thee : 
 Canst thou not spare, of all our hopes have built, 
 One shelter where our spirits fain would be, 
 Death, if thou wilt ? 
 
 No dome with suns and dews impearled and gilt, 
 
 Imperial : but some roof of wildwood tree, 
 
 Too mean for sceptre's heft or swordblade's hilt. 
 
 Some low sweet roof where love might live, set free 
 From change and fear and dreams of grief or guilt ; 
 Canst thou not leave life even thus much to see, 
 Death, if thou wilt ? 
 
 Man, what art thou to speak and plead with me ? 
 What knowest thou of my workings, where and how 
 What things I fashion ? Nay, behold and see, 
 Man, what art thou ? 
 
A DIALOGUE 59 
 
 Thy fruits of life, and blossoms of thy bough, 
 What are they but my seedlings ? Earth and sea 
 Bear nought but when I breathe on it must bow. 
 
 Bow thou too down before me : though thou be 
 Great, all the pride shall fade from off thy brow, 
 When Time and strong Oblivion ask of thee, 
 Man, what art thou ? 
 
 in. 
 
 Death, if thou be or be not, as was said, 
 Immortal ; if thou make us nought, or we 
 Survive ; thy power is made but of our dread, 
 Death, if thou be. 
 
 Thy might is made out of our fear of thee : 
 
 Who fears thee not, hath plucked from off thine head 
 
 The crown of cloud that darkens earth and sea. 
 
 Earth, sea, and sky, as rain or vapour shed, 
 Shall vanish ; all the shows of them shall flee ; 
 Then shall we know full surely, quick or dead, 
 Death, if thou be. 
 
60 
 
 HERTHA. 
 
 I am that which began ; 
 
 Out of me the years roll ; 
 Out of me God and man ; 
 I am equal and whole ; 
 God changes, and man, and the form of them bodily ; I 
 am the soul. 
 
 Before ever land was, 
 Before ever the sea, 
 Or soft hair of the grass, 
 Or fair lhnbs of the tree, 
 Or the flesh-coloured fruit of my branches, I was, and 
 thy soul was in me. 
 
 First life on my sources 
 
 First drifted and swam ; 
 Out of me are the forces 
 That save it or damn ; 
 Out of me man and woman, and wild-beast and bird : 
 before God was, I am. 
 
HEETHA 61 
 
 Beside or above me 
 
 Nought is there to go ; 
 Love or unlove me, 
 CJnknow me or know, 
 I am that which unloves me and loves ; I am stricken, 
 and I am the blow. 
 
 I the mark that is missed 
 
 And the arrows that miss, 
 I the mouth that is kissed 
 And the breath in the kiss, 
 The search, and the sought, and the seeker, the soul and 
 the body that is. 
 
 I am that thing which blesses 
 
 My spirit elate ; 
 That which caresses 
 With hands uncreate 
 My limbs unbegotten that measure the length of the 
 measure of fate. 
 
 But what thing dost thou now, 
 
 Looking Godward, to cry 
 " I am I, thou art thou, 
 I am low, thou art high " ? 
 I am thou, whom thou seekest to find him ; find thou but 
 thyself, thou art I. 
 
62 HERTHA 
 
 I the grain and the furrow, 
 
 The plough -cloven clod 
 And the ploughshare drawn thorough, 
 The germ and the sod, 
 The deed and the doer, the seed and the sower, the dust 
 which is God. 
 
 Hast thou known how I fashioned thee, 
 
 Child, underground ? 
 Fire that impassioned thee, 
 Iron that bound, 
 Dim changes of water, what thing of all these hast thou 
 known of or found ? 
 
 Canst thou say in thine heart 
 
 Thou hast seen with thine eyes 
 With what cunning of art 
 
 Thou wast wrought in what wise, 
 By what force of what stuff thou wast shapen, and shown 
 on my breast to the skies ? 
 
 Who hath given, who hath sold it thee, 
 
 Knowledge of me ? 
 Has the wilderness told it thee ? 
 Hast thou learnt of the sea ? 
 Hast thou communed in spirit with night ? have the 
 winds taken counsel with thee ? 
 
HERTHA 63 
 
 Have I set such a star 
 
 To show light on thy brow 
 That thou sawest from afar 
 What I show to thee now ? 
 Have ye spoken as brethren together, the sun and the 
 mountains and thou ? 
 
 What is here, dost thou know it ? 
 
 What was, hast thou known ? 
 Prophet nor poet 
 
 Nor tripod nor throne 
 Nor spirit nor flesh can make answer, but only thy mother 
 alone. 
 
 Mother, not maker, 
 
 Born, and not made ; 
 Though her children forsake her, 
 Allured or afraid, 
 Praying prayers to the God of their fashion, she stirs not 
 for all that have prayed. 
 
 A creed is a rod, 
 
 And a crown is of night ; 
 But this thing is God, 
 
 To be man with thy might, 
 To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out 
 thy life as the light. 
 
64 EERTEA 
 
 I am in thee to save thee, 
 
 As my soul in thee saith ; 
 Give thou as I gave thee, 
 Thy life-blood and breath, 
 Green leaves of thy labour, white flowers of thy thought, 
 and red fruit of thy death. 
 
 Be the ways of thy giving 
 
 As mine were to thee ; 
 
 The free life of thy living, 
 
 Be the gift of it free ; 
 
 Not as servant to lord, nor as master to slave, shalt thou 
 
 give thee to me. 
 
 children of banishment, 
 Souls overcast, 
 
 Were the lights ye see vanish meant 
 Alway to last, 
 Ye would know not the sun overshining the shadows and 
 stars overpast. 
 
 1 that saw where ye trod 
 
 The dim paths of the night 
 Set the shadow called God 
 In your skies to give light ; 
 But the morning of manhood is risen, and the shadow- 
 less soul is in sight. 
 
HEBTHA 65 
 
 The tree many-rooted 
 
 That swells to the sky 
 With frondage red-fruited, 
 The life-tree am I ; 
 In the buds of your lives is the sap of my leaves : ye 
 shall live and not die. 
 
 But the Gods of your fashion 
 
 That take and that give, 
 In their pity and passion 
 That scourge and forgive, 
 They are worms that are bred in the bark that falls off ; 
 they shall die and not live. 
 
 My own blood is what stanches 
 
 The wounds in my bark; 
 Stars caught in my branches 
 Make day of the dark, 
 And are worshipped as suns till the sunrise shall tread out 
 their fires as a spark. 
 
 Where dead ages hide under 
 The live roots of the tree, 
 In my darkness the thunder 
 Makes utterance of me ; 
 In the clash of my boughs with each other ye hear the 
 waves sound of the sea. 
 
66 EERTHA 
 
 That noise is of Time, 
 
 As his feathers are spread 
 And his feet set to climb 
 
 Through the boughs overhead, 
 And my foliage rings round him and rustles, and branches 
 are bent with his tread. 
 
 The storm-winds of ages 
 
 Blow through me and cease, 
 The war-wind that rages, 
 The spring-wind of peace, 
 Ere the breath of them roughen my tresses, ere one of 
 my blossoms increase. 
 
 All sounds of all changes, 
 All shadows and lights 
 On the world's mountain-ranges 
 And stream-riven heights, 
 Whose tongue is the wind's tongue and language of storm- 
 clouds on earth-shaking nights ; 
 
 All forms of all faces, 
 
 All works of all hands 
 In unsearchable places 
 Of time-stricken lands, 
 All death and all life, and all reigns and all ruins, drop 
 through me as sands. 
 
BERTHA 67 
 
 Though sore be my burden 
 And more than ye know, 
 And my growth have no guerdon 
 But only to grow, 
 Yet I fail not of growing for lightnings above me or 
 deathworms below. 
 
 These too have their part in me, 
 
 As I too in these ; 
 Such fire is at heart in me, 
 Such sap is this tree's, 
 Which hath in it all sounds and all secrets of infinite 
 lands and of seas. 
 
 In the spring- coloured hours 
 
 When my mind was as May's 
 There brake forth of me flowers 
 By centuries of days, 
 Strong blossoms with perfume of manhood, shot out from 
 my spirit as rays. 
 
 And the sound of them springing 
 
 And smell of their shoots 
 Were as warmth and sweet singing 
 And strength to my roots ; 
 And the lives of my children made perfect with freedom 
 of soul were my fruits. 
 
 s 2 
 
68 HEBTHA 
 
 I bid you but be ; 
 
 I have need not of prayer ; 
 I have need of you free 
 
 As your mouths of mine air ; 
 That my heart may be greater within me, beholding the 
 fruits of me fair. 
 
 More fair than strange fruit is 
 
 Of faiths ye espouse ; 
 In me only the root is 
 
 That blooms in your boughs ; 
 Behold now your God that ye made you, to feed him 
 with faith of your vows. 
 
 In the darkening and whitening 
 
 Abysses adored, 
 "With dayspring and lightning 
 For lamp and for sword, 
 God thunders in heaven, and his angels are red with the 
 wrath of the Lord. 
 
 my sons, too dutiful 
 
 Toward Gods not of me, 
 Was not I enough beautiful ? 
 Was it hard to be free ? 
 For behold, I am with you, am in you and of you ; look 
 forth now and see. 
 
EEBTHA 69 
 
 Lo, winged with world's wonders, 
 
 With miracles shod, 
 With the fires of his thunders 
 For raiment and rod, 
 God trembles in heaven, and his angels are white with 
 the terror of God. 
 
 For his twilight is come on him, 
 
 His anguish is here ; 
 And his spirits gaze dumb on him, 
 Grown grey from his fear ; 
 And his hour taketh hold on him stricken, the last of his 
 infinite year. 
 
 Thought made him and breaks him, 
 
 Truth slays and forgives ; 
 But to you, as time takes him, 
 This new thing it gives, 
 Even love, the beloved Republic, that feeds upon free- 
 dom and lives. 
 
 For truth only is living, 
 
 Truth only is whole, 
 And the love of his giving 
 Man's polestar and pole ; 
 Man, pulse of my centre, and fruit of my body, and seed 
 of my soul. 
 
70 HERTHA 
 
 One birth of my bosom ; 
 
 One beam of mine eye ; 
 One topmost blossom 
 That scales the sky ; 
 Man, equal and one with me, man that is made of me, 
 man that is I. 
 
 
71 
 
 IN SAN LORENZO. 
 
 Is thine hour come to wake, slumbering Night ? 
 
 Hath not the Dawn a message in thine ear ? 
 
 Though thou be stone and sleep, yet shalt thou hear 
 When the word falls from heaven — Let there be light. 
 Thou knowest we would not do thee the despite 
 
 To wake thee while the old sorrow and shame were 
 near ; 
 
 We spake not loud for thy sake, and for fear 
 Lest thou shouldst lose the rest that was thy right, 
 The blessing given thee that was thine alone, 
 The happiness to sleep and to be stone : 
 
 Nay, we kept silence of thee for thy sake 
 Albeit we knew thee alive, and left with thee 
 The great good gift to feel not nor to see ; 
 
 But will not yet thine Angel bid thee wake ? 
 
72 
 
 
 A YEARS BUBDEN. 
 
 1870. 
 
 oXKivov aZXivov etVe, rb 5' eO vikixto). 
 
 Fiee and wild light of hope and doubt and fear, 
 Wind of swift change, and clouds and hours that veer 
 As the storm shifts of the tempestuous year ; 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
 Hope sits yet hiding her war-wearied eyes, 
 Doubt sets her forehead earthward and denies, 
 But fear brought hand to hand with danger dies, 
 Dies and is burnt up in the fire of fight. 
 
 Hearts bruised with loss and eaten through with shame 
 Turn at the time's touch to devouring flame ; 
 Grief stands as one that knows not her own name, 
 Nor if the star she sees bring day or night. 
 
 No song breaks with it on the violent air, 
 But shrieks of shame, defeat, and brute despair ; 
 Yet something at the star's heart far up there 
 Burns as a beacon in our shipwrecked sight. 
 
 
A YEAR'S BURDEN 73 
 
 strange fierce light of presage, unknown star, 
 Whose tongue shall tell us what thy secrets are, 
 What message trembles in thee from so far ? 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
 From shores laid waste across an iron sea 
 Where the waifs drift of hopes that were to be, 
 Across the red rolled foam we look for thee, 
 Across the fire we look up for the light. 
 
 From days laid waste across disastrous years, 
 From hopes cut down across a world of fears, 
 We gaze with eyes too passionate for tears, 
 Where faith abides though hope be put to flight. 
 
 Old hope is dead, the grey-haired hope grown blind 
 That talked with us of old things out of mind, 
 Dreams, deeds and men the world has left behind ; 
 Yet, though hope die, faith lives in hope's despite. 
 
 Ay, with hearts fixed on death and hopeless hands 
 We stand about our banner while it stands 
 Above but one field of the ruined lands ; 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
 Though France were given for prey to bird and beast, 
 Though Borne were rent in twain of king and priest, 
 The soul of man, the soul is safe at least 
 
 That gives death life and dead men hands to smite. 
 
74 A YEAR'S BURDEN 
 
 Are ye so strong, kings, strong men ? Nay, 
 Waste all ye will and gather all ye may, 
 Yet one thing is there that ye shall not slay, 
 Even thought, that fire nor iron can affright. 
 
 The woundless and invisible thought that goes 
 Free throughout time as north or south wind blows, 
 Far throughout space as east or west sea flows, 
 And all dark things before it are made bright. 
 
 Thy thought, thy word, soul republican, 
 spirit of life, God whose name is man : 
 What sea of sorrows but thy sight shall span ? 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
 With all its coils crushed, all its rings uncurled, 
 The one most poisonous worm that soiled the world 
 Is wrenched from off the throat of man, and hurled 
 Into deep hell from empire's helpless height. 
 
 Time takes no more infection of it now ; 
 Like a dead snake divided of the plough, 
 The rotten thing lies cut in twain ; but thou, 
 Thy fires shall heal us of the serpent's bite. 
 
 Ay, with red cautery and a burning brand 
 Purge thou the leprous leaven of the land ; 
 Take to thee fire, and iron in thine hand, 
 
 Till blood and tears have washed the soiled limbs 
 white. 
 
A YEAR'S BURDEN 75 
 
 We have sinned against thee in dreams and wicked sleep ; 
 Smite, we will shrink not ; strike, we will not weep ; 
 Let the heart feel thee ; let thy wound go deep : 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
 Wound us with love, pierce us with longing, make 
 Our souls thy sacrifices ; turn and take 
 Our hearts for our sin-offerings lest they break, 
 And mould them with thine hands and give them 
 might. 
 
 Then, when the cup of ills is drained indeed, 
 Will we come to thee with our wounds that bleed, 
 With famished mouths and hearts that thou shalt feed, 
 And see thee worshipped as the world's delight. 
 
 There shall be no more wars nor kingdoms won, 
 But in thy sight whose eyes are as the sun 
 All names shall be one name, all nations one, 
 All souls of men in man's one soul unite. 
 
 sea whereon men labour, great sea 
 That heaven seems one with, shall these things not be ? 
 earth, our earth, shall time not make us free ? 
 Cry wellaway, but well befall the right. 
 
76 
 
 MAZZINL 
 
 1867. 
 
 (FROM A SONG OF ITALY.) 
 
 Peaise be with him from earth and heaven ; for he, 
 
 Father of Italy, 
 Upbore in holy hands the babe new-born 
 
 Through loss and sorrow and scorn, 
 Of no man led, of many men reviled ; 
 
 Till lo, the new-born child 
 Gone from between his hands, and in its place, 
 
 Lo, the fair mother's face. 
 Blessed is he of all men, being in one 
 
 As father to her and son ; 
 Blessed of all men living, that he found 
 
 Her weak limbs bared and bound, 
 And in his arms and in his bosom bore, 
 
 And as a garment wore 
 Her weight of want, and as a royal dress 
 
 Put on her weariness. 
 As in faith's hoariest histories men read, 
 
 The strong man bore at need 
 
MAZZINI 77 
 
 Through roaring rapids when all heaven was wild 
 
 The likeness of a child 
 That still waxed greater and heavier as he trod, 
 
 And altered, and was God. 
 Praise him, winds that move the molten air, 
 
 light of days that were, 
 And light of days that shall be ; land and sea, 
 
 And heaven and Italy : 
 Praise him, storm and summer, shore and wave, 
 
 skies and every grave ; 
 weeping hopes, memories beyond tears, 
 
 many and murmuring years, 
 sounds far off in time and visions far, 
 
 sorrow with thy star, 
 And joy with all thy beacons ; ye that mourn, 
 
 And ye whose light is born ; 
 fallen faces, and souls arisen, 
 
 Praise him from tomb and prison, 
 Praise him from heaven and sunlight : and ye floods, 
 
 And windy waves of woods ; 
 Ye valleys and wild vineyards, ye lit lakes 
 
 And happier hillside brakes, 
 Untrampled by the accursed feet that trod 
 
 Fields golden from their god, 
 Fields of their god forsaken, whereof none 
 
 Sees his face in the sun, 
 Hears his voice from the floweriest wildernesses ; 
 
 And, barren of his tresses, * 
 
78 MAZZINI 
 
 Ye bays unplucked and laurels unentwined, 
 
 That no men break or bind, 
 And myrtles long forgetful of the sword, 
 
 And olives un adored, 
 Wisdom and love, white hands that save and slay, 
 
 Praise him ; and ye as they, 
 Praise him, gracious might of dews and rains 
 
 That feed the purple plains, 
 sacred sunbeams bright as bare steel drawn, 
 
 cloud and fire and dawn ; 
 Red hills of flame, white Alps, green Apennines, 
 
 Banners of blowing pines, 
 Standards of stormy snows, flags of light leaves, 
 
 Three wherewith Freedom weaves 
 One ensign that once woven and once unfurled 
 
 Makes day of all a world, 
 Makes blind their eyes who knew not, and outbraves 
 
 The waste of iron waves ; 
 Ye fields of yellow fullness, ye fresh fountains, 
 
 And mists of many mountains ; 
 Ye moons and seasons, and ye days and nights ; 
 
 Ye starry-headed heights, 
 And gorges melting sunward from the snow, 
 
 And all strong streams that flow, 
 Tender as tears, and fair as faith, and pure 
 
 As hearts made sad and sure 
 At once by many sufferings and one love ; 
 
 mystic deathless dove ; 
 
MAZZINI 79 
 
 Held to the heart of earth and in her hands 
 
 Cherished, lily of lands, 
 White rose of time, dear dream of praises past^- 
 
 For such as these thou wast, 
 That art as eagles setting toward the sun, 
 
 As fawns that leap and run, 
 As a sword carven with keen floral gold, 
 
 Sword for an armed god's hold, 
 Flower for a crowned god's forehead — our land, 
 
 Eeach forth thine holiest hand, 
 mother of many sons and memories. 
 
 Stretch out thine hand to his 
 That raised and gave thee life to run and leap 
 
 When thou wast full of sleep, 
 That touched and stung thee with young blood and breath 
 
 When thou wast hard on death. 
 Praise him, all her cities and her crowns, 
 
 Her towers and thrones of towns ; 
 noblest Brescia, scarred from foot to head 
 
 And breast-deep in the dead, 
 Praise him from all the glories of thy graves 
 
 That yellow Mela laves 
 With gentle and golden water, whose fair flood 
 
 Kan wider with thy blood : 
 Praise him, born of that heroic breast, 
 
 nursed thereat and blest, 
 Verona, fairer than thy mother fair, 
 
 But not more brave to bear : 
 
' MAZZINI 
 
 Praise him, Milan, whose imperial tread 
 
 Bruised once the German head ; 
 Whose might, by northern swords left desolate, 
 
 Set foot on fear and fate : 
 Praise him, long mute mouth of melodies, 
 
 Mantua, with louder keys, 
 With mightier chords of music even than rolled 
 
 From the large harps of old, 
 When thy sweet singer of golden throat and tongue, 
 
 Praising his tyrant, sung ; 
 Though now thou sing not as of other days, 
 
 Learn late a better praise. 
 Not with the sick sweet lips of slaves that sing, 
 
 Praise thou no priest or king, 
 No brow-bound laurel of discoloured leaf, 
 
 But him, the crownless chief. 
 Praise him, star of sun-forgotten times, 
 
 Among their creeds and crimes 
 That wast a fire of witness in the night, 
 
 Padua, the wise men's light : 
 Praise him, sacred Venice, and the sea 
 
 That now exults through thee, 
 Full of the mighty morning and the sun, 
 
 Free of things dead and done ; 
 Praise him from all the years of thy great grief, 
 
 That shook thee like a leaf 
 With winds and snows of torment, rain that fell 
 
 Red as the rains of hell, 
 
MAZZINI 81 
 
 Storms of black thunder and of yellow flame, 
 
 And all ill things but shame ; 
 Praise him with all thy holy heart and strength ; 
 
 Through thy walls' breadth and length 
 Praise him with all thy people, that their voice 
 
 Bid the strong soul rejoice, 
 The fair clear supreme spirit beyond stain, 
 
 Pure as the depth of pain, 
 High as the head of suffering, and secure 
 
 As all things that endure. 
 More than thy blind lord of an hundred years 
 
 Whose name our memory hears, 
 Home-bound from harbours of the Byzantine 
 
 Made tributary of thine, 
 Praise him who gave no gifts from oversea, 
 
 But gave thyself to thee. 
 mother Genoa, through all years that run, 
 
 More than that other son, 
 Who first beyond the seals of sunset prest 
 
 Even to the unfooted west, 
 Whose back-blown flag scared from their sheltering seas 
 
 The unknown Atlantides, 
 And as flame climbs through cloud and vapour clomb 
 
 Through streams of storm and foam, 
 Till half in sight they saw land heave and swim — 
 
 More than this man praise him. 
 One found a world new-born from virgin sea ; 
 
 And one found Italy. 
 
 G 
 
82 MAZZINI 
 
 heavenliest Florence, from the mouths of flowers 
 
 Fed by melodious hours, 
 From each sweet mouth that kisses light and air, 
 
 Thou whom thy fate made fair, 
 As a bound vine or any flowering tree, 
 
 Praise him who made thee free. 
 For no grape-gatherers trampling out the wine 
 
 Tread thee, the fairest vine ; 
 For no man binds thee, no man bruises, none 
 
 Does with thee as these have done. 
 From where spring hears loud through her long lit vale? 
 
 Triumphant nightingales, 
 In many a fold of fiery foliage hidden, 
 
 Withheld as things forbidden, 
 But clamorous with innumerable delight 
 
 In May's red, green, and white, 
 In the far-floated standard of the spring, 
 
 That bids men also sing, 
 Our flower of flags, our witness that we are free, 
 
 Our lamp for land and sea ; 
 From where Majano feels through corn and vine 
 
 Spring move and melt as wine, 
 And Fiesole's embracing arms enclose 
 
 The immeasurable rose ; 
 From hillsides plumed with pine, and heights wind-worn 
 
 That feel the refluent morn, 
 Or where the moon's face warm and passionate 
 
 Burns, and men's hearts grow great, 
 
MAZZINI 83 
 
 And the swoln eyelids labour with sweet tears, 
 
 And in their burning ears 
 Sound throbs like flame, and in their eyes new light 
 
 Kindles the trembling night ; 
 From faint illumined fields and starry valleys 
 
 Wherefrom the hill- wind sallies, 
 From Vallombrosa, from Valdarno raise 
 
 One Tuscan tune of praise. 
 lordly city of the field of death, 
 
 Praise him with equal breath, 
 From sleeping streets and gardens, and the stream 
 
 That threads them as a dream 
 Threads without light the untravelled ways of sleep 
 
 With eyes that smile or weep ; 
 From the sweet sombre beauty of wave and wall 
 
 That fades and does not fall ; 
 From coloured domes and cloisters fair with fame, 
 
 Praise thou and thine his name. 
 Thou too, little laurelled town of towers, 
 
 Clothed with the flame of flowers, 
 From windy ramparts girdled with young gold, 
 
 From thy sweet hillside fold 
 Of wallflowers and the acacia's belted bloom 
 
 And every blowing plume, 
 Halls that saw Dante speaking, chapels fair 
 
 As the outer hills and air, 
 Praise him who feeds the fire that Dante fed, 
 
 Our highest heroic head, 
 
 g2 
 
84 MAZZINI 
 
 Whose eyes behold through floated cloud and flame 
 
 The maiden face of fame 
 Like April's in Valdelsa ; fair as flowers, 
 
 And patient as the hours ; 
 Sad with slow sense of time, and bright with faith 
 
 That levels life and death ; 
 The final fame, that with a foot sublime 
 
 Treads down reluctant time ; 
 The fame that waits and watches and is wise, 
 
 A virgin with chaste eyes, 
 A goddess who takes hands with great men's grief; 
 
 Praise her, and him, our chief. 
 Praise him, Siena, and thou her deep green spring, 
 
 Fonte Branda, sing : 
 Shout from the red clefts of thy fiery crags, 
 
 Shake out thy flying flags 
 In the long wind that streams from hill to hill ; 
 
 Bid thy full music fill 
 The desolate red waste of sunset air 
 
 And fields the old time saw fair, 
 But now the hours ring void through ruined lands, 
 
 Wild work of mortal hands ; 
 Yet through thy dead Maremma let his name 
 
 Take flight and pass in flame, 
 And the red ruin of disastrous hours 
 
 Shall quicken into flowers. 
 Praise him, fiery child of sun and sea, 
 
 Naples, who bade thee be ; 
 
MAZZINI 85 
 
 For till he sent the swords that scourge and save, 
 
 Thou wast not, but thy grave. 
 But more than all these praise him and give thanks, 
 
 Thou, from thy Tiber's banks, 
 From all thine hills and from thy supreme dome, 
 
 Praise him, risen Eome. 
 Let all thy children cities at thy knee 
 
 Lift up their voice with thee, 
 Saying ' for thy love's sake and our perished grief 
 
 We laud thee, our chief ; ' 
 Saying ' for thine hand and help when hope was dead 
 
 We thank thee, our head ; ' 
 Saying ' for thy voice and face within our sight 
 
 We bless thee, our light ; 
 For waters cleansing us from days denied 
 
 We praise thee, our child.' 
 
86 
 
 TO AUBELIO SAFFL 
 
 Year after year has fallen on sleep, till change 
 Hath seen the fourth part of a century fade, 
 
 Since you, a guest to whom the vales were strange 
 Where Isis whispers to the murmuring shade 
 Above her face by winds and willows made, 
 
 And I, elate at heart with reverence, met. 
 
 Change must give place to death ere I forget 
 
 The pride that change of years has quenched not yet. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Pride from profoundest humbleness of heart 
 Born, self- uplift at once and self- subdued, 
 Glowed, seeing his face whose hand had borne such part 
 In so sublime and strange vicissitude 
 As then filled all faint hearts with hope renewed 
 To think upon, and triumph ; though the time 
 Were dense and foul with darkness cast from crime 
 Across the heights that hope was fain to climb. 
 

 TO AURELIO SAFFI 87 
 
 III. 
 
 Hope that had risen, a sun to match the sun 
 
 That fills and feeds all Italy with light, 
 Had set, and left the crowning work undone 
 
 That raised up Kome out of the shadow of night : 
 Yet so to have won the worst, to have fought the fight, 
 Seemed, as above the grave of hope cast down 
 Stood faith, and smiled against the whole world's frown, 
 A conquest lordlier than the conqueror's crown. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To have won the worst that chance could give, and worn 
 
 The wreath of adverse fortune as a sign 
 More bright than binds the brows of victory, borne 
 Higher than all trophies borne of tyrants shine — 
 What lordlier gift than this, what more divine, 
 Can earth or heaven make manifest, and bid 
 Men's hearts bow down and honour ? Fate lies hid, 
 But not the work that true men dared and did. 
 
 v. 
 
 The years have given and taken away since then 
 
 More than was then foreseen of hope or fear. 
 Fallen are the towers of empire : all the men 
 
88 TO AUBELIO SAFFI 
 
 Whose names made faint the heart of the earth to hear 
 Are broken as the trust they held so dear 
 
 Who put their trust in princes : and the sun 
 
 Sees Italy, as he in heaven is, one ; 
 
 But sees not him who spake, and this was done. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Not by the wise man's wit, the strong man's hand, 
 By swordsman's or by statesman's craft or might, 
 
 Sprang life again where life had left the land, 
 And light where hope nor memory now saw light 
 Not first nor most by grace of these was night 
 
 Cast out, and darkness driven before the day 
 
 Far as a battle-broken host's array 
 
 Flies, and no force that fain would stay it can stay. 
 
 VII. 
 
 One spirit alone, one soul more strong than fate, 
 
 One heart whose heat was as the sundawn's fire, 
 Fed first with flame as heaven's immaculate 
 Faith, worn and wan and desperate of desire : 
 And men that felt that sacred breath suspire 
 Felt by mere speech and presence fugitive 
 The holy spirit of man made perfect give 
 Breath to the lips of death, that death might live. 
 
TO AURELIO SAFFI 89 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Not all as yet is yours, nor all is ours, 
 
 That shall, if righteousness and reason be, 
 Fulfil the trust of time with happier hours 
 
 And set their sons who fought for freedom free ; 
 Even theirs whose faith sees, as they may not see, 
 Your land and ours wax lovelier in the light 
 Republican, whereby the thrones most bright 
 Look hoar and wan as eve or black as night. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Our words and works, our thoughts and songs turn thither, 
 Toward one great end, as waves that press and roll. 
 
 Though waves be spent and ebb like hopes that wither, 
 These shall subside not ere they find the goal. 
 We know it, who yet with unforgetful soul 
 
 See shine and smile, where none may smite or strive, 
 
 Above us, higher than clouds and winds can drive, 
 
 The soul beloved beyond all souls alive. 
 
90 
 
 A SUNSET. 
 
 NOVEMBER 25, 1885. 
 TO VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 It was the dawn of winter : sword in sheath, 
 
 Change, veiled and mild, came down the gradual air 
 With cold slow smiles that hid the doom beneath. 
 
 Five days to die in yet were autumn's, ere 
 The last leaf withered from his floweiiess wreath. 
 
 South, east, and north, our skies were all blown bare, 
 But westward over glimmering holt and heath 
 
 Cloud, wind, and light had made a heaven more fair 
 Than ever dream or truth 
 Showed earth in time's keen youth 
 When men with angels communed unaware. 
 Above the sun's head, now 
 Veiled even to the ardent brow, 
 Rose two sheer wings of sundering cloud, that were 
 As a bird's poised for vehement flight, 
 Full-fledged with plumes of tawny fire and hoar grey 
 light. 
 
A SUNSET 91 
 
 II. 
 
 As midnight black, as twilight brown, they spread, 
 
 But feathered thick with flame that streaked and lined 
 Their living darkness, ominous else of dread, 
 
 From south to northmost verge of heaven inclined 
 Most like some giant angel's, whose bent head 
 
 Bowed earthward, as with message for mankind 
 Of doom or benediction to be shed 
 From passage of his presence. Far behind, 
 Even while they seemed to close, 
 Stoop, and take flight, arose 
 Above them, higher than heavenliest thought may find 
 In light or night supreme 
 Of vision or of dream, 
 Immeasurable of men's eyes or mounting mind, 
 Heaven, manifest in manifold 
 Light of pure pallid amber, cheered with fire of gold. 
 
 in. 
 
 And where the fine gold faded all the sky 
 
 Shone green as the outer sea when April glows, 
 Inlaid with flakes and feathers fledged to fly 
 
 Of cloud suspense in rapture and repose, 
 With large live petals, broad as love bids lie 
 
 Full open when the sun salutes the rose, 
 And small rent sprays wherewith the heavens most high 
 
 Were strewn as autumn strews the garden-close 
 
92 A SUNSET 
 
 With ruinous roseleaves whirled 
 About their wan chill world, 
 Through wind- worn bowers that now no music knows, 
 Spoil of the dim dusk year 
 Whose utter night is near, 
 And near the flower of dawn beyond it blows ; 
 Till east and west were fire and light, 
 As though the dawn to come had flushed the coming 
 night. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The highways paced of men that toil or play, 
 
 The byways known of none but lonely feet, 
 
 Were paven of purple woven of night and day 
 
 With hands that met as hands of friends might meet — 
 As though night's were not lifted up to slay 
 
 And day's had waxed not weaker. Peace more sweet 
 Than music, light more soft than shadow, lay 
 On downs and moorlands wan with day's defeat, 
 That watched afar above 
 Life's very rose of love 
 Let all its lustrous leaves fall, fade, and fleet, 
 And fill all heaven and earth 
 Full as with fires of birth 
 Whence time should feed his years with light and heat : 
 Nay, not life's, but a flower more strong 
 Than life or time or death, love's very rose of song. 
 
A SUNSET 
 
 V. 
 
 Song visible, whence all men's eyes were lit 
 
 With love and loving wonder : song that glowed 
 Through cloud and change on souls that knew not it 
 
 And hearts that wist not whence their comfort flowed, 
 Whence fear was lightened of her fever-fit, 
 
 Whence anguish of her life-compelling load. 
 Yea, no man's head whereon the fire alit, 
 Of all that passed along that sunset road 
 Westward, no brow so drear, 
 No eye so dull of cheer, 
 No face so mean whereon that light abode, 
 But as with alien pride 
 Strange godhead glorified 
 Each feature flushed from heaven with fire that showed 
 The likeness of its own life wrought 
 By strong transfiguration as of living thought. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nor only clouds of the everlasting sky, 
 
 Nor only men that paced that sunward way 
 To the utter bourne of evening, passed not by 
 
 Unblest or unillumined : none might say, 
 Of all things visible in the wide world's eye, 
 
 That all too low for all that grace it lay : 
 The lowliest lakelets of the moorland nigh, 
 
 The narrowest pools where shallowest wavelets play, 
 
94 A SUNSET 
 
 "Were filled from heaven above 
 With light like fire of love, 
 With flames and colours like a dawn in May, 
 As hearts that lowlier live 
 With light of thoughts that give 
 Light from the depth of souls more deep than they 
 Through song's or story's kindling scroll, 
 The splendour of the shadow that reveals the soul. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For, when such light is in the world, we share, 
 
 All of us, all the rays thereof that shine : 
 Its presence is alive in the unseen air, 
 
 Its fire within our veins as quickening wine ; 
 A spirit is shed on all men everywhere, 
 
 Known or not known of all men for divine. 
 Yea, as the sun makes heaven, that light makes fair 
 All souls of ours, all lesser souls than thine, 
 Priest, prophet, seer and sage, 
 Lord of a subject age 
 That bears thy seal upon it for a sign ; 
 Whose name shall be thy name, 
 W T hose light thy light of fame, 
 The light of love that makes thy soul a shrine ; 
 Whose record through all years to be 
 Shall bear this witness written — that its womb bare thee. 
 
A SUNSET 95 
 
 VIII. 
 
 mystery, whence to one man's hand was given 
 Power upon all things of the spirit, and might 
 Whereby the veil of all the years was riven 
 And naked stood the secret soul of night ! 
 marvel, hailed of eyes whence cloud is driven, 
 That shows at last wrong reconciled with right 
 By death divine of evil and sin forgiven ! 
 light of song, whose fire is perfect light ! 
 No speech, no voice, no thought, 
 No love, avails us aught 
 For service of thanksgiving in his sight 
 Who hath given us all for ever 
 Such gifts that man gave never 
 So many and great since first Time's wings took flight. 
 Man may not praise a spirit above 
 Man's : life and death shall praise him : we can only love. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Life, everlasting while the worlds endure, 
 Death, self-abased before a power more high, 
 
 Shall bear one witness, and their word stand sure, 
 That not till time be dead shall this man die. 
 
 Love, like a bird, comes loyal to his lure ; 
 Fame flies before him, wingless else to fly. 
 
96 A SUNSET 
 
 A child's heart toward his kind is not more pure, 
 An eagle's toward the sun no lordlier eye. 
 Awe sweet as love and proud 
 As fame, though hushed and bowed, 
 Yearns toward him silent as his face goes by : 
 All crowns before his crown 
 Triumphantly bow down, 
 For pride that one more great than all draws nigh : 
 All souls applaud, all hearts acclaim, 
 One heart benign, one soul supreme, one conquering name. 
 
97 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 Of such is the kingdom of heaven. 
 
 No glory that ever was shed 
 From the crowning star of the seven 
 
 That crown the north world's head, 
 
 No word that ever was spoken 
 
 Of human or godlike tongue, 
 Gave ever such godlike token 
 
 Since human harps were strung. 
 
 No sign that ever was given 
 
 To faithful or faithless eyes 
 Showed ever beyond clouds riven 
 
 So clear a Paradise. 
 
 Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven 
 And blood have defiled each creed : 
 
 If of such be the kingdom of heaven, 
 It must be heaven indeed. 
 
93 
 
 A CHILD'S LAUGHTER. 
 
 All the bells of heaven may ring, 
 All the birds of heaven may sing, 
 All the wells on earth may spring, 
 All the winds on earth may bring 
 
 All sweet sounds together ; 
 Sweeter far than all things heard, 
 Hand of harper, tone of bird, 
 Sound of woods at sundawn stirred, 
 Welling water's winsome word, 
 
 Wind in warm wan weather, 
 
 One thing yet there is, that none 
 Hearing ere its chime be done 
 Knows not well the sweetest one 
 Heard of man beneath the sun, 
 
 Hoped in heaven hereafter ; 
 Soft and strong and loud and light, 
 Very sound of very light 
 Heard from morning's rosiest height, 
 When the soul of all delight 
 
 Fills a child's clear laughter. 
 
A CHILD'S LAUGHTER 99 
 
 Golden bells of welcome rolled 
 Never forth such notes, nor told 
 Hours so blithe in tones so bold, 
 As the radiant mouth of gold 
 
 Here that rings forth heaven. 
 If the golden- crested wren 
 Were a nightingale — why, then, 
 Something seen and heard of men 
 Might be half as sweet as when 
 
 Laughs a child of seven. 
 
 E 2 
 
100 
 
 A CHILD'S SLEEP. 
 
 As light on a lake's face moving 
 Between a cloud and a cloud 
 
 Till night reclaim it, reproving 
 The heart that exults too loud, 
 
 The heart that watching rejoices 
 "When soft it swims into sight 
 
 Applauded of all the voices 
 And stars of the windy night, 
 
 So brief and unsure, but sweeter 
 Than ever a moondawn smiled, 
 
 Moves, measured of no tune's metre, 
 The song in the soul of a child ; 
 
 The song that the sweet soul singing 
 Half listens, and hardly hears, 
 
 Though sweeter than joy-bells ringing 
 And brighter than joy's own tears ; 
 
A CHILD'S SLEEP. 101 
 
 The song that remembrance of pleasure 
 
 Begins, and forgetfulness ends 
 With a soft swift change in the measure 
 
 That rings in remembrance of friends. 
 
 As the moon on the lake's face flashes, 
 
 So haply may gleam at whiles 
 A dream through the dear deep lashes 
 
 Whereunder a child's eye smiles, 
 
 And the least of us all that love him 
 
 May take for a moment part 
 With angels around and above him, 
 
 And I find place in his heart. 
 
102 
 
 A SONG OF WELCOME. 
 
 If the wind and the sunlight of April and August had 
 
 mingled the past and hereafter 
 In a single adorable season whose life were a rapture 
 
 of love and of laughter, 
 And the blithest of singers were back with a song ; if 
 
 again from his tomb as from prison, 
 If again from the night or the twilight of ages Aristo- 
 phanes had arisen, 
 With the gold-feathered wings of a bird that were also 
 
 a god upon earth at his shoulders, 
 And the gold-flowing laugh of the manhood of old at 
 
 his lips, for a joy to beholders, 
 He alone unrebuked of presumption were able to set 
 
 to some adequate measure 
 The delight of our eyes in the dawn that restores 
 
 them the sun of their sense and the pleasure. 
 For the days of the darkness of spirit are over for all 
 
 of us here, and the season 
 When desire was a longing, and absence a thorn, and 
 
 rejoicing a word without reason. 
 
A SONG OF WELCOME 103 
 
 For the roof overhead of the pines is astir with delight 
 
 as of jubilant voices, 
 And the floor underfoot of the bracken and heather 
 
 alive as a heart that rejoices. 
 For the house that was childless awhile, and the light 
 
 of it darkened, the pulse of it dwindled, 
 Rings radiant again with a child's bright feet, with the 
 
 light of his face is rekindled. 
 And the ways of the meadows that knew him, the 
 
 sweep of the down that the sky's belt closes, 
 Grow gladder at heart than the soft wind made them 
 
 whose feet were but fragrant with roses, 
 Though the fall of the year be upon us, who trusted 
 
 in June and by June were defrauded, 
 And the summer that brought us not back the desire of 
 
 our eyes be gone hence unapplauded. 
 For July came joyless among us, and August went 
 
 out from us arid and sterile, 
 And the hope of our hearts, as it seemed, was no 
 
 more than a flower that the seasons imperil, 
 And the joy of our hearts, as it seemed, than a thought 
 
 which regret had not heart to remember, 
 Till four dark months overpast were atoned for, and 
 
 summer began in September. 
 Hark, April again as a bird in the house with a child's 
 
 voice hither and thither : 
 See, May in the garden again with a child's face cheer- 
 ing the woods ere they wither. 
 
104 A SONG OF WELCOME 
 
 June laughs in the light of his eyes, and July on the 
 
 sunbright cheeks of him slumbers, 
 And August glows in a smile more sweet than the 
 
 cadence of gold-mouthed numbers. 
 In the morning the sight of him brightens the sun, and 
 
 the noon with delight in him flushes, 
 And the silence of nightfall is music about him as soft 
 
 as the sleep that it hushes. 
 We awake with a sense of a sunrise that is not a gift of 
 
 the sun dawn's giving, 
 And a voice that salutes us is sweeter than all sounds 
 
 else in the world of the living, 
 And a presence that warms us is brighter than all in the 
 
 world of our visions beholden, 
 Though the dreams of our sleep were as those that the 
 
 light of a world without grief makes golden. 
 For the best that the best of us ever devised as a likeness 
 
 of heaven and its glory, 
 What was it of old, or what is it and will be for ever, in 
 
 song or in story, 
 Or in shape or in colour of carven or painted resem- 
 blance, adored of all ages, 
 But a vision recorded of children alive in the pictures of 
 
 old or the pages ? 
 Where children are not, heaven is not, and heaven if 
 
 they come not again shall be never : 
 But the face and the voice of a child are assurance of 
 
 heaven and its promise for ever. 
 
105 
 
 HEBSE, 
 
 When grace is given us ever to behold 
 
 A child some sweet months old, 
 Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith, 
 
 Smiling, with bated breath, 
 Hush ! for the holiest thing that lives is here, 
 
 And heaven's own heart how near ! 
 How dare we, that may gaze not on the sun, 
 
 Gaze on this verier one ? 
 Heart, hold thy peace : eyes, be cast down for shame ; 
 
 Lips, breathe not yet its name. 
 In heaven they know what name to call it ; we, 
 
 How should we know ? For, see ! 
 The adorable sweet living marvellous 
 
 Strange light that lightens us 
 Who gaze, desertless of such glorious grace, 
 
 Full in a babe's warm face ! 
 All roses that the morning rears are nought, 
 
 All stars not worth a thought, 
 Set this one star against them, or suppose 
 
 As rival this one rose. 
 
106 HE BSE 
 
 What price could pay with earth's whole weight of gold 
 
 One least flushed roseleaf's fold 
 Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine 
 
 From each warm curve and line 
 Each charm of flower-sweet flesh, to reillumr 
 
 The dappled rose-red bloom 
 Of all its dainty body, honey-sweet 
 
 Clenched hands and curled-up feet, 
 That on the roses of the dawn have trod 
 
 As they came down from God, 
 And keep the flush and colour that the sky 
 
 Takes when the sun comes nigh, 
 And keep the likeness of the smile their grace 
 
 Evoked on God's own face 
 When, seeing this work of his most heavenly mood, 
 
 He saw that it was good ? 
 For all its warm sweet body seems one smile, 
 
 And mere men's love too vile 
 To meet it, or with eyes that worship dims 
 
 Read o'er the little limbs, 
 Read all the book of all their beauties o'er, 
 
 Rejoice, revere, adore, 
 Bow down and worship each delight in turn, 
 
 Laugh, wonder, yield, and yearn. 
 But when our trembling kisses dare, yet dread, 
 
 Even to draw nigh its head, 
 And touch, and scarce with touch or breath surprise 
 
 Its mild miraculous eyes 
 
HE BSE 107 
 
 Out of their viewless vision — 0, what then, 
 
 What may be said of men ? 
 What speech may name a new-born child ? what word 
 
 Earth ever spake or heard ? 
 The best men's tongue that ever glory knew 
 
 Called that a drop of dew 
 Which from the breathing creature's kindly womb 
 
 Came forth in blameless bloom. 
 We have no word, as had those men most high, 
 
 To call a baby by. 
 Rose, ruby, lily, pearl of stormless seas — 
 
 A better word than these, 
 A better sign it was than flower or gem 
 
 That love revealed to them : 
 They knew that whence comes light or quickening flame, 
 
 Thence only this thing came, 
 And only might be likened of our love 
 
 To somewhat born above, 
 Not even to sweetest things dropped else on earth, 
 
 Only to dew's own birth. 
 Nor doubt we but their sense was heavenly true, 
 
 Babe, when we gaze on you, 
 A dew-drop out of heaven whose colours are 
 
 More bright than sun or star, 
 As now, ere watching love dare fear or hope, 
 
 Lips, hands, and eyelids ope, 
 And all your life is mixed with earthly leaven. 
 
 child, what news from heaven ? 
 
108 
 
 CRADLE SONGS. 
 
 (TO A TUNE OP BLAKE'S.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Baby, baby bright, 
 Sleep can steal from sight 
 Little of your light : 
 
 Soft as fire in dew, 
 Still the life in you 
 Lights your slumber through, 
 
 Four white eyelids keep 
 Fast the seal of sleep 
 Deep as love is deep : 
 
 Yet, though closed it lies, 
 Love behind them spies 
 Heaven in two blue eyes. 
 
CRADLE SONGS 109 
 
 II. 
 
 Baby, baby dear, 
 
 Earth and heaven are near 
 
 Now, for heaven is here. 
 
 Heaven is every place 
 Where your flower- sweet face 
 Fills our eyes with grace. 
 
 Till your own eyes deign 
 Earth a glance again, 
 Earth and heaven are twain. 
 
 Now your sleep is done, 
 Shine, and show the sun 
 Earth and heaven are one. 
 
 in. 
 
 Baby, baby sweet, 
 Love's own lips are meet 
 Scarce to kiss your feet. 
 
 Hardly love's own ear, 
 When your laugh crows clear, 
 Quite deserves to hear. 
 
110 CRADLE SONGS 
 
 Hardly love's own wile, 
 Though it please awhile, 
 Quite deserves your smile. 
 
 Baby full of grace, 
 Bless us yet a space : 
 Sleep will come apace. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Baby, baby true, 
 Man, whate'er he do, 
 May deceive not you. 
 
 Smiles whose love is guile, 
 Worn a nattering while, 
 Win from you no smile. 
 
 One, the smile alone 
 Out of love's heart growiis 
 Ever wins your own. 
 
 Man, a dunce uncouth, 
 Errs in age and youth : 
 Babies know the truth. 
 
CRADLE SONGS 111 
 
 V. 
 
 Baby, baby fair, 
 Love is fain to dare 
 Bless your haughtiest air. 
 
 Baby blithe and bland, 
 Beach but forth a hand 
 None may dare withstand ; 
 
 Love, though wellnigh cowed, 
 Yet would praise aloud 
 Pride so sweetly proud. 
 
 No ! the fitting word 
 Even from breeze or bird 
 Never yet was heard. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Baby, baby kind, 
 Though no word we find, 
 Bear us yet in mind. 
 
 Half a little hour, 
 Baby bright in bower, 
 Keep this thought aflower- 
 
112 CRADLE SONGS 
 
 Love it is, I see, 
 
 Here with heart and knee 
 
 Bows and worships me. 
 
 What can baby do, 
 Then, for love so true ? — 
 Let it worship you. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Baby, baby wise, 
 Love's divine surmise 
 Lights your constant eyes, 
 
 Day and night and day 
 One mute word would they, 
 As the soul saith, say. 
 
 Trouble comes and goes ; 
 Wonder ebbs and flows ; 
 Love remains and glows. 
 
 As the fledgeling dove 
 Feels the breast above, 
 So your heart feels love, 
 
113 
 
 A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND. 
 
 I hid my heart in a nest of roses, 
 
 Out of the sun's way, hidden apart ; 
 In a softer bed than the soft white snow's is, 
 
 Under the roses I hid my heart. 
 
 Why would it sleep not ? why should it start, 
 When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred ? 
 
 What made sleep nutter his wings and part ? 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 Lie still, I said, for the wind's wing closes, 
 
 And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart ; 
 Lie still, for the wind on the warm sea dozes, 
 
 And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. 
 
 Does a thought in thee still as a thorn's wound smart ? 
 Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred ? 
 
 What bids the lids of thy sleep dispart ? 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 i 
 
114 A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND 
 
 The green land's name that a charm encloses, 
 
 It never was writ in the traveller's chart, 
 And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, 
 
 It never was sold in the merchant's mart. 
 
 The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, 
 And sleep's are the tunes in its tree-tops heard ; 
 
 No hound's note wakens the wildwood hart, 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
 In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, 
 To sleep for a season and hear no word 
 
 Of true love's truth or of light love's art. 
 Only the song of a secret bird. 
 
115 
 
 ITYLUS. 
 
 Swallow, my sister, sister swallow, 
 How can thine heart be full of the spring ? 
 A thousand summers are over and dead. 
 What hast thou found in the spring to follow ? 
 What hast thou found in thine heart to sing ? 
 What wilt thou do when the summer is shed ? 
 
 swallow, sister, fair swift swallow, 
 
 Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south, 
 The soft south whither thine heart is set ? 
 Shall not the grief of the old time follow ? 
 
 Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth ? 
 Hast thou forgotten ere I forget ? 
 
 Sister, my sister, fleet sweet swallow, 
 Thy way is long to the sun and the south ; 
 But I, fulfilled of my heart's desire, 
 
 Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow, 
 From tawny body and sweet small mouth 
 
 Feed the heart of the night with fire. 
 
 l2 
 
11(3 ITYLUS 
 
 I the nightingale all spring through, 
 
 swallow, sister, changing swallow, 
 
 All spring through till the spring be done, 
 Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, 
 Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow, 
 Take flight and follow and find the sun. 
 
 Sister, my sister, soft light swallow, 
 
 Though all things feast in the spring's guest-chamber, 
 How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet ? 
 For where thou fliest I shall not follow, 
 Till life forget and death remember, 
 Till thou remember and I forget. 
 
 Swallow, my sister, singing swallow, 
 
 1 know not how thou hast heart to sing. 
 
 Hast thou the heart ? is it all past over ? 
 Thy lord the summer is good to follow, 
 And fair the feet of thy lover the spring : 
 
 But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover ? 
 
 swallow, sister, fleeting swallow, 
 My heart in me is a molten ember 
 
 And over my head the waves have met. 
 But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow 
 Could I forget or thou remember, 
 Couldst thou remember and I forget. 
 
ITYLUS 117 
 
 sweet stray sister, shifting swallow, 
 The heart's division divideth us. 
 
 Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree ; 
 But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow 
 To the place of the slaying of Itylus, 
 The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea. 
 
 swallow, sister, rapid swallow, 
 I pray thee sing not a little space. 
 
 Are not the roofs and the lintels wet ? 
 The woven web that was plain to follow, 
 The small slain body, the flower-like face, 
 Can I remember if thou forget ? 
 
 sister, sister, thy first-begotten ! 
 
 The hands that cling and the feet that follow, 
 The voice of the child's blood crying yet 
 Who hath remembered me ? who hath forgotten ? 
 Thou hast forgotten, summer swallow, 
 But the world shall end when I forget. 
 
118 
 
 HOPE AND FEAB. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope, 
 With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere, 
 Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer 
 
 Looks Godwardc past the shades where blind men grcpe 
 
 Bound the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope, 
 And makes for joy the very darkness dear 
 That gives her wide wings play ; nor dreams that fear 
 
 At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope. 
 
 Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn, 
 
 May truth first purge her eyesight to discern 
 
 What once being known leaves time no power to appal ; 
 
 Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn 
 
 The kind wise word that falls from years that fall — 
 1 Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all.' 
 
119 
 
 A FOSTERLING. 
 
 (fkom thalassius.) 
 
 Upon the flowery forefront of the year, 
 
 One wandering by the grey-green April sea 
 
 Found on a reach of shingle and shallower sand 
 
 Inlaid with starrier glimmering jewellery 
 
 Left for the sun's love and the light wind's cheer 
 
 Along the foam-flowered strand 
 
 Breeze-brightened, something nearer sea than land 
 
 Though the last shoreward blossom-fringe was near, 
 
 A babe asleep with flower-soft face that gleamed 
 
 To sun and seaward as it laughed and dreamed, 
 
 Too sure of either love for either's fear, 
 
 Albeit so birdlike slight and light, it seemed 
 
 Nor man nor mortal child of man, but fair 
 
 As even its twin-born tenderer spray-flowers were, 
 
 That the wind scatters like an Oread's hair. 
 
 For when July strewed fire on earth and sea 
 
 The last time ere that year, 
 
 Out of the flame of morn Cymothoe 
 
 Beheld one brighter than the sunbright sphere 
 
120 A FOSTERLING 
 
 Move toward her from its fieriest heart, whence trod 
 
 The live sun's very God, 
 
 Across the foam-bright water-ways that are 
 
 As heavenlier heavens with star for answering star, 
 
 And on her eyes and hair and maiden mouth 
 
 Felt a kiss falling fierier than the South 
 
 And heard above afar 
 
 A noise of songs and wind-enamoured wings 
 
 And lutes and lyres of milder and mightier strings, 
 
 And round the resonant radiance of his car 
 
 Where depth is one with height, 
 
 Light heard as music, music seen as light. 
 
 And with that second moondawn of the spring's 
 
 That fosters the first rose, 
 
 A sun-child whiter than the sunlit snows 
 
 Was born out of the world of sunless things 
 
 That round the round earth flows and ebbs and flows. 
 
 But he that found the sea-flower by the sea 
 And took to foster like a graft of earth 
 Was born of man's most highest and heavenliest birth, 
 Free-born as winds and stars and waves are free ; 
 A warrior grey with glories more than years, 
 Though more of years than change the quick to dead 
 Had rained their light and darkness on his head ; 
 A singer that in time's and memory's ears 
 Should leave such words to sing as all his peers 
 Might praise with hallowing heat of rapturous tears 
 
A FOSTERLING 121 
 
 Till all the days of human flight were fled. 
 
 And at his knees his fosterling was fed 
 
 Not with man's wine and bread 
 
 Nor mortal mother-milk of hopes and fears, 
 
 But food of deep memorial days long sped ; 
 
 For bread with wisdom and with song for wine 
 
 Clear as the full calm's emerald hyaline. 
 
 And from his grave glad lips the boy would gather 
 
 Fine honey of song-notes goldener than gold, 
 
 More sweet than bees make of the breathing heather, 
 
 That he, as glad and bold, 
 
 Might drink as they, and keep his spirit from cold. 
 
 And the boy loved his laurel-laden hair 
 
 As his own father's risen on the eastern air, 
 
 And that less white brow-binding bayleaf bloom 
 
 More than all flowers his father's eyes relume ; 
 
 And those high songs he heard 
 
 More than all notes of any landward bird, 
 
 More than all sounds less free 
 
 Than the wind's quiring to the choral sea. 
 
 High things the high song taught him ; how the breath 
 Too frail for life may be more strong than death ; 
 And this poor flash of sense in life, that gleams 
 As a ghost's glory in dreams, 
 
 More stabile than the world's own heart's root seems, 
 By that strong faith of lordliest love which gives 
 To death's own sightless-seeming eyes a light 
 
122 A FOSTERLING 
 
 Clearer, to death's bare bones a verier might, 
 
 Than shines or strikes from any man that lives. 
 
 How he that loves life overmuch shall die 
 
 The dog's death, utterly : 
 
 And he that much less loves it than he hates 
 
 All wrongdoing that is done 
 
 Anywhere always underneath the sun 
 
 Shall live a mightier life than time's or fate's. 
 
 One fairer thing he shewed him, and in might 
 
 More strong than day and night 
 
 Whose strengths build up time's towering period : 
 
 Yea, one thing stronger and more high than God, 
 
 Which if man had not, then should God not be : 
 
 And that was Liberty. 
 
 And gladly should man die to gain, he said, 
 
 Freedom ; and gladlier, having lost, lie dead. 
 
 For man's earth was not, nor the sweet sea-waves 
 
 His, nor his own land, nor its very graves, 
 
 Except they bred not, bore not, hid not slaves : 
 
 But all of all that is, 
 
 W 7 ere one man free in body and soul, were his. 
 
 And the song softened, even as heaven by night 
 
 Softens, from sunnier down to starrier light, 
 
 And with its moonbright breath 
 
 Blessed life for death's sake, and for life's sake death, 
 
 Till as the moon's own beam and breath confuse 
 
 In one clear hueless haze of glimmering hues 
 
A FOSTERLING 123 
 
 The sea's line and the land's line and the sky's, 
 And light for love of darkness almost dies, 
 As darkness only lives for light's dear love, 
 Whose hands the web of night is woven of : 
 So in that heaven of wondrous words were life 
 And death brought out of strife ; 
 Yea, by that strong spell of serene increase 
 Brought out of strife to peace. 
 
 And the song lightened, as the wind at morn 
 
 Flashes, and even with lightening of the wind 
 
 Night's thick-spun web is thinned 
 
 And all its weft unwoven and overworn 
 
 Shrinks, as might love from scorn. 
 
 And as when wind and light on water and land 
 
 Leap as twin gods from heavenward hand in hand, 
 
 And with the sound and splendour of their leap 
 
 Strike darkness dead, and daunt the spirit of sleep, 
 
 And burn it up with fire ; 
 
 So with the light that lightened from the lyre 
 
 Was all the bright heat in the child's heart stirred 
 
 And blown with blasts of music into flame 
 
 Till even his sense became 
 
 Fire, as the sense that fires the singing bird 
 
 Whose song calls night by name. 
 
 And in the soul within the sense began 
 
 The manlike passion of a godlike man, 
 
 And in the sense within the soul again 
 
 Thoughts that make men of gods and gods of men. 
 
124 A FOSTERLING 
 
 For kne the liigh song taught him : love that turns 
 God's heart toward man as man's to Godward ; love 
 That life and death and life are fashioned of, 
 From the first breath that burns 
 Half kindled on the flowerlike yeanling's lip, 
 So light and faint that life seems like to slip, 
 To that yet weaklier drawn 
 When sunset dies of night's devouring dawn : 
 But the man dying not wholly as all men dies 
 If aught be left of his in live men's eyes 
 Out of the dawnless dark of death to rise ; 
 If aught of deed or word 
 Be seen for all time or of all time heard. 
 Love, that though body and soul were overthrown 
 Should live for love's sake of itself alone, 
 Though spirit and flesh were one thing doomed and 
 
 dead, 
 Not wholly annihilated. 
 
 Seeing even the hoariest ash-flake that the pyre 
 Drops, and forgets the thing was once afire 
 And gave its heart to feed the pile's full flame 
 Till its own heart its own heat overcame, 
 Outlives its own life, though by scarce a span, 
 As such men dying outlive themselves in man, 
 Outlive themselves for ever ; if the heat 
 Outburn the heart that kindled it, the sweet 
 Outlast the flower whose soul it was, and flit 
 Forth of the body of it 
 
A FOSTERLING 125 
 
 Into some new shape of a strange perfume 
 
 More potent than its light live spirit of bloom, 
 
 How shall not something of that soul relive, 
 
 That only soul that had such gifts to give 
 
 As lighten something even of all men's doom 
 
 Even from the labouring womb 
 
 Even to the seal set on the unopening tomb ? 
 
 And these the loving light of song and love 
 
 Shall wrap and lap round and impend above, 
 
 Imperishable ; and all springs born illume 
 
 Their sleep with brighter thoughts than wake the dove 
 
 To music, when the hillside winds resume 
 
 The marriage- song of heather-flower and broom 
 
 And all the joy thereof. 
 
 And hate the song too taught him : hate of all 
 
 That brings or holds in thrall 
 
 Of spirit or flesh, free-born ere God began, 
 
 The holy body and sacred soul of man. 
 
 And wheresoever a curse was or a chain, 
 
 A throne for torment or a crown for bane 
 
 Rose, moulded out of poor men's molten pain, 
 
 There, said he, should man's heaviest hate be set 
 
 Inexorably, to faint not or forget 
 
 Till the last warmth bled forth of the last vein 
 
 In flesh that none should call a king's again, 
 
 Seeing wolves and dogs and birds that plague-strike air 
 
 Leave the last bone of all the carrion bare. 
 
126 A FOSTERLING 
 
 And hope the high song taught him : hope whose eyes 
 
 Can sound the seas unsoundable, the sides 
 
 Inaccessible of eyesight ; that can see 
 
 What earth beholds not, hear what wind and sea 
 
 Hear not, and speak what all these crying in one 
 
 Can speak not to the sun. 
 
 For in her sovereign eyelight all things are 
 
 Clear as the closest seen and kindlier star 
 
 That marries morn and even and winter and spring 
 
 With one love's golden ring. 
 
 For she can see the days of man, the birth 
 
 Of good and death of evil things on earth 
 
 Inevitable and infinite, and sure 
 
 As present pain is, or herself is pure. 
 
 Yea, she can hear and see, beyond all things 
 
 That lighten from before Time's thunderous wings 
 
 Through the awful circle of wheel-winged periods, 
 
 The tempest of the twilight of all Gods : 
 
 And higher than all the circling course they ran 
 
 The sundawn of the spirit that was man. 
 
 And fear the song too taught him ; fear to be 
 Worthless the dear love of the wind and sea 
 That bred him fearless, like a sea-mew reared 
 In rocks of man's foot feared, 
 Where nought of wingless life may sing or shine. 
 Fear to wax worthless of that heaven he had 
 When all the life in all his limbs was glad 
 
A FOSTERLING 127 
 
 And all the drops in all his veins were wine 
 
 And all the pulses music ; when his heart, 
 
 Singing, bade heaven and wind and sea bear part 
 
 In one live song's reiterance, and they bore : 
 
 Fear to go crownless of the flower he wore 
 
 When the winds loved him and the waters knew, 
 
 The blithest life that clove their blithe life through 
 
 With living limbs exultant, or held strife 
 
 More amorous than all dalliance aye anew 
 
 With the bright breath and strength of their large life, 
 
 With all strong wrath of all sheer winds that blew, 
 
 All glories of all storms of the air that fell 
 
 Prone, ineluctable, 
 
 With roar from heaven of revel, and with hue 
 
 As of a heaven turned hell. 
 
 For when the red blast of their breath had made 
 
 All heaven aflush with light more dire than shade, 
 
 He felt it in his blood and eyes and hair 
 
 Burn as if all the fires of the earth and air 
 
 Had laid strong hold upon his flesh, and stung 
 
 The soul behind it as with serpent's tongue, 
 
 Forked like the loveliest lightnings ; nor could bear 
 
 But hardly, half distraught with strong delight, 
 
 The joy that like a garment wrapped him round 
 
 And lapped him over and under 
 
 With raiment of great light 
 
 And rapture of great sound 
 
 At every loud leap earthward of the thunder 
 
128 A FOSTERLING 
 
 From heaven's most furthest bound : 
 
 So seemed all heaven in hearing and in sight, 
 
 Alive and mad with glory and angry joy, 
 
 That something of its marvellous mirth and might 
 
 Moved even to madness, fledged as even for flight, 
 
 The blood and spirit of one but mortal boy. 
 
129 
 
 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL. 
 
 (FEOM TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE.) 
 
 But that same night in Cornwall oversea 
 Couched at Queen Iseult's hand, against her knee, 
 With keen kind eyes that read her whole heart's pain 
 Fast at wide watch lay Tristram's hound Hodain, 
 The goodliest and the mightiest born on earth, 
 That many a forest day of fiery mirth 
 Had plied his craft before them ; and the queen 
 Cherished him, even for those dim years between, 
 More than of old in those bright months far flown 
 When ere a blast of Tristram's horn was blown 
 Each morning as the woods rekindled, ere 
 Day gat full empire of the glimmering air, 
 Delight of dawn would quicken him, and fire 
 Spring and pant in his breath with bright desire 
 To be among the dewy ways on quest : 
 But now perforce at restless-hearted rest 
 He chafed through days more barren than the sand, 
 Soothed hardly but soothed only with her hand, 
 Though fain to fawn thereon and follow, still 
 W T ith all his heart and all his loving will 
 
 K 
 
130 ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 
 
 Desiring one divided from his sight, 
 
 For whose lost sake dawn was as dawn of night 
 
 And noon as night's noon in his eyes was dark. 
 
 But in the halls far under sat King Mark, 
 
 Feasting, and full of cheer, with heart uplift, 
 
 As on the night that harper gat his gift : 
 
 And music revelled on the fitful air, 
 
 And songs came floated up the festal stair, 
 
 And muffled roar of wassail, where the king 
 
 Took heart from wine-cups and the quiring string 
 
 Till all his cold thin veins rejoiced and ran 
 
 Strong as with lifeblood of a kinglier man. 
 
 But the queen shut from sound her wearied ears, 
 
 Shut her sad eyes from sense of aught save tears, 
 
 And wrung her hair with soft fierce hands, and prayed 
 
 ' God, God born of woman, of a maid, 
 Christ, once in flesh of thine own fashion clad ; 
 
 very love, so glad in heaven and sad 
 
 On earth for earth's sake alway ; since thou art 
 Pure only, I only impure of spirit and heart, 
 Since thou for sin's sake and the bitter doom 
 Didst as a veil put on a virgin's womb, 
 
 1 that am none, and cannot hear or see 
 Or shadow or likeness or a sound of thee 
 
 Far off, albeit with man's own speech and face 
 Thou shine yet and thou speak yet, showing forth grace- 
 Ah me ! grace only shed on souls that are 
 Lit and led forth of shadow by thy star — 
 
ISEULT AT TINT AG EL 131 
 
 Alas ! to these men only grace, to these, 
 
 Lord, whom thy love draws Godward, to thy knees — 
 
 I, can I draw thee me-ward, can I seek, 
 
 Who love thee not, to love me ? seeing how weak, 
 
 Lord, all this little love I bear thee is, 
 
 And how much is my strong love more than this, 
 
 My love that I love man with, that I bear 
 
 Him sinning through me sinning ? wilt thou care, 
 
 God, for this love, if love be any, alas, 
 
 In me to give thee, though long since there was, 
 
 How long, when I too, Lord, was clean, even I, 
 
 That now am unclean till the day I die — 
 
 Haply by burning, harlot-fashion, made 
 
 A horror in all hearts of wife and maid, 
 
 Hateful, not knowing if ever in these mine eyes 
 
 Shone any light of thine in any wise 
 
 Or this were love at all that I bore thee ? ' 
 
 And the night spake, and thundered on the sea, 
 Eavening aloud for ruin of lives : and all 
 The bastions of the main cliffs northward wall 
 Rang response out from all their deepening length, 
 As the east wind girded up his godlike strength 
 And hurled in hard against that high-towered hold 
 The fleeces of the flock that knows no fold, 
 The rent white shreds of shattering storm : but she 
 Heard not nor heeded wind or storming sea, 
 Knew not if night were mild or mad with wind. 
 
 ' Yea, though deep lips and tender hair be thinned, 
 
132 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 
 
 Though cheek wither, brow fade, and bosom wane, 
 
 Shall I change also from this heart again 
 
 To maidenhood of heart and holiness ? 
 
 Shall I more love thee, Lord, or love him less — 
 
 Ah miserable ! though spirit and heart be rent, 
 
 Shall I repent, Lord God ? shall I repent ? 
 
 Nay, though thou slay me ! for herein I am blest, 
 
 That as I loved him yet I love him best — 
 
 More than mine own soul or thy love or thee, 
 
 Though thy love save and my love save not me. 
 
 Blest am I beyond women even herein, 
 
 That beyond all born women is my sin, 
 
 And perfect my transgression : that above 
 
 All offerings of all others is my love, 
 
 Who have chosen it only, and put away for this 
 
 Thee, and my soul's hope, Saviour, of the kiss 
 
 Wherewith thy lips make welcome all thine own 
 
 When in them life and death are overthrown ; 
 
 The sinless lips that seal the death of sin, 
 
 The kiss wherewith their dumb lips touched begin 
 
 Singing in heaven. 
 
 1 Where we shall never, love, 
 Never stand up nor sing ! for God above 
 Knows us, how too much more than God to me 
 Thy sweet love is, my poor love is to thee ! 
 Dear, dost thou see now, dost thou hear tonight, 
 Sleeping, my waste wild speech, my face worn 
 white, 
 
ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 133 
 
 — Speech once heard soft by thee, face once kissed red ! — 
 
 In such a dream as when men see their dead 
 
 And know not if they know if dead these be ? 
 
 Ah love, are thy days my days, and to thee 
 
 Are all nights like as my nights ? does the sun 
 
 Grieve thee ? art thou soul- sick till day be done, 
 
 And weary till day rises ? is thine heart 
 
 Full of dead things as mine is ? Nay, thou art 
 
 Man, with man's strength and praise and pride of life, 
 
 No bondwoman, no queen, no loveless wife 
 
 That would be shamed albeit she had not sinned.' 
 
 And swordlike was the sound of the iron wind, 
 And as a breaking battle was the sea. 
 
 ' Nay, Lord, I pray thee let him love not me, 
 Love me not any more, nor like me die, 
 And be no more than such a thing as I. 
 Turn his heart from me, lest my love too lose 
 Thee as I lose thee, and his fair soul refuse 
 For my sake thy fair heaven, and as I fell 
 Fall, and be mixed with my soul and with hell. 
 Let me die rather, and only ; let me be 
 Hated of him so he be loved of thee, 
 Lord : for I would not have him with me there 
 Out of thy light and love in the unlit air, 
 Out of thy sight in the unseen hell where I 
 Go gladly, going alone, so thou on high 
 Lift up his soul and love him — Ah, Lord, Lord, 
 Shalt thou love as I love him ? she that poured 
 
Vdi ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 
 
 From the alabaster broken at thy feet 
 An ointment very precious, not so sweet 
 As that poured likewise forth before thee then 
 From the rehallowed heart of Magdalen, 
 From a heart broken, yearning like the dove, 
 An ointment very precious which is love — 
 Couldst thou, being holy and God, and sinful she, 
 Love her indeed as surely she loved thee ? 
 Nay, but if not, then as we sinners can 
 Let us love still in the old sad wise of man. 
 For with less love than my love, having had 
 Mine, though God love him he shall not be glad. 
 And with such love as my love, I wot well, 
 He shall not lie disconsolate in hell : 
 Sad only as souls for utter love's sake be 
 Here, and a little sad, perchance, for me— 
 Me happy, me more glad than God above, 
 In the utmost hell whose fires consume not love ! 
 For in the waste ways emptied of the sun 
 He would say — " Dear, thy place is void, and one 
 Weeps among angels for thee, with his face 
 Veiled, saying, sister, how thy chosen place 
 Stands desolate, that God made fair for thee ! 
 Is heaven not siveeter, and we thy brethren, we 
 Fairer than love on earth and life in hell ? " 
 And I — with me were all things then not well ? 
 Should I not answer — " love, be well content ; 
 Look on me, and behold if I repent." 
 
ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 135 
 
 This were more to me than an angel's wings. 
 Yea, many men pray God for many things, 
 But I pray that this only thing may be.' 
 
 And as a full field charging was the sea, 
 And as the cry of slain men was the wind. 
 
 1 Yea, since I surely loved him, and he sinned 
 Surely, though not as my sin his be black, 
 God, give him to me — God, God, give him back ! 
 For now how should we live in twain or die ? 
 I am he indeed, thou knowest, and he is I. 
 Not man and woman several as we were, 
 But one thing with one life and death to bear. 
 How should one love his own soul overmuch ? 
 And time is long since last I felt the touch, 
 The sweet touch of my lover, hand and breath, 
 In such delight as puts delight to death, 
 Burn my soul through, till spirit and soul and sense, 
 In the sharp grasp of the hour, with violence 
 Died, and again through pangs of violent birth 
 Lived, and laughed out with refluent might of mirth ; 
 Laughed each on other and shuddered into one, 
 As a cloud shuddering dies into the sun. 
 Ah, sense is that or spirit, soul or flesh, 
 That only love lulls or awakes afresh ? 
 Ah, sweet is that or bitter, evil or good, 
 That very love allays not as he would ? 
 Nay, truth is this or vanity, that gives 
 No love assurance when love dies or lives ? 
 
136 ISEULT AT TINTAGEL 
 
 This that my spirit is wrung withal, and yet 
 
 No surelier knows if haply thine forget, 
 
 Thou that my spirit is wrung for, nor can say 
 
 Love is not in thee dead as yesterday ? 
 
 Dost thou feel, thou, this heartbeat whence my heart 
 
 Would send thee word what life is mine apart, 
 
 And know by keen response what life is thine ? 
 
 Dost thou not hear one cry of all of mine ? 
 
 Tristram's heart, have I no part in thee ? ' 
 
 And all her soul was as the breaking sea, 
 And all her heart anhungered as the wind. 
 
 ■ Dost thou repent thee of the sin we sinned ? 
 Dost thou repent thee of the days and nights 
 That kindled and that quenched for us their lights, 
 The months that feasted us with all their hours, 
 The ways that breathed of us in all their flowers, 
 The dells that sang of us with all their doves ? 
 Dost thou repent thee of the wildwood loves ? 
 Is thine heart changed, and hallowed ? art thou grown 
 God's, and not mine ? Yet, though my heart make moan, 
 Fain would my soul give thanks for thine, if thou 
 Be saved — yea, fain praise God, and knows not how. 
 How should it know thanksgiving ? nay, or learn 
 Aught of the love wherewith thine own should burn, 
 God's, that should cast out as an evil thing 
 Mine ? yea, what hand of prayer have I to cling, 
 What heart to prophesy, what spirit of sight 
 To strain insensual eyes toward increate light, 
 
ISEVLT AT TINT AGE L 137 
 
 Who look but back on life wherein I sinned ? ' 
 And all their past came wailing in the wind, 
 And all their future thundered in the sea. 
 
 ' But if my soul might touch the time to be, 
 If hand might handle now or eye behold 
 My life and death ordained me from of old, 
 Life palpable, compact of blood and breath, 
 Visible, present, naked, very death, 
 Should I desire to know before the day 
 These that I know not, nor is man that may ? 
 For haply, seeing, my heart would break for fear, 
 And my soul timeless cast its load off here, 
 Its load of life too bitter, love too sweet, 
 And fall down shamed and naked at thy feet, 
 God, who wouldst take no pity of it, nor give 
 One hour back, one of all its hours to live 
 Clothed with my mortal body, that once more, 
 Once, on this reach of barren beaten shore, 
 This stormy strand of life, ere sail were set, 
 Had haply felt love's arms about it yet — 
 Yea, ere death's bark put off to seaward, might 
 With many a grief have bought me one delight 
 That then should know me never. Ah, what years 
 Would I endure not, filled up full with tears, 
 Bitter like blood and dark as dread of death, 
 To win one amorous hour of mingling breath, 
 One fire-eyed hour and sunnier than the sun, 
 For all these nights and days like nights but one ? 
 
138 ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 
 
 One hour of heaven born once, a stormless birth, 
 For all these windy weary hours of earth ? 
 One, but one hour from birth of joy to death, 
 For all these hungering hours of feverish breath ? 
 And I should lose this, having died and sinned.' 
 
 And as man's anguish clamouring cried the wind, 
 And as God's anger answering rang the sea. 
 
 1 And yet what life — Lord God, what life for me 
 Has thy strong wrath made ready ? Dost thou think 
 How lips whose thirst hath only tears to drink 
 Grow grey for grief untimely ? Dost thou know, 
 happy God, how men wax weary of woe — 
 Yea, for their wrong's sake that thine hand hath done 
 Come even to hate thy semblance in the sun ? 
 Turn back from dawn and noon and all thy light 
 To make their souls one with the soul of night ? 
 Christ, if thou hear yet or have eyes to see, 
 Thou that hadst pity, and hast no pity on me, 
 Know'st thou no more, as in this life's sharp span, 
 What pain thou hadst on earth, what pain hath man ? 
 Hast thou no care, that all we suffer yet ? 
 What help is ours of thee if thou forget ? 
 What profit have we though thy blood were given, 
 If we that sin bleed and be not forgiven ? 
 Not love but hate, thou bitter God and strange, 
 Whose heart as man's heart hath grown cold with change, 
 Not love but hate thou showest us that have sinned.' 
 
 And like a world's cry shuddering was the wind, 
 

 ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 139 
 
 And like a God's voice threatening was the sea. 
 
 1 Nay, Lord, for thou wast gracious ; nay, in thee 
 No change can come with time or varying fate, 
 No tongue bid thine be less compassionate, 
 No sterner eye rebuke for mercy thine, 
 No sin put out thy pity — no, not mine. 
 Thou knowest us, Lord, thou knowest us, all we are.. 
 He, and the soul that hath his soul for star : 
 Thou knowest as I know, Lord, how much more worth 
 Than all souls clad and clasped about with earth, 
 But most of all, God, how much more than I, 
 Is this man's soul that surely shall not die. 
 What righteousness, what judgment, Lord most high, 
 Were this, to bend a brow of doom as grim 
 As threats me, me the adulterous wife, on him ? 
 There lies none other nightly by his side : 
 He hath not sought, he shall not seek a bride. 
 Far as God sunders earth from heaven above, 
 So far was my love born beneath his love. 
 I loved him as the sea-wind loves the sea, 
 To rend and ruin it only and waste : but he, 
 As the sea loves a sea-bird loved he me, 
 To foster and uphold my tired life's wing, 
 And bounteously beneath me spread forth spring, 
 A springtide space whereon to float or fly, 
 A world of happy water, whence the sky 
 Glowed goodlier, lightening from so glad a glass, 
 Than with its own light only. Now, alas ! 
 
140 ISEULT AT TINT AGE L 
 
 Cloud hath come down and clothed it round with storm, 
 
 And gusts and fits of eddying winds deform 
 
 The feature of its glory. Yet be thou, 
 
 God, merciful : nay, show but justice now, 
 
 And let the sin in him that scarce was his 
 
 Stand expiated with exile : and be this 
 
 The price for him, the atonement this, that I 
 
 With all the sin upon me live, and die 
 
 With all thy wrath on me that most have sinned.' 
 
 And like man's heart relenting sighed the wind, 
 And as God's wrath subsiding sank the sea. 
 
 ' But if such grace be possible — if it be 
 Not sin more strange than all sins past, and worse 
 Evil, that cries upon thee for a curse, 
 To pray such prayers from such a heart, do thou 
 Hear, and make wide thine hearing toward me now ; 
 Let not my soul and his for ever dwell 
 Sundered : though doom keep always heaven and hell 
 Irreconcilable, infinitely apart, 
 Keep not in twain for ever heart and heart 
 That once, albeit by not thy law, were one ; 
 Let this be not thy will, that this be done. 
 Let all else, all thou wilt of evil, be, 
 But no doom, none, dividing him and me.' 
 
 By this was heaven stirred eastward, and there came 
 Up the rough ripple a labouring light like flame ; 
 And dawn, sore trembling still and grey with fear, 
 Looked hardly forth, a face of heavier cheer 
 
ISEULT AT TINT AG EL 141 
 
 Than one which grief or dread yet half enshrouds, 
 Wild-eyed and wan, across the cleaving clouds. 
 And Iseult, worn with watch long held on pain, 
 Turned, and her eye lit on the hound Hodain, 
 And all her heart went out in tears : and he 
 Laid his kind head along her bended knee, 
 Till round his neck her arms went hard, and all 
 The night past from her as a chain might fall : 
 But yet the heart within her, half undone, 
 Wailed, and was loth to let her see the sun. 
 
 And ere full day brought heaven and earth to flower, 
 Far thence, a maiden in a marriage bower, 
 That moment, hard by Tristram, oversea, 
 Woke with glad eyes Iseult of Brittany, 
 
142 
 
 THE WIFE'S VIGIL. 
 
 (FROM TRISTRaM OF LYONESSE.) 
 
 But all that year in Brittany forlorn, 
 
 More sick at heart with wrath than fear of scorn 
 
 And less in love with love than grief, and less 
 
 With grief than pride of spirit and bitterness, 
 
 Till all the sweet life of her blood was changed 
 
 And all her soul from all her past estranged 
 
 And all her will with all itself at strife 
 
 And all her mind at war with all her life, 
 
 Dwelt the white-handed Iseult, maid and wife, 
 
 A mourner that for mourning robes had on 
 
 Anger and doubt and hate of things foregone. 
 
 For that sweet spirit of old which made her sweet 
 
 Was parched with blasts of thought as flowers with heat 
 
 And withered as with wind of evil will ; 
 
 Though slower than frosts or fires consume or kill 
 
 That bleak black wind vexed all her spirit still. 
 
 As ripples reddening in the roughening breath 
 
 Of the eager east when dawn does night to death, 
 
 So rose and stirred and kindled in her thought 
 
 Fierce barren fluctuant fires that lit not aught, 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL 143 
 
 But scorched her soul with yearning keen as hate 
 
 And dreams that left her wrath disconsolate. 
 
 When change came first on that first heaven where all 
 
 Life's hours were flowers that dawn's light hand let fall, 
 
 The sun that smote her dewy cloud of days 
 
 Wrought from its showery folds his rainbow's rays, 
 
 For love the red, for hope the gentle green, 
 
 But yellow jealousy glared pale between. 
 
 Ere yet the sky grew heavier, and her head 
 
 Bent flowerwise, chill with change and fancies fled. 
 
 She saw but love arch all her heaven across with red, 
 
 A burning bloom that seemed to breathe and beat 
 
 And waver only as flame with rapturous heat 
 
 Wavers ; and all the world therewith smelt sweet, 
 
 As incense kindling from the rose-red flame : 
 
 And when that full flush waned, and love became 
 
 Scarce fainter, though his fading horoscope 
 
 From certitude of sight receded, hope 
 
 Held yet her April- coloured light aloft 
 
 As though to lure back love, a lamp sublime and soft. 
 
 But soon that light paled as a leaf grows pale 
 
 And fluttered leaf-like in the gathering gale 
 
 ind melted even as dew-flakes, whose brief sheen 
 
 The sun that gave despoils of glittering green ; 
 
 Till harder shone 'twixt hope and love grown cold 
 
 A sallow light like withering autumn's gold, 
 
 The pale strong flame of jealous thought, that glows 
 
 More deep than hope's green bloom or love's enkindled rose: 
 
144 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 
 
 As though the sunflower's faint fierce disk absorbed 
 The spirit and heart of starrier flowers disorbed. 
 
 That same full hour of twilight's doors unbarred 
 To let bright night behold in Joyous Gard 
 The glad grave eyes of lovers far away 
 Watch with sweet thoughts of death the death of day 
 Saw lonelier by the narrower opening sea 
 Sit fixed at watch Iseult of Brittany. 
 As darkness from deep valleys void and bleak 
 Climbs till it clothe with night the sunniest peak 
 Where only of all a mystic mountain -land 
 Day seems to cling yet with a trembling hand 
 And yielding heart reluctant to recede, 
 So, till her soul was clothed with night indeed, 
 Rose the slow cloud of envious will within 
 And hardening hate that held itself no sin, 
 Veiled heads of vision, eyes of evil gleam, 
 Dim thought on thought, and darkling dream on dream- 
 Far off she saw in spirit, and seeing abhorred, 
 The likeness wrought on darkness of her lord 
 Shine, and the imperial semblance at his side 
 Whose shadow from her seat cast down the bride, 
 Whose power and ghostly presence thrust her forth : 
 Beside that unknown other sea far north 
 She saw them, clearer than in present sight 
 Eose on her eyes the starry shadow of night ; 
 And on her heart that heaved with gathering fate 
 Eose red with storm the starless shadow of hate : 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL 145 
 
 And eyes and heart made one saw surge and swell 
 
 The fires cf sunset like the fires of hell. 
 
 As though God's wrath would burn up sin with shame, 
 
 The incensed red gold of deepening heaven grew flame : 
 
 The sweet, green spaces of the soft, low sky 
 
 Faded, as fields that withering wind leaves dry : 
 
 The sea's was like a doomsman's blasting breath 
 
 From lips afoam with ravenous lust of death. 
 
 A night like desolation, sombre-starred, 
 
 Above the great walled girth of Joyous Gard 
 
 Spread forth its wide sad strength of shadow and gloom 
 
 Wherein those twain were compassed round with doom : 
 
 Hell from beneath called on them, and she heard 
 
 Reverberate judgment in the wild wind's word 
 
 Cry, till the sole sound of their names that rang 
 
 Clove all the sea-mist with a clarion's clang, 
 
 And clouds to clouds and flames to clustering flames 
 
 Beat back the dark noise of the direful names. 
 
 Fear and strong exultation caught her breath, 
 
 And triumph like the bitterness of death, 
 
 And rapture like the rage of hate allayed 
 
 With ruin and ravin that its might hath made ; 
 
 And her heart swelled and strained itself to hear 
 
 What may be heard of no man's hungering ear, 
 
 And as a soil that cleaves in twain for drouth 
 
 Thirsted for judgment given of God's own mouth 
 
 Against them, till the strength of dark desire 
 
 Was in her as a flame of hell's own fire. 
 
 L 
 
146 TEE WIFE'S VIGIL 
 
 Nor seemed the wrath which held her spirit in streps 
 Aught else or worse than passionate holiness, 
 Nor the ardent hate which called on judgment's rod 
 More hateful than the righteousness of God. 
 
 ' How long, till thou do justice, and my wrong 
 Stand expiate ? long-suffering judge, how long ? 
 Shalt thou not put him in mine hand one day 
 Whom I so loved, to spare not but to slay ? 
 Shalt thou not cast her down for me to tread, 
 Me, on the pale pride of her humbled head ? 
 Do I not well, being angry ? doth not hell 
 Eequire them ? yea, thou knowest that I do well. 
 Is not thy seal there set of bloodred light 
 For witness on the brows of day and night ? 
 Who shall unseal it ? what shall melt away 
 Thy signet from the doors of night and day ? 
 No man, nor strength of any spirit above, 
 Nor prayer, nor ardours of adulterous love. 
 Thou art God, the strong lord over body and soul : 
 Hast thou not in the terrors of thy scroll 
 All names of all men written as with fire ? 
 Thine only breath bids time and space respire : 
 And are not all things evil in them done 
 More clear in thine eyes than in ours the sun ? 
 Hast thou not sight stretched wide enough to see 
 These that offend it, these at once and me ? 
 Is thine arm shortened or thine hand struck down 
 As palsied ? have thy brows not strength to frown ? 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL 147 
 
 Are thine eyes blind with film of withering age ? 
 
 Burns not thine heart with righteousness of rage 
 
 Yet, and the royal rancour toward thy foes 
 
 Retributive of ruin ? Time should close, 
 
 Thou said'st, and earth fade as a leaf grows grey, 
 
 Ere one word said of thine should pass away. 
 
 Was this then not thy word, thou God most high, 
 
 That sin shall surely bring forth death and die, 
 
 Seeing how these twain live and have joy of life, 
 
 His harlot and the man that made me wife ? 
 
 For is it I, perchance, I that have sinned ? 
 
 Me, peradventure, should thy wasting wind 
 
 Smite, and thy sun blast, and thy storms devour 
 
 Me with keen fangs of lightning ? should thy power 
 
 Put forth on me the weight of its awakening hour ? 
 
 Shall I that bear this burden bear that weight 
 
 Of judgment ? is my sin against thee great, 
 
 If all my heart against them burn with all its hate ? 
 
 Thine, and not mine, should hate be? nay, but me 
 
 They have spoiled and scoffed at, who can touch not thee. 
 
 Me, me, the fullness of their joy drains dry, 
 
 Their fruitfulness makes barren : thou, not I, 
 
 Lord, is it, whom their wrongdoing clothes with shame, 
 
 That all who speak shoot tongues out at thy name 
 
 As all who hear mock mine ? Make me thy sword 
 
 At least, if even thou too -be wronged, Lord, 
 
 At all of these that wrong me : make mine hand 
 
 As lightning, or my tongue a fiery brand, 
 
 l2 
 
148 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 
 
 To burn or smite them with thy wrath : behold, 
 
 I have nought on earth save thee for hope or hold, 
 
 Fail me not thou : I have nought but this to crave, 
 
 Make me thy mean to give them to the grave, 
 
 Thy sign that all men seeing may speak thee just, 
 
 Thy word which turns the strengths of sin to dust, 
 
 Thy blast which burns up towers and thrones with fire. 
 
 Lord, is this gift, this grace that I require, 
 
 So great a gift, Lord, for thy grace to give 
 
 And bid me bear thy part retributive ? 
 
 That I whom scorn makes mouths at, I might be 
 
 Thy witness if loud sin may mock at thee ? 
 
 For lo, my life is as a barren ear 
 
 Plucked from the sheaf : dark days drive past me here 
 
 Downtrodden, while joy's reapers pile their sheaves, 
 
 A thing more vile than autumn's weariest leaves, 
 
 For these the sun filled once with sap of life. 
 
 thou my lord that hadst me to thy wife, 
 
 Dost thou not fear at all, remembering me, 
 
 The love that bowed my whole soul down to thee ? 
 
 Is this so wholly nought for man to dread, 
 
 Man, whose life walks between the quick and dead, 
 
 Naked, and warred about with wind and sea, 
 
 That one should love and hate as I do thee ? 
 
 That one should live in all the world his foe 
 
 So mortal as the hate that loves him so ? 
 
 Nought, is it nought, husband, my knight, 
 
 strong man and indomitable in fight, 
 
THE WIFE'S VIGIL 149 
 
 That one more weak than foam-bells on the sea 
 Should have in heart such thoughts as I of thee ? 
 Thou art bound about with stately strengths for bands : 
 What strength shall keep thee from my strengthless 
 
 hands ? 
 Thou art girt about with goodly guards and great : 
 What fosse may fence thee round as deep as hate ? 
 Thou art wise : will wisdom teach thee fear of me ? 
 Thou art great of heart : shall this deliver thee ? 
 What wall so massive, or what tower so high, 
 Shall be thy surety that thou shouldst not die, 
 If that which comes against thee be but I ? 
 Who shall rise up of power to take thy part, 
 What skill find strength to save, what strength find 
 
 art, 
 If that which wars against thee be my heart ? 
 Not iron, nor the might of force afield, 
 Nor edge of sword, nor sheltering weight of shield, 
 Nor all thy fame since all thy praise began, 
 Nor all the love and laud thou hast of man, 
 Nor, though his noiseless hours with wool be shod, 
 Shall God's love keep thee from the wrath of God. 
 son of sorrows, hast thou said at heart, 
 Haply, God loves thee, God shall take thy part, 
 Who hath all these years endured thee, since thy birth 
 From sorrow's womb bade sin be born on earth ? 
 So long he hath cast his buckler over thee, 
 Shall he not surely guard thee even from me ? 
 
150 THE WIFE'S VIGIL 
 
 Yea, but if yet he give thee while I live 
 Into mine hands as he shall surely give, 
 Ere death at last bring daikness on thy face, 
 Call then on him, call not on me for grace, 
 Cast not away one prayer, one suppliant breath, 
 On me that commune all this while with deatn. 
 For I that was net and that was thy wife 
 Desire not but one hour of all thy life 
 Wherein to triumph till that hour be past ; 
 But this mine hour I look for is thy last.' ' 
 So mused she till the fire in sea and sky 
 Sank, and the northwest wind spake harsh on high, 
 And like the sea's heart waxed her heart that heard. 
 Strong, dark, and bitter, till the keen wind's word 
 Seemed of her own soul spoken, and the breath 
 All round her not of darkness, but of death. 
 
151 
 
 KYNANCE COVE. 
 
 (FROM TRISTRAM OF LFONESSE.) 
 
 Yet, sailing where the shoreward ripple curled 
 
 Of the most wild sweet waves in all the world, 
 
 His soul took comfort even for joy to see 
 
 The strong deep joy of living sun and sea, 
 
 The large deep love of living sea and land, 
 
 As past the lonely lion-guarded strand 
 
 Where that huge warder lifts his couchant sides, 
 
 Asleep, above the sleepless lapse of tides, 
 
 The light sail swept, and past the unsounded caves 
 
 Unsearchable, wherein the pulse of waves 
 
 Throbs through perpetual darkness to and fro, 
 
 And the blind night swims heavily below 
 
 While heavily the strong noon broods above, 
 
 Even to the very bay whence very Love, 
 
 Strong daughter of the giant gods who wrought 
 
 Sun, earth, and sea out of their procreant thought, 
 
 Most meetly might have risen, and most divine 
 
 Beheld and heard things round her sound and shine 
 
 From floors of foam and gold to walls of serpentine. 
 
152 KYNANCE COVE 
 
 For splendid as the limbs of that supreme 
 Incarnate beauty through men's visions gleam, 
 Whereof all fairest things are even but shadow or 
 
 dream, 
 And lovely like as Love's own heavenliest face, 
 Gleams there and glows the presence and the grace 
 Even of the mother of all, in perfect pride of place. 
 For otherwhere beneath our worldwide sky 
 There may not be beheld of men that die 
 Aught else like this that dies not, nor may stress - 
 Of ages that bow down men's works make less 
 The exultant awe that clothes with power its loveliness. 
 For who sets eye thereon soever knows 
 How since these rocks and waves first rolled and rose 
 The marvel of their many-coloured might 
 Hath borne this record sensible to sight, 
 The witness and the symbol of their own delight ; 
 The gospel graven of life's most heavenly law, 
 Joy, brooding on its own still soul with awe, 
 A sense of godlike rest in godlike strife, 
 The sovereign conscience of the spirit of life. 
 Nor otherwhere on strand or mountain tower 
 Hath such fair beauty shining forth in flower 
 Put on the imperial robe of such imperious power. 
 For all the radiant rocks from depth to height 
 Burn with vast bloom of glories blossom-bright 
 As though the sun's own hand had thrilled them through 
 
 with light 
 
KYNANCE COVE 153 
 
 And stained them through with splendour : yet from 
 
 thence 
 Such awe strikes rapture through the spirit of sense 
 From all the inaccessible sea-wall's girth, 
 That exultation, bright at heart as mirth, 
 Bows deeper down before the beauty of earth 
 Than fear may bow down ever : nor shall one 
 Who meets at Alpine dawn the mounting sun 
 On heights too high for many a wing to climb 
 Be touched with sense of aught seen more sublime 
 Than here smiles high and sweet in face of heaven and 
 
 time. 
 For here the flower of fire, the soft hoar bloom 
 Of springtide olive-woods, the warm green gloom 
 Of clouded seas that swell and sound with dawn of 
 
 doom, 
 The keen thwart lightning and the wan grey light 
 Of stormy sunrise crossed and vexed with night, 
 Flash, loom, and laugh with divers hues in one 
 From all the curved cliff's face, till day be done, 
 Against the sea's face and the gazing sun. 
 And whensoever a strong wave, high in hope, 
 Sweeps up some smooth slant breadth of stone aslope, 
 That glowed with duskier fire of hues less bright, 
 Swift as it sweeps back springs to sudden sight 
 The splendour of the moist rock's fervent light, 
 Fresh as from dew of birth when time was born 
 Out of the world- conceiving womb of morn. 
 
154 KYNANCE COVE 
 
 All its quenched flames and darkling hues divine 
 
 Leap into lustrous life and laugh and shine 
 
 And darken into swift and dim decline 
 
 For one brief breath's space till the next wave run 
 
 Eight up, and ripple down again, undone, 
 
 And leave it to be kissed and kindled of the sun. 
 
155 
 
 SEA AND SUNBISE. 
 
 (FROM TRISTRAM CF LVOWESSE.) 
 
 But by the sea-banks where at morn their foes 
 
 Might find them, lay those knightly name-fellows, 
 
 One sick with grief of heart and sleepless, one 
 
 With heart of hope triumphant as the sun 
 
 Dreaming asleep of love and fame and fight : 
 
 But sleep at last wrapped warm the wan young knight ; 
 
 And Tristram with the first pale windy light 
 
 Woke ere the sun spake summons, and his ear 
 
 Caught the sea's call that fired his heart to hear, 
 
 A noise of waking waters : for till dawn 
 
 The sea was silent as a mountain lawn 
 
 When the wind speaks not, and the pines are dumb, 
 
 And summer takes her fill ere autumn come 
 
 Of life more soft than slumber : but ere day 
 
 Rose, and the first beam smote the bounding bay, 
 
 Up sprang the strength of the dark East, and took 
 
 With its wide wings the waters as they shook, 
 
156 SEA AND SUNRISE 
 
 And hurled them huddling on a heap, and cast 
 The full sea shoreward with a great glad blast, 
 Blown from the heart of morning : and with joy 
 Full-souled and perfect passion, as a boy 
 That leaps up light to wrestle with the sea 
 For pure heart's gladness and large ecstasy, 
 Up sprang the might of Tristram ; and his soul 
 Yearned for delight within him, and waxed whole 
 As a young child's with rapture of the hour 
 That brought his spirit and all the world to flower, 
 And all the bright blood in his veins beat time 
 To the wind's clarion and the water's chime 
 That called him and he followed it and stood 
 On the sand's verge before the grey great flood 
 Where the white hurtling heads of waves that met 
 Kose unsaluted of the sunrise yet. 
 And from his heart's root outward shot the sweet 
 Strong joy that thrilled him to the hands and feet, 
 Filling his limbs with pleasure and glad might, 
 And his soul drank the immeasurable delight 
 That earth drinks in with morning, and the free 
 Limitless love that lifts the stirring sea 
 When on her bare bright bosom as a bride 
 She takes the young sun, perfect in his pride, 
 Home to his place with passion : and the heart 
 Trembled for joy within the man whose part 
 Was here not least in living ; and his mind 
 Was rapt abroad beyond man's meaner kind 
 
SEA AND SUNRISE 157 
 
 And pierced with love of all things and with mirth 
 
 Moved to make one with heaven and heavenlike earth 
 
 And with the light live water. So awhile 
 
 He watched the dim sea with a deepening smile, 
 
 And felt the sound and savour and swift flight 
 
 Of waves that fled beneath the fading night 
 
 And died before the darkness, like a song 
 
 With harps between and trumpets blown along 
 
 Through the loud air of some triumphant day, 
 
 Sink through his spirit and purge all sense away 
 
 Save of the glorious gladness of his hour 
 
 And all the world about to break in flower 
 
 Before the sovereign laughter of the sun ; 
 
 And he, ere night's wide work lay all undone, 
 
 As earth from her bright body casts off night, 
 
 Cast off his raiment for a rapturous fight 
 
 And stood between the sea's edge and the sea 
 
 Naked, and godlike of his mould as he 
 
 Whose swift foot's sound shook all the towers of Troy ; 
 
 So clothed with might, so girt upon with joy, 
 
 As, ere the knife had shorn to feed the fire 
 
 His glorious hair before the unkindled pyre 
 
 Whereon the half of his great heart was laid, 
 
 Stood, in the light of his live limbs arrayed, 
 
 Child of heroic earth and heavenly sea, 
 
 The flower of all men : scarce less bright than he, 
 
 If any of all men latter-born might stand, 
 
 Stood Tristram, silent, on the glimmering strand. 
 
158 SEA AND SUNRISE 
 
 Not long : but with a cry of love that rang 
 As from a trumpet golden-mouthed, he sprang, 
 As toward a mother's where his head might rest 
 Her child rejoicing, toward the strong sea's breast 
 That none may gird nor measure : and his heart 
 Sent forth a shout that bade his lips not part, 
 But triumphed in him silent : no man's voice, 
 No song, no sound of clarions that rejoice, 
 Can set that glory forth which fills with fire 
 The body and soul that have their whole desire 
 Silent, and freer than birds or dreams are free 
 Take all their will of all the encountering sea. 
 And toward the foam he bent and forward smote, 
 Laughing, and launched his body like a boat 
 Full to the sea-breach, and against the tide 
 Struck strongly forth with amorous arms made wide 
 To take the bright breast of the wave to his 
 And on his lips the sharp sweet minute's kiss 
 Given of the wave's lip for a breath's space curled 
 And pure as at the daydawn of the world. 
 And round him all the bright rough shuddering sea 
 Kindled, as though the world were even as he, 
 Heart- stung with exultation of desire : 
 And all the life that moved him seemed to aspire, 
 As all the sea's life toward the sun : and still 
 Delight within him waxed with quickening will 
 More smooth and strong and perfect as a flame 
 That springs and spreads, till each glad limb became 
 
SEA AND SUNRISE 159 
 
 A note of rapture in the tune of life, 
 
 Live music wild and keen as sleep and strife : 
 
 Till the sweet change that bids the sense grow sure 
 
 Of deeper depth and purity more pure 
 
 Wrapped him and lapped him round with clearer cold, 
 
 And all the rippling green grew royal gold 
 
 Between him and the far sun's rising rim. 
 
 And like the sun his heart rejoiced in him, 
 
 And brightened with a broadening flame of mirth : 
 
 And hardly seemed its life a part of earth, 
 
 But the life kindled of a fiery birth 
 
 And passion of a new-begotten son 
 
 Between the live sea and the living sun. 
 
 And mightier grew the joy to meet full-faced 
 
 Each wave, and mount with upward plunge, and taste 
 
 The rapture of its rolling strength, and cross 
 
 Its flickering crown of snows that flash and toss 
 
 Like plumes in battle's blithest charge, and thence 
 
 To match the next with yet more strenuous sense ; 
 
 Till on his eyes the light beat hard and bade 
 
 His face turn west and shoreward through the glad 
 
 Swift revel of the waters golden-clad. 
 
 And back with light reluctant heart he bore 
 
 Across the broad-backed rollers in to shore, 
 
 Strong- spirited for the chance and cheer of fight, 
 
 And donned his arms again, and felt the might 
 
 In all his limbs rejoice for strength, and praised 
 
 God for such life as that whereon he gazed, 
 
160 SEA AND SUNRISE 
 
 And wist not surely its joy was even as fleet 
 
 As that which laughed and lapsed against his feet, 
 
 The bright thin grey foam-blossom, glad and hoar, 
 
 That flings its flower along the flowerless shore 
 
 On sand or shingle, and still with sweet strange snows, 
 
 As where one great white storm-dishevelled rose 
 
 May rain her wild leaves on a windy land, 
 
 Strews for long leagues the sounding slope of strand, 
 
 And flower on flower falls flashing, and anew 
 
 A fresh light leaps up whence the last flash flew, 
 
 And casts its brief glad gleam of life away 
 
 To fade not flowerwise but as drops the day 
 
 Storm-smitten, when at once the dark devours 
 
 Heaven and the sea and earth with all their flowers ; 
 
 No star in heaven, on earth no rose to see, 
 
 But the white blown brief blossoms of the sea, 
 
 That make her green gloom starrier than the sky, 
 
 Dance yet before the tempest's tune, and die. 
 
 And all these things he glanced upon, and knew 
 
 How fair they shone, from earth's least flake of dew 
 
 To stretch of seas and imminence of skies, 
 
 Unwittingly, with unpresageful eyes, 
 
 For the last time. The world's half heavenly face, 
 
 The music of the silence of the place, 
 
 The confluence and the refluence of the sea, 
 
 The wind's note ringing over wold and lea, 
 
 Smote once more through him keen as fire that smote, 
 
 Rang once more through him one reverberate note, 
 
SEA AND SUNRISE 161 
 
 That faded as he turned again and went, 
 Fulfilled by strenuous joy with strong content, 
 To take his last delight of labour done 
 That yet should be beholden of the sun. 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 ANADYOMENE. 
 
 (from atalanta in caltbon.) 
 
 We have seen thee, Love, thou art fair ; thou art 
 
 goodly, Love ; 
 Thy wings make light in the air as the wings of a 
 
 dove. 
 Thy feet are as winds that divide the stream of the 
 
 sea; 
 Earth is thy covering to hide thee, the garment of thee. 
 Thou art swift and subtle and blind as a flame of fire ; 
 Before thee the laughter, behind thee the tears of 
 
 desire ; 
 And twain go forth beside thee, a man with a maid ; 
 Her eyes are the eyes of a bride whom delight makes 
 
 afraid ; 
 As the breath in the buds that stir is her bridal breath : 
 But Fate is the name of her ; and his name is Death. 
 
 For an evil blossom was born 
 
 Of sea-foam and the frothing of blood, 
 Blood-red and bitter of fruit, 
 
 And the seed of it laughter and tears, 
 
ANADYOMENE 163 
 
 And the leaves of it madness and scorn ; 
 A bitter flower from the bud, 
 Sprung of the sea without root, 
 
 Sprung without graft from the years. 
 
 The weft of the world was untorn 
 
 That is woven of the day on the night, 
 The hair of the hours was not white 
 
 Nor the raiment of time overworn, 
 When a wonder, a world's delight, 
 
 A perilous goddess was born ; 
 
 And the waves of the sea as she came 
 
 Clove, and the foam at her feet, 
 
 Fawning, rejoiced to bring forth 
 A fleshly blossom, a flame 
 
 Filling the heavens with heat 
 
 To the cold white ends of the north. 
 
 And in air the clamorous birds, 
 
 And men upon earth that hear 
 Sweet articulate words 
 
 Sweetly divided apart, 
 And in shallow and channel and mere 
 The rapid and footless herds, 
 
 Rejoiced, being foolish of heart. 
 
 For all they said upon earth, 
 
 She is fair, she is white like a dove, 
 And the life of the world in her breath 
 
 M 2 
 
164 ANADYOMENE 
 
 Breathes, and is born at her birth : 
 For they knew thee for mother of love, 
 And knew thee not mother of death. 
 
 What hadst thou to do being born, 
 
 Mother, when winds were at ease, 
 As a flower of the springtime of corn, 
 
 A flower of the foam of the seas ? 
 For bitter thou wast from thy birth, 
 
 Aphrodite, a mother of strife ; 
 For before thee some rest was on earth, 
 A little respite from tears, 
 A little pleasure of life ; 
 For life was not then as thou art, 
 But as one that waxeth in years 
 Sweet-spoken, a fruitful wife ; 
 Earth had no thorn, and desire 
 No sting, neither death any dart ; 
 
 What hadst thou to do amongst these, 
 Thou, clothed with a burning fire, 
 Thou, girt with sorrow of heart, 
 
 Thou, sprung of the seed of the seas 
 As an ear from a seed of corn, 
 
 As a brand plucked forth of a pyre, 
 As a ray shed forth of the morn, 
 
 For division of soul and disease, 
 For a dart and a sting and a thorn ? 
 What ailed thee then to be born ? 
 
ANADYOMENE 1(35 
 
 Was there not evil enough, 
 Mother, and anguish on earth 
 Born with a man at his birth, 
 Wastes underfoot, and above 
 
 Storm out of heaven, and dearth 
 Shaken down from the shining thereof, 
 Wrecks from afar overseas 
 And peril of shallow and firth, 
 
 And tears that spring and increase 
 In the barren places of mirth, 
 That thou, having wings as a dove, 
 Being girt with desire for a girth, 
 That thou must come after these, 
 That thou must lay on him love ? 
 
 Thou shouldst not so have been born : 
 But death should have risen with thee, 
 Mother, and visible fear, 
 
 Grief, and the wringing of hands, 
 And noise of many that mourn ; 
 The smitten bosom, the knee 
 Bowed, and in each man's ear 
 A cry as of perishing lands, 
 A moan as of people in prison, 
 A tumult of infinite griefs ; 
 
 And thunder of storm on the sands 9 
 And wailing of wives on the shore ; 
 
166 ANADYOMENE 
 
 Aud under thee newly arisen 
 
 Loud shoals and shipwrecking reefs, 
 Fierce air and violent light ; 
 Sail rent and sundering oar, 
 Darkness, and noises of night ; 
 Clashing of streams in the sea, 
 Wave against wave as a sword, • 
 Clamour of currents, and foam ; 
 Eains making ruin on earth, 
 Winds that wax ravenous and roam 
 As wolves in a wolfish horde ; 
 Fruits growing faint in the tree, 
 
 And blind things dead in their birth ; 
 Famine, and blighting of corn. 
 When thy time was come to be born. 
 
 All these we know of ; but thee 
 Who shall discern or declare ? 
 In the uttermost ends of the sea 
 The light of thine eyelids and hair, 
 The light of thy bosom as fire 
 Between the wheel of the sun 
 And the flying flames of the air ? 
 
 Wilt thou turn thee not yet nor have pity, 
 But abide with despair and desire 
 And the crying of armies undone, 
 
 Lamentation of one with another 
 And breaking of city by city ; 
 
 
ANADYOMENE 167 
 
 The dividing of friend against friend, 
 
 The severing of brother and brother ; 
 
 Wilt thou utterly bring to an end ? 
 Have mercy, mother ! 
 
 For against all men from of old 
 
 Thou hast set thine hand as a curse, 
 And cast out gods from their places. 
 These things are spoken of thee. 
 Strong kings and goodly with gold 
 Thou hast found out arrows to pierce, 
 And made their kingdoms and races 
 As dust and surf of the sea. 
 All these, overburdened with woes 
 
 And with length of their days waxen weak, 
 Thou slewest ; and sentest moreover 
 Upon Tyro an evil thing, 
 Rent hair and a fetter and blows 
 
 Making bloody the flower of the cheek, 
 Though she lay by a god as a lover, 
 Though fair, and the seed of a king. 
 For of old, being full of thy fire, 
 She endured not longer to wear 
 On her bosom a saffron vest, 
 
 On her shoulder an ashwood quiver ; 
 Being mixed and made one through desire 
 With Enipeus, and all her hair 
 
 Made moist with his mouth, and her breast 
 Filled full of the foam of the river. 
 
168 
 
 THE DEATE OF MELEAGEE. 
 
 (from atalanta in calzdon.) 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Let your hands meet 
 
 Bound the weight of my head ; 
 Lift ye my feet 
 As the feet of the dead ; 
 For the flesh of my body is molten, the limbs of it 
 molten as lead. 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 thy luminous face, 
 
 Thine imperious eyes ! 
 the grief, the grace, 
 As of day when it dies ! 
 Who is this bending over thee, lord, with tears and 
 suppression of sighs ? 
 
THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 169 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 Is a bride so fair ? 
 
 Is a maid so meek ? 
 With unchapleted hair, 
 With unfilleted cheek, 
 Atalanta, the pure among women, whose name is as 
 blessing to speak. 
 
 ATALANTA. 
 
 I would that with feet 
 
 Unsandalled, unshod, 
 Overbold, overfleet, 
 I had swum not nor trod 
 From Arcadia to Calydon northward, a blast of the envy 
 of God. 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 Unto each man his fate ; 
 Unto each as he saith 
 In whose fingers the weight 
 Of the world is as breath ; 
 Yet I would that in clamour of battle mine hands had 
 laid hold upon death. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Not with cleaving of shields 
 And their clash in thine ear, 
 
170 THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 
 
 When the lord of fought fields 
 Breaketh spearshaft from spear, 
 Thou art broken, our lord, thou art broken, with travail 
 and labour and fear. 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Would God he had found me 
 
 Beneath fresh boughs ! 
 Would God he had bound me 
 Unawares in mine house, 
 With light in mine eyes, and songs in my lips, and a 
 crown on my brows ! 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 Whence art thou sent from us ? 
 
 Whither thy goal ? 
 How art thou rent from us, 
 Thou that wert whole, 
 As with severing of eyelids and eyes, as with sundering 
 of body and soul ! 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 My heart is within me 
 
 As an ash in the fire ; 
 Whosoever hath seen me, 
 Without lute, without lyre, 
 Shall sing of me grievous things, even things that were 
 ill to desire. 
 
THE DEATH OF MELEAGEB 171 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Who shall raise thee 
 
 From the house of the dead ? 
 
 Or what man praise thee 
 
 That thy praise may be said ? 
 Alas thy beauty ! alas thy body ! alas thine head ! 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 But thou, mother, 
 
 The dreamer of dreams, 
 Wilt thou bring forth another 
 To feel the sun's beams 
 When I move among shadows a shadow, and wail by 
 impassable streams ? 
 
 CENEUS. 
 
 What thing wilt thou leave me 
 
 Now this thing is done ? 
 A man wilt thou give me, 
 A son for my son, 
 For the light of mine eyes, the desire of my life, the 
 desirable one ? 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 Thou wert glad above others, 
 Yea, fair beyond word ; 
 
172 TEE DEATH OF MELEAGER 
 
 Thou wert glad among mothers ; 
 For each man that heard 
 Of thee, praise there was added unto thee, as wings to 
 the feet of a bird. 
 
 (ENEUS. 
 
 Who shall give back 
 
 Thy face of old years, 
 With travail made black, 
 
 Grown grey among fears, 
 Mother of sorrow, mother of cursing, mother of tears ? 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 Though thou art as fire 
 Fed with fuel in vain, 
 My delight, my desire, 
 
 Is more chaste than the rain, 
 More pure than the dewfall, more holy than stars are 
 that live without stain. 
 
 ATALANTA. 
 
 I would that as water 
 
 My life's blood had thawn, 
 Or as winter's wan daughter 
 Leaves lowland and lawn 
 Spring-stricken, or ever mine eyes had beheld thee 
 made dark in thy dawn. 
 
THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 173 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 When thou dravest the men 
 
 Of the chosen of Thrace, 
 None turned him again 
 Nor endured he thy face 
 Clothed round with the blush of the battle, with light 
 from a terrible place. 
 
 ffiNEUS. 
 
 Thou shouldst die as he dies 
 
 For whom none sheddeth tears ; 
 Filling thine eyes 
 
 And fulfilling thine ears 
 With the brilliance of battle, the bloom and the beauty, 
 the splendour of spears. 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 In the ears of the world 
 
 It is sung, it is told, 
 And the light thereof hurled 
 And the noise thereof rolled 
 From the Acroceraunian snow to the ford of the fleece 
 of gold. 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Would God ye could carry me 
 Forth of all these ; 
 
174 THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 
 
 Heap sand and bury rne 
 By the Chersonese 
 Where the thundering Bosphorus answers the thunder 
 of Pontic seas. 
 
 03NEUS. 
 
 Dost thou mock at our praise 
 
 And the singing begun 
 And the men of strange days 
 Praising my son 
 In the folds of the hills of home, high places of 
 Calydon ? 
 
 MELEAGER. 
 
 For the dead man no home is ; 
 
 Ah, better to be 
 What the flower of the foam is 
 In fields of the sea, 
 That the sea-waves might be as my raiment, the gulf- 
 stream a garment for me. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Who shall seek thee and bring 
 
 And restore thee thy day, 
 When the dove dipt her wing 
 And the oars won their way 
 Where the narrowing Symplegades whitened the straits 
 of Propontis with spray ? 
 
THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 175 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Will ye crown me my tomb 
 
 Or exalt me my name, 
 Now my spirits consume, 
 Now my flesh is a flame ? 
 Let the sea slake it once, and men speak of me sleeping 
 to praise me or shame. 
 
 CHOKUS. 
 
 Turn back now, turn thee, 
 
 As who turns him to wake ; 
 Though the life in thee burn thee, 
 Couldst thou bathe it and slake 
 "Where the sea-ridge of Helle hangs heavier, and east 
 upon west waters break ? 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Would the winds blow me back 
 Or the waves hurl me home ? 
 Ah, to touch in the track 
 
 Where the pine learnt to roam 
 Cold girdles and crowns of the sea-gods, cool blossoms 
 of water and foam ! 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 The gods may release 
 That they made fast ; 
 
176 THE DEATH OF MELEAGER 
 
 Thy soul shall have ease 
 In thy limbs at the last ; 
 But what shall they give thee for life, sweet life that is 
 overpast ? 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 Not the life of men's veins, 
 
 Not of flesh that conceives ; 
 But the grace that remains, 
 The fair beauty that cleaves 
 To the life of the rains in the grasses, the life of the 
 dews on the leaves. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Thou wert helmsman and chief ; 
 
 Wilt thou turn in an hour, 
 Thy limbs to the leaf, 
 Thy face to the flower, 
 Thy blood to the water, thy soul to the gods who divide 
 and devour ? 
 
 MELEAGEE. 
 
 The years are hungry, 
 
 They wail all their days ; 
 The gods wax angry 
 And weary of praise ; 
 And who shall bridle their lips ? and who shall straiten 
 their ways ? 
 
 
 
THE DEATH OF MELEAOER 177 
 
 CHOEUS. 
 
 The gods guard over us 
 
 With sword and with rod ; 
 Weaving shadow to cover us, 
 Heaping the sod, 
 That law may fulfil herself wholly, to darken man's face 
 before God. 
 
173 
 
 
 OBEITHYIA. 
 
 (fkom erechtheus.) 
 
 Out of the north wind grief came forth, 
 And the shining of a sword out of the sea. 
 
 Yea, of old the first-blown blast blew the prelude of 
 this last, 
 The blast of his trumpet upon Ehodope. 
 
 Out of the north skies full of his cloud, 
 
 With the clamour of his storms as of a crowd 
 
 At the wheels of a great king crying aloud, 
 
 At the axle of a strong king's car 
 
 That has girded on the girdle of war — 
 
 With hands that lightened the skies in sunder 
 
 And feet whose fall was followed of thunder, 
 
 A God, a great God strange of name, 
 
 With horse-yoke fleeter-hoofed than flame, 
 
 To the mountain bed of a maiden came, 
 
 Oreithyia, the bride mismated, 
 
 Wofully wed in a snow-strewn bed 
 
 With a bridegroom that kisses the bride's mouth dead ; 
 
 Without garland, without glory, without song, 
 
OREITHYIA 179 
 
 As a fawn by night on the hills belated, 
 Given over for a spoil unto the strong. 
 
 From lips how pale so keen a wail 
 
 At the grasp of a God's hand on her she gave, 
 When his breath that darkens air made a havoc of her 
 hair, 
 
 It rang from the mountain even to the wave ; 
 Rang with a cry, Woe's me, woe is me ! 
 From the darkness upon Hsemus to the sea : 
 And with hands that clung to her new lord's knee, 
 As a virgin overborne with shame, 
 She besought him by her spouseless fame, 
 By the blameless breasts of a maid unmarried 
 And locks unmaidenly rent and harried, 
 And all her flower of body, born 
 To match the maidenhood of morn, 
 With the might of the wind's wrath wrenched and torn. 
 Vain, all vain as a dead man's vision 
 Falling by night in his old friends' sight, 
 To be scattered with slumber and slain ere light ; 
 Such a breath of such a bridegroom in that hour 
 Of her prayers made mock, of her fears derision, 
 And a ravage of her youth as of a flower. 
 
 With a leap of his limbs as a lion's, a cry from his lips 
 as of thunder, 
 In a storm of amorous godhead filled with fire, 
 
 N2 
 
180 OBEITHY1A 
 
 From the height of the heaven that was rent with the 
 roar of his coming in sunder, 
 
 Sprang the strong God on the spoil of his desire. 
 And the pines of the hills were as green reeds shattered, 
 And their branches as buds of the soft spring scattered, 
 And the west wind and east, and the sound of the south, 
 Fell dumb at the blast of the north wind's mouth, 
 
 At the cry of his coming out of heaven. 
 And the wild beasts quailed in the rifts and hollows 
 Where hound nor clarion of huntsman follows, 
 And the depths of the sea were aghast, and whitened, 
 And the crowns of their waves were as flame that 
 lightened, 
 
 And the heart of the floods thereof was riven. 
 
 But she knew not him coming for terror, she felt not 
 her wrong that he wrought her, 
 When her locks as leaves were shed before his breath, 
 And she heard not for terror his prayer, though the cry 
 was a God's that besought her, 
 Blown from lips that strew the world-wide seas with 
 death. 
 For the heart was molten within her to hear, 
 And her knees beneath her were loosened for fear, 
 And her blood fast bound as a frost-bound water, 
 And the soft new bloom of the green earth's daughter 
 Wind-wasted as blossom of a tree ; 
 
OREITHYIA 181 
 
 As the wild God rapt her from earth's breast lifted, 
 On the strength of the stream of his dark breath drifted, 
 From the bosom of earth as a bride from the mother, 
 With storm for bridesman and wreck for brother, 
 As a cloud that he sheds upon the sea. 
 
182 
 
 STORM AND BATTLE. 
 
 (feom erechthevs.) 
 
 Let us lift up the strength of our hearts in song, 
 
 And our souls to the height of the darkling day. " 
 
 If the wind in our eyes blow blood for spray, 
 
 Be the spirit that breathes in us life more strong, 
 
 Though the prow reel round and the helm point wrong, 
 
 And sharp reefs whiten the shoreward way. 
 
 For the steersman time sits hidden astern, 
 With dark hand plying the rudder of doom, 
 And the surf- smoke under it flies like fume 
 As the blast shears off and the oar-blades churn 
 The foam of our lives that to death return, 
 
 Blown back as they break to the gulfing gloom. 
 
 What cloud upon heaven is arisen, what shadow, what 
 sound, 
 From the world beyond earth, from the night 
 underground, 
 That scatters from wings unbeholden the weight of its 
 darkness around ? 
 
STORM AND BATTLE 183 
 
 For the sense of my spirit is broken, and blinded its eye, 
 As the soul of a sick man ready to die, 
 With fear of the hour that is on me, with dread if an 
 end be not nigh. 
 
 Earth, Gods of the land, have ye heart now to 
 see and to hear 
 What slays with terror mine eyesight and seals 
 mine ear ? 
 fountains of streams everlasting, are all ye not shrunk 
 up and withered for fear ? 
 
 Lo, night is arisen on the noon, and her hounds are 
 in quest by day, 
 And the world is fulfilled of the noise of them cry- 
 ing for their prey, 
 And the sun's self stricken in heaven, and cast out of 
 his course as a blind man astray. 
 
 From east to west of the south sea-line 
 Glitters the lightning of spears that shine ; 
 As a storm-cloud swoln that comes up from the skirts 
 of the sea, 
 By the wind for helmsman to shoreward ferried, 
 So black behind them the live storm serried 
 Shakes earth with the tramp of its foot, and the terror 
 to be. 
 
184 STORM AND BATTLE 
 
 Shall the sea give death whom the land gave birth ? 
 Earth, fair mother, sweet live Earth, 
 Hide us again in thy womb from the waves of it, help 
 us or hide. 
 As a sword is the heart of the God thy brother, 
 But thine as the heart of a new-made mother, 
 To deliver thy sons from his ravin, and rage of his 
 tide. 
 
 strong north wind, the pilot of cloud and rain, 
 
 For the gift we gave thee what gift hast thou given 
 us again ? 
 God dark-winged, deep-throated, a terror to forth- 
 faring ships by night, 
 
 What bride -song is this that is blown on the blast 
 of thy breath ? 
 
 A gift but of grief to thy kinsmen, a song but of 
 death, 
 For the bride's folk weeping, and woe for her father, 
 who finds thee against him in fight. 
 
 Turn back from us, turn thy battle, take heed of our 
 
 cry; 
 Let thy dread breath sound, and the waters of war 
 
 be dry ; 
 Let thy strong wrath shatter the strength of our foemen, 
 
 the sword of their strength and the shield ; 
 
STORM AND BATTLE 185 
 
 As vapours in heaven, or as waves or the wrecks of 
 
 ships, 
 So break thou the ranks of their spears with the 
 
 breath of thy lips, 
 Till their corpses have covered and clothed as with 
 raiment the face of the sword-ploughed field. 
 
 son of the rose-red morning, God twin-born 
 
 with the day, 
 wind with the young sun waking, and winged for 
 
 the same wide way, 
 Give up not the house of thy kin to the host thou 
 
 hast marshalled from northward for prey. 
 
 From the cold of thy cradle in Thrace, from the 
 
 mists of the fountains of night, 
 From the bride-bed of dawn whence day leaps laugh- 
 ing, on fire for his flight, 
 Come down with their doom in thine hand on the 
 ships thou hast brought up against us to fight. 
 
 For now not in word but in deed is the harvest of 
 
 spears begun, 
 And its clamour outbeilows the thunder, its lightning 
 
 outlightens the sun. 
 From the springs of the morning it thunders and 
 
 lightens across and afar 
 To the wave where the moonset ends and the fall of 
 
 the last low star. 
 
186 STORM AND BATTLE 
 
 With a trampling of drenched red hoofs and an earth- 
 quake of men that meet, 
 Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows 
 
 take fire from his feet. 
 Earth groans from her great rent heart, and the hollows 
 
 of rocks are afraid, 
 And the mountains are moved, and the valleys as waves 
 
 in a storm- wind swayed. 
 From the roots of the hills to the plain's dim verge and 
 
 the dark loud shore, 
 Air shudders with shrill spears crossing, and hurtling 
 
 of wheels that roar. 
 As the grinding of teeth in the jaws of a lion that foam 
 
 as they gnash 
 Is the shriek of the axles that loosen, the shock of the 
 
 poles that crash. 
 The dense manes darken and glitter, the mouths of the 
 
 mad steeds champ, 
 Their heads flash blind through the battle, and death's 
 
 foot rings in their tramp. 
 For a fourfold host upon earth and in heaven is arrayed 
 
 for the fight, 
 Clouds ruining in thunder and armies encountering as 
 
 clouds in the night. 
 Mine ears are amazed with the terror of trumpets, with 
 
 darkness mine eyes, 
 At the sound of the sea's host charging that deafens 
 
 the roar of the sky's. 
 
STORM AND BATTLE 187 
 
 White frontlet is dashed upon frontlet, and horse against 
 
 horse reels hurled, 
 And the gorge of the gulfs of the battle is wide for the 
 
 spoil of the world. 
 
 And the meadows are cumbered with shipwreck of 
 
 chariots that founder on land, 
 And the horsemen are broken with breach as of breakers, 
 
 and scattered as sand. 
 Through the roar and recoil of the charges that mingle 
 
 their cries and confound, 
 Like fire are the notes of the trumpets that flash through 
 
 the darkness of sound. 
 As the swing of the sea churned yellow that sways with 
 
 the wind as it swells 
 Is the lift and relapse of the wave of the chargers that 
 
 clash with their bells ; 
 And the clang of the sharp shrill brass through the 
 
 burst of the wave as it shocks 
 Rings clean as the clear wind's cry through the roar of 
 
 the surge on the rocks : 
 And the heads of the steeds in their headgear of war, 
 
 and their corsleted breasts, 
 Gleam broad as the brows of the billows that brighten 
 
 the storm with their crests, 
 Gleam dread as their bosoms that heave to the ship- 
 wrecking wind as they rise, 
 
188 STORM AND BATTLE 
 
 Filled full of the terror and thunder of water, that slays 
 
 as it dies. 
 So dire is the glare of their foreheads, so fearful the fire 
 
 of their breath, 
 And the light of their eyeballs enkindled so bright with 
 
 the lightnings of death ; 
 And the foam of their mouths as the sea's when the 
 
 jaws of its gulf are as graves, 
 And the ridge of their necks as the wind- shaken mane 
 
 on the ridges of waves : 
 And their fetlocks afire as they rear drip thick with a 
 
 dewfall of blood 
 As the lips of the rearing breaker with froth of the 
 
 manslaying flood. 
 And the whole plain reels and resounds as the fields of 
 
 the sea by night 
 When the stroke of the wind falls darkling, and death 
 
 is the seafarer's light. 
 
 But thou, fair beauty of heaven, dear face of the day 
 
 nigh dead, 
 What horror hath hidden thy glory, what hand hath 
 
 muffled thine head ? 
 sun, with what song shall we call thee, or ward off 
 
 thy wrath by what name, 
 With what prayer shall we seek to thee, soothe with 
 
 what incense, assuage with what gift, 
 
STORM AND BATTLE 189 
 
 If thy light be such only as lightens to deathward the 
 
 seaman adrift 
 With the fire of his house for a beacon, that foemen 
 
 have wasted with flame ? 
 Arise now, lift up thy light ; give ear to us, put forth 
 
 thine hand, 
 Reach toward us thy torch of deliverance, a lamp for 
 
 the night of the land. 
 Thine eye is the light of the living, no lamp for the 
 
 dead; 
 0, lift up the light of thine eye on the dark of our 
 
 dread. 
 Who hath blinded thee ? who hath prevailed on thee ? 
 
 who hath ensnared ? 
 Who hath broken thy bow, and the shafts for thy 
 
 battle prepared ? 
 Have they found out a fetter to bind thee, a chain for 
 
 thine arm that was bared ? 
 Be the name of thy conqueror set forth, and the might 
 
 of thy master declared. 
 God, fair God of the morning, glory of day, 
 What ails thee to cast from thy forehead its garland 
 
 away ? 
 To pluck from thy temples their chaplet enwreathed 
 
 of the light, 
 And bind on the brows of thy godhead a frontlet of 
 
 night ? 
 
190 STORM AND BATTLE 
 
 Thou hast loosened the necks of thine horses, and goaded 
 
 their flanks with affright, 
 To the race of a course that we know not on ways that 
 are hid from our sight. 
 As a wind through the darkness the wheels of their 
 
 chariot are whirled, 
 And the light of its passage is night on the face of 
 
 the world. 
 And there falls from the wings of thy glory no help 
 
 from on high, 
 But a shadow that smites us with fear and desire of 
 thine eye. 
 For our hearts are as reeds that a wind on the water 
 
 bows down and goes by, 
 To behold not thy comfort in heaven that hath left us 
 untimely to die. 
 
191 
 
 MABINO FALIEBO. 
 
 (FEOM THE TEAGEDY OF MARINO FALIERO ] ACT II. SCENE I.) 
 
 Marino Faliero, the octogenarian Doge of Venice, hears from 
 his nephew and adopted son of a deadly insult offered to the re- 
 putation of his young wife by a nobleman whom he has publicly 
 disgraced for misconduct in public. 
 
 Marino Falieeo and the Duchess. 
 
 Faliero. It does not please thee, then, if silence have 
 Speech, and if thine speak true, to hear me praise 
 Bertuccio ? Has my boy deserved of thee 
 111 ? or what ails thee when I praise him ? 
 
 Duchess. Sir, 
 
 How should it hurt me that you praise— 
 
 Faliero. My son, 
 
 Mine, more than once my brother's : how, indeed ? 
 
 Duchess. Have I the keeping of your loves in charge 
 To unseal or seal their utterance up, my lord ? 
 
 Faliero. Again, thy lord ! I am lord of all save thee. 
 
 Duchess, You are sire of all this people. 
 
 Faliero. Nay, by Christ, 
 
192 MARINO FALIEBO 
 
 A bitter brood were mine then, and thyself 
 Mismated worse than April were with snow 
 Or January with harvest, being his bride 
 Who bore so dire a charge of fatherhood. 
 Thou, stepmother of Venice ? and this hand, 
 That could not curb nor guide against its will 
 A foot that fell but heavier than a dove's, 
 What power were in it to hold obedience fast, 
 Laid on the necks of lions ? 
 
 Duchess. Why, men say 
 
 The lion will stoop not save to ladies' hands, 
 But such as mine may lead him. 
 
 Faliero. Thine? I think 
 
 The very wolf would kiss and rend it not. 
 
 Duchess. The very sea-wolf ? 
 
 Faliero. Verily, so meseems. 
 
 Duchess. For so the strong sea-lion of Venice doth. 
 
 Faliero. This is a perilous beast whereof thousayest 
 So sweet a thing so far from like to be — 
 A horrible and a fiend-faced shape, men call 
 The lion of the waters. 
 
 Duchess. But St. Mark 
 
 Holds his in leash of love more fast, my lord, 
 Than ever violence may. 
 
 Faliero. By heaven and him, 
 
 Thy sweet wit's flight is even too fleet for me : 
 No marvel though thy gentle scorn smite sore 
 On weaker wits of younglings : yet I would. 
 
MARINO FALIERO 193 
 
 Being more my child than even my wife to me, 
 Thine heart were more a sister's toward my son. 
 
 Duchess. So is it indeed — and shall be so — and more, 
 The more we love our father and our lord, 
 Shall our two loves grow full, grow fire that springs 
 To Godward from the sacrifice it leaves 
 Consumed for man's burnt -offering. 
 
 Faliero. What ! thine eyes 
 
 Are very jewels of even such fire indeed. 
 I thought not so to kindle them : but yet 
 My heart grows great in gladness given of thine 
 Whose truth in such bright silence as is God's 
 Speaks love aloud and lies not. 
 
 Duchess. No, my lord. 
 
 Faliero. It is not truth nor love then, sweet my child, 
 That lightens from thine eyeshot ? 
 
 Duchess. Yea, my lord. 
 
 Faliero. I grow less fond than foolish, troubling 
 thee, 
 Who yet am held or yet would hold myself 
 Not yet unmanned with dotage. Sooth is this, 
 I am lighter than my daily mood today 
 And heedless haply lest I wrong mine age 
 And weary thine with words unworthy thee 
 Or him that would be honoured of the world 
 Less than beloved — with love not all unmeet — 
 Of one or twain he loves as old men may. 
 Bertuccio loves me ; thou dost hate me not 
 
 o 
 
194 MARINO FALIEBO 
 
 That like a frost I touch thy flower, and breathe 
 
 As March breathes back the spirit of winter dead 
 
 On May that dwells where thou dost : but my son 
 
 Finds no more grace of thee to comfort him 
 
 Than April wins of the east wind. Wot thou well, 
 
 The long loose tongues of Tuscan wit would cast 
 
 111 comment on this care of mine to bring 
 
 More close my wife's heart and my son's, being young, 
 
 And I a waif of winter, left astrand 
 
 Above the soft sea's tidemark whose warm lip 
 
 Is love's, that loves not age's : but I think 
 
 We are none of those whose folly, set in shame, 
 
 Makes mirth for John of Florence. 
 
 Duchess. By God's grace. 
 
 No. 
 
 Faliero. And by grace of pure Venetian pride 
 And blood of blameless mothers. By St. Mark, 
 Shame, that stings sharpest of the worms in hell, 
 Seems, if those light-souled folks sing true, to them 
 No more a burning poison than the fly's 
 We brush from us, and know not : but for men 
 The eternal fire hath no such fang to smite 
 As this their jests make nought of. Life is briefs 
 Albeit thou knowest not, nor canst well believe, 
 But life is long and lovesome as thine age 
 In vision sees it, and in heart uplift 
 Plays prelude clear of presage — brief and void 
 Where laughing lusts fulfil its length of days 
 
MARINO FALIERO 195 
 
 And nought save pleasure born seems worth desire ; 
 But long and full of fruit in all men's sight 
 Whereon the wild worm feeds not, nor the sun 
 Strikes, nor the wind makes war, nor frost lays hold, 
 Is the ageless life of honour, won and worn 
 With heart and hand most equal, and to time 
 Given as a pledge that something born of time 
 Is mightier found than death, and wears of right 
 God's name of everlasting. 
 
 Duchess. Child I am, 
 
 Or child my lord will call me, yet himself 
 Knows this not better, holds no truer this truth, 
 Nor keeps more fast his faith in it than I. 
 
 Faliero. No need thy tongue should witness with 
 thine eyes 
 How thine heart beats toward honour. Blind were he, 
 And mad with base brainsickness even to death, 
 Who seeing thee should not see it. Those Florentines 
 With names more gracious than their customs crown 
 Glad heads of graceless women ; jewelled names 
 That mock the bright stone's fire of constant heart, 
 Diamante, Gemma ; thine, were thine as these, 
 Might dare the vaunt unchallenged : such a name 
 Is in those eyes writ clear with fire more keen 
 Than ever shame bade shine or sin made burn 
 Where grace lay dead ere death. How J^ow, my son ? 
 
 02 
 
196 MARINO FALIEBO 
 
 Enter Beetuccio. 
 
 Bertuccio. Most noble uncle — 
 
 Faliero. Nay, but art thou mazed ? 
 
 No reverence toward our lady, nor a look 
 Save as of one distraught with fear, whose dreams 
 Are still as fire before his eyes by night 
 That leaves them dark by daytime ? Yestereve, 
 Hadst thou so looked upon the bull, by Christ, 
 Thou hadst come not home his conqueror. 
 
 Duchess. Sir, perchance 
 
 Your nephew with your grace would speak alone. 
 
 Bertuccio. Ay, madam. 
 
 Faliero. Nay, sir. Why, what coil is this ? 
 
 Thine eyes look scarce half drunken, but thy speech 
 Is thicker than with wine. 
 
 Duchess. Good day, my lords. 
 
 Faliero. Pass out of earshot if thou list, but pass 
 — I pray thee, sweet ! — no further. 
 
 [Duchess withdraws. 
 Now, my son, 
 If nought bemuse thy brain or bind thy tongue, 
 Speak. 
 
 Bertuccio. Sire, I may not. 
 
 Faliero. God consume thee ! nay, 
 
 But bring thy wits back healed — what dost thou then 
 Here ? 
 
 Bertuccio. What must needs, in my despite and thine, 
 
MARINO FALIERO 197 
 
 Be done, and yet should be not. None but I 
 Dare tell my sire that Venice rings and roars 
 Aloud with monstrous mockery whence our name 
 Is rent as carrion by the vulturous beaks 
 That feed on fame and soil it. Sir, it were 
 A shame beyond all treason for my lips 
 To take this taint upon them : read, and see 
 What all have seen that in thine hall of state 
 Since dawn have entered, on thy sovereign seat 
 Nailed up in God's defiance and ours, a lie 
 That hell would hear not unrebuked, nor heaven 
 Endure and find no thunder. 
 
 [Gives a paper to Faliero. 
 
 Faliero. God us aid ! 
 
 Why, if the pageant match thy prologue, man, 
 The stage should shake to bear it. — Body of God ! 
 What? 
 
 Duchess. Sir ! my lord ! 
 
 Bertuccio. Forbear him. 
 
 Faliero. Does the sun 
 
 Shine ? — Did he smite me on the face ? 
 
 Duchess. Who ? 
 
 Faliero. He. 
 
 [Pointing to Bertuccio. 
 
 Duchess. What have you given him ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Ask not. 
 
 Faliero. Let me think — 
 
 Art not thou too Faliero, and my son ? 
 
198 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 Bertuccio. Ay. 
 
 Faliero. By the glory of God in heaven, I swear, 
 I think not as I thought it. 
 
 Bertuccio. Then your thought 
 
 Errs, and the mind whose passion brings it forth 
 Strays far, and shakes toward ruin. 
 
 Faliero. It may be so, 
 
 Sir ; it may be so. 
 
 Duchess. Heaven have pity on all ! 
 
 Faliero. Madam, what man is this that speaks 
 to me? 
 
 Duchess. My lord your nephew. 
 
 Faliero. Thine ? thy lord is this ? 
 
 Thy man ? thy master ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Sir, bethink you — 
 
 Faliero. Ay — 
 
 I will bethink me surely. Fair my wife, 
 I pray you pardon mine unr ever end age, 
 Shamed as it stands before you — spurned, and made 
 A thing for boys to spit at. In my sight, 
 I pray you, do not smile too broad at it. 
 White hairs, if he that bears them bear my place, 
 Are held, I know, unvenerable of all. 
 Fair sir, you are young, and men may honour you : 
 Tell me, who am blind, how I should bear myself 
 In the eyes of men who see me that I see 
 Nothing. 
 
 Duchess. God, be pitiful ! 
 
MARINO FALIEBO 199 
 
 Bertuccio. My lord, 
 
 Refrain yourself ; you stagger toward the pit 
 Whose gulf is madness ; gather up your heart ; 
 Give not all rein to rage. 
 
 Faliero. I will not, sir. 
 
 There was a noise of hissing in mine ears ; 
 I could not hear you for it ; and in mine eyes 
 Blank night, and fire, and blindness. Now I see 
 The leprous beggar whom the town spits out 
 Hath more than I of honour. Many a year 
 I have dreamed of many a deed that brought no 
 
 shame, 
 Not shame at all, but praise : these were not mine, 
 I know them now, they were not : mine have earned, 
 For the utmost crown and close of all my life 
 Shame. I would know, were God not stricken dumb, 
 What deed I have done that this should fall on me. 
 
 Bertuccio. My lord — 
 
 Faliero. Thy servant's servant, and a dog. 
 
 Yet art thou, too, vile ; nay, not vile as I, 
 But baser than a beaten bondman. 
 
 Bertuccio. Sir, 
 
 If madness make you not a thrall indeed, 
 But reverence yet claim reverence, take some thought 
 Not for yourself, nor me. 
 
 Faliero. Dost thou desire 
 
 So much for her sake of me ? Son of mine, 
 Look well upon thy father : let mine eyes 
 
200 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 Take all the witness of the spirit in thine, 
 That I may know what heart thou hast indeed. 
 Bertuccio, if thine eyes lie, then is God 
 Dead, and the world hell's refuse. 
 
 Bertuccio. Sire and lord, 
 
 If ever I have lied to you, I lie 
 Now. 
 
 Faliero. I believe thou liest not. Mark me, son, 
 This is no little trust I put in thee, 
 Believing yet, in face of this I read, 
 That man or God may lie not. 
 
 Bertuccio. Speak to her. 
 
 Faliero. Take comfort, child : this world is foul, 
 God wot, 
 That gives thee need of comfort. 
 
 Duchess. I have none — 
 
 No need, I mean — if nought fare ill with you. 
 
 Faliero. Much, much there is fares ill with all men : 
 
 yet, 
 
 With thee, if righteousness were loved in heaven, 
 Should nought at all fare ill for ever. Sweet, 
 As thou wouldst fain, if thou couldst ever sin, 
 Find for that sin forgiveness, pardon me. 
 I am great in years, and what I had borne in youth, 
 Not well perchance, yet better, now, being old, 
 I cannot bear, thou seest, at all. For this 
 Forgive me : not with will of mine it was 
 That thus I scared so sore thy harmless heart. 
 
MARINO FALIERO 201 
 
 Speak to me not now : ere this hour be full, 
 
 It may be we may speak awhile again 
 
 Together : now must none abide with me. [Exit, 
 
 Duchess. What have they said ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Ask never that of man. 
 
 Duchess. What have they said of me ? 
 
 Bertuccio. I cannot say. 
 
 Duchess. Thou wilt not — being mine enemy. Why, 
 for shame 
 You should not, sir, keep silence. 
 
 Bertuccio. Yet I will. 
 
 Duchess. I never dreamt so dark a dream as this. 
 
 Bertuccio. God send it no worse waking. 
 
 Duchess. Now I know 
 
 You are even indeed her enemy, who believed 
 She had never so deserved of you. I have 
 No friend where friends I thought were mine, and 
 
 find, 
 Where never I thought to find them, enemies. Whence 
 Have I deserved by chance of any man 
 That he should be mine enemy ? 
 
 Bertuccio. If I be, 
 
 I would not strike you shamefully at heart, 
 But rather bear a bitterer blame than this 
 Than right myself with doing you wrong. Would God 
 Your enemies and mine uncle's all were I ! 
 
 Duchess. Do you know them — these — what manner 
 of men they are ? 
 
202 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 Bertuccio. Save as I know that hell breeds worms 
 and fire, 
 No. 
 
 Duchess. Have I merited these ? Have we that 
 loved, 
 Have we that love, in God's clear sight or man's, 
 Sinned ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Nay, not thou, if heaven by love for earth 
 Sins not : if thou, then God in loving man 
 Sins. 
 
 Duchess. Nay : for yet you never kissed my lips. 
 That day the truth sprang forth of thine, I swore 
 It should not bring my soul and thine to shame. 
 And thou too, didst not thou, for very love, 
 Swear it ? 
 
 Bertuccio. And stands mine oath not whole ? 
 
 Duchess. Give God 
 
 Honour, who hath kept in us our honour fast. 
 Whatever come between our death and this, 
 For that I thank him. 
 
 Bertuccio. Ah, my love, my light, 
 
 Soul of my soul, and holier heart of mine, 
 Thee, thee I thank, that yet I live, and yet 
 Love, and yet stand not in all true men's eyes 
 Shamed. Am I pure as thou, that save through thee 
 I should be found no viler than I am ? 
 Hadst thou been other, I perchance, God knows, 
 Had been a baser thing than galls us now. 
 
MARINO FALIERO 203 
 
 Duchess. Ay ! but I knew it or ever I wrung it 
 forth— 
 Me then they smite at, and my lord in me, 
 Who have smitten him so sorely ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Dear, how else ? 
 
 When seemed our sire a furious weakling, made 
 For any wind to work upon and wrest 
 Awry with passion that had struck no root 
 Deep even as love or honour ? 
 
 Duchess. Woe is me ! 
 
 Would God I were not ! 
 
 Be-enter Falieeo. 
 
 Faliero. Pray thou no such prayer : 
 
 I heard that cry to Godward : call it back. 
 My faultless child, if prayer seem good to thee, 
 Pray : but for nought like death. And doubt thou not 
 But yet thou hast given me daily more good things 
 Than God can give of evil ; nor may man, 
 Albeit his fang be deadlier than the snake's 
 And strike too deep for God or thee to heal, 
 Undo the good thou didst, or make a curse 
 Grow where thou sowedst a blessing. Go in peace ; 
 And take with thee love's full thanksgiving. Go. 
 
 Duchess. My father, and my lord ! 
 
 Faliero. My child and wife, 
 
 Go. [Exit Duchess. 
 
204 MARINO FALIEBO 
 
 Now to thee, son. When thou gavest me this, 
 I do not ask thee if thou knewest the man. 
 It were impossible, out of reach of thought, 
 That mine own brother's and mine own heart's child 
 Should give it me, and say — I know the man : 
 He lives : I did not take him by the throat 
 And make the lying soul leap through his lips 
 Before I told thee such a thing could live. 
 
 Bertuccio. You do me right : I know not. 
 
 Faliero. This remains, 
 
 That we should know : being known, to thee nor me 
 Belongs the doomsman's labour of the lash 
 That is to scourge him out of life. My son, 
 I charge thee by thine honour and my love 
 Thou lay no hand upon him. 
 
 Bertuccio. Nay, my lord, 
 
 Nay— 
 
 Faliero. Swear me this. 
 
 Bertuccio. I will not. 
 
 Faliero. Swear, I say. 
 
 Bertuccio. I cannot swear it, father. 
 
 Faliero. By Christ's blood, 
 
 But swear thou shalt, and keep it. Do not make 
 Thy sire indeed mad with more monstrous wrong 
 Than yet bows down his head dishonoured. Swear. 
 
 Bertuccio. What ? 
 
 Faliero. That albeit his life lay in thine hand 
 
 Thou wouldst not bruise it with a finger. 
 
MARINO FALIERO 205 
 
 Bertuccio. Sir, 
 
 How can I ? 
 
 Faliero. Sir, by God, thou shalt not choose. 
 Art thou the hangman ? 
 
 Bertuccio. If the knave perchance 
 
 Be noble ? 
 
 Faliero. Dost thou mock thyself and me ? 
 Noble ? 
 
 Bertuccio. My lord, I would not wrong the worst 
 Of all that wrong the names they wear : but yet 
 I cannot see in Venice one save one 
 Who might, being born base, and of no base name, 
 Conceive himself so far your enemy. 
 
 Faliero. Boy, 
 
 What knowest thou of their numbers that have cause, 
 Being vile, to hate me ? Hath my rule not been 
 Righteous ? 
 
 Bertuccio. That stands not questionable of man. 
 
 Faliero. How then should more not hate than love 
 me ? Child, 
 Child! 
 
 Bertuccio. But a man's wrath strikes more straight, 
 my lord, 
 How vile soe'er, than toward a woman. This — 
 This is a dog's tooth that has poisoned you : 
 And yestereve a dog it was you bade 
 Spurn out of sight of honour. 
 - Faliero. Steno ? 
 
206 MARINO FALIEBO 
 
 Bertuccio. He. 
 
 Else am not I Faliero. 
 
 Faliero. Then — I say, 
 
 Then, — be it so, — what wouldst thou do? Being my 
 
 son, 
 What wouldst thou dream or do, this being so ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Why, 
 
 With God's good will and yours, and good men's leave, 
 Hew out his heart for dogs to gnaw. Might this 
 Displease you ? 
 
 Faliero. Why then yet is this to do ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Forgive me, father, and God forgive me ; 
 this 
 I am all on fire with shame to have spoken of 
 And think the man lives while I prate. But you 
 Know, and our Lord God knows, it is but now, 
 Now, even this instant breath of imminent time, 
 That I have guessed this. 
 
 Faliero. Ay ; we know it well ; 
 
 We, God and I. 
 
 Bertuccio. And both of you give leave — 
 
 Or leave I crave of neither — pardon me, 
 But leave I crave not to set heel on him. 
 
 Faliero. God gives not leave ; and I forbid thee. 
 
 Bertuccio. Then, 
 
 In God's teeth and in yours, I will, or God 
 Shall smite me helpless by your hand. My lord, 
 You do but justice on me, so to seem — 
 
MARINO FALIERO 207 
 
 I would not say, to dwell in doubt of me. 
 
 I should have passed ere this out of your sight, 
 
 Silent. 
 
 Faliero. Thou shouldst not. Is this burden sore 
 That as thou sayest God lays on thee, or I, 
 To be as I am patient ? 
 
 Bertuccio. Fain would I 
 
 Be, would God help me, even as you — were you 
 As I now stand, though shamefaced, in your sight. 
 
 Faliero. Ay — you are young and shamefaced— I am 
 old, 
 And in my heart the shame is. But your face 
 Hath honour in it — and what have I to do, 
 What should I do with honour ? Thou dost make 
 Of mine more havoc and less count of me 
 Than yet mine enemies have, to take this charge 
 Upon the personal quarrel of thine hand, 
 Unchartered by commission. 
 
 Bertuccio. And of me, 
 
 My lord, of me what make you ? How shall men 
 Not spit when I pass by, at one that had 
 Nor heart nor hand, eye to behold nor ear 
 To hear the several scoffs, by glance or speech, 
 That base men cast onus ? Nay, then what right 
 Had I to call any man base that lives 
 Or any worm that stings in secret ? Sir, 
 Put not this shame upon me : when have I 
 Deserved it ? Why, a beaten dog, a slave 
 
208 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 Branded and whipped by justice, durst not bear 
 For very shame's sake, though he know not shame, 
 So great dishonour. 
 
 Faliero. Thou shalt bear it, son. 
 
 Bertuccio. I will not. 
 
 Faliero. Son, what will is this of thine 
 
 To lift its head up when I bid it lie 
 And listen while mine own, thy father's will, 
 Speaks ? How shalt thou that wilt not honour me 
 Take in thine hand mine honour ? Mine, not thine^ 
 Not yet, I tell thee, thine it is to say 
 Thou shalt or shalt not strike or spare the stroke 
 That is to make my fame, if hurt it be, 
 Whole. I, not thou, it is that heads the house 
 And bears the burden : I, not thou, meseems, 
 It was that fought at Zara. Nay, thine eyes 
 Answer, an old man then was young, and I 
 That now am young then was not : nor in sooth 
 Would I misdoubt or so misprize thee, boy, 
 As not to think thou hadst done as gladly well 
 As I that service, had it lain in thee, 
 Or any toward our country. But myself 
 Am not so bowed and bruised of ruinous time, 
 Not yet so beaten down of trampling years, 
 That I should make my staff or sword of thee, 
 And strike by delegation. On the state 
 Is laid the charge of right and might to deal 
 Justice for all men and myself and thee 
 
MARINO FALIEBO 209 
 
 By sovereignty of duty ; not on us 
 Lies of that load whereto the law puts hand 
 One feather's or one grain's weight. More : did we 
 Take so much on us of the general charge, 
 We were not loyal : and the dog we strike 
 Were yet, though viler than a leper's hound, 
 No viler then than we, who by God's gift 
 Being born of this the crown of commonweals, 
 Venetian, so should cast our crown away 
 That men born subject, unashamed to be 
 Called of their king subjects, might scoff at us 
 As children of no loftier state than theirs. 
 For where a man's will hangs above men's heads 
 Sheer as a sword or scourge might, and not one 
 Save by his grace hath grace to call himself 
 Man — there, if haply one be born a man, 
 Needs must he break the dogleash of the law 
 To do himself, being wronged, where no right is, 
 Eight : but as base as he that should not break, 
 To show himself no dog, but man, their law, 
 Were he, that civic thief, the trustless knave 
 Who should not, being as we born masterless, 
 Put faith in freedom and the free man's law, 
 Justice, but like a king's man born, compelled 
 To cower with hounds or strike with rebels, rise 
 And right himself by wrong of all men else, 
 Shaming his country ; saying, " I trust thee not ; 
 T dare not leave my cause upon thine hand, 
 
 p 
 
210 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 Mine honour in thy keeping lies not sure ; 
 
 I must not set the chance of my good name 
 
 On such a dicer's cast as this, that thou 
 
 Wilt haply, should it like thee, do me right." 
 
 No citizen were this man, nor unmeet 
 
 By right of birth and civic honour he 
 
 To call a man sovereign and lord : nor here 
 
 Lives one, I think, so vile a fool as this. 
 
 For me, my faith is in the state I serve 
 
 And those my fellow-servants, in whose hands 
 
 Rests now mine honour safe as theirs in mine. 
 
 Which trust should they redeem not, but give up 
 
 In mine their own fame forfeit, this were not 
 
 Venice. 
 
 Bertuccio. But if perchance the thing fall out ? 
 If some be peradventure less than thou 
 Venetian, equal- souled and just of eye, 
 Must our own hands not take our own right up ? 
 If these abuse their honour, and forbear, 
 For love's or fear's sake, justice ? 
 
 Faliero. If the sun 
 
 Leap out of heaven down on the Lido there 
 And quench him in Giudecca. [Bises. 
 
 Bertuccio. Sir, but then — 
 
 Faliero, I charge thee, speak hereof to me no more. 
 
211 
 
 MABY STUABT AT SOLWAY FIBTH. 
 
 (from the chronicle history of bothwell ; ACT V. SCENE XIII.) 
 
 Mary, about to embark for England, takes leave of her remain- 
 ing friends on the shore of Solway Firth. 
 
 May 16, 1568. 
 
 The Queen, Mary Beaton, Herries, George 
 Douglas, Page and Attendants. 
 
 Queen. Is not the tide yet full ? 
 
 Herries. Come half an hour, 
 
 And it will turn ; but ere that ebb begin, 
 Let me once more desire your pardon, though 
 I plead against your pleasure. Here you stand 
 Not yet dethroned from royal hope, not yet 
 Discrowned of your great name, whose natural power 
 Faith here forgets not, nor man's loyal love 
 Leaves off to honour ; but gone hence, your name 
 Is but a stranger's, subject to men's laws, 
 Alien and liable to control and chance 
 That are the lords of exile, and command 
 The days and nights of fugitives ; your hope 
 
 r2 
 
212 MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 
 
 Dies of strange breath or lives between strange lips, 
 
 And nor your will nor only God's beside 
 
 Is master of your peace of life, but theirs 
 
 Who being the lords of land that harbours you 
 
 Give your life leave to endure their empire : what 
 
 Can man do to you that a rebel may, 
 
 Which fear might deem as bad as banishment ? 
 
 Not death, not bonds are bitterer than his day 
 
 On whom the sun looks forth of a strange sky, 
 
 Whose thirst drinks water from strange hands, whose- lips 
 
 Eat stranger's bread for hunger ; who lies down 
 
 In a strange dark and sleeps not, and the light 
 
 Makes his eyes weep for their own morning, seen 
 
 On hills that helped to make him man, and fields 
 
 Whose flowers grew round his heart's root ; day like 
 
 night 
 Denies him, and the stars and airs of heaven 
 Are as their eyes and tongues who know him not. 
 Go not to banishment ; the world is great, 
 But each has but his own land in the world. 
 There is one bosom that gives each man milk, 
 One country like one mother : none sleeps well 
 Who lies between strange breasts : no lips drink life 
 That seek it from strange fosters. Go not hence ; 
 You shall find no man's faith or love on earth 
 Like theirs that here cleave to you. 
 
 Queen. I have found 
 
 And think to find no hate of men on earth 
 
MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 213 
 
 Like theirs that here beats on me. Hath this earth 
 Which sent me forth a five-years' child, and queen 
 Not even of mine own sorrows, to come back 
 A widowed girl out of the fair warm sun 
 Into the grave's mouth of a dolorous land 
 And life like death's own shadow, that began 
 With three days' darkness — hath this earth of yours 
 That made mine enemies, at whose iron breast 
 They drank the milk of treason— this hard nurse, 
 Whose rocks and storms have reared no violent thing 
 So monstrous as men's angers, whose wild minds 
 Were fed from hers and fashioned — this that bears 
 None but such sons as being my friends are weak, 
 And strong, being most my foes — hath it such grace 
 As I should cling to, or such virtue found 
 In some part of its evil as my heart 
 Should fear, being free, to part from ? Have I lived, 
 Since I came here in shadow and storm, three days 
 Out of the storm and shadow ? Have I seen 
 Such rest, such hope, such respite from despair, 
 As thralls and prisoners in strong darkness may 
 Before the light look on them ? Hath there come 
 One chance on me of comfort, one poor change, 
 One possible content that was not born 
 Of hope to break forth of these bonds, or made 
 Of trust in foreign fortune ? Here, I knew, 
 Could never faith nor love nor comfort breed 
 While I sat fast in prison ; ye, my friends, 
 
214 MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 
 
 The few men and the true men that were mine, 
 What were ye but what I was, and what help 
 Hath each love had of other, yours of mine, 
 Mine of your faith, but change of fight and flight, 
 Fear and vain hope and ruin ? Let me go, 
 Who have been but grief and danger to my friends ; 
 It may be I shall come with power again 
 To give back all their losses, and build up 
 What for my sake was broken. 
 
 Herries. Did I know it, 
 
 Yet were I loth to bid you part, and find 
 W T hat there you go to seek ; but knowing it not, 
 My heart sinks in me and my spirit is sick 
 To think how this fair foot once parted hence 
 May rest thus light on Scottish ground no more. 
 
 Queen. It shall tread heavier when it steps again 
 On earth which now rejects it ; I shall live 
 To bruise their heads who wounded me at heel, 
 When I shall set it on their necks. Come, friends, 
 I think the fisher's boat hath hoised up sail 
 That is to bear none but one friend and me : 
 Here must my true men and their queen take leave, 
 And each keep thought of other. My fair page, 
 Before the man's change darken on your chin 
 I may come back to ride with you at rein 
 To a more fortunate field : howe'er that be, 
 Ride you right on with better hap, and live 
 As true to one of merrier days than mine 
 
MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 215 
 
 As on that night to Mary, once your queen. 
 Douglas, I have not won a word of you ; 
 What would you do to have me tarry ? 
 
 George Douglas. Die. 
 
 Queen. I lack not love it seems then at my last. 
 That word was bitter ; yet I blame it not, 
 Who would not have sweet words upon my lips 
 Nor in mine ears at parting. I should go 
 And stand not here as on a stage to play 
 My last part out in Scotland ; I have been 
 Too long a queen too little. By my life, 
 I know not what should hold me here or turn 
 My foot back from the boat- side, save the thought 
 How at Lochleven I last set foot aboard, 
 And with what hope, and to what end ; and now 
 I pass not out of prison to my friends, 
 But out of all friends' help to banishment. 
 Farewell, Lord Hemes. 
 
 Herries. God go with my queen, 
 
 And bring her back with better friends than I. 
 
 Queen. Methinks the sand yet cleaving to my foot 
 Should not with no more words be shaken off, 
 Nor this my country from my parting eyes 
 Pass unsaluted ; for who knows what year 
 May see us greet hereafter ? Yet take heed, 
 Ye that have ears, and hear me ; and take note, 
 Ye that have eyes, and see with what last looks 
 Mine own take leave of Scotland ; seven years since 
 
216 MARY STUART AT SOL WAY FIRTH 
 
 Did I take leave of my fair land of France, 
 
 My joyous mother, mother of my joy, 
 
 Weeping ; and now with many a woe between 
 
 And space of seven years' darkness, I depart 
 
 From this distempered and unnatural earth 
 
 That casts me out unmothered, and go forth 
 
 On this grey sterile bitter gleaming sea 
 
 With neither tears nor laughter, but a heart 
 
 That from the softest temper of its blood 
 
 Is turned to fire and iron. If I live, 
 
 If God pluck not all hope out of my hand, 
 
 If aught of all mine prosper, I that go 
 
 Shall come back to men's ruin, as a flame 
 
 The wind bears down, that grows against the wind, 
 
 And grasps it with great hands, and wins its way, 
 
 And wins its will, and triumphs ; so shall I 
 
 Let loose the fire of all my heart to feed 
 
 On these that would have quenched it. I will make 
 
 From sea to sea one furnace of the land 
 
 Whereon the wind of war shall beat its wings 
 
 Till they wax faint with hopeless hope of rest, 
 
 And with one rain of men's rebellious blood 
 
 Extinguish the red embers. I will leave 
 
 No living soul of their blaspheming faith 
 
 Who war with monarchs ; God shall see me reign 
 
 As he shall reign beside me, and his foes 
 
 Lie at my foot with mine ; kingdoms and kings 
 
 Shall from my heart take spirit, and at my soul 
 
MARY STUART AT SOLWAY FIRTH 217 
 
 Their souls be kindled to devour for prey 
 The people that would make its prey of them 
 And leave God's altar stripped of sacrament 
 As all kings' heads of sovereignty, and make 
 Bare as their thrones his temples ; I will set 
 Those old things of his holiness on high 
 That are brought low, and break beneath my feet 
 These new things of men's fashion ; I will sit 
 And see tears flow from eyes that saw me weep 
 And dust and ashes and the shadow of death 
 Cast from the block beneath the axe that falls 
 On heads that saw me humbled ; I will do it, 
 Or bow mine own down to no royal end 
 And give my blood for theirs if God's will be, 
 But come back never as I now go forth 
 With but the hate of men to track my way 
 And not the face of any friend alive. 
 Mary Beaton. But I will never leave you till you die. 
 

 218 
 
 MABY STUABT AT CHABTLEY. 
 
 (FROM THE TEAGEDY OF MARY STUART ; ACT I. SCENE II.) 
 
 Mary, while awaiting the result of Babington's conspiracy 
 against the life of Queen Elizabeth, anticipates at once the pro- 
 mised pleasure of a deer-hunt in Tixall Park and the successful 
 issue of the last design on behalf of her cause. 
 
 August 14, 1586. 
 
 Maey Stuaet and Mart Beaton. 
 
 Mary Stuart. We shall not need keep house for fear 
 to-day ; 
 The skies are fair and hot ; the wind sits well 
 For hound and horn to chime with. I will go. 
 
 Mary Beaton. How far from this to Tixall ? 
 
 Mary Stuart. Nine or ten 
 
 Or what miles more I care not ; we shall find 
 Fair field and goodly quarry, or he lies, 
 The gospeller that bade us to the sport, 
 Protesting yesternight the shire had none 
 To shame Sir Walter Aston's. God be praised, 
 
MARY STUART AT C HARTLEY 219 
 
 I take such pleasure yet to back my steed 
 And bear my crossbow for a deer's death well, 
 I am almost half content — and yet I lie — 
 To ride no harder nor more dangerous heat 
 And hunt no beast of game less gallant. 
 
 Mary Beaton. Nay, 
 
 You grew long since more patient. 
 
 Mary Stuart. Ah, God help ! 
 
 What should I do but learn the word of him 
 These years and years, the last word learnt but one, 
 That ever I loved least of all sad. words ? 
 The last is death for any soul to learn, 
 The last save death is patience. 
 
 Mary Beaton. Time enough 
 
 We have had ere death of life to learn it in 
 Since you rode last on wilder ways than theirs 
 That drive the dun deer to his death. 
 
 Mary Stuart. Eighteen — 
 
 How many more years yet shall God mete out 
 For thee and me to wait upon their will 
 And hope or hope not, watch or sleep, and dream 
 Awake or sleeping ? surely fewer, I think, 
 Than half these years that all have less of life 
 Than one of those more fleet that flew before. 
 I am yet some ten years younger than this queen, 
 Some nine or ten ; but if I die this year 
 And she some score years longer than I think 
 Be royal-titled, in one year of mine 
 

 220 MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY 
 
 I shall have lived the longer life, and die 
 The fuller-fortuned woman. 
 
 Mary Beaton. Have you hope 
 
 The chase to-day may serve our further ends 
 Than to renew your spirit and bid time speed ? 
 
 Mary Stuart. I see not but I may ; the hour is full 
 Which I was bidden expect of them to bear 
 More fruit than grows of promise ; Babington 
 Should tarry now not long ; from France our friends - 
 Lift up their heads to usward, and await 
 What comfort may confirm them from our part 
 Who sent us comfort ; Ballard's secret tongue 
 Has kindled England, striking from men's hearts 
 As from a flint the fire that slept, and made 
 Their dark dumb thoughts and dim disfigured hopes 
 Take form from his and feature, aim and strength, 
 Speech and desire toward action ; all the shires 
 Wherein the force lies hidden of our faith 
 Are stirred and set on edge of present deed 
 And hope more imminent now of help to come 
 And work to do than ever ; not this time 
 We hang on trust in succour that comes short 
 By Philip's fault from Austrian John, whose death 
 Put widow's weeds on mine unwedded hope, 
 Late trothplight to his enterprise in vain 
 That was to set me free, but might not seal 
 The faith it pledged, nor on the hand of hope 
 
MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY • 221 
 
 Make fast the ring that weds desire with deed 
 
 And promise with performance ; Parma stands 
 
 More fast now for us in his uncle's stead, 
 
 Albeit the lesser warrior, yet in place 
 
 More like to avail us, and in happier time 
 
 To do like service ; for my cousin of Guise, 
 
 His hand and league hold fast our kinsman king, 
 
 If not to bend and shape him for our use, 
 
 Yet so to govern as he may not thwart 
 
 Our forward undertaking till its force 
 
 Discharge itself on England : from no side 
 
 I see the shade of any fear to fail 
 
 As those before so baffled ; heart and hand, 
 
 Our hope is armed with trust more strong than steel 
 
 And spirit to strike more helpful than a sword 
 
 In hands that lack the spirit ; and here to-day 
 
 It may be I shall look this hope in the eyes 
 
 And see her face transfigured. God is good ; 
 
 He will not fail his faith for ever. 0, 
 
 That I were now in saddle ! Yet an hour, 
 
 And I shall be as young again as May 
 
 Whose life was come to August ; like this year, 
 
 1 had grown past midway of my life, and sat 
 
 Heartsick of summer ; but new-mounted now 
 
 I shall ride right through shine and shade of spring 
 
 "With heart and habit of a bride, and bear 
 
 A brow more bright than fortune. Truth it is, 
 
 Those words of bride and May should on my tongue 
 
222 MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY 
 
 Sound now not merry, ring no joy-bells out 
 
 In ears of hope or memory ; not for me 
 
 Have they been joyous words ; but this fair day 
 
 All sounds that ring delight in fortunate ears 
 
 And words that make men thankful, even to me 
 
 Seem thankworthy for joy they have given me not 
 
 And hope which now they should not. 
 
 Mary Beaton. Nay, who knows ? 
 
 The less they have given of joy, the more they may ; 
 And they who have had their happiness before 
 Have hope not in the future ; time o'erpast 
 And time to be have several ends, nor wear 
 One forward face and backward. 
 
 Mary Stuart. God, I pray, 
 
 Turn thy good words to gospel, and make truth 
 Of their kind presage ! but our Scotswomen 
 Would say, to be so joyous as I am, 
 Though I had cause, as surely cause I have, 
 Were no good warrant of good hope for me. 
 I never took such comfort of my trust 
 In Norfolk or Northumberland, nor looked 
 For such good end as now of all my fears 
 From all devices past of policy 
 To join my name with my misnatured son's 
 In handfast pledge with England's, ere my foes 
 His counsellors had flawed his craven faith 
 And moved my natural blood to cast me off 
 Who bore him in my body, to come forth 
 
MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY 223 
 
 Less childlike than a changeling. But not long 
 Shall they find means by him to work their will, 
 Nor he bear head against me ; hope was his 
 To reign forsooth without my fellowship. 
 And he that with me would not shall not now 
 Without or with me wield not or divide 
 Or part or all of empire. 
 
 Mary Beaton. Dear my queen, 
 
 Vex not your mood with sudden change of thoughts ; 
 Your mind but now was merrier than the sun 
 Half rid by this through morning : we by noon 
 Should blithely mount and meet him. 
 
 Mary Stuart. So I said. 
 
 My spirit is fallen again from that glad strength 
 Which even but now arrayed it ; yet what cause 
 Should dull the dancing measure in my blood 
 For doubt or wrath, I know not. Being once forth, 
 My heart again will quicken. [S 
 
 And ye maun braid your yellow hair 
 
 And busk ye like a bride ; 
 Wi' sevenscore men to bring ye hame, 
 
 And ae true love beside ; 
 Between the birk and the green rowan 
 
 Fu' blithely shall ye ride. 
 
 ye maun braid my yellow hair, 
 
 But braid it like nae bride ; 
 And I maun gang my ways, mither, 
 
 Wi' nae true love beside ; 
 Between the kirk and the kirkyard 
 
 Fu' sadly shall I ride. 
 
224 MARY STUART AT CHARTLEY 
 
 How long since, 
 How long since was it last I heard or sang 
 Such light lost ends of old faint rhyme worn thin 
 With use of country songsters ? When we twain 
 Were maidens but some twice a span's length high, 
 Thou hadst the happier memory to hold rhyme, 
 But not for songs the merrier. 
 
 Mary Beaton. This was one 
 
 That I would sing after my nurse, I think, 
 And weep upon in France at six years old 
 To think of Scotland. 
 
 Mary Stuart. Would I weep for that, 
 
 Woman or child, I have had now years enough 
 To weep in ; thou wast never French in heart, 
 Serving the queen of France. Poor queen that was, 
 Poor boy that played her bridegroom ! now they seem 
 In these mine eyes that were her eyes as far 
 Beyond the reach and range of oldworld time 
 As their first fathers' graves. 
 
225 
 
 ADIEUX A MABIE STUABT. 
 
 i. 
 
 Queen, for whose house my fathers fought 
 With hopes that rose and fell, 
 
 Bed star of boyhood's fiery thought, 
 Farewell. 
 
 They gave their lives, and I, my queen, 
 
 Have given you of my life, 
 Seeing your brave star burn high between 
 
 Men's strife. 
 
 The strife that lightened round their spears 
 Long since fell still : so long 
 
 Hardly may hope to last in years 
 My song. 
 
 But still through strife of time and thought 
 
 Your light on me too fell : 
 Queen, in whose name we sang or fought, 
 
 Farewell. 
 
 Q 
 
226 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 
 
 II. 
 
 There beats no heart on either border 
 "Wherethrough the north blasts blow 
 
 But keeps your memory as a warder 
 His beacon-fire aglow. 
 
 Long since it fired with love and wonder 
 
 Mine, for whose April age 
 Blithe midsummer made banquet under 
 
 The shade of Hermitage. 
 
 Soft sang the burn's blithe notes, that gather 
 
 Strength to ring true : 
 And air and trees and sun and heather 
 
 Eemembered you. 
 
 Old border ghosts of fight or fairy 
 
 Or love or teen, 
 These they forgot, remembering Mary 
 
 The Queen. 
 
 in. 
 
 Queen once of Scots and ever of ours 
 Whose sires brought forth for you 
 
 Their lives to strew your way like flowers. 
 Adieu. 
 
AD1EUX 1 MARIE STUART 227 
 
 Dead is full many a dead man's name 
 
 Who died for you this long 
 Time past : shall this too fare the same, 
 
 My song ? 
 
 But surely, though it die or live, 
 
 Your face was worth 
 All that a man may think to give 
 
 On earth. 
 
 No darkness cast of years between 
 
 Can darken you : 
 Man's love will never bid my queen 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Love hangs like light about your name 
 As music round the shell : 
 
 No heart can take of you a tame 
 Farewell. 
 
 Yet, when your very face was seen, 
 111 gifts were yours for giving : 
 
 Love gat strange guerdons of my queen 
 When living. 
 
ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 
 
 diamond heart unflawed and clear, 
 The whole world's crowning jewel ! 
 
 Was ever heart so deadly dear 
 So cruel ? 
 
 Yet none for yon of all that bled 
 
 Grudged once one drop that fell : 
 
 Not one to life reluctant said 
 Farewell. 
 
 v. 
 
 Strange love they have given you, love disloyal, 
 Who mock with praise your name, 
 
 To leave a head so rare and royal 
 Too low for praise or blame. 
 
 You could not love nor hate, they tell us, 
 
 You had nor sense nor sting : 
 In God's name, then, what plague befell us 
 
 To fight for such a thing ? 
 
 " Some faults the gods will give," to fetter 
 
 Man's highest intent : 
 But surely you were something better 
 
 Than innocent ! 
 
ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 229 
 
 No maid that strays with steps unwary- 
 Through snares unseen, 
 
 But one to live and die for ; Mary, 
 The Queen. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Forgive them all their praise, who blot 
 Your fame with praise of you : 
 
 Then love may say, and falter not, 
 Adieu. 
 
 Yet some you hardly would forgive 
 Who did you much less wrong 
 
 Once : but resentment should not live 
 Too long. 
 
 They never saw your lip's bright bow, 
 
 Your swordbright eyes, 
 The bluest of heavenly things below 
 
 The skies. 
 
 Clear eyes that love's self finds most like 
 
 A swordblade's blue, 
 A swordblade's ever keen to strike, 
 
 Adieu. 
 
230 ADIEUX A MARIE STUART 
 
 VII. 
 
 Though all things breathe or sound of fight 
 That yet make up your spell, 
 
 To bid you were to bid the light 
 Farewell. 
 
 Farewell the song says only, being 
 
 A star whose race is run : 
 Farewell the soul says never, seeing 
 
 The sun. 
 
 Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears, 
 
 The song must say but so 
 That took your praise up twenty years 
 
 Ago. 
 
 More bright than stars or moons that vary, 
 Sun kindling heaven and hell, 
 
 Here, after all these years, Queen Mary, 
 Farewell. 
 
 Spottiswoode 60 Co. Printers, New-street Square, Loudon. 
 
This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the 
 last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be 
 renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 due E RET 
 
 DATE RFT 
 DUE 
 
 APR 2 2 1975 
 
 * . . 
 
 
 
 ClI~ **> p <\r\i 
 
 
 
 
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