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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10328-0.txt b/10328-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..140b348 --- /dev/null +++ b/10328-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4632 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10328 *** + +POEMS + +BY + +WALTER R. CASSELS + + + +LONDON + +1856 + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +MABEL +HEBE +SPRING +THE BITTERN +GONE +BEATRICE DI TENDA +SERENADE +THE EAGLE +WHITHER? +THE MORNING STAR +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS +THE DARK RIVER +WYTHAM WOODS +THE STAR IN THE EAST +UNDER THE SEA +WIND +A CHALLENGE +AT PARTING +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD +DE PROFUNDIS +THE MOTHER +SONNET--DATUR HORA QUIETI +SEA MARGINS +SONG--"LOVE TOOK ME SOFTLY BY THE HAND" +THE BELL +LLEWELLYN +A SHELL +THE RAVEN +SONNETS ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS +MEMNON +A CONCEIT +THE LAND'S END +THE OLDEN TIME +FATHER AND SON +ORION +THE GOLDEN WATER +YEARS AGO +VULCAN +SONG--"THE DAYS ARE PAST" +GUY OF WARWICK +AT EVENTIDE +A DIRGE +TO MY DREAM-LOVE +A NIGHT SCENE +SONNET--"O CLOUD SO GOLDEN" +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER +ORPHEUS +THE SCULPTOR + + + + + +M A B E L, +A Sketch. + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + ORAN, _a Speculative Philosopher._ + MABEL, _his Wife._ + HER FATHER. + MAURICE, } + ROGER, } _her brothers._ + + + +MABEL. + +SCENE I--_A Study. Books, pictures, and sculpture +about the room, interspersed with chemical and other +instruments, globes, &c.; a singular blending of science +with art, indicating a delicate and speculative organization +in the arranger_. + + + ORAN, MAURICE, _and_ ROGER. + + ORAN. + +Well, well! and so ye deem I love her not, +Ye and the world that love so passing well?-- +That still I trifle with her bright young life, +As the wind plays with some frail water-bell, +Wafting it wantonly about the sky, +Till at some harsher breath it breaks and dies? + + MAURICE. + +Nay, not thus far would our reflections go. +Friendship paints not with the foul brush of Conscience! +But thou, a man of dark and mystic aims, +Tracking out Science through forbidden ways, +Leaving the light and trodden paths to grope +'Mid fearful speculations and wild dreams, +May'st hunt thy Will-o'-the-wisp until thou lead'st +Our sister, all unwitting, to her death. + + ROGER. + +That shalt thou answer unto us. Thy life +Shall be to her life like the sun and shade, +Lost in one setting. + + ORAN. + + Ay! thou sayest well-- +Thou sayest well. How oft a random shaft +Striketh King Truth betwixt the armour-joints!-- +One life, one sun, one setting for us both. + +Which way, then, tend your fears? What certain aim +Have all these strokes you level at my ways? + + ROGER. + +We say that you, against all light received, +Against all laws of prudence and of love, +Practise dark magic on our sister's soul-- +That by strange motions, incantations, spells, +So work you on her spirit that strange sleep, +Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently +Steals o'er her fragile body, dulls her sense, +And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace; +That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world, +She lies till thou again unwind her chain, +And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth. +Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man! +Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought, +And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps. + + MAURICE. + +Ay! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd +The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now, +Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health +To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad? +Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses, +Glow now with faint exotic loveliness, +Not native to this harsh and gusty earth; +And from her large dark eyes there seems to gaze +Some angel with mute, melancholy looks, +As from a casement at this jarring world. + + ORAN. + +Ha! then you too have seen it; it is not, +O Heaven!--is not delusion, this fond dream, +But even now it works, works bliss for her. +Proceed, Sir ... you were saying ... Sir, I list ... +That in her eyes you saw angelic fire, +Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth, +Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin +To earth's clay-moulded fabrics--such, perchance, +As entering heaven, might have left its dust +At the bright folding portals, sandal-like, +And thence, repassing in seraphic trance, +Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate! + + ROGER. + +You glory in her weakness! 'Tis too much-- +Rash man, beware, a bitter end will come. + + MAURICE. + +I fain would think that study hath o'erwrought +Your heated brain to this short fever fit, +That soon may pass and leave your vision clear. +In truth, I note strange changes in your mien-- +A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness, +Rapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind +Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings: +Your cheeks are pale, and all your nervous frame +Thrills 'neath some strange enthusiastic touch. +Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again, +As in those days gone by, the country air, +The sweet, calm country air, where perfume floats +Like love that finds no heart so godlike large +Can clasp it wholly in its one embrace, +But overflows creation with its bliss. +Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness, +And cleanse your brain of these pernicious dreams. + + ORAN. + +This madness! I bethink me of the past, +Of all the great and noble who have toil'd +Amid the deep dark mines of burning thought, +Wearing out life to quarry forth the Truth; +Of all the seers and watchers, early and late +Waiting with eager blood-hot eyes the light +Rising afar in some untrodden East, +Full of divine and precious influence, +Calling, like Mezzuin from his minaret, +The thankless world to worship and be glad; +Of all the patient thinkers of the earth +Who talk'd with Wisdom like familiar friends, +Until their voices unaccustom'd grew, +And men stared blankly at them as they pass'd: +I do bethink me of them all, and know +How each walk'd through his labyrinth of scorn, +And was accounted mad before all men. +But patience!--Winter bears within its breast +The nascent seeds of golden harvest-time. + +This only shall I tell you of my ways-- +Straying, now here, now there, 'mid science' wealth, +I have discover'd a vast hidden power-- +A power that perfected shall surely work +Great revolution in all human laws,-- +Where stop its courses I as yet know not; +'Tis to me like the sun, that all the day +Shines godlike in my vision, and, at night, +Though darkness hide its brightness, still, I feel, +Shines on in glory over other spheres; +It is a power beneficent and good, +That grants to spirit infinite control +Over all matter, and that frees the soul +From its flesh shackles, and its sensuous means. +What else its influences, or for health, +For happiness, or blessing, I say not-- +Save that such glimpses of vast powers unknown +Dawn on my wondering mind, that like a man +Standing upon some giddy pinnacle, +With a whole world seen faint and small below, +I close mine eyes for very fear and joy. +To her, my Mabel, do I bear in love +Some first-fruits of my finding--make her rich, +That, gazing through her eyes, I may behold +How sweet is heaven, how dear is happiness. +This is the sum of that I work on her; +Then, though I thank you for your good intent, +Leave me untroubled to my life of thought, +Leave her all trustful in the arms of love. + + ROGER. + +You love her not, false man! your heart and soul +Are steep'd in science till not e'en the heel, +Achilles-like, is vulnerable left. +Ay! wear thus feeling's semblance as you will, +Pale visionary! no more shall I pause, +But with strong hand arrest your mad career! +Soon we return arm'd with a father's power, +To snatch our sister from your fearful arts. + + MAURICE. + +Oh! if you love her, Sir, as once you did-- +If yet upon the dial of your life +Her sun mark out the short sweet hours of joy, +And all too swiftly on the shadows glide-- +If yet you prize the loving heart you hold, +From this most mad delusion waken up, +That blindly blights her whom it seeks to bless; +Cease your Utopian and unsafe essays, +And rather turn your studious care to call +The fading roses back into her cheeks, +And shed health's gladness on her feeble frame; +Reflect whilst yet you may, lest late Remorse +Stalk, ghost-like, through the chambers of your soul, +Haunting their gloomy void for evermore. + + [_Exeunt Maurice and Roger_. + + + +SCENE II.--_The Same_. + + + ORAN. + + + ORAN. + +Not love her! O my God! thou knowest me-- +Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon +That searches through the being of the world-- +Thou setting life against thy glory light, +As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun, +Making its frame as nothing in the blaze! + +Lo! my heart was like a chaotic world, +Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time. +Man there was not in all its desert bounds, +But hoary ruins of past wondrous things, +Old unbeliefs, fierce doubts, unsightly dreams, +That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life, +Wearily stretch'd their writhing shapes to die; +Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul, +Like God's own Spirit over earth's void waters, +And there arose order and life through all. +She was my sun, set high to rule the day, +And make my world all bright and beautiful; +She was my moon, amid the stilly night +Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles, +And stealing softly through my anxious dreams, +A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day; +She was my summer, clothing all my life +With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy. + + [_A pause_. + +Not love her! 'Tis as yesterday the time +When first my love stole fainting to her ear, +In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire. +'Twas evening, and above the weary land +Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush; +The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat, +And the ripe year, with harvest promise full, +Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas, +Like one who through long hours of toil at last +Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace +Flings him along the meadows to repose; +Below, the bells of even faintly chimed, +And sent their hymnal music up the breeze +To where I stood, half-praying, by her side. +Then all my words and thoughts that came and went, +Waving about the secret of my love, +Like billows plashing on a silent shore, +All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart, +And broke the banks of silence; then my love +Sank through her liquid eyes to read her soul, +Like diver that through waving water-floods +Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below, +And there found life--found joy for evermore: +It is as yesterday that time to me,-- +Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life +With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride, +And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms, +That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone, +Still tarries smiling for a last embrace, +And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way: +It is as yesterday--my love the same-- +The love that led me through all heavy tasks, +All lonely watchings by the midnight lamp, +To win the fame that still might shine on her; +And e'en--how dear the thought!--this wondrous power, +This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me, +Thus from my love takes colouring and aim! +Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word-- +The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not. + + [_A pause_. + +It cannot be--this aim so deeply--weigh'd, +So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail. +O wondrous power! great mystery of life! +Reserved for me of all the sons of men; +Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven +For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands, +And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds +More blessed still that into her sweet cup +First may I pour the clearest of the wine-- +For her--for her--ah, yes! for her supreme, +I struggle onward through this blinding light, +E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand, +Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul, +Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven. +Yet once again let me the plan review, +Searching within my soul of souls each part, +That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus +By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.-- + + [_A long pause_. + +Yes! it is so--this deep magnetic sleep, +That from my being passes upon her, +Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall, +But setteth free the soul. What real need +Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues, +Through which the soul looks feebly on the world? +This power then opes the prison door awhile, +And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth. +This know I--without eyes the spirit sees, +Gains instant cognizance of hidden things, +And counts all space for nothing; knowledge comes +Upon it with the falling of the flesh, +So that there is no thing in earth or heaven +But to the unhoused spirit native is-- +The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel! +Body, then, is the prison-house of soul, +And freedom is its highest happiness, +Its heaven, its primal being full of joy. +This power that holdeth thus the keys of life, +Can then at will give moments of release, +Which to the soul are as the water-brooks +That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch'd waste: +These, oft repeated, must at length destroy +The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will +A freer issue to the practised soul-- +At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss, +Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time. +Yes! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul +Rise to its sister angels heavenward still; +And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose, +Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free. +Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be +A prison, but a meetest dwelling-place, +Full of all infinite delights, and dear +As is its nest to the heaven-soaring lark, +That yearns down, singing, to it from the sky. +These men, did they not see it in thine eyes, +Amazed and fearful at the dazzling sight, +As some rude passer gazing up aloft +Sees from some casement, unawares, a face +That makes his great rough heart on sudden rock +With wonder and with worship--in her frame +Did they not see the mortal waxing faint, +The immortal fusing it with heavenly fire? +Ay! the charm works, and thou, my life, my love, +Reapest the first-fruits of my long, long toil. + + + +SCENE III.--_A Boudoir. Flowers about it, in beautifully +shaped Vases. A Greenhouse at one end. The +window-panes delicately tinted, and hung with light +fleecy draperies_. MABEL _working, and singing in a +low voice_. + + + MABEL (_singing_). + +At night when stars shine bright and clear, + The soft winds on the casements blow, + And round the chamber rustle low, +Like one unseen, whose voice we hear, + On tiptoe stealing to and fro-- + +At night when clouds are dark and drear, + They moan about the lattice sore, + And murmur sighs for evermore, +That fill us with a chilly fear, + Oft glancing at the well-barr'd door-- + +At night, in moonlight or in gloom, + They wander round the drooping thatch, + Like some poor exile thence to catch +Fond glimpses of each well-loved room, + And sigh beside the unraised latch-- + +O unseen Wind! art thou alone, + Thus breathing round the sleeping land? + Or roams with thee a spirit band, +Blending sad voices with thine own,-- +Voices that once with cheerful tone + Made music round the sleeping land? + + ORAN (_from the Greenhouse, unperceived_). + +Ah! her dear voice. How all my nature thrills, +My heart, my brain, beneath the mellow sound, +Like some great dome with holy music fill'd! +She is the lark, above my listening soul +Hovering still with carols from Heaven's gate. +She is the perfumed breeze, that evermore +Sweeps music from the Aeolian strings of life. +She is the sea, that fills with sweetest sound +The yearning earth that folds it in its arms. +Not love her--Ah! dear heart, how utterly! + + [_A pause_. + +What if amid these spirit wanderings, +This so mysterious power can grant at will,-- +What if the angels, smitten with her grace, +Woo'd her away for ever from my heart? +The dove came twice again unto the ark, +With messages of peace, and hope, and joy, +But the third time return'd not. She's my dove-- +Oh! wing'd she ever from my longing heart, +The waters of my life would quick subside, +And leave me stranded on the shoals of Time. +What if God saw her hovering aloft, +And smiled her in amongst his cherubim? +What if the draught of bliss should, Lethe-like, +Blot me for ever from her memory, +So that she sought me never, never more? +Oblivion! take again this fearful power-- +No more shall Fate be tempted with my wealth, +Lest covetous it rob me of my all. + + [_A pause_. + +And yet, these are but dreams, poor selfish fears, +That scum-like float and dim Love's limpid tide. +Shall I thus cage my bird from liberty, +And let it beat its life out on the bars, +Lest some dear bliss detain it in the heavens? +Shall I spill rashly forth this wine of joy, +Because for me within the crystal cup +Some dregs may haply rest when she has drunk? +Ah, no! for her alone shall I take thought. +The first pure sacrifice of Love is self! +There is no peril. God that sends the power +Will send the guardian angel to direct. +I work for her--Heaven speed the work of love. + + [_Enters the room_. + + MABEL. + +I waited for thee, love--'tis past the hour, +And on my dial slumbers Time in shade +When thou comest not to sun me. + + ORAN. + + I but stood +There on the threshold, following thy voice +Away, away through mazy lengths of dreams. +Music--low music from the lips we love, +Is the true siren that still lures the soul +From cares of earth to the Enchanted Isles. + + MABEL. + +Methinks that thou art sad to-day, my husband. +Let me share with thee pain as well as joy; +It is the sweetest right that love can claim. +We give our joys to strangers, but our grief +Sighs itself only forth for those we love. +We hang our sorrows on the loved one's ear, +Like jewell'd pendents for a bridal feast. + + ORAN. + +Tell me, my Mabel, if within this sleep, +To which mine art oft leads thee, there should come +Some angel bright with Heaven's reflected light, +Wooing thee upward with the songs of bliss,-- +Tell me, my Mabel, wouldst thou freely go, +Leaving this fair earth-vesture only here, +Leaving me lornly gazing on the sky, +Blotting its sun out with my blinding tears? + + MABEL. + +There is no angel but the angel Death +Could sever me from thee who art all my life! +What Heaven is there but that which Love creates? +What songs of Bliss, save those by Love intoned? +Ah! thou to me art as the sun to Day, +That dies out with its setting utterly-- +Thou art the ever-flowing crystal spring, +That keeps the fountain of my being full-- +Thou art the heart that beats with measured pulse +The joyous moments of my flowing life-- +Leave thee? How canst thou wrong me with the thought? + + ORAN. + +Dear Mabel!--Yet to-day thy brothers came, +Taxing me harshly, and in cruel terms, +With practising against thy precious life. + + MABEL. + +Oh, Heaven! + + ORAN. + +They dread these trances, whose dim fame +Hath floated on the ignorant air to them. +They deem this priceless power, new-fall'n on me, +And treasured for thy sake, my best beloved, +A most pernicious art, that may, perchance, +Work evil upon thee; say, dost thou fear? +My Mabel, hast thou faith and trust in me? +Shall I proceed, or break this magic wand, +Wherewith they deem that I am dower'd withal? + + MABEL. + +I trust in thee, my love, with perfect faith-- +Am I not as the floating gossamer, +Steering through ether on thy guiding breath? +Am I not as the clay within thy hand, +Taking the shape and image of thy thought? +Heed not these idle tongues, that launch their doubts +In erring love against thy watchful care. +That which thou doest I accept with joy; +I wait for thee as waits a full-sail'd bark +The coming breeze to waft it o'er the sea. + + ORAN. + +Fear not! I do well think no peril lies +Within this power, but virtue of rare worth, +Else nevermore its wand had waved o'er thee.-- +Tell me, dost bring no memory back to Earth +Of all these glorious wanderings above? +No certain visions of the hidden things +Thou seest in that far mystic spirit-land? + + MABEL. + +Nay! it must be as thou dost tell me oft, +The soul doth lose its secrets at Earth's gate, +And all the blinding glories it hath known +Shed but their mystic influence over life. +Therefore, it may be, 'tis I nought retain +Of that which passeth in these hours of trance. + + ORAN. + +Yet strive once more to grasp the fleeting dreams, +Else shall I doubt that which I fondly hope.-- +Sleep, love, and let thy spirit bask awhile +In Heaven's own sunshine;--yet forget not me! + + [_Makes passes over her, which shortly sink + her into a state of trance._ + +'Tis done! she's free! and now this lovely frame +Lies tenantless, a casket whose pure gems +Now sparkle 'mid the opal lights of Heaven. +This earth seems very lone and cold to me +Now she is absent, though a little space! +My heart goes restless wandering around, +Seeking her through old haunts and vacant nooks, +Like one who, waking from some troubled dream, +Findeth his love soft stolen from his side, +And straightway seeketh in a dim amaze +All through the moonlight for her straying feet. + + [_A pause._ + +Where art thou, O my dove! about the sky? +Ruffling thy breast across what honey breeze? +Flashing white pinions 'gainst the golden sun, +That fain would nest thee on his ardent breast? +Art thou soft floating through the joys of Heaven, +With Earth far, far beneath thee, like a star +Struggling up through the tremulous sea of light, +That sucks its life down from the eye of day? +About the gate of Heaven there floats my dove, +Fann'd by the breath of melodies divine; +Opes there no casement soft to take her in, +And lay her in the bosom of delight? +O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven! +Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide, +On shining pinions to thine own soft nest? + + [_A pause_. + +O wonderful! Thou mansion tenantless, +Unswept by memory, untrod by thought, +Where all lies tranced in motionless repose; +No whisper stirring round the silent place, +No foot of guest across the startled halls, +No rustling robes about the corridors, +No voices floating on the waveless air, +No laughters, no sweet songs like angel dreams +On silver wings among the archèd domes,-- +No swans upon the mere--no golden prow, +Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze,-- +No flapping sail before the idle wind,-- +No music pulsing out its great wild heart +In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through,-- +No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades, +In dreams that open wide the Eden gate, +And waft them past the guardian Seraphim. +Sleep over all the Present and the Past-- +The Future standing idle at the gate, +Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste +Bearing great tidings to some palace porch, +Findeth the place deserted. + + [_A noise without; enter in haste Father, + Maurice and Roger._ + +How now?--Friends, you are welcome! + + FATHER. + + Where's my child, +That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man? + + ORAN. + +Sir, you are over hasty in your words-- +Your child is here.-- + + [_Points to Mabel, who still lies entranced._ + + FATHER. + +Mabel! wake, Mabel--O my God! she's dead! + + MAURICE. + +How!--Dead! + + ROGER. + + Ay, murder'd! + + FATHER. + + O! my child! my child! + + ORAN. + +Peace! she is well--Sleep folds her in his arms, +And each upheaving of his drowsy breast +Is like a billow upon pleasure's sea, +Wafting her on to far Hesperides. + + FATHER. + +This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now, +Else would she waken at my anxious cry; +'Tis death-sleep, wretched man. + + MAURICE. + + Let's bear her hence. + + ROGER. + +Nay! let him now unwind his magic spells, +Or fall our vengeance on his guilty head. + + ORAN. + +Dismiss your fears, and cease your threats. Old man, +Soon shall I prove how much you wrong my love; +Thus do I call the spirit home again, +And wave the slumber backward from her eyes. + + [_Makes passes to awaken her, but without + effect after long persistence_. + + FATHER. + +Impostor! would you mock e'en Death itself, +Calling it sleep!--You see, Death mocks you back. + + MAURICE. + +In vain! no further seek to blind our fears. + + ORAN. + +'Tis strange!... stand back, Sirs ... 'tis your influence +Hath neutralized my power--stand off, I say! + + [_Continuing the passes in great agitation_. + + ROGER. + +By Heaven!--It is too much--Let fall the mask! +O villain! you have done your worst at last, +And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land; +But vengeance swift shall follow on your track. + + ORAN. + +Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here; +This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words-- +If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd. + + [_A silence--continuing the passes_. + +O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art! +Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,-- +Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears! +Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns; +A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues +Make morning on her downy cheek again: +Back ... back--my anguish shall unwind the charm! + + [_A silence_. + + FATHER. + +Sir, I acquit you--pity you--perceive +You loved her, and have err'd against yourself; +But cease these struggles that but mock us now, +They nought avail--my child is dead!... + + ORAN. + + Mabel! Mabel! + + + + + +HEBE. + + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Strength! +Strength for the struggle through good and ill; +Through good--that the soul may be upright still, +Unspoil'd by riches, unswerving in will, +To walk by the light of unvarnish'd truth, +Up the flower-border'd path of youth;-- +Through ill--that the soul may stoutly hold +Its faith, its freedom through hunger and cold, +Steadfast and pure as the true men of old. +Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom, +Strength for the conflict, strength for the tomb; +Let not the heart feel a craven fear-- +Draw from the fountain deep and clear; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Strength! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What--Pour in Truth! +Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul, +Like sleep's drowsy shadows backward roll, +And show the spirit its radiant goal, +That nought may blind it all its days, +Or tempt it down earth's crooked ways; +Drink! till the soul in the eastern skies +Behold the glorious star arise, +That guides its steps to the promised prize; +Drink! till the strong elixir fire +Each aim of the being with pure desire, +Nerve the courage to dare the world, +Though a thousand scoffers their arrows hurl'd; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Truth! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Love! +To quench the thirst of the longing heart, +Heal all its sorrows with wondrous art, +And freshness and joy to its hopes impart; +To make the blossoms of life expand, +And shed their sweetness on every hand; +To melt the frost of each sullen mood, +Cement the bond of true brotherhood, +Subdue the evil of Time with good, +And join the links which death hath riven +Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven, +Raising the soul above the sky +On wings of Immortality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Love! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Hope! +The soul looks out through the coming years, +Blinded by doubts, and blinded by tears, +Sear'd with the iron of tyrant fears:-- +Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky? +Can the heart reach it before it die? +The path is weary, the desert wide, +And Sorrow stalks by the pilgrim's side-- +Oh for a draught of Hope's crystal tide +To cheer the parch'd and fainting one, +Until his toilsome race be run, +And the bright mirage fall from the sky, +Displaced by a sweet reality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Hope! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Faith! +What is Life's fabric, so nobly plann'd, +Its stately dome, and its ramparts grand, +If their foundation rest on the sand, +Ready to shift with Time's ebbing stream, +And melt away like a gorgeous dream? +God! let us trust Thee in very sooth, +Feel that the visions, the dreams of youth, +Its glorious hopes are all based on Truth;-- +Thus shall the purpose of Life grow clear; +Love shall be freed from the bondage of fear; +And the soul calmly await the morrow +Untroubled by visions of coming sorrow. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Faith! + + + + + +SPRING. + + +On, like a giant, stalketh the strong Wind, + Wrapping the clouds about him, close and dark, +Rifting Creation's soul, for rage is blind,-- + No pity hath he for the Earth all stark, +Shivering beneath the loose and drifting snow, +A scanty shroud to hide the dead below. + +Dead? There is life within the mother's breast-- + So claspeth she her young ones to her heart;-- +"The time will come--the time will come--rest! rest! + Let the mad greybeard to his North depart; +Earth shall arise and mock him in his grave-- +Patience a little, let the dotard rave!" + +The palsied boughs grew still--there came a pause, + And Nature's heart scarce beat for listening, +Gazing abroad from all the tempest-flaws, + With prayerful longing for the saviour Spring; +And when she heard Spring coming up the sky, +Earth rose and threw her shroud off joyfully. + +Then she who once had wept like Niobe, + Beheld her children springing round her feet, +Raising young voices in the early day, + That never to her ear had seem'd so sweet; +And the soft murmur of a thousand rills +Proclaim'd how Spring had loosed them on the hills. + +The bright Evangel came, girt round with mirth, + And garlanded with youth, and crown'd with flowers +"Awake! arise! ye sons of the new birth, + And move to the quick measure of the hours! +Summer is coming--go ye forth to meet her, +With sweetest hymeneal songs to greet her." + +So there arose straightway a joyous train, + Gather'd by every nook and hedgerow shade, +That in its passage o'er the verdant plain, + 'Still in the heart a thrilling music made-- +Sweet pilgrims they of Love in youth's gay time, +Leading the year on to its golden prime. + +The birds sang homage to her evermore; + And myriad wingèd things, whose radiant dyes +Made sunshine beautiful, still hover'd o'er, + And bore her witness in the sunlit skies; +And rising from the tomb in glad amaze, +Came many a sainted flower to hymn her praise. + +Thus from the streams, and rivers, from the sea, + From the stirr'd bosom of the mighty hills, +From every glade there rose continually + A blessing for her, till with joyous thrills +Earth's bosom heaved, and in man's heart a voice +Echoed the anthem--"Spring is come! Rejoice!" + + + + + +THE BITTERN. + + +The reeds are idly waving o'er the marshy ground, +The rank and ragged herbage rots on many a mound, +And desolate pools and marshes deadly lie around. + +There is no life nor motion, save the winds that fly +With the close-muffled clouds in silence through the sky, +There is no sound to stir it, save the Bittern's cry; + +The Bittern, sitting sadly on the fluted edges +Of pillars once the prop and pride of palace ledges, +Now smear'd with damp decay and sunk in slimy sedges; + +Shatter'd and sunken, with the sculptured architrave +Peering above the surface of the sluggish wave, +Like a gaunt limb thrust fleshless from a shallow grave. + +The Bittern sitteth sadly on the time-worn stone, +Upon life's mouldering relics, fearfully alone, +Searing the silence ofttimes with his solemn tone. + +The Bittern--monarch of the sad and dreary place, +Mocking the pride and pageant of a ruin'd race, +Whose very name's forgotten, and whose deeds have left no trace. + +The pleasant songs of peace, the lute, the lover's sigh, +The statesman's eloquence, the warrior's battle-cry +Have pass'd,--and like their echo from the heedless sky, +The lonely Bittern's note comes sadly floating by. + +Oh, melancholy sound! Shall thus for ever end +The glory and the greatness whither all hopes tend, +And as the Past comes booming shall the Present wend? + +No ear to listen to the old and hard-earn'd glory, +That wore the heart out, made the locks grow scant and hoary, +No ear to listen, and no tongue to tell the story! + +The Bittern sitteth 'midst the marshes of the Past, +Sitteth amidst the ruins, whilst the hours fleet fast, +And at his own hoarse cry he looketh round aghast. + +The hours fleet fast unnoted, and the time is nigh, +When even he on noiseless wings shall soar on high, +Till his deep note is lost amid the azure sky. + + + + + +GONE. + + +The night is dark, and evermore + The thick drops patter on the pane + The wind is weary of the rain, +And round the thatches moaneth sore; + Dark is the night, and cold the air; + And all the trees stand stark and bare, +With leaves spread dank and sere below, + Slow rotting on the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +And many a bitter day and night + Have pour'd their storms upon her breast, + And chill'd her in her long, long rest, +With foul corruption's icy blight; + Earth's dews are freezing round the heart, + Where love alone so late had part; +And evermore the frost and snow + Are burrowing downward through the clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below! + +Those eyes so full of light are dim; + And the clear chalice of her youth, + All sparkling up with love and truth, +Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;-- + No more can mortal ear rejoice + In the soft music of her voice; +No wistful eye, through tears of woe, + Can pierce down through the heavy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below. + +A star shines, sudden, from the sky-- + God's angel cometh, pure and bright, + Making a radiance through the night, +Unto the place where, mute, I lie, + Gazing up in rapt devotion, + Shaken by a deep emotion; +And my thoughts no longer go + Wandering o'er the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +God's angel! ah I divinely bright! + But still the olden grace is there-- + The soft brown eyes--the raven hair-- +The gentle smile of calm delight, + That could such peace and joy impart-- + The veil is rent from off my heart, +And gazing upward, well I know + The rain may beat upon the clay + In the God's-acre far away; +But she no longer lies below, +Enshrouded by the frost and snow-- + Cold, cold below! + + + + + +BEATRICE DI TENDA. + + + 1. + +It was too sweet--such dreams do ever fade + When Sorrow shakes the sleeper from his rest-- +Life still to me hath been a masquerade, + Woe in Mirth's wildest, gayest mantle drest, +With the heart hidden--but the face display'd. + +But now the vizard droppeth, crush'd and torn, + And there is nought left but some tinsell'd rags, +To mock the wearer in the face of morn, + As through the gaping world she feebly drags +Her day-born measure of reproach and scorn. + +But that _his_ hand should pluck the dream away-- + And thus--and thus--O Heaven! it strikes too deep! +The knife that wounds me, if not meant to slay, + Stumbles upon my heart the while I weep: +So be it; no hand of mine its course shall stay. + +False? false to him? Release me--let me go + Before Heaven's judgment-seat to make appeal; +Unfold the records of this life, and show + All that the secret pages can reveal, +That Heaven and Earth the inmost truth may know! + +He cannot think it in his heart of hearts; + He cannot wear this falsehood in his soul, +Or deem me perjur'd; no delusive arts + Can make him blot my name from honour's scroll: +The sun will shine forth when the cloud departs. + +Patience, my heart! Error is quick, but Truth + Moves slowly, but moves surely up the earth, +Wiping from age the heresies of youth, + And kindling warmth on the once blasted hearth: +Patience, my heart! and rage will turn to ruth. + +There is no blush upon my brow, though tears + Are in mine eyes, and sorrow in my heart; +This sobbing breast heaves not with traitor fears: + No sighs for sin are these that sadly start, +And bear their bitter burden to thine ears. + +And though my woman's strength bend like a reed + Before the flowing of Affliction's river, +Not, not for shame, nor for one strumpet deed + Doth this weak frame bow down, or faintly quiver, +As I stand forth alone in deadly need. + +No! before thee, Filippo, and the world, + Cased in its petty panoply of scorn, +With myriad slavish lips in mocking curl'd, + Spotless and innocent, though most forlorn, +Here stand I, 'gainst the shafts Falsehood hath hurl'd. + + + 2. + +Confess'd! Confess'd the guilty act! What act? + What act, my Lord, that cometh home to me +Closer than each hot word, by torment rack'd, + Flies at the bidding of false tyranny, +That makes at will the pain-wrung falsehood fact? + +There are full many sins confess'd, my Lord, + In pain of body and in pain of soul; +Some from the heart unearth'd by fire and sword, + And stealing forth amid the spirit's dole, +With fiery pain-sweat seething every word; + +But none, my Lord, that riseth to the sky, + Bears guilt of mine upon its blister'd tongue; +Though torture's fire is quick to forge a lie, + None from these woman's lips could ere be wrung; +No! none, though on the rack-bed bound to die. + +Poor youth! This poison from his writhing throat, + Those hellish instruments have haply drawn, +And pain hath conn'd the aspish lies by rote; + But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn, +For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote. + +These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more; + The rack hath crush'd them in its wild embrace, +So that Truth's firm-set attitude is o'er, + Else had I met my judges face to face, +And challenged justice, as in days of yore. + +Yet is the spirit strong within me still, + And bears me up though manhood's strength succumb, +Unbent by any blighting blast of ill, + Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb; +They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill! + +I am a woman--weak to combat wrong, + But innocent, my Lord, I live or die; +And silent, though my God doth tarry long, + He sees me throughly with His holy eye, +And in my sore, sore need, doth make me strong. + +This hapless youth! I do forgive him all; + E'en now remorse must rankle in his breast, +And no cool comfort cometh at his call, + To set the tumult of his soul at rest: +God's pity on his human weakness fall! + + + 3. + +Nay, falter not, good friend; thy news is sweet; + Thanks, thanks! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind +That wafts the calm-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet, + O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind; +Ay! Death will bring rest to my weary feet! + +'Tis strange--but now the word falls on mine ear + Soft as the singing of a little child, +Heaven's music on light pinions floateth near, + Through all the strife of Earth, so harsh and wild; +Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear. + +The end is nigh--the end of grief and pain, + And Life's broad gates are opening to my soul; +O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign, + Enfranchised soon 'twill spurn the harsh control, +And never feel its empiry again. + +No more, Filippo, shall my hapless life + Stand betwixt thee and pleasure,--Duty's knot +Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife; + And upon memory one crimson blot +Shall be the record of a spotless wife. + +'Tis well! I would not wander through a haunted mind, + Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hours; +Would God that I could leave my peace behind, + To bless thee when the night of sorrow lours, +And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind! + +Shouldst thou awake when I have pass'd away, + Shouldst thou see clear the error and the wrong, +And Truth break on thee with its dazzling ray, + As sure it will, for Innocence is strong, +Then may my prayers thine every pang allay! + +For thee, poor youth,--go not unto the grave + With a red lie upon thy trembling tongue-- +Not for myself, but for thy soul I crave,-- + Death's champions should have sinews tightly strung, +And thou wilt falter where I shall be brave. + +In that dim world there flows no cooling stream, + No Lethe for the guilty and the fever'd, +There is no answer to their parching scream, + From hope and mercy they are ever sever'd, +There is no waking from their spectral dream. + +Then pause or e'er thou stampest on thy soul + Eternally such misery as thine, +And writest on God's conscience-blasting scroll, + A wife's dishonour, and a tarnish'd line, +To weigh for thee thine everlasting dole... + +Friend, let thine arm be strong, good sooth there's need, + Thou cuttest through a weary depth of woe!-- +Well! that will pass, and soon rest come indeed,-- + Ay, ay! the robe's white now ... will't long be so?... +Yet better far the crimson tide should flow, + Than the heart inly with its anguish bleed. + + + + + +SERENADE. + + +The day is fading from the sky, + And softly shines the Star of Even, +As watching with a lover's eye + The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven; +The dew is rising cool and sweet, + And, zephyr-rock'd, the flowers are closing, +The Night steals on with noiseless feet, + Oh! gentle be my love's reposing. + +The streamlet, as it flows along, + Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers; +And from the brake the Queen of Song + Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers; +And ever through the stirless leaves + The summer moon is brightly streaming, +Light fancies on the sward it weaves,-- + As radiant be my lady's dreaming. + +The silent hours move swiftly on, + With many a blessed vision laden, +That all the night has softly shone + Upon the hearts of youth and maiden; +And now, in golden splendors drest, + The new-born day is gladly breaking, +Oh! blissful be my lady's rest, + And sweet as Morn be her awaking. + + + + + +THE EAGLE. + + +The winds sweep by him on his mountain throne, +Hurling the clouds together at his feet, +Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up +As in the flood of waters,--and he sits +Eyeing the boundless firmament above, +Proud and unruffled, till his heart exclaims,-- +"I am a god, Heaven is my home,--the Earth +Serveth me but for footstool." + + The strong winds +Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he,-- +"Bear me afar!" and on the mighty storm +He rides triumphant, spurning the dim Earth-- +Whither, O whither goest thou? What star +Shall raise its mountains for thee? What far orb +Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry? + +What dost thou when the thunder is unloosed? +"I sit amongst the crags, and feel the Earth +Tremble beneath me, whilst my heart is firm. +I gaze upon the lightning, and my lid +Quivers not. Is their aught 'neath which my gaze +Quaileth, or waxeth faint--I read the sun +Undazzled where the stars grow dim and pale. + +"Men gather them to battle--host meets host-- +And I am borne aloft to marshal them,-- +I, the great King of Battles, that go forth +Conquering and to conquer. So do men +Worship me. Oh! the mighty crash ascends,-- +The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe, +One great full chaunt of homage to mine ears,-- +And there I wait the while the sacrifice +Is slain before me; then down with a swoop +I get me from my skyey throne, and dye +Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey-- +Hurrah! hurrah! blood red's the flag for me!" + +The time will come, proud one, when thou shalt die! +"Die! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes +That moult out from my pinions--let them go +To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave +To mortals. What have I to do with Time? +Let him pat forth his speed--these wings of mine +Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach +The limits of his empire, and I shake him off +Like dust upon the threshold of the world." + + + + + +WHITHER? + + + Whither away, youth, whither away, +With lightsome step, and with joyous heart, +And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart? + Whither away--whither away? + + Into the world, the glorious world, +To gain the prize, of the brave and bold, +To snatch the crown from the age of gold-- + Into the world--into the world! + + Whither away, girl, whither away? +Thy soft blue eyes are suffused with love, +And thy smile is as bright as the sunshine above,-- + Whither away, whither away? + + Into the world, the beautiful world, +To meet the heart that must mate with mine, +And make the measure of life divine,-- + Into the world, into the world. + + Whither away, old man, whither away, +With locks of white, and form bent low, +And trembling hands, and steps so slow? + Whither away,--whither away? + + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world, +With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys, +Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys-- + Out of the world, out of the world, +With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame, +From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,-- + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world. + + Whither away, poor one, whither away? +Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes, +And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs, + Whither away--whither away? + + Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world! +Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest +For the sinking soul, and the bruisèd breast, + Out of the world--out of the world! + + + + + +THE MORNING STAR. + + +Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last, + And my freed heart beats evenly again, + Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain +Cast backward from the unforgotten Past; + Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread, + Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled. + +Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear, + Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth, + Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth, +Shining serenely from its silver sphere + Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul, + Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll. + +Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light, + Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance + Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance, +Dividing Truth from Dreaming in its might, + Scourging Doubt's myriads from Day's temple-gate, + Leaving Life's worship pure, its heart elate. + +No herald thou of Night, like Hesper fair, + Pale with the dreaded Future's shapeless gloom, + Leading the spirit to an unknown doom, +Through clouds and darkness heavy fraught with care, + Hesper the beautiful alone our guide, + Beset by blinding fears on every side. + +Groping through Night's dim chambers wearily, + Longing to leave its cold sepulchral aisles, + Comest thou with thy calm assuring smiles, +Like Nemesis to lead us tenderly + Through all the dangers of the murky way, + Unto the golden portals of the Day. + +Yea! Night and Death shall pass away, and we, + By resurrection sweet, arise new-born + Like thee in glory, bright one, Sons of Morn, +Without a shade on our felicity, + Eyeing the fleeting vapours of the Past, + As thou dost now Night's mists dissolving fast. + + + + + +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. + + + How light and pleasant is the way +Across this quiet valley, whose soft mead +Springs lightly as the air that angels tread, + Beneath our footsteps weariless all day! +This crystal river flowing by our side, +One stream of sunshine, still has seem'd a guide + From Heaven in pure angelical array. + + These purple mountains now are nigh, +That all the valley through have fill'd our eyes +With day-dreams of the distant Paradise, + Their sun-surrounded summits can descry-- +We mount them now upon Hope's bounding wing, +That makes each short swift footstep long to spring + Suddenly upward to the shadeless sky. + + The air methinks is lighter here-- +And the breast heaves with full untrammell'd ease, +Drinking the life-draught of the fragrant breeze, + That wafts its soul-sighs to another sphere. +Earth groweth little in our eyes, but fair, +Fair as though sin had never enter'd there-- + Earth groweth little as Heaven draweth near. + + This rock--and then at last we stand +Upon the silent summit--scarce I dare +Gaze outward, through the clear and azure air, + Towards the radiance of the Promised Land: +I am so weak and fallen, friend, I fear +Mine eyes will dazzle, and the light appear + Darkness, so that I shall not see the Promised Land. + + Look thou afar, and tell me true +What thou discernest!--Oh! my eyes grow dim, +And floods of golden glories seem to swim, + Wave upon wave, through all the cloudless blue, +Blinding me with their sunny splendors quite, +So that, amid the pure excess of light, + But vaguest visions faintly glimmer through. + + Yet now, methinks, I seem to see +One spot of burning brightness, beaming clear +Through all the floating glory, like a sphere + Quenching light with its own intensity. +Yes! yes! it is the Holy City I behold, +With God's sun, from its towers of burnish'd gold, + Reflected broadly through immensity! + + I must gaze out, although I die: +Ah! yes, I see it through my longing tears-- +A great clear glow of glory there appears, + Like a light-fountain in the eastern sky, +That as I gaze pours forth its living light, +Flooding Creation, till the dazzled sight + Sees Heaven in all things that around it lie. + + So shall it ever henceforth be-- +Who, that discerneth once God's dwelling-place, +Can blot from vision the refulgent trace! + Ay! henceforth all things shall be Heaven to me-- +And as I journey on shall brightly rise +Divinest semblances of Paradise-- + Heaven mine in Time and in Eternity. + + + + + +THE DARK RIVER. + + + Across the mountains and the hills, +Across the valleys and the swelling seas, + By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills +Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies, + Together have we come unto this place, + And here we say farewell a little space: + + You, backward turning through the land, +To tarry 'mid its beauty yet awhile-- + I, o'er the River, to another strand +With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile. + Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls? + Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls! + + Together wend we to the tide, +And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;-- + E'en now methinks I see the other side; +And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart + And stalwart arm shall quell its cold dark waves. + Faith falters not e'en when the tempest raves. + + Dark stream flowing so blackly on, +Thy turbid billows roll o'er golden sands; + Beneath the surface all thy fear is gone, +And precious gems fill full the diver's hands. + Yet how the heart lists breathless for the roar + Of billows plashing on the other shore! + + _The other shore!_--Oh thou dim Land! +Hid by faint mists from the spent swimmer's eyes, + Until upon the sloping bank he stand, +Mute in the light of Eden-mysteries; + Thou golden Ophir of Youth's spirit-dream, + Shall I then reach thee through this turbid stream? + + Friend! quail not! This same gloomy tide +Rolling its fearful breakers to the shore, + Shall be transform'd, upon the other side, +Into the crystal Life-stream, shaded o'er + By Paradisal groves, whose mellow fruit + Shall heal the sorrows of the destitute. + + These ghostly vapours, brooding low, +Shall melt to sunny glories o'er my head, + And through them shall the golden city glow, +Whither I hasten singing, angel-led; + Friend! there is but a cloud-veil 'twixt us and the light, + One step beyond, and Heaven is in our sight. + + Now the stream laps my vesture hem; +Back thou from my sad bosom to the world, + Leaving me here this current cold to stem; +Soon from thy sight shall I be swiftly whirl'd + Into the mystic darkness--never fear! + God's hand shall guide me unto vision clear. + + Already thou art growing dim, +And distant on the fast receding shore; + The tide is strong, but still I trust in Him, +And know that I shall safely struggle o'er, + For now the plash on yonder shore I hear, + Amid sweet angel voices calm and clear. + + + + + +WYTHAM WOODS. + + +'Mid the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where the grand old beeches be, +And the deer-herds feeding by them: +'Mid the mossy Woods of Wytham, + Oft I roam in memory; + +Down the grand wide-arching alleys, + Marged by plumy ferns and flowers, + Whence all through the noontide hours +Many a fearless leveret sallies; +For amid those grassy alleys + Never hound nor huntsman scours. + +Still I see, through leafy casements, + Wytham Hall so quaint and old, + Remnant of the age of gold, +Gabled o'er from roof to basement +In most fanciful enlacement, + Looking far o'er wood and wold; + +With the mere outspread before it; + Whitest swans upon its tide, + That in mystic beauty glide; +And the wild fowl flapping o'er it, +To the reeds that broadly shore it, + Spear-like, on the sunny side. + +Through the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where I roam in memory; +'Mid the leaves, or flashing by them, +Like sunshine to glorify them, + On my sunless heart gleams she. + +Falling like the dreams of summer, + Making holy all the place, + Visions of that sweet pale face, +Sweeter than all dreams of summer, +Dearer than all dreams of summer, + Still in bower and glade I trace! + +Still her eyes come deeply glowing + Through the leafy lattices; + And the rustle of the trees, +'Neath the west wind softly blowing, +Only emulates the flowing + Of her love-toned melodies. + +Oh! those waving Woods of Wytham-- + Ceased she thus to hover near + Radiant from her happy sphere, +Like sunshine to glorify them, +Never would I wander nigh them-- +Madly weeping should I fly them, + Till their memory e'en grew sere. + +But ah! no, in endless slimmer, + Roams my heart through Wytham Woods, + Meeting in their solitudes +Evermore that angel comer, +Sweeter than the light of summer + Making golden Wytham Woods, +Now so far, so far from me +In the world of Memory. + + + + + +THE STAR IN THE EAST. + + +O'er the wide world I wander evermore, + Through wind and weather heedless and alone, +Alike through summer, and through winter hoar, +On cloud-capt mountain, by the sea-wash'd shore, + Seeking the star that riseth in the East. + +O'er the wide world--the world that knows not why, + And stares with stupid scorn to see me go; +Whilst I with solemn secret face pass by, +To laugh in desert spots where none are nigh, + Laugh loud and shrill unto the winds, Ho! Ho! + For that which none but I and _it_ do know. + +To think how when I find this lucky star, + And stand beneath it, like the Wise of old, +I shall mount upward on a golden car, +Girt round with glory unto worlds afar, + While Earth amazed the wonder shall behold, + That bears me unto happiness untold! + +Hush! I'll not whisper it, lest some should hear, + And hurry on before me to the spot, +Leaving me bound for ever to this sphere, +Parted for ever from my child--I here, + She in the realm that I could enter not. + +Hush! I must hurry on--for many nights + Have I sought for the star about the sky, +And found it not amid the myriad lights, +Greater and lesser with their satellites, + Flashing confusedly upon mine eye. + +I must unravel every golden hair + Upon the brow of Night for what I seek, +Lift every straggler from its moony lair, +Lest too _the_ star should haply linger there, + Unnoted by mine eyes so faint and weak. + +For as the Wise Men did in old time trace + The Holy Child by this same guiding star, +So I know well that by the Virgin's grace, +I too by it shall come unto the place + Where my sweet babe and its nurse-angels are. + +Wearisome are the days, they mock me so, + Pouring down light that seems to bid me see, +Yet hides the starry pilot by its glow, +Whose light I thirst for, whilst light-fountains, flow + Around me like the swelling of the sea. + +Wearisome are they, till the sun-god pales + Beneath the surges of the western wave, +And the last fold of his golden mantle trails +O'er the horizon where Earth's vision fails, + And space becomes a darkness and a grave. + +I ofttimes think to curse the Day, that tries + To keep my babe hid in its envious breast, +Smit with its hair of gold, and large blue eyes, +Close hid within its mantle, careless of my sighs, + That night and day must wake it from its rest. + +But Patience! when the sun is in the deep, + The Star will beam upon me suddenly, +And ere the sun-god waketh from his sleep, +The dear one shall be mine for whom I weep, + Mine, mine alone for all eternity. + +They call me crazed--Ha! ha!--They little know + Who are the crazed of Earth, or they, or I-- +They, by their greed of gold urged to and fro, +For petty pleasures bending God's soul low-- + I, seeking for my star about the sky. + +When it is found,--when it is found, how great + Will be the wonder of these blind and mad! +How great will be the wonder and the hate, +Waking to see the glorious truth too late + Will _he_, too, see his error, and be sad? + +The wind sweeps weirdly o'er the heaven to-night, + Weirdly and black, as though from guilty deeds,-- +From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight, +Leaving the drowning in their direful plight-- + Leaving the drown'd low waving in the weeds. + +No stars, no stars again! Oh woe! again + Night drowns me in its darkness and its gloom, +And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain, +Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain; + All things are leagued to darken down my doom. + +Perchance it is that I am growing weak, + And faint with wandering afar, afar, +And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek; +And yet I must not ask, I must not speak, + Nor tell--the secret of the Saviour star. + +No! dumb,--dumb,--I shall set me down to scan + Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space, +Hesper, heaven's loveliest, leading up the van-- +To-morrow--yes! to-morrow I shall watch, and man + Shall see this wonder when I reach the place. + +Will the babe know me--ope its sweet blue eyes-- + And stretch its little arms to clasp me round? +Ah! yes, God will send knowledge from the skies, +In pity for my prayers, and tears, and sighs, + Angels will sing for joy that I have found + My treasure, and _he_--he will hear the sound! + +Cold--cold it is--the wind is bitter chill-- + And the rain falls like curses on my head-- +No! no! not curses, for the drops say still +That there's an end to sorrow, and all ill +Flows from us like the water down a hill; + The star shall shine, and all the clouds be sped.... + + * * * * * + + The sought-for Star uprose upon the dead. + + + + + +UNDER THE SEA. + + +Deep in the bosom of the ocean, + Where sunshine fades to twilight gloom, + The pure pearls lie, and the coral bloom +Rests unsway'd by the upper motion-- + Calm and still the hours pass by + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The thunder rolls from cloud to cloud, + And the bitter blast sweeps o'er the sea, + Shaking the waters mightily; +But ne'er the tempest's voice so loud, + Sinketh down to the things that lie-- + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The icebergs crack with a sullen boom, + Riven by the hands of the angry North; + And, like the Angel of Wrath sent forth, +The whirlwind stalks with the breath of doom, + Crushing, like dust 'neath its heavy tread, + The last frail spar o'er the seaman's head; +But nought can reach the things that lie-- +The lovely things that sleeping lie, + Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre, + Beyond the reach of grief or care, + As sweetly rest the good and fair, +Where Life's rude foes can ne'er o'ertake her; + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The blessèd ones who sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + +Patience! thou poor one, faint and weary, + For thou shalt come unto this rest, + And leaning on a mother's breast, +Forget the world to thee so dreary: + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The happy ones who hoping lie +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + + + + + +WIND. + + +Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea, + Sad with the murmur of the weary waves, + Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves, +Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee, +With echoes of forgotten misery? + +The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing + From the far waters of the stormy main, + Welling their woes forth wearily in rain, +Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging, +And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging. + +Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart, + Till as of old the unseal'd waters run? + Whence is thy magic, Oh! thou unseen one, +To make still sorrows from their slumbers start, +And play again, unsought, their bitter part? + +We are all one with Nature--every breeze + Stealeth about the chambers of the soul, + Haunting their rest with sounds of joy or dole; +And every cloud that creepeth from the seas, +Traileth its shade o'er human sympathies. + +Blow! blow, thou weird wind, till the clouds be rent, + And starlight glimmer through the riven seams, + Scatter their darkness like the mist of dreams, +Till all the fleeting, spectre-gloom be spent, +And the bright Future gem the firmament. + +Blow! blow! Night's "Mene Tekel" even now + Glows on her palace-walls, and she shall pass + Like the dim vapour from a burnish'd glass; +And no chill shadows o'er the soul shall go, +Borne by each weeping West Wind to and fro. + + + + + +A CHALLENGE. + + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +My heart is true as steel, +Steady still in woe and weal, +Strong to bear, though quick to feel-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +Only my own ease seek I, +I am deaf to Pity's cry, +If men hunger, let them die-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a kiss for maiden fair, +I've a blow for who may dare, +I've a song to banish care-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I'm your servant whilst you're great, +As you sink, my cares abate, +When you're poor you have my hate,-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +If you trust me, I'll be true, +If you slight me, I'll slight you, +If you wrong me, you shall rue-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I can work with any tools-- +Clothe myself by stripping fools-- +Bend the knee whoever rules-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that hates all wrong, +Aids the weak against the strong, +Loves the Truth, and seeks it long-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I forgive no woman's sin, +Hunt her with self-righteous mien, +Never take her, mourning, in +From the desert of her sin-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe! + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that melts at sorrow, +I've a store the poor may borrow +I'm the same to-day, to-morrow-- + Take my hand! + + + + + +AT PARTING. + + +Peace! Let me go, or ere it be too late; + Dip not your arrows in the honey-mead; + Paint not the wound through which my heart doth bleed; +Leave me unmock'd, unpitied to my fate-- + Peace! Let me go. + +Think you that words can smooth my rugged track? + Words heal the stab your soft white hands have made, + Or stir the burthen on my bosom laid? +Winds shook not Earth from Atlas' bended back-- + Peace! Let me go. + +What though it be the last time we shall meet-- + Raise your white brow, and wreathe your raven hair, + And fill with music sweet the summer air; +Not this again shall draw me to your feet-- + Peace! Let me go. + +No laurels from my vanquish'd heart shall wave + Round your triumphant beauty as you go, + Not thus adorn'd work out some other's woe-- +Yet, if you will, pluck daisies from my grave! + Peace! Let me go. + + + + + +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD. + + +Time sets his footprints on our little Earth, + And, walk he ne'er so softly, some sweet thing +Falls 'neath each foot-fall, crush'd amid its mirth, + Tracking the course of Life's short wandering, +With fallen remnants of its mortal part, + Freeing the soul, but weighing down the heart. + +Thou flower of Love! thou little treasury + Of gentleness, and purity, and grace! +What hidden virtue hath Death reft from thee-- + What unseen essence melted into space? +For now thou liest like a sinless child, + Whom God hath homeward to his bosom smiled. + +The dew-shower fell on thee, the sunbeam play'd, + As Life is ever made of smiles and tears; +And ofttimes has the breeze of summer sway'd, + And with its mellow music mock'd thy fears; +But now, O wonder, thou art pale and wan, + And there's a beauty and a fragrance gone! + +Thus fade we--thus our hopes and joys, rose-bright, + Yield up their sweetness ere they reach their prime, +And their poor fabrics lie within our sight, + Stript of their radiance e'en in summer-time-- +Their spirit hath gone from them, and they wither, +But wherefore hath the spirit gone, and whither? + +Our knowledge is like dreams amid a sleep-- + Faint-pinion'd thoughts that beat the vault of Night, +And flutter earthward--so we smile or weep + At what we know not, cannot see aright; +Life is death, and death is life, perchance, +In the dim twilight of our waking trance. + +Thou art a leaf from the great Book of God, + Whose lightest word is wiser than the wise; +And, meekly resting there upon the sod, + Thou breathest upward holy mysteries, +In simple tones that steal upon the sense, +Like Childhood's prattling truth and innocence. + +Then, O sweet flower, that in thy low estate + Hast in thee emblems of the life of Man, +Read to our beings whispers of the fate + That waits us at the end of Time's short span; +How short we know not--e'en the bud may be +Gather'd in harvest to eternity. + + + + + +DE PROFUNDIS. + + +Turn thine eyes from me, Angel of Heaven-- + Read not my soul, Angel of Heaven-- +Sorrow is steeping my pale cheeks with weeping, + Evermore keeping her wand on my heart, + On my cold stony heart, while the tear-fountains start +To purge it from leaven too sinful for Heaven-- + Read not my soul, yet, Angel of Heaven! + +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? +Yearning to gain her, hast thou thus slain her + Ere sin could stain her--borne her away, + Borne her far, far away, into eternal day, + Left me alone to stay--left me to weep and pray? +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? + +Shines the place brighter, Angel of Heaven? + Brighter for her, Angel of Heaven? +Comes there not streaming into my dreaming, + At morning's beaming, rays more divine, + Rays from her soul divine, rays giving strength to mine? + Shines she not radiantly over the skies, + Over the morning skies, ere the Earth-vapours rise, +'Twixt me and Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + _Her_ blessed Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + +Turn thine eyes to me, Angel of Heaven-- + Search through and through me, Angel of Heaven; +Read my soul's yearning, wild, endlessly burning, + Tumultuously spurning Fate's bitter decree, + Fate's tyrannic decree, that tore her from me, + Bore her from me to Eternity. +Merciless Reaper, no more shalt thou keep her + From fond eyes that weep her for ever and ever, + Vain thine endeavour our spirits to sever, +Take my soul with thee, Angel of Heaven, + Bear me unto her, Angel of Heaven. + + + + + +THE MOTHER. + + +There is a land whereon the sun's warm gaze, + God-like, all-seeing, falls right down through space, +And the weak Earth, quite smitten by its rays, + Lies scorch'd and powerless with mute silent face, +Like a tranced body, where no changing glow +Tells that the life-streams through its channels flow. + +Peopled it is by nations scant and few, + Set far apart among the trackless sands, +Unlearn'd, uncultured, wild and swart of hue, + Roaming the deserts in divided bands, +Where the green pastures call them, and the deer +Troop yet within the range of bow and spear. + +Unhappy Afric! can thy boundless plains, + Where the royal lion snuffs the free pure air, +And every breeze laughs at the tyrant's chains, + Be but the nest of slavery and despair, +Rearing a brood whose craven souls can be +Robb'd of the very dream of Liberty? + +But, as the shore of this vast sea of sand, + Stretches afar a country rich and green, +With waving foliage shading all the land, + And flowing waters bright with sunny sheen; +And here browse countless herds of dappled deer, +Blesboks and antelopes, remote from fear. + +Amid it mighty mountains proudly rise, + Great monarchs of a boundless continent, +Rearing their hoary summits to the skies, + As claiming empire of the firmament; +Gaunt silent majesties of sea and earth, +Stern-featured children of Titanic birth. + +Within their shadows many peoples dwell; + Divided kingdoms gather'd round some chief, +With lodges cluster'd by some stream or well, + To yield their cattle ever cool relief +From the fierce scorching of the burning sun, +And slake their hot thirst when the toil is done. + +It chanced that war, which still doth enter in + Where men are most or fewest, small or great, +Here of a sudden raised its hellish din, + And woke to fury, lust, and bloody hate; +So that with battles, forays, murders, thefts, +Rang oft the echoes of the mountain clefts. + +There was one tribe that in unconscious ease + Slumber'd and thought of danger but in dreams, +Heard not the tramp of men upon the breeze, + While the stars, watching with faint trembling beams, +Saw noiseless spectres round the village creep, +Like apparitions of unquiet sleep. + +Then, silence-murder'd, what a yell arose! + And the scared sleepers, rushing forth in fear, +Met death without the portals from dim foes, + Or e'er the warrior could grasp his spear, +Or fit the arrow to his unstrung bow, +Or ward the fatal stroke that laid him low. + +So, with the plunder, and a captured band + Of hapless women, ere the morning light +Flitted the victors swiftly through the land, + Red with the trophies of their deadly fight, +Leaving the lion and his hungry crew +To clear the morning of this bloody dew. + +To meet them joyous forth their women came, + And led them back in triumph to the fold; +Taunting their foes with many a bitter shame, + Though now they lay in Death's aims stark and cold: +Whilst the poor captives, rack'd with fear and woe, +Cower'd close together from Fate's hapless blow. + +Soon there came traders from the coast, and then + The weeping captives all were marshall'd out, +And barter'd singly with the heartless men, + Each bosom trembling still with fear and doubt; +But when the truth burst on them, a hoarse cry +Of wild despair ascended to the sky. + +There was one there who from the Tree of Life + Pluck'd yet the blossoms with the fruit of years; +Scarce yet a woman, though a meek-soul'd wife, + And with a babe to claim her prayers and tears, +A tender bud of early summer time +Ere breezy woods are in their verdant prime. + +Her 'mongst the rest they barter'd, and the child, + Too young to sever from its mother's breast, +Left they unnoticed, whilst she, poor one, wild + 'Twixt hope and fear, still held it closely prest +Unto her heart, whose throbbings, loud and deep, +Beat an alarum through the infant's sleep. + +But soon her master, as he hasten'd off + With his new purchases, the infant caught, +And bid the mother, with a heartless scoff, + Fling it away: said he, "'Tis good for nought; +None of this lumber can we have, the road +Is long enough to tread without a load." + +The mother clasp'd her babe with bitter cry, + But a rude hand enforced it from her arms, +And the rough steward held it up on high, + Laughing aloud the while at her alarms; +Said he unto his master; "This shall be +A bait to draw her on with willingly." + +He bound around the infant's waist a line, + That fasten'd to his crupper, and then gave +The babe back to her, laughing,--"That end's thine-- + The other stays with me;" "A witty slave!" +The master chuckled, and they moved away, +She following with anguish and dismay. + +They journey'd o'er the desert, 'neath a sky + Scorch'd by the fiery footsteps of the sun, +Without a shade to bless the wistful eye; + And soon her fellow slaves droop'd, one by one, +Callous to blows that harshly drove them on, +Strength, hope, and love of life all seeming gone. + +But she went onward with no word or plaint, + Clasping the child unto her bosom still, +Unflagging when all else began to faint, + Intent to save her little one from ill; +And they look'd on her as she sped along, +Wond'ring what made so frail a creature strong. + +At eve she bent above her sleeping treasure, + With eyes that wept for pity and for love, +Filling its cup of life in richer measure, + With the blest care that watches us above; +And in the morn they bound the babe again, +And so drew on the mother in their train. + +Her tender feet soon wounded were, and sore + With the rough travel, and the weary way, +And her slight limbs, o'ertask'd and loaded, bore + Less lightly up their burden day by day; +But, nature failing, Love imparted power + To bear her steps up to the resting hour. + +Alas! the mother gazed with aching eyes + Upon the life-spring in her little child, +As one laid by a fountain while it dries; + Daily she watch'd it ebb, till she grew wild +With anguish at the Angel drawing near, + And bared her own breast for his fatal spear. + +She lost all sense of weariness and pain, + And with hot tearless eyes still hurried on, +Bearing the child girt by its cruel chain, + All thought save of her cherish'd burden gone, +Fearful alone lest other eyes should guess +The feeble thing her longing arms did press. + +At last they saw the babe was weaker growing, + That soon the little spark of life must fade, +So, spite of all her prayers, and wild tears flowing, + Beside a spring the sleeping child they laid, +And bid her onward, heedless of her woe +But on the earth she fell, and would not go. + +They raised her up, and bound her on a steed, + And so march'd onward on their weary way-- +For there was none to help her in her need, + And thus they travell'd eastward all the day, +But when they rested, and on each bow'd head +Sleep heavy lay, the mother rose and fled. + +And speeding swiftly with a lapwing's flight, + Backward she hurried to the little spring, +Led by a power that knoweth not the night, + But flies through darkness with unerring wing; +And so e'er morning shimmer'd in the East, +She clasp'd her dead babe to her panting breast. + +At morn they miss'd her, and the women said, + "She seeks her babe beside the distant well, +There wilt thou find her, if she be not dead, + For O! the love of mother who can tell." +And so the steward gallop'd back in haste, +To seek the lost one in the desert waste. + +At last the spring rose in the distant sand, + With its close verdure pleasant to the eye, +And there, as, nearing it, the place he scann'd, + He saw the mother with her infant lie, +Quiet and stilly on each other's breast, +Folded together in unbroken rest; + +Her arms around it thrown, that e'en in sleep + Still press'd the infant to her stricken heart, +No rest so perfect, no repose so deep, + From her sweet babe the mother's love to part. +Before him loud and bitter curses sped-- +Who heard him?--for the mother too lay dead. + + + + + +SONNET. + +DATUR HORA QUIETI. + + +The sun is slowly sinking in the West; +The plough lies idle, and the weary team, +Cool'd with the freshness of the shallow stream, +Over the meadows hasten to their rest; +The breeze is hush'd, and no more turns the mill, +With its light sails upon yon rising crest; +Its busy music now awhile is still, +And not a sound heaves up from Nature's breast; +The barks upon the river smoothly ride, +With sails all furl'd, and flags that listless fall, +Unrock'd, unshaken by the flowing tide; +The cattle lazy lie within the stall; +And thus the Time-stream on doth sweetly glide, +Bearing repose and slumber unto all. + + + + + +SEA MARGINS. + + + Ever restless, ever toiling, + Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds, + Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds, +Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling, + Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky, + Lashes again the beaches angrily: + + Slowly victor-like advancing, + Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land, + Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand, +In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing, + Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain, + No flower or shady leaf shall bud again. + + Slowly thus the ocean creeping, + Creeping coldly o'er the world of old, + Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold, +And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping, + Long cheerless wavings of the sullen seas, + Were once the sun shone bright on flowery leas. + + Over Earth, and over Being, + Over many glories of the Past, + Remorseless floods are flowing fierce and fast, +Snatching sun-lighted Tempes from our seeing, + Rolling their dreary surges o'er the shore, + Where Love had hoped to dwell for evermore. + + Sadly on Time's heaving ocean, + Waving darkly o'er Youth's Paradise, + Back gaze we ever with dim tearful eyes, +Seeking old joys beyond its rude commotion, + Seeking the old world glories pass'd away, + Seeking the golden shores of Life's Cathay. + + + + + +SONG. + + +Love took me softly by the hand, + Love led me all the country o'er, +And show'd me beauty in the land, + That I had never dreamt before, + Never before, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +There was a glory in the morn, + There was a calmness in the night, +A mildness by the south wind borne, + That I had never felt aright, + Never aright, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +But now it cannot pass away, + I see it wheresoe'er I go, +And in my heart by night and day, + Its gladness waveth to and fro, + By night and day, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + + + + + +THE BELL. + + +Through the calm and silent air + Floats the tolling funeral bell, + Swooning over hill and dell, +Heavy laden with despair; + Mute between each muffled stroke, + Sad as though a dead voice spoke, + Out of the dim Past time spoke, +Stands my heart all mute with care. + +The Bell is tolling on, and deep, + Deep and drear into my heart + All its bitter accents dart. +Peace! sad chime, I will not weep-- + What is there within thy tone, + That should wring my heart alone, + Rive it with this endless moan? +Peace! and let past sorrows sleep! + +Fling your music on the breeze, + Mock the sighing of the willows, + Mock the lapping of the billows, +Mock not human sympathies; + Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not, + With that loved voice ne'er forgot, + Flooding me with tears blood-hot; +Mock not soul-deep memories! + +Come not from the unseen Past, + Flying up the silent gale, + With that deep and muffled wail, + Slaying me with lying tale, +Base chime, false chime from the Past! + Not in sighs of mortal pain, + Pain and anguish rise again, + Voices from the far Death-plain-- +Not thus speaks she from the Past. + +Peace! yet--for though she speaks not + From her Paradise in thee, + Whispers nevermore to me + In my lonely misery, +Oh! that loved voice ne'er forgot, +Thou dost wake my brooding soul, + Smit'st it till the bitter dole + Breaks aloud beyond controul, + While the briny tear-drops roll, +Drowning, cries which she hears not. + +Cruel Bell! harsh Bell! ring on, + I shall turn my heart to stone, + Flinging back thy mocking tone, + Callous of thy deepest moan +Lying Bell! thy power is gone! + Spake she from her golden cloud, + Spake she to my heart aloud, +Every murmur of her voice, +Would bid my lone heart rejoice; +Every murmur of her voice, +Ah! would make my heart rejoice, + Lying Bell! thy power is gone. + + + + + +LLEWELLYN. + + + I.--_In the Porch._ + + MORGAN _and a_ MONK. + + + MORGAN. + +The tale is pitiful. 'Twas on this wise-- +Llewellyn went at morn among the hills, +To hunt, as is his use. My lady, too, +With all her maidens, early sallied forth, +A pilgrimage among the neighbouring vales, +Culling of simples, nor yet comes she home; +And so the child lay sleeping in his crib, +With Gelert--you remember the old hound? +He pull'd the stag of ten down by the Holy Well-- +With Gelert set to watch him like a nurse. + + MONK. + +The dog alone? nay! friend, but that is strange! + + MORGAN. + +Strange! Not a whit, for fifty times before +The hound hath kept him like his own bred whelp, +And ne'er a one could touch him; but the child +Play'd with his shaggy ears and great rough coat, +As no grown man had dared. + + MONK. + + I know there is +A strange nobility in dogs, to bear +The utmost sport of children, that would seize +Man by the throat e'en for a finger touch-- +But to your tale-- + + MORGAN. + + Well! suddenly at noon, +Llewellyn, baffled of his game, hied back, +Striding right grimly in his discontent, +And whistling, oft his spear upon the ground, +Slaying the visions of his fretful dreams; +And presently he thought him of his child: +So with its winsome ways to wile the time, +He went unto the chamber where it lay, +Watch'd o'er by Gelert, as his custom was: +But there, alack! or that the child had crost +The savage humour of the beast, or that +Some sudden madness had embolden'd it, +He saw the child lie bloody mid the sheets, +Slain by the hound, as it would seem, for there +Lay Gelert lapping from his chaps the blood, +That hung in gouts from every grisly curl. + + MONK. + +O Heaven! the woful deed! What did your lord? + + MORGAN. + +You know the hasty humour of the man, +That brooks no let betwixt him and his mood-- +He slew the old hound with his heavy spear, +That almost licking of his feet fell dead; +For Gelert loved him well, and, crouching, took +Without a cry the blow that struck his heart. + + MONK. + +This is a sorry day for all the house; they say +Llewellyn had his soul set on the child. + + MORGAN. + +His soul! Ay, marry! many a time and oft +I've seen the man's great heart stare from his eyes, +Just like a girl's, out at the crowing boy: +And yesterday it was he perch'd him fair +Upon his broad rough shoulder, like a lamb +Laid on the topmost reaches of a hill, +And so he bore him, all his face a-glow, +When heralds came with war-notes from the king; +At which he turn'd him soft--the startled babe +Still set astride, and looking fondly up, +Said he, "See! here's the only lord that sets +His foot upon my shoulder." The man's heart +Scarce beats, I warrant, now the child is dead. + + MONK. + +And hath he master'd aught his sorrow now, +Or still rides passion curbless through his soul? + + MORGAN. + +Ah! there, good Father, lies the chiefest woe, +For in the slaying of the hound his rage +Quite spent its force, and now I fear me much +His mind bath lost its olden empery. + + MONK. + +Nay! Death smites passion still upon the mouth, +And its grim shade is silence--'Tis no sign. + + MORGAN. + +But in this one act all his fury pass'd; +And turning softly from the dead child there, +Suffering none to touch it where it lay, +He sat him down in awful calmness nigh, +And gazed forth blankly like a sculptured face; +And when we fain would pass to take the child, +A strange wild voice still warns us back again, +"Hush! for the boy is sleeping." It would seem +He will not think that Death hath struck the babe, +But blinds his willing soul, and deems it sleep. + + MONK. + +A longer sleep, whose waking is not here! +Poor soul! that, catching at the skirts of Truth. +Muffleth his eyes that he may see her not. + + MORGAN. + +Good Father! go thou to him, for this doubt +That lays its stony spell upon his heart, +Is sadder far than tears-- + + MONK. + + It is mine office +Still to bear balm unto the bleeding heart; +Then lead on, friend, and let us trust in Heaven. + + [_They pass in_. + + + II.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + MONK. + +Benedicite! my son; + + LLEWELLYN. + + Hush! speak low, +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + Ay! we should speak low +Where Death is, though no sound can ever wake +Those whom he cradles in his bony arms. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Who speaks of Death in presence of a child! + + MONK. + +Alas! my son, the bud though ne'er so close +It fold the fragrant treasure of its youth, +Is by the nip of Winter shorn betimes. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Though Death should grimly stalk into the house, +And stand beside the slumber of a child, +Think you that gazing on its mimic self, +Sleep, beautiful and wondrous, in the crib, +His owlish thoughts would not wing suddenly, +Through cycles of decay, back to the time +When he was one with Sleep, and passing fair; +Think you he would not sigh, "Sleep, on! sleep on! +Thou copy and thou counterfeit of me, +And teach the world that I was beautiful." +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + O my son! my son! +These are delusions that but wrong the soul, +And keep the aching thoughts from peace and Heaven. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Why, Father, if Death woke him as he lay, +The lad would look up at him with a smile, +And twist his little limbs in childish sport, +Until the angel, surfeited with fear, +Would love and spare the thing that fear'd him not. +No man could see his pretty ways and frown,-- +And he was full of little childish tricks, +That won the very heart out of a man +In spite of him. There's Beowolf the Curst, +With ne'er a gentle word for man or child, +But cold and crusty as a northern hill-- +Why this day sen'night did my master there, +Crawl up his knees without a Yea or Nay, +And toy'd him with his sword-hilt merrily, +Till the rough man, caught with his gamesome arts, +Swore that he had the making of a man; +And, for the maids, there's none but has a word, +Or kiss to bandy with the gainsome lad; +Ay! when he wakes you'll see how he will crow, +And fill the place with laughter--he's no girl, +Puking and mewling evermore--not he. + + MONK. + +Good lack! my son, your heart is too much set +Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will, +That turns your soul back to itself with stripes; +Oh! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead? + + LLEWELLYN. + +You all have conn'd the same wise tale by rote-- +The child is sleeping; hush! and wake him not. + + MONK. + +Nay! doth your mind not stumble on the truth, +Here by this old hound lying at your feet, +With all his clotted blood in crimson pools +Curdling among the rushes on the floor? + + LLEWELLYN. + +The hound?--the hound--Poor Gelert! well-a-day! +It was ill-done of me--a wicked stroke, +A wicked stroke--and the boy, too, asleep. +And now I mind me how he loved the dog; +How many an hour he sported in the sun, +Twining his grisly neck with summer buds; +And how the dog was patient with the boy, +Yielding him gently to his little arms-- +There was a lion's heart in the old hound! +The deed's accursed--accursed--the child will wake, +And call for Gelert with his merry voice; +And when the dog no more comes stalking nigh, +With great mild head to meet the outstretch'd hands, +The child will sob his heart out for his friend; +For, Sir, his nature is right full of love, +And generous affections, never slack +To let his soul have space and mastery-- +A wicked stroke! + + MONK. + + Ah! would his voice could sound +Ever again among your silent halls; +But the sweet treble never more shall ring +Across the chambers to your wistful ear; +Then hear it now come floating down from heav'n, +Calling your lone and bleeding heart to God. + + LLEWELLYN. + +His voice was very sweet, a silvery stream +Of music, rippling softly through my life-- +And ne'er to hear his little prattling tongue, +Stumbling upon the threshold steps of speech, +Catching quaint sounds and fragments of discourse, +And setting them to childish uses straight-- +I've sat and heard him by the hour--you'd wonder +To hear his little saws and sentences, +And now to think I'll hear him never more-- +Alack! alack!--but no, it is not true-- +The child is sleeping--Ay! it must be so. +What know you, Father, of an infant's sleep? +You, in your stony cell 'mid shaven friars, +All crowding down the nether side of life, +Hearing no sweeter voice than matin-bells, +No speech, but grace in cold refectories; +Ay! thence it is--Oh fool! that I should doubt! +'Tis so--'tis so--I knew that I should pluck +The cowl from your delusion--Is't not so? + + MONK. + +Oh son, your woful faith moves all my heart. +'Tis pitiful! but see you not the blood +That hotly streaks your sleeping lily there? +See how it laces all his garments o'er, +And signs the grievous sentence of your joy. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Blood?--blood?--nay, how is this?--I--very like +The sun shines redly on him--I have seen +The sky look ruddy, as with all the blood +Of battle-fields, where no man cried for grace. +Blood? look, Sir; look again--I--something clouds +Mine eyes to-day--I see more thick than wont. + + MONK. + +Nay! lean on me--Come! look upon your child, +And Heav'n in ruth will smite your drouthy heart, +And send the balm of tears about your soul. + + + III.--_In the heart of the Child._ + + +There is a little dove that sits + Between the arches all alone, + Cut and carved in old grey stone, +And a spider o'er it flits: + +Round and round his web is spun, + With the still bird looking through, + From among the beads of dew, +Set in glories of the sun. + +So the bird looks out at morn + At the larks that mount the sky, + And it gazes, still and shy, +At the new moon's scanty horn. + +And the owls, that fly by night, + Mock it from the ivied tower, + Hooting at the midnight hour +Down upon it from the height. + +But the little dove sits on, + Calm between the arches there, + In the holy morning air, +When the owls with night are gone. + +Then the bells for matins ring, + And the grey friars past it go, + Into church in double row, +And it hears the chaunts they sing. + +And the incense stealing out + Through the chinks, and through the seams, + Floats among the dusty beams, +And wreathes all the bird about. + +All the children as they pass + Turn to see the bird of stone, + 'Twixt the arches all alone, +Wading to it through the grass. + +Is the spider's pretty net, + Hung across the arches there, + But a frail and foolish snare +For the little stone bird set? + +If the place should e'er decay, + And the tower be crumbled down, + And the arches overthrown, +Would the dove then fly away? + +So that, seeking it around, + All some golden summer day, + 'Mid the ruins as they lay, +It should never more be found? + + + IV.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + LLEWELLYN. + +My little one! my joy! my hope! dead--dead-- +I did not think to see this sorry sight. + + MONK. + +Holy St. David! is this death, or sleep? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Nay! Father, that is past--I am a man +Once more, and look at Sorrow in the eyes; +Let Truth e'en smite me with her two-edged blade, +But smite me, like a warrior, face to face. + + MONK. + +I stand all in amaze! or do I dream, +Or see I now the motion of a breath, +Ruffling the pouting lips that stand ajar? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Oh! Father, mock me not--I know that Death +Sits lightly on him as a dreamless sleep; +So dear a bud can never lose its sweets; +Oh! foolish heart! I thought to see him grow +In strength and beauty, like a sapling oak, +Spreading his stalwart shoots about the sky, +Till, when old age set burdens on my back, +In every bough my trembling hands should find +A staff to prop me onward to the grave; +And now--my heart is shaken somewhat sorely. + + MONK. + +Sir! This is wondrous--let me take the child, +For sure mine eyes do cheat me, or he lives. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Father, this is not well to mock me so; +My heart is sated with the draught of Hope, +And, loathing, turns from the delusive cup; +Nay! touch him not--'tis well that he should lie, +Calm and unquestion'd, on the breast of Heav'n; +Yet once again my lips must flutter his, +He may not be so distant, but that Love +May send its greeting flying on his track-- +The lips are warm--my God! he lives! he lives! + + [_Takes the child, who awakes in his arms._] + + MONK. + +Faith! This is stranger than a gossip's tale! +My son! the wonderment o'ermasters you-- +Nay! look not thus--let Nature have her way-- +Give words to joy, and be your thanks first paid +To Heav'n, that sends you thus your child again. + + LLEWELLYN. + +The joy was almost more than man might bear! +And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze-- +The child unhurt--this blood--the hound--in troth, +The riddle passes my poor wits. + + MONK. + + Let's search +The chamber well--Heav'n shield us! what is this? + + LLEWELLYN. + +A wolf! and dead!--Ah! now I see it clear-- +The hound kept worthy watch, and in my haste +I slew the saviour of my house and joy. +Poor Gelert! thou shalt have such recompense +As man may pay unto the dead--Thy name +Henceforth shall stand for Faithfulness, and men +For evermore shall speak thine epitaph. + + + + + +A SHELL. + + +From what rock-hollow'd cavern deep in ocean, + Where jagged columns break the billow's beat, +Whirl'd upward by some wild mid-world commotion, + Has this rose-tinted shell steer'd to my feet? + +Perchance the wave that bore it has rejoiced + Above Man's founder'd hopes, and shatter'd pride, +Whilst fierce Euroclydon swept, trumpet-voiced, + Through the frail spars, and hurl'd them in the tide, + And the lost seamen floated at its side! + +Ah! thus too oft do Woe and Beauty meet, + Swept onward by the self-same tide of fate, +The bitter following swift upon the sweet, + Close, close together, yet how separate! + +Frail waif from the sublime storm-shaken sea, + Thou seem'st the childhood toy of some old king, +Who 'mid the shock of nations lights on thee, + And instant backward do his thoughts take wing +To the unclouded days of infancy; + Then, sighing, thus away the foolish joy doth fling. + +Forth from thine inner chambers come there out + Low murmurs of sweet mystic melodies, +Old Neptune's couch winding lone caves about, + In tones that faintly through the waves arise, + And steal to mortal ears in softest sighs. + +The poet dreams of olden ages flowing + Through the time-ocean to the listening soul, +Ages when from each fountain clear and glowing, + Unto the spirit Naiad voices stole. + +And still, from earth and sea, there ever pealeth + A voice far softer than leal lover's lay, +Bearing the heart, o'er which its true sense stealeth, + Far to diviner dreams of joy away, + And to the wisdom of a riper day. + + + + + +THE RAVEN. + + +There sat a raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark at morn + A ragged bird with feathers rough and torn, +Whetting his grimy beak upon the bark, + And croaking hoarsely to the woods forlorn. + +Blood red the sky and misty in the east-- + Low vapours creeping bleakly o'er the hills-- + The rain will soon come plashing on the rills-- +No sound in all the place of bird or beast, + Save that hoarse croak that all the woodland fills. + +A slimy pool all rank with rotting weeds, + Close by the pines there at the highway side; + No ripple on its green and stagnant tide, +Where only cold and still the horse-leech breeds-- + Ugh! might not here some bloody murder hide! + +Pshaw! ... Cold the air slow stealing through the trees, + Scarce rustling the moist leaves beneath its tread-- + A fearful breast thus holds its breath for dread! +There is no healthful music in this breeze, + It sounds ... ha! ha! ... like sighs above the dead! + +What frights yon raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark around, + With ne'er accomplish'd circlings to the ground +Ruffling his wings so ragged and so stark? + Some half-dead victim haply hath he found. + +Ho! raven, now with thee I'll share the spoil! + This way, methinks, the dying game hath trod-- + Ay! broken twigs, and blood upon the sod-- +These thorns are sharp! well! soon will end the toil-- + This bough aside, and then the prize ... My God!... + + + + +SONNETS + +ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. + + + 1. + +The Land stood still to listen all that day, +And 'mid the hush of many a wrangling tongue, +Forth from the cannon's mouth the signal rung, +That from the earth a man had pass'd away-- +A mighty Man, that over many a field +Roll'd back the tide of Battle on the foe,-- +Thus far, no further, shall thy billows go. +Who Freedom's falchion did right nobly wield, +Like potter's vessel smiting Tyrants down, +And from Earth's strongest snatching Victory's crown; +Upon the anvil of each Battle-plain, +Still beating swords to ploughshares. All is past,-- +The glory, and the labour, and the pain-- +The Conqueror is conquer'd here at last. + + + 2. + +Yet other men have wrought, and fought, and won, +Cutting with crimson sword Fame's Gordian knot, +And, dying, nations wonder'd--and forgot,-- +But this Man's name shall circle with the sun; +And when our children's children feel the glow, +That ripens them unconsciously to men, +Asking, with upturn'd face, "What did he then?" +One answer from each quicken'd heart shall flow-- +"This Man submerg'd the Doer in the Deed, +Toil'd on for Duty, nor of Fame took heed; +Hew'd out his name upon the great world's sides. +In sure-aim'd strokes of nobleness and worth, +And never more Time's devastating tides +Shall wear the steadfast record from the Earth." + + + 3. + +This Duty, known and done, which all men praise, +Is it a thing for heroes utterly? +Or claims it aught, O Man! from thee and me, +Amid the sweat and grime of working days? +Stand forth, thou Conqueror, before God's throne, +Thou ruler, thou Earth-leader, great and strong, +Behold thy work, thy doing, labour'd long, +Before that mighty Presence little grown. +Stand forth, thou Man, low toiling 'mid the lees, +That measurest Duty out in poor degrees; +Are not all deeds, beside the deeds of Heaven, +But as the sands upon the ocean shore, +Which, softly breath'd on by God's winds, are driven +Into dim deserts, thenceforth seen no more! + + + 4. + +Then make thou Life heroic, O! thou Man, +Though not in Earth's eyes, still in Heaven's, which see +Each task accomplish'd not in poor degree, +But as fain workings out of Duty's plan,-- +The hewers and the drawers of the land, +No whit behind the mighty and the great, +Bearing unmoved the burden of the State,-- +Alike each duty challenged at man's hand. +Life is built up of smallest atomics, +Pile upon pile the ramparts still increase, +And as those, Roman walls, o'er which in scorn +The scoffer leapt, soon held the world at bay, +So shall thy deeds of duty, lowly born, +Be thy strong tower and glory ere the set of day. + + + + + +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. + + + Far, far away, over land and sea, +When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath, +And chills the flowers to the sleep of death, + Far, far away over land and sea, +Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee. + +Round the old grey spire in the evening calm, + No more they circle in sportive glee, +Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm, +And the swell of the organ so far below; + But far, far away, over land and sea, +In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds go. + + Over the earth that is scarcely seen + Through the curtain of vapour that waves between, +O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain, + O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar, + They flit like shadows, and pass the shore, +And wing their way o'er the pathless main. + + There is no rest for the weary wing, + No quivering bough where the feet can cling; +To the North, to the South, to the East, to the West, + The ocean lies with its heaving breast, + Within it, without it there is no rest. + + The tempest gathers beneath them far, + The Wind-god rides on his battle-car, +And the roar of the thunder, the lightning-flash, +Break on the waves with a sullen crash; + But Silence reigns where the Passage-birds fly, + And o'er them stretches the clear blue sky. + +The day wears out, and the starry night + Hushes the world to sleep, to sleep; +The dew-shower falls in the still moonlight, + And none wake now, save those who weep; +But rustling on through the starry night, + Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee, + Cleaving the darkness above the sea, +Swift and straight as an arrow's flight. + Is the wind their guide through the trackless sky? + For here there's no landmark to travel by. + +The first faint streak of the morning glows, +Like the feeble blush on the budding rose; + And in long grey lines the clouds divide, +And march away with retreating Night, +Whilst the bright gleams of victorious Light, + Follow them goldenly far and wide: +And when the mists have all pass'd away, + And left the heavens serene and clear, + As an eye that has never shed a tear +And the universe basks in the smile of Day, + Dreamy and still, and the sleepy breeze, + Lazily moves o'er the glassy seas, +The Passage-birds flit o'er the disc of noon, + Like shadows across a mirror's face, + For now their journey wanes apace, +And the realms of Summer they'll enter soon. + + The land looms far through the waters blue, +The Land of Promise, the Land of Rest; + Through cloud and storm they have travell'd true, +And joy thrills now in each throbbing breast +Down they sink, with a wheeling flight, +Whilst the song of birds comes floating high, +And they pass the lark in the sunny sky; +But down, without pausing, down they fly; +Their travel is over, their Summer shines bright. + + + + + +MEMNON. + + +Hot blows the wild simoom across the waste, + The desert waste, amid the dreary sand, + With fiery breath swift burning up the land, +O'er the scared pilgrim, speeding on in haste, + Hurling fierce death-drifts with broad-scorching hand. + +O weary Wilderness! No shady tree + To spread its arms around the fainting soul; + No spring to sparkle in the parchèd bowl; +No refuge in the drear immensity, +Where lies the Past, wreck'd 'neath a sandy sea, + Where o'er its glories blighting billows roll. + +Ho! Sea, yield up thy buried dead again; + Heave back thy waves, and let the Past arise; + Restore Time's relics to the startled skies, +Till giant shadows tremble on the plain, + And awe the heart with old-world mysteries! + +Old Menmon! Once again thy Poet-voice + May sing sweet paeans to the golden Morn, + Again may hail the saviour Light sun-born, +And bid the wild and desert waste rejoice,-- + Again with sighs the looming darkness mourn. + +Thou Watchman, waiting weary for the dawn, + Breathing low longings for its golden light, + Through the dim silence of the drowsy night, +What wistful sighs with thine are softly drawn, + Till day-beams on the darken'd spirit smite! + +The dawning light of Knowledge smites thee now, + And forth from the dim Past come voices clear, + Falling in solemn music on the ear, +Which, as the haloes brighten on thy brow, + Shall still in richer harmonies draw near. + +The Past comes back in music soft and sweet, + And lo! the Present like a strung harp stands + Waiting the sweeping of prophetic hands, +To send its living music, loud and fleet, + Careering calmly through unnumber'd lands. + +Then swift uprise, thou Sun, thou Music-Maker! + Smiting the chords of Life with gladsome rays, + Till from each Memnon burst the song of praise, +From lips which thou hast freed, O silence-breaker! + That over Earth the sound may swell always. + + * * * * * + +NOTE--It will of course be remembered that the celebrated statue of +Memnon was believed to utter lugubrious and mournful sounds at sunset, +and during the hours of darkness, which changed to sounds of joy as the +first rays of morning fell upon it. + + + + + +A CONCEIT. + + +The Grey-beard Winter sat alone and still, + Locking his treasures in the flinty earth; +And like a miser comfortless and chill, + Frown'd upon pleasure and rejected mirth; + +But Spring came, gentle Spring, the young, the fair, + And with her smiles subdued his frosty heart, +So that for very joy to see her there, + His soul, relenting, play'd the lover's part; + +And nought could bring too lovely or too sweet, + To lavish on the bright Evangel's head; +No flowers too radiant for her tender feet; + No joys too blissful o'er her life to shed. + +And thus the land became a Paradise, + A new-made Eden, redolent of joy, +Where beauty blossom'd under sunny skies, + And peaceful pleasure reign'd without alloy. + + + + + +THE LAND'S END. + + +I stood on the Land's End, alone and still. + Man might have been unmade, for no frail trace + Of mortal labour startled the wild place, +And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill, + Circled beneath me over the dark sea, +Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white, +That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light + Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly. +It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose + Above the world of waters, high and steep, + With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep, +Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows; + A noble brow to a firm-founded world, + That at the limits of its empire stood, + Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood, +And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd. + The Midnight Sun rose like an angry god, +Girt round with clouds, through which a lurid glow +Fev'rously trembled to the waves below, + And smote the waters with a fiery rod; +Above, the glory circled up the sky, + Fainter and fainter to the sullen grey, + Till the black under-drift of clouds away +Went with the gathering wind, and let it die. +A moaning sound swept o'er the heaving ocean, + Toss'd hoarsely on from angry crest to crest, + Like groans from a great soul in its unrest, +Stirring the ranks of men to fierce commotion. +My longing vision measured the wide waste, + "This cannot be the end of things; that man + Should see his path lead on so short a span, +And then the unstable ocean mock his haste! +Better have stay'd where I could still look on, + And see a sturdy world to bear my feet, + Than thus outstrip the multitude to cheat +Earth of its knowledge, and here find it gone." +A Shadow rose betwixt me and the sky, + Out of the Ocean, as it seem'd, that set + A perfect shape before mine eyes, and yet +Hid not the sky that did behind it lie; +But, through its misty substance, all things grew + Faint, pale, and ghostly, and the risen sun + Gleam'd like a fiery globe half quench'd and dun, +Through the sere shadow which the spectre threw: +It answer'd me, "Man! this is not the end; + Progression ceaseth not until the goal + Of all perfection stop the running soul, +Whither through life its aspirations tend. +Spring from thy height, then, for till thou art free + From earth, thy course is narrow and restrain'd!" + I said, "No! Spirit, nought were thus attain'd; +Better pause here than perish in the sea; +Man can but do his utmost--there's a length + He cannot overleap." The spectre smiled, + "Then trust to me; for though the sea be wild, +It cannot shake the sinews of my strength,-- +Within my breast the fearful fall asleep, + And wake out of their terrors, calm and still, + Having outstripp'd the speed of time and ill, +And pass'd unconsciously the stormy deep." +Quicker and quicker drew I in my breath, + "If there be land beyond, receive me now; + I'll trust in thee--but, Spirit, who art thou?" +The winds bore on a murmur, "I am Death!" + + + + + +THE OLDEN TIME. + + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +When I did long for eve all day, + And watch'd upon the new-mown grass + The shadows slowly eastward pass, +And o'er the meadows glide away, + Till I could steal, with heart elate, + Unto the little cottage-gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +How all the night I long'd for morn, + And bless'd the thrush whose early note + The silver chords of silence smote +With greetings to the day new-born; + For then again, with heart elate, + I hoped to meet her at the gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +But now hath pass'd the olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time; +And there is neither morn nor night + That bears a freight of hopes and fears, + To bless my soul in coming years +With any harvest of delight; + For never more, with heart elate, + Can I behold her at the gate, +As in the sweet, sweet olden time. + +For the sake of that dear olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time, +I look forth ever sadly still, + And hope the time may come again, + When Life hath borne its meed of pain, +And stoutly struggled up the hill, +When I once more, with heart elate, + May meet her at _another_ gate, + Beyond the blighting breath of fate, +That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time. + + + + + +FATHER AND SON. + + +The King call'd forth his first-born, and took him by the hand, +"Come! boy, and see the people you must soon command: + +A bold and stalwart nation, dauntless in the fight, +Strong as an iron buckler to guard their monarch's right." + +Then the trumpets sounded, and his vassals came, +Gather'd round his banner, loudly rang his name; + +Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel +A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel. + +"Child! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king, +As I look around me on this martial ring; + +There I see the sinews that support a state, +There I see the strength that makes a monarch great. + +Men whose life is glory--men whose death is fame, +Living still in story past the reach of shame." + +Many years pass'd over--the old King was dead, +And his child, his first-born, reignèd in his stead. + +Many years he reignèd, and upon his brow +Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow. + +So he took his son forth, as his father had, +"Come! and see thy people," said he to the lad. + +And they rode together through the busy town: +Many a peaceful merchant passing up and down; + +Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air +Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware; + +And the sounds of labour, blent with cheerful song, +Told of peace and plenty as they rode along. + +Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling lass, +Trader, man and master, stood to see them pass, + +With a bonnet lifted, and "God bless him!" said +By many a gentle bosom, many a reverend head. + +So the father turn'd him to his son and cried, +"Are not these bold subjects worth a monarch's pride? + +In their own free circles, by their quiet hearth, +Rearing him a bulwark steady as the Earth: + +On their mighty anvils, with a giant's skill, +Bending stubborn iron to his lightest will: + +Prosperous and happy, free in heart and soul, +These send forth my glory to the furthest Pole. + +Where is there in story any fame above +That King's whose deeds are written in his people's love?" + + + + + +ORION. + + +"A hunter of shadows, himself a shade."--HOMER. + + +Oh! weary sleeper by the lone sea-shore, + Where billows toil for ever 'mid the rocks, + Scourged on by winds in stormy equinox, +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + The stern Earth calls thee, and the Ocean mocks; + Roll thy poor sightless orbs about the sky, + Through tears of blind and powerless agony; +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + +Ay! blind I stand beside the lone sea-shore; + Hearing the mighty murmur of the waves, + Shaking with giant arms earth's architraves, +Scaling the riven cloud-crags bald and boar, + Surging hoarse secrets through the central caves; + God! shall thine ocean undiscernèd roll, + Night on mine eyes, and darkness on my soul, +Groping for knowledge blindly evermore? + +Wild laugh the winds, Ho! ho! about my face; + Heaven! mock me not!--with night-struck eyes upraised, + Still fronting full the dome where once I gazed, +Yearns my unsighted soul through dimmest space-- + Before it let these earth-mists sink abased; + Let me behold the All before I die, + Passing, swift-wing'd, into Eternity; +Let me no more these shapeless shadows chase! + +Is there not Phoebus in the golden East, + Pouring forth floods of brilliancy divine, + That fire the spirit more than Jove's own wine? +Arise! and drain the droppings of the feast!-- + Heaven! there's no East for these blind eyes of mine, + Staring the sun down into black eclipse! + What hand will raise the chalice to my lips? +Give me a child to guide me--e'en the least. + +Then on! thou giant, child-led, through the land, + Tottering feebly with uncertain stride, + With heavy moans along the mountain side, +Groping the darkness wildly, staff in hand, + Staying, deep-voiced, the quick steps of thy guide; + On! with wild sightless sockets to the sun, + Thirsting for the light-streams that around it run; +Far on yon summit, turning eastward, stand! + +God! let me rather die than thus, child-led, + Totter about the world an infant's slave-- + Ay! die, and darkly slumber in the grave!-- +Peace! proud one, bow thine unsubmitting head; + Peace! soon the light-streams shall thine eyelids lave, + And wash this barren blindness from thy soul, + Till these dark mystic vapours backward roll, +And leave all nature in thy sight outspread. + +We are upon the summit now. Ho! boy, + Place me where I shall see the sun arise, + When its great glory lightens up; mine eyes-- +Oh! that I thus should be an infant's toy!-- + See, now the morning streaks the Eastern skies! + Ay! boy, I feel the light-spring bubbling up; + My lips are parch'd, and thirsting for the cup +That now brims up my everlasting joy. + +There is a low thin cloud along the sky, + That melts away apace to brightest gold! + Ay! boy, so shall my clouds melt fold on fold, +Till glory flood my vision utterly. + The sun! the sun! I see it upward roll'd,-- + Day for the world, but life, fire-life for me, + Smiting asunder Death's night-mystery +With lightning-blade of strength and ecstasy! + +Now, on to work and action, seeing clear-- + Blindness swift throwing to Time's charnel-place-- + Eyeing, unscathed, the Sun-god face to face! +Ho! light! more light! dissolving sphere on sphere! + Would that my very life could lighten space, + Shining out like some constellation bright, + Back beating all the myrmidons of Night, +With starry splendors flashing sword and spear! + + + + + +THE GOLDEN WATER. + + +[It is scarcely necessary to say that the following fragment is +founded upon the beautiful, and well-known tale in the "Arabian Nights," +entitled, "The two Sisters who were jealous of their younger Sister;" +and the reader need only be reminded that the two brothers of Perizade, +Bahman and Perviz, had previously gone in search of the treasures +described by the Devotee, and had perished in the attempt,--the fate +of the latter having just been intimated to her at the commencement +of this episode, by the fixture of the pearls in the magic chaplet, +which Perviz had left her for that purpose.] + + +The days flow'd on, and each day Perizade +At morn and eve told o'er the snowy pearls, +That morn and eve ran swiftly through her hands; +The days flow'd on--one morn the pearls ran not, +And well she knew that Perviz too was lost. +Tears doubled every bead; but, evermore, +Through pain and sorrow, yearn'd her thirsting soul +For that far Golden Water in the East, +Whence one bright drop would fill her fountain full, +With glistening jets still rising in the midst. +She rose up straight, and donning man's attire, +For that the road was hard and difficult, +Took horse, and towards the sunrise swiftly rode, +Saying, "Thus much life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die." + +She sped right onward nineteen days in haste, +Morning and noontide turning not aside; +Then, as the next day dawn'd, afar she saw +The aged Dervise 'neath his lonely tree. +No other shape of man or beast in view, +Dull grey the sky, and moaning low the wind. +"O! holy man, now tell me, for God's grace, +Where in the Land the Golden Water flows?" +He, lifting slow his head with locks snow-white, +And rheumy eyes, spake out with feeble voice, +"Good youth! the place I know, yet ask me not; +Bid not these aged lips the secret tell; +That hath wooed on so many to their death. +Thirst for Earth's honours, for her wealth, her joys, +Thirst for the sweetest things beneath the sky, +But O! thirst not for that far Golden Spring, +By many sought, by none ere found till now." +She, softly, with her open hand upraised, +"Nay! Father, from afar I hither come. +And all my heart is set upon the thing, +So that there is no joy 'neath sun and moon, +No rarest charm can move me, lacking it; +Tell me then all the dangers of the quest, +That I may measure well my strength, and know +If mortal man may meet it and o'ercome." +With sad dissenting mien, and solemn voice, +That trembled 'neath its burden, thus spake he,-- +"Full many of the good and bold have come +From every land the pilgrim-sun looks on, +All thirsting for this water golden bright; +These darkening eyes have seen them all pass on, +But ne'er a one return; and I am old. +Hear then, poor youth, and turn while yet you may; +A mid-day's journey hence a mountain stands, +Rugged and bare as outcast poverty, +With many a gap and chasm yawning wide, +With many a rock to drive the climber back; +And, far above, the summit hides in clouds,-- +There springs the Golden Water through the rock +Brighter than sunlight in a summer noon; +But as the weary seeker toils aloft, +Rude voices rush upon him, loud and shrill, +Now far, now near, but all with anger fraught, +Rough menace, insult, and hoarse mockery; +Whereat the wondering climber, turning back, +In fury, or in fear, to meet the foe +Shouting loud threats e'en in his very ear, +Stands face to face with Death, and sinks transform'd +Into cold stone, 'mongst myriads more that lie, +And all day fright him with their dreary stare. +Ay! he that setteth forth upon this quest, +And looketh ever back for friend or foe, +For cruel laughter, or for mocking jeers, +Turns straight to stone like all beside his path; +But once upon the summit, at his feet +Flows the pure Golden Water, bright and clear." + +"This frights me not, O Father; for meseems +He is unworthy who should turn aside +For any mocking voice of man or maid; +Then tell me quick the way, that I may on; +Mine eyes look only forward, and mine ears +Hear only the far flowing of the spring. +Two brothers there lie lock'd in stony sleep,-- +I go to wake them on the mountain's side." +The Dervise laid his forehead in the dust, +"Allah go with thee, since it must be so! +Take thou this ebon bowl, and cast it down; +The ball will roll before thee swift and sure, +Until it stop beneath the mountain's side; +There stop thou; and, dismounting, leave thy steed, +And climb the fearful hill; but oh! beware +Thy glance turn never backward on the way! +Above, the golden fountain bubbles clear, +Whose water, sprinkled o'er these dead black stones, +Will wake the sleepers from their chilly sleep." + +With lips compress'd she took the ebon bowl, +And cast it on before the startled steed; +Swiftly it roll'd, and swiftly follow'd she; +The road all desolate--no shade of tree, +No living thing about the dreary waste; +No sound but of her courser's clanging hoofs, +His shaking tassels, and his measured breath; +Afar, the mountain black against the sky. +Still onward roll'd the ball, until the sun +Stood midway in the heavens, a fiery red, +Looking through clouds with half his glory quench'd; +And then it stopp'd close at the mountain's base. +Perizade straightway leapt from off her steed, +And threw the bridle on his arching neck +With calm caress, and left him neighing low; +One glance along the mountain, black and bare, +With low mists creeping o'er its rocky sides; +Mysterious exhalations veiling all the peak; +Dead silence--O but for a passing wind +To mimic Life beside her living soul! +Then upward with quick footsteps firm and bold. +Before her myriad dull black stones lay strewn, +Fearful to see, and know that souls of men +Lay prison'd in their cold and heavy frames.-- +Sudden behind her sprang a mighty cry, +"Ho! Traitress! turn, or die!" and evermore +Voices leapt out to wound her, like sharp swords, +With words of contumely, and mocking taunts, +Scoffs at her woman's heart 'mid manhood's guise, +Threats, rude defiances on every side. +At first she clomb, nigh stunn'd with wrathful cries, +Now at her side, whilst she would shrink in fear +To feel the sword's point pierce her fluttering heart, +Now from afar, below her and above, +Till she scarce breath'd, awaiting o'erturn'd rocks +To crush her in their fury as she went. +Yet, minding well the Dervise, still she held +Her pale face forward, with eyes ever bent +Towards the misty summit far away. + +More slowly soon her heart beat, and she laugh'd, +Like echo, at the scornful taunts and jeers; +"Scoff on!" she cried, "How small a thing it is +That scorn pursue us like a backward shade, +Whilst there is still the broad sun on before." +Weary and steep the path through cloud and mist, +Piercing the darkness on an unknown way; +But still she onward trod, and near'd the top, +Whence voices louder, fiercer ever came, +"Back, fool! intruder! sacrilegious wretch! +Slay the mad climber! crush her to the dust!" +Once stood she half irresolute, her hands +Press'd hotly on her too oppressèd heart; +But still she thirsted for the golden spring, +And with her soul made strength to reach the top, +Sighing, "Thus much Life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die!" + +Upon the summit totter'd she at last: +Far, far below the vapours tossing lay, +A great broad sea of heaving cloud and mist; +And upward the clear sky, as soft and blue +As a child's heaven--the sun unveil'd and bright. +No wrathful voices hover'd round her now, +But low sweet music of Aeolian tone, +With all the sadness melted into joy. +Unto the spring she hurried, breathing short, +And there the Golden Water bubbled up, +Like summer morning rising in the East,-- +A crystal chalice sparkled on the marge. +She fill'd it from the precious tide in haste, +And raised the clear elixir to her lips; +And then, as at a draught from Lethe's tide, +Her weariness pass'd from her suddenly, +And in her heart great peace and joy arose. + +Then from the chalice pour'd she on the stones, +That lay all cold and black upon the path, +And at that mystic baptism, anew +Sprang up the chilly sleepers in amaze, +Their stony hearts back-melted into Life; +Soon follow'd her a train of noble youths, +Gather'd from East, and West, and North, and South, +The rarest and the goodliest of Earth. +Bahman and Perviz, risen with the rest, +Walk'd at her side with wonder-stricken hearts, +Gazing upon her through kind tearful eyes. +Each found his steed beside the mountain base, +And mounted, all that goodly company, +She with her crystal chalice at the head. + +Then with her soft voice trembling through the crowd, +"Back let us to the world from whence we came; +And since that Life hath many Golden Springs, +Hath many joys to gain through toil and doubt, +Still let us scale the mountain for the prize, +And close our ears to Folly's wagging tongue." + +They spurr'd along until the sun sank low, +And by the way arose the lonely tree, +Mere sat the Dervise, rheumy-eyed and old-- +Blood-red the western sky--the clouds back waved, +And one faint star pale glimmering in the height-- +There found they still the Dervise 'neath his tree, +Where he had pointed them the Eastern way, +Now sleeping the last sleep with smiling lips. +"The Golden Water found, his task is done, +And now the Watcher calmly takes his rest!" +Then on in silence through the quiet night. + + + + + +YEARS AGO. + + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first we met; +When first her voice thrill'd through my heart, +Aeolian-sweet, thrill'd through my heart; + And glances from her soft brown eyes, + Like gleamings out of Paradise, +Shone on my heart, and made it bright +With fulness of celestial light; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I knew +How all her beauty fill'd my soul, +With mystic glory fill'd my soul; + And every word and smile she gave, + Like motions of a sunlit wave, +Rock'd me with divine emotion, +Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I heard, +Amid the silence of my soul, +The fearful silence of my soul, + That warning voice of doom declare-- + O God! unmoved by my despair-- +How her soft eyes would lose their light, +Their holy, pure, and stainless light, +And all the beauty of her being +Fade sadly, swiftly from my seeing; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when dumb I stood +Beside that little grass-green mound-- +Would I had lain beneath the mound!-- + And gazed out through my briny tears, + Upon the future lonely years, + Upon the cold, bleak, cheerless years, +Till Earth should ope her grassy breast, +And take me to my welcome rest, +Where she in Death's cold arms lay prest; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago; and yet I still +Gaze through moist eyes upon the Past, +The cherish'd, unforgotten Past; + Gaze onward through the coming days, + And wonder, with a sweet amaze, +What sunrise with its rosy light +Will bring her to my longing sight; + What sunset with its golden glow + Will o'er the long-sought slumber flow, +Amid whose visions she shall gleam, +As once she did through youth's sweet dream, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + + + + +VULCAN. + + +From the darksome earth-mine lifted, + From the clay and from the rock + Loosen'd out with many a shock; +Slowly from the clay-dross sifted, + Molten in the fire bright-burning, + Ever purer, whiter turning-- +Ho! the anvil, cool and steady, +For the soften'd rod make ready! + +Blow, thou wind, upon the flame, + Raise it ever higher, hotter, + Till, like clay before the potter, +Soft become the iron frame, + Bending at the worker's will, + All his purpose to fulfil-- +Ho! the fire-purged rod is ready +For the anvil, cool and steady! + +At each stroke the sparks fly brightly + Upward from the glowing mass; + Hail! the stroke that makes them pass, +Fall it heavy, fall it lightly! + Now the stubborn strength bends humbly, + To the Master yielding dumbly; +From the metal, purged and glowing, +Forms of freest grace are flowing. + +Wield thine hammer well, strong arm! + Strength to Beauty [*] wedded brings + Glory out of rudest things, + Facts from mere imaginings; +Strike from steel its hidden charm! + Little reck the rocks the blow + That makes the living water flow; +Little recks man's soul the rod +That scourges it through tears to God. + + +[*Footnote: Vulcan was wedded to Venus.] + + + + + +SONG. + + +The days are past, the days are past, + When we did meet, my love and I; +And youthful joys are fading fast, + Like radiant angels up the sky; +But still with every dawning day + Come back the blessed thoughts of old, +Like sunshine in a morn of May, + To keep the heart from growing cold. + +The flowers are gone, the leaves are shed, + That waved about us as we stray'd; +And many a bird for aye has fled, + That chaunted to us from the glade; +Yet every leaf and flower that springs + In beauty round the ripening year, +And every summer carol brings + New sweetness from the old time dear. + + + + + +GUY OF WARWICK. + +AN EPISODE. + + +Autumn went faintly flying o'er the land, +Trailing her golden hair along the West, +Weeping to find her waving fields despoil'd, +Her yellow leaves all floating on the wind: +And Winter grim came stalking from the North. +Around the coast rough blasts began to blow, +And toss the seas about in giant sport, +Lurking without to catch unwary sails, +And snap their bellying seams against the mast. +So Guy lay idly waiting in the port, +Gazing out eastward through the stormy mist, +Gazing out eastward morn and closing eve, +Seeking some break amid the hurtling clouds. +But many days the same wind strongly blew, +Keeping his bark close moor'd within the bay, +Jerking the cable, like a restive steed. +And waiting thus impatient to be gone, +Looking out seaward from the dripping wharf, +Strange rumours fill'd his ears, from inland come, +How all the land around his native place +Was devastated by a mighty Beast, +Most terrible to see, and passing strong. +They told him how it slew both man and brute, +Destroying every living thing around, +And laying waste the land for many a mile; +And how 'twas thought no blade, by mortal wrought, +Could cleave its way into the monster's heart; +And then they told him how his lord the King +Had late proclaim'd through all the country round, +That whosoe'er should slay the noisome Beast, +Should straight be knighted by his kingly sword, +And honour'd greatly in the rescued land. + +Yet none was found so stout of heart and limb, +To venture in this perilous emprize; +"But ah!" they said, supposing him far off, +"If famous Guy were here, there were a man +Would rid us of this monster presently. +But as for him, he speeds away through France, +Bearing to other lands his strength, that, faith, +Were better spent at home amongst his kin." + +And still the East wind bluster'd to the shore. + +Now Guy, whose ears still tingled all the day +With these strange murmurs of the troubled land, +Began to feel his heart with pity move; +And, for his soul still fretted at delay, +Like a leash'd hound that scents the flying game, +He straight resolved to take this quarrel up, +And for his country's weal to slay the Beast. + +So he arose, girt on his trusty sword, +And with his bow and quiver slung behind, +And at his belt his mighty battle-axe, +Rode calmly forth to slay the hurtful Beast. +And no man knew that he was Guy, for all +Believed him far away on foreign shores; +Which pleased him passing well, "Because," he said, +"I do this thing for Phoelice and the King, +And none shall know but Heaven that sees the deed. +But when the country feels returning joy, +Her heart will flutter with a secret thought." + +And all the land was desolate and waste; +The fields stood rotting 'neath the Autumn rains, +And no man pluckt the sodden corn that lay, +Dead ripe, along the furrows 'mid the weeds; +No cattle browsed upon the long rank grass, +Or paused to gaze upon him as he rode; +The cottages, deserted all in haste, +Stood open-door'd and rifted by the winds, +With cold grey ashes scatter'd o'er the hearth. +Here he beheld the homely meal spread forth, +Which no man ate; and there, upon the floor, +An o'erturn'd cradle, whence a mother late +Had snatch'd her babe up with a cry, and fled. + +And all his heart was sore with what he saw, +For he met none to wish him once "God speed;" +So he spurr'd onward swifter to the place +Where lurk'd the monster that thus spoil'd the land; +And long the road seem'd to him in his wrath. +At last he came unto the fearful spot, +Mark'd with the blanching bones of man and beast; +A thicket planted by a lonely heath, +O'ergrown with brambles and unwholesome weeds, +That clasping trees around with witch-like arms, +Poison'd their life out, and still held them dead. +And at one side there stretch'd a stagnant pool, +Unstirr'd by any grateful breeze, but thick +With slimy leaves, and rushes all forlorn, +And every footstep on the spongy bank +Fill'd straightway with the oozing of decay. +The Beast hid in the bosom of this wood; +And as Guy went he saw two eyes of fire +Burn through the darkness of the wood, like blasts +Sent from a smith's forge suddenly at night. +But, nought dismay'd, he bent his bow of steel, +And sent an arrow whirring through the leaves. +He heard the shaft ring on the monster's ribs, +And backward leap, as when a falchion strikes +Full on a warrior's casque with fiery force; +Whereat with roaring horrible to hear, +Like storm-winds belching through a cavern's mouth, +Forth rush'd the monster, furious and grim, +With open jaws and reeking breath at Guy; +Who, leaping nimbly back, put forth his strength, +And struck her full between the eyes a blow +That made the stout axe quiver in his hand. +But, nothing hurt, the madden'd Beast rush'd on, +And nigh o'erwhelm'd him in her headlong course, +Denting his breastplate, wrought of temper'd steel, +With the close home-thrust of her pointed horns. +But Guy, swift wheeling round his snorting steed, +Thought on his Phoelice, and, with mighty strength, +Launch'd forth a stroke that made the thick blood flow +In loathsome torrents from a gaping wound. +So, cheer'd at heart, he thunder'd blow on blow, +Till, with a bellow of despair and pain, +The monster tore the earth, and, writhing, died. + +And when Guy saw that he had slain the Beast, +He was right glad, and full of sweet content. +And so he wiped his blood-stain'd battle-axe, +And rode with lighten'd heart in haste away +To bear the welcome tidings to the town. +And as he pass'd, or that he dreamt, or saw, +It seem'd as though the land bloom'd up again, +And sunshine fill'd the air with hope and life. +And so he bore the tidings to the town-- +And when the people heard the Beast was dead, +They gather'd round with tears and cries of joy, +And scarce found words to thank and honour him. +And one brought forth her babe, and held him up, +And cried, "Look, child upon him, that your soul +May know the fashion of a noble man!" + +But still he told no man that he was Guy. + +And all desired to lead him to the King, +But he would not, and turn'd another way-- +"Nay! friends," said he, "I need no recompense. +For in the doing of a worthy deed +Lies all the honour that a man should seek." +And thus he turn'd away unto the sea, +And would not tarry, or for prayers, or tears; +And when he came unto the quiet port, +He said no word unto his waiting men, +But gazed out seaward; and the waves were down, +The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew; +And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main, +White in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing-- +And so he went on ship-board cheerily, +And they hove anchor with a right good-will, +And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze, +Bore swiftly out into the open sea; +And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows, +Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile. + + + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + + + The day fades fast; +And backward ebbs the tide of light +From the far hills in billows bright, + Scattering foam, as they sweep past, +O'er the low clouds that bank the sky, +And barrier day off solemnly. + + Above the land +Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold, +Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold, + Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand + Presses down sorrow on the heart, +And silence on the lips that part. + + The dew-mist broods +Heavy and low o'er field and fen, +Like gloom above the souls of men; + And through the forest solitudes +The fitful night-wind rustles by, +Breathing many a wailing sigh-- + + O Day! O Life! +Ending in gloom together here-- +Though not one star of Hope appear, + Still through the cold bleak Future gaze, + That mocks thee with its murky haze; +Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife, + And give unto thy weeping eyes + The far night-guarded Paradise! + + + + + +A DIRGE. + + +Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves; + Sadly float the midnight hours away; +Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves, + Fall the first pale chilly tints of day, + Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day. + +Soon the darkness will be past and gone; + Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing; +Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on; + Life commence its weary wandering, + Ah me! its weary, weary wandering. + +Not the sighing of my lonely heart, + Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er, +Not its silence can with night depart: + Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore, + Ah me! darkness ever, evermore. + + + + + +TO MY DREAM-LOVE. + + +Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar + I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, + And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, +Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star; + Where art thou? Ah! where art thou, hid in light + That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight? + +Not wholly--ah! not wholly--still Love's eyes + Trace thy dim beauty through the mystic veil, + Like the young moon that glimmers faint and pale, +At noontide through the sun-web of the skies; + But ah! I ope mine arms, and thou art gone, + And only Memory knows where thou hast shone. + +Night--Night the tender, the compassionate, + Binds thee, gem-like, amid her raven hair; + I dream--I see--I feel that thou art there-- +And stand all weeping at Sleep's golden gate, + Till the leaves open, and the glory streams + Down through my trancèd soul in radiant dreams. + +Too short--too short--soon comes the chilly morn, + To shake from love's boughs all their sleep-born bloom, + And wake my heart back to its bitter doom, +Sending me through the land down-cast, forlorn, + Whilst thou, my Beautiful, art far away, + Bearing the brightness from my joyless day. + +I stand and gaze across Earth's fairest sea, + And still the plashing of the restless main, + Sounds like the clashing of a prisoner's chain, +That binds me, oh! my Beautiful, from thee. + Oh! sea-bird, flashing past on snow-white wing, + Bear my soul to her in thy wandering. + +My heart is weary gazing o'er the sea; + O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky; + Through solemn sun-sets ever mournfully, +Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee; + Hearing the sullen waves for evermore + Dashing around me on the lonely shore. + +But tides creep lazily about the sands, + Washing frail landmarks, Lethe-like, away, + And though their records perish day by day, +Still stand I ever, with close claspèd hands, + Gazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, + Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee. + + + + + +A NIGHT SCENE. + + +The lights have faded from the little casement, + As though her closing eyes had brought on night; + And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright, +While silence reigns around from roof to basement. + And slow the moon is mounting up the sky, +Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train, + Flinging rich largesse, as she passes by, +Of beauty freely over hill and plain. + +Around the lattice creep the pure white roses, + And one light bough rests gently on the pane, + The diamond pane, through which the angel train +Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes; + The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now; +And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly, + Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow; +The peace and stillness make the place seem holy. + +The little garden where she daily strays, + Sleeps like the precinct of a place enchanted; + And many a flower by her own dear hands planted, +Waves mystically 'neath the starry rays. + There is such strange still beauty in the spot, +That in the misty moonshine oft it seems + A vision that the waking eye sees not, +But some fair plesaunce blooming up in dreams. + +The dew distillèd perfumes richly rise, + And float unseen about the silent air, + Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere, +Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise; + Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press, +Within the stillness of this inner shrine, + Where Nature has unveil'd her loveliness, +And to the angels bared her soul divine. + +There is no sound upon the ear of Night; + The distant watch-dog's bay hath sunk to rest; + The thrush is brooding o'er his quiet nest; +And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight. + O heart, why beat so wildly--she will hear, +And start from slumber in serene surprise-- + Away! away! why longer linger here +To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs! + + + + + +SONNET. + + +O Cloud so golden, stealing o'er the sky, +Like pensive thought across a virgin mind, +Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind; +Would that o'er heaven with thee my soul could fly, +Scanning Earth's beauty with a lover's eye, +Tracing the waving waters and the woods, +Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes, +Where all the summer through I long to lie. +O Cloud so golden stealing o'er the sky, +Sail'd I within thy bosom o'er heaven's main, +Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory, +The liquid loveliness of sea and plain, +Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory, +My soul would melt and fall again in rain. + + + + + +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER. + + +My little bark glides steadily along, + Still and unshaken as a summer dream; + And never falls the oar into the stream, +For 'tis but morning, and the current strong; + So let the ripples bear me as they will; +Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song; + Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still + Swift floating down the River. + +Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees; + One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky, + As o'er the widening stream below steal I, +Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze; + Bird-music answers sweetly through the air, +The unheard warbling of heart melodies; + Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care, + Swift floating down the River. + +Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies on the tide, + With glowing petals in the midst, that rest + Like the gold shower on Danae's lovely breast; +And the tall rushes cluster on the side. + Ho! sweet-lipp'd lily, thou must be my prize-- +Thus shall I pluck thee in thy beauty's pride! + Fail'd--all too steadily my shallop hies, + Swift floating down the River. + +The stream fast widens, and upon the shore + Rise busy hamlets 'mid the falling woods, + Filling their shorn and broken solitudes, +With labour's clamour ever more and more: + No more, no more in dreams of love all day, +Rich set in music from the forests hoar, + Now gaily speeds my untoss'd bark away, + Swift floating down the River. + +Let me take oar, and turn mine eager prow, + Back to the quiet waveless source again, +Where no harsh sound breaks on the dreaming brain, +And winds steal softly round the careless brow,-- + Swift as a dream my tiny bark hath gone, +And stoutly though I ply the oar, yet now + My weary shallop still goes sadly on, + Swift floating down the River. + +Ah! never more for me--Ah! never more + Return those blessed morning hours again; + The sun beats hotly on my throbbing brain, +And no cool shade waves friendly from the shore: + My feeble oar dips powerless utterly, +And onward, onward, though I struggle sore, + Still goes my bark towards the surging sea, + Swift floating down the River. + +Welcome art thou, O cool and fragrant eve! + Welcome art thou, though night pursue thee fast + With thee the burning and the toil roll past, +And there is time to gaze back and to grieve. + Hoarse ocean-murmurs fall upon mine ears, +And round me now prophetic billows heave, + As on I go, out-looking through salt tears, + Swift floating down the River, + Swift floating to the Sea. + + + + + +ORPHEUS. + + +About the land I wander, all forlorn, +About the land, with sorrow-quenchèd eyes; +Seeking my love among the silent woods; +Seeking her by the fountains and the streams; +Calling her name unto lone mountain tops; +Sending it flying on the clouds to heaven. +I drop my tears amid the dews at morn; +I trouble all the night with prayers and sighs, +That, like a veil thick set with golden stars, +Hideth my woe, but cannot silence it; +Yet never more at morning, noon, or night, +Cometh there answer back, Eurydice, +Thy voice speaks never more, Eurydice; +O far, death-stricken, lost Eurydice! + +Hear'st thou my weary cries, Eurydice? +Hearing, but answering not from out the past, +Wrapp'd in thy robe of everlasting light, +Round which the accents flutter faintingly, +Like larks slow panting upward to the sun? +Or roll the golden sands of day away, +And never more the voice of my despair +Trickles among them o'er thine unmoved ear, +Though every grove doth multiply the sound, +And all the land sigh forth "Eurydice"? + +My heart is all untamed for evermore; +The strings hang loose and warp'd for evermore; +The rocks resound not with my olden songs, +Nor melt in echoes on the trancèd breeze; +The streams flow on to music all their own; +The magic of my lyre hath pass'd away, +For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music from its chords; +For thou art pass'd away, Eurydice; +Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice; +And there is nought to guide the erring tones +That once breath'd but of thee, Eurydice; +That made each breeze sweet with Eurydice; +And taught each fountain and each running stream +To sing of thee, O lost Eurydice! + +The serpent saw thee, O Eurydice! +The serpent slew thee, O Eurydice! +Stealing amongst the grass, Eurydice; +The long rank grass, that stretched Briarian arms +To clasp thee to itself, Eurydice! +And soon they laid thee from the sight of men; +Laid thee beneath the rankly waving grass; +Opening Earth's portals wide to let thee wend +Forth to Plutonian realms of gloom away; +And never more about the waiting land +Stray'd thy light steps at morn or shady eve. +No fountain hid thine image in its heart; +No flowers leapt up to wreathe thy golden hair; +No more the fawns within the forest glade +Follow'd a foot more lightsome than their own; +The moon stole through the night in dim surprise; +And all the stars look'd pale with wondering; +For thou cam'st not, O lost Eurydice! +Earth found thee not, O lost Eurydice! +Love found thee not, O lost Eurydice! + +I could not stay where thou wert not, forlorn; +I could not live, O lost Eurydice!-- +Not Acheron itself could fright me back +From where thy footsteps wander'd, best beloved! +And so I sought thee e'en at Hades' gate, +Charm'd wide its leaves with melody of woe, +And dared the grave to keep me from thine arms; +I flow'd away upon a stream of song, +E'en to dark Pluto's grimly guarded throne, +Melting the cruel Cerberus himself, +The Parcae, and snake-lock'd Eumenides, +To pity of my measureless despair. +I sang thy beauty, O Eurydice! +I sigh'd my love forth, O Eurydice! +With tears and weary sighs, Eurydice! +And at thy name the pains of Hell grew light; +Ixion's wheel stopp'd in its weary rounds, +The rock of Sisyphus forgot to roll, +And draughts of comfort flow'd o'er Tantalus:-- +Then from old Dis's hands the keys slipp'd down, +And words of hope and pity spake he forth. +He promised thee again if I would go, +Never back-looking, from those realms of gloom, +Those realms of gloom where thou wert, best beloved. + +How could I leave thee thus, Eurydice? +Without one look, one glance, Eurydice? +And I perchance no more to gaze on thee, +Snared by some fatal falsehood from thy side? +Yet strove I hard; until at length I came +Where Lethe flow'd before me, faint and dim; +Ye gods! how could I cross it from my love, +That might wash out her memory for aye; +That I should live and dream of her no more; +That I should live and love her never more; +That I should sing no more, Eurydice; +That I should leave her in the grip of Hell, +Nor bear her forth e'en on the wings of thought. +And so I turn'd to gaze, Eurydice! +I turn'd to clasp thee, O Eurydice!-- +And lo! thy form straightway dissolved away; +Thy beauty in the light dissolved away; +And Hades and all things dissolved away; +Until I found me on thy cold, cold grave, +Amid the grass that I would grew o'er me, +Clasping us close within one narrow home, +Where I no more might wake and find thee gone.-- +The earth oped not unto my frantic cries; +The portals closed thee from me evermore-- +Else had I melted Hell itself with prayers, +And borne thee back to Earth triumphantly. + +I cried, heart-stricken, on Proserpina; +I rent the rocks around with endless prayers; +I told her all the story of our love, +I launch'd my sorrows on her woman's heart; +I sought her through the barren winter-time, +The woful winter-time for Earth and me; +And, "Oh!" I thought, "her soul will soon relent, +And rush in crystal torrents from her eyes, +Till in the joy of sympathetic tears, +She woo my love from Pluto's stony heart." +I waited, and I question'd long the Spring; +I question'd every flower and budding spray, +If thou didst come among them back again; +I conjured each bright blossom, each green leaf, +That, leaving Earth, she bears full-arm'd to Dis, +But backward flingeth ere her glad return, +That every step of glorious liberty, +Fall upon flowers throughout the happy land; +But never came response, Eurydice,-- +The flowers were dumb, O lost Eurydice! +They would not see thee spring from Earth like them, +Outshining all their fainter loveliness, +And so they left me to my lorn despair; +She left me lorn, O false Proserpina! +And never more may I behold thee here, +In Spring or Summer, O Eurydice! +By day or night, O lost Eurydice! + +They shall not keep me from thee, O beloved! +Dis shall not keep me from thee, O beloved; +But I shall shake his gates in my despair, +Until they open wide to let me pass; +I'll take my life up like a mighty rock, +And so beat breaches in the walls of Time; +I'll cast existence from me like a wrestler's robes, +And with my supple, naked soul throw Fate; +I'll snap the shackles whose Promethean links +Bind down my soul unto this narrow earth.-- +Dost hear my voice dim floating to thee now, +Along the waves that ripple at my feet? +Thus do I come to thee, Eurydice, +Through waving water-floods, Eurydice, +I come, I come, beloved Eurydice! + + + + + +THE SCULPTOR. + + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night, + Stealing amid the waving of the corn, + That waited, golden, for the harvest morn-- +The dream fell on him through the still moonlight. + +The land lay silent, and the new mown hay + Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep; + And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap, +The night-breeze bore sweet incense-breath away. + +The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves; + The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd; + The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast +Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves. + +He had been straying through the land that day, + Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love; + And all the earth beneath, the heaven above, +In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay. + +And, as he went, from every sight and sound, + From silence, from the sweetness in the air, + From earth, from heaven, from nature everywhere, +Gleam'd forth a deep dim thought and clasp'd him round. + +The thought oppress'd him with a weary joy, + Seeking for ever for its perfect shape, + That from his eager eyes would still escape, +Flatter him onward--then his hopes destroy. + +He sought it in the bosom of the hills; + He sought it in the silence of the woods, + Their sunny nooks and shady solitudes; +He sought it in the fountains and the rills. + +He watch'd the stars come faintly through the skies; + And on his upturn'd brow the clear moon shone, + Flooding his heart like pale Endymion; +But still the thought hid dimly from his eyes; + +Its voice came to him on the evening breeze, + That flutter'd faintly through his summer dreams-- + He heard it through the flowing of the streams; +He heard it softly rustling through the trees. + +Yet still the thought that murmur'd through his heart, + He found not anywhere about the land; + Ne'er saw its spirit shape before him stand, +Though from all nature it seem'd prone to start. + +And thus he wander'd homeward, dreaming still + Of all the beauty that had haunted him, + With mystic meanings shadowy and dim, +By woodland, and by meadow, vale and hill: + +He wander'd homeward, and in musing mood + Stay'd his slow steps beside a marble block, + Hewn from some far unstain'd Italian rock, +That for his shaping chisel waiting stood. + +Then his heart spoke out to him, "Not alone + This thought divine hides in the streams and woods, + Seeking expression through their solitudes, +Perchance e'en lies it in this unhewn stone. + +It may be that the soul which fills all space, + And speaks up to us from each thing we see, + In words that are for ever mystery, +Within this Parian, too, hath resting-place." + +He gazed on, dreaming through the dim twilight, + And to his inner sight the marble grew + Clear and translucent, so that, gazing through, +A mystic shape form'd to his wondering sight, + +That seem'd imprison'd in the Parian cell, + Seeking in vain release and utterance; + For evermore, with upward beaming glance, +Framing the words its lips could never tell. + +The vision pass'd; but still with unseen power, + It stirr'd within his heart by night and day; + And swift to hew the prison walls away, +The Sculptor toil'd, love-strengthen'd, from that hour. + +He wrought with patience, and at length, amazed, + Beheld the mystic form all perfect stand, + Released in beauty by his artist hand, +He scarce knew how, and wonder'd as he gazed. + +It was a lovely form whose lifted arms + Yearn'd towards heaven with all its radiant frame, + As though the soul within on wings of flame +Up from the earth would waft its angel charms; + +But still one touch retain'd it to the ground; + So that the love that beam'd up from its eyes + Flow'd evermore towards the distant skies, +And yet to earth the shape remain'd spell-bound. + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night; + And thus in that fair form still heavenward turning + Eternal aspiration, endless yearning, +Stood now the Thought before his gladden'd sight. + + + +THE END. + + + + + +[ADVERTISEMENT] + +By the same Author. + +EIDOLON, AND OTHER POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Walter R. 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Cassels + +Release Date: November 29, 2003 [EBook #10328] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Ross and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +WALTER R. CASSELS + + + +LONDON + +1856 + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +MABEL +HEBE +SPRING +THE BITTERN +GONE +BEATRICE DI TENDA +SERENADE +THE EAGLE +WHITHER? +THE MORNING STAR +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS +THE DARK RIVER +WYTHAM WOODS +THE STAR IN THE EAST +UNDER THE SEA +WIND +A CHALLENGE +AT PARTING +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD +DE PROFUNDIS +THE MOTHER +SONNET--DATUR HORA QUIETI +SEA MARGINS +SONG--"LOVE TOOK ME SOFTLY BY THE HAND" +THE BELL +LLEWELLYN +A SHELL +THE RAVEN +SONNETS ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS +MEMNON +A CONCEIT +THE LAND'S END +THE OLDEN TIME +FATHER AND SON +ORION +THE GOLDEN WATER +YEARS AGO +VULCAN +SONG--"THE DAYS ARE PAST" +GUY OF WARWICK +AT EVENTIDE +A DIRGE +TO MY DREAM-LOVE +A NIGHT SCENE +SONNET--"O CLOUD SO GOLDEN" +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER +ORPHEUS +THE SCULPTOR + + + + + +M A B E L, +A Sketch. + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + ORAN, _a Speculative Philosopher._ + MABEL, _his Wife._ + HER FATHER. + MAURICE, } + ROGER, } _her brothers._ + + + +MABEL. + +SCENE I--_A Study. Books, pictures, and sculpture +about the room, interspersed with chemical and other +instruments, globes, &c.; a singular blending of science +with art, indicating a delicate and speculative organization +in the arranger_. + + + ORAN, MAURICE, _and_ ROGER. + + ORAN. + +Well, well! and so ye deem I love her not, +Ye and the world that love so passing well?-- +That still I trifle with her bright young life, +As the wind plays with some frail water-bell, +Wafting it wantonly about the sky, +Till at some harsher breath it breaks and dies? + + MAURICE. + +Nay, not thus far would our reflections go. +Friendship paints not with the foul brush of Conscience! +But thou, a man of dark and mystic aims, +Tracking out Science through forbidden ways, +Leaving the light and trodden paths to grope +'Mid fearful speculations and wild dreams, +May'st hunt thy Will-o'-the-wisp until thou lead'st +Our sister, all unwitting, to her death. + + ROGER. + +That shalt thou answer unto us. Thy life +Shall be to her life like the sun and shade, +Lost in one setting. + + ORAN. + + Ay! thou sayest well-- +Thou sayest well. How oft a random shaft +Striketh King Truth betwixt the armour-joints!-- +One life, one sun, one setting for us both. + +Which way, then, tend your fears? What certain aim +Have all these strokes you level at my ways? + + ROGER. + +We say that you, against all light received, +Against all laws of prudence and of love, +Practise dark magic on our sister's soul-- +That by strange motions, incantations, spells, +So work you on her spirit that strange sleep, +Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently +Steals o'er her fragile body, dulls her sense, +And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace; +That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world, +She lies till thou again unwind her chain, +And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth. +Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man! +Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought, +And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps. + + MAURICE. + +Ay! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd +The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now, +Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health +To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad? +Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses, +Glow now with faint exotic loveliness, +Not native to this harsh and gusty earth; +And from her large dark eyes there seems to gaze +Some angel with mute, melancholy looks, +As from a casement at this jarring world. + + ORAN. + +Ha! then you too have seen it; it is not, +O Heaven!--is not delusion, this fond dream, +But even now it works, works bliss for her. +Proceed, Sir ... you were saying ... Sir, I list ... +That in her eyes you saw angelic fire, +Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth, +Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin +To earth's clay-moulded fabrics--such, perchance, +As entering heaven, might have left its dust +At the bright folding portals, sandal-like, +And thence, repassing in seraphic trance, +Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate! + + ROGER. + +You glory in her weakness! 'Tis too much-- +Rash man, beware, a bitter end will come. + + MAURICE. + +I fain would think that study hath o'erwrought +Your heated brain to this short fever fit, +That soon may pass and leave your vision clear. +In truth, I note strange changes in your mien-- +A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness, +Rapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind +Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings: +Your cheeks are pale, and all your nervous frame +Thrills 'neath some strange enthusiastic touch. +Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again, +As in those days gone by, the country air, +The sweet, calm country air, where perfume floats +Like love that finds no heart so godlike large +Can clasp it wholly in its one embrace, +But overflows creation with its bliss. +Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness, +And cleanse your brain of these pernicious dreams. + + ORAN. + +This madness! I bethink me of the past, +Of all the great and noble who have toil'd +Amid the deep dark mines of burning thought, +Wearing out life to quarry forth the Truth; +Of all the seers and watchers, early and late +Waiting with eager blood-hot eyes the light +Rising afar in some untrodden East, +Full of divine and precious influence, +Calling, like Mezzuin from his minaret, +The thankless world to worship and be glad; +Of all the patient thinkers of the earth +Who talk'd with Wisdom like familiar friends, +Until their voices unaccustom'd grew, +And men stared blankly at them as they pass'd: +I do bethink me of them all, and know +How each walk'd through his labyrinth of scorn, +And was accounted mad before all men. +But patience!--Winter bears within its breast +The nascent seeds of golden harvest-time. + +This only shall I tell you of my ways-- +Straying, now here, now there, 'mid science' wealth, +I have discover'd a vast hidden power-- +A power that perfected shall surely work +Great revolution in all human laws,-- +Where stop its courses I as yet know not; +'Tis to me like the sun, that all the day +Shines godlike in my vision, and, at night, +Though darkness hide its brightness, still, I feel, +Shines on in glory over other spheres; +It is a power beneficent and good, +That grants to spirit infinite control +Over all matter, and that frees the soul +From its flesh shackles, and its sensuous means. +What else its influences, or for health, +For happiness, or blessing, I say not-- +Save that such glimpses of vast powers unknown +Dawn on my wondering mind, that like a man +Standing upon some giddy pinnacle, +With a whole world seen faint and small below, +I close mine eyes for very fear and joy. +To her, my Mabel, do I bear in love +Some first-fruits of my finding--make her rich, +That, gazing through her eyes, I may behold +How sweet is heaven, how dear is happiness. +This is the sum of that I work on her; +Then, though I thank you for your good intent, +Leave me untroubled to my life of thought, +Leave her all trustful in the arms of love. + + ROGER. + +You love her not, false man! your heart and soul +Are steep'd in science till not e'en the heel, +Achilles-like, is vulnerable left. +Ay! wear thus feeling's semblance as you will, +Pale visionary! no more shall I pause, +But with strong hand arrest your mad career! +Soon we return arm'd with a father's power, +To snatch our sister from your fearful arts. + + MAURICE. + +Oh! if you love her, Sir, as once you did-- +If yet upon the dial of your life +Her sun mark out the short sweet hours of joy, +And all too swiftly on the shadows glide-- +If yet you prize the loving heart you hold, +From this most mad delusion waken up, +That blindly blights her whom it seeks to bless; +Cease your Utopian and unsafe essays, +And rather turn your studious care to call +The fading roses back into her cheeks, +And shed health's gladness on her feeble frame; +Reflect whilst yet you may, lest late Remorse +Stalk, ghost-like, through the chambers of your soul, +Haunting their gloomy void for evermore. + + [_Exeunt Maurice and Roger_. + + + +SCENE II.--_The Same_. + + + ORAN. + + + ORAN. + +Not love her! O my God! thou knowest me-- +Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon +That searches through the being of the world-- +Thou setting life against thy glory light, +As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun, +Making its frame as nothing in the blaze! + +Lo! my heart was like a chaotic world, +Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time. +Man there was not in all its desert bounds, +But hoary ruins of past wondrous things, +Old unbeliefs, fierce doubts, unsightly dreams, +That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life, +Wearily stretch'd their writhing shapes to die; +Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul, +Like God's own Spirit over earth's void waters, +And there arose order and life through all. +She was my sun, set high to rule the day, +And make my world all bright and beautiful; +She was my moon, amid the stilly night +Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles, +And stealing softly through my anxious dreams, +A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day; +She was my summer, clothing all my life +With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy. + + [_A pause_. + +Not love her! 'Tis as yesterday the time +When first my love stole fainting to her ear, +In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire. +'Twas evening, and above the weary land +Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush; +The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat, +And the ripe year, with harvest promise full, +Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas, +Like one who through long hours of toil at last +Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace +Flings him along the meadows to repose; +Below, the bells of even faintly chimed, +And sent their hymnal music up the breeze +To where I stood, half-praying, by her side. +Then all my words and thoughts that came and went, +Waving about the secret of my love, +Like billows plashing on a silent shore, +All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart, +And broke the banks of silence; then my love +Sank through her liquid eyes to read her soul, +Like diver that through waving water-floods +Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below, +And there found life--found joy for evermore: +It is as yesterday that time to me,-- +Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life +With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride, +And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms, +That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone, +Still tarries smiling for a last embrace, +And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way: +It is as yesterday--my love the same-- +The love that led me through all heavy tasks, +All lonely watchings by the midnight lamp, +To win the fame that still might shine on her; +And e'en--how dear the thought!--this wondrous power, +This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me, +Thus from my love takes colouring and aim! +Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word-- +The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not. + + [_A pause_. + +It cannot be--this aim so deeply--weigh'd, +So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail. +O wondrous power! great mystery of life! +Reserved for me of all the sons of men; +Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven +For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands, +And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds +More blessed still that into her sweet cup +First may I pour the clearest of the wine-- +For her--for her--ah, yes! for her supreme, +I struggle onward through this blinding light, +E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand, +Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul, +Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven. +Yet once again let me the plan review, +Searching within my soul of souls each part, +That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus +By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.-- + + [_A long pause_. + +Yes! it is so--this deep magnetic sleep, +That from my being passes upon her, +Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall, +But setteth free the soul. What real need +Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues, +Through which the soul looks feebly on the world? +This power then opes the prison door awhile, +And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth. +This know I--without eyes the spirit sees, +Gains instant cognizance of hidden things, +And counts all space for nothing; knowledge comes +Upon it with the falling of the flesh, +So that there is no thing in earth or heaven +But to the unhoused spirit native is-- +The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel! +Body, then, is the prison-house of soul, +And freedom is its highest happiness, +Its heaven, its primal being full of joy. +This power that holdeth thus the keys of life, +Can then at will give moments of release, +Which to the soul are as the water-brooks +That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch'd waste: +These, oft repeated, must at length destroy +The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will +A freer issue to the practised soul-- +At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss, +Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time. +Yes! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul +Rise to its sister angels heavenward still; +And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose, +Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free. +Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be +A prison, but a meetest dwelling-place, +Full of all infinite delights, and dear +As is its nest to the heaven-soaring lark, +That yearns down, singing, to it from the sky. +These men, did they not see it in thine eyes, +Amazed and fearful at the dazzling sight, +As some rude passer gazing up aloft +Sees from some casement, unawares, a face +That makes his great rough heart on sudden rock +With wonder and with worship--in her frame +Did they not see the mortal waxing faint, +The immortal fusing it with heavenly fire? +Ay! the charm works, and thou, my life, my love, +Reapest the first-fruits of my long, long toil. + + + +SCENE III.--_A Boudoir. Flowers about it, in beautifully +shaped Vases. A Greenhouse at one end. The +window-panes delicately tinted, and hung with light +fleecy draperies_. MABEL _working, and singing in a +low voice_. + + + MABEL (_singing_). + +At night when stars shine bright and clear, + The soft winds on the casements blow, + And round the chamber rustle low, +Like one unseen, whose voice we hear, + On tiptoe stealing to and fro-- + +At night when clouds are dark and drear, + They moan about the lattice sore, + And murmur sighs for evermore, +That fill us with a chilly fear, + Oft glancing at the well-barr'd door-- + +At night, in moonlight or in gloom, + They wander round the drooping thatch, + Like some poor exile thence to catch +Fond glimpses of each well-loved room, + And sigh beside the unraised latch-- + +O unseen Wind! art thou alone, + Thus breathing round the sleeping land? + Or roams with thee a spirit band, +Blending sad voices with thine own,-- +Voices that once with cheerful tone + Made music round the sleeping land? + + ORAN (_from the Greenhouse, unperceived_). + +Ah! her dear voice. How all my nature thrills, +My heart, my brain, beneath the mellow sound, +Like some great dome with holy music fill'd! +She is the lark, above my listening soul +Hovering still with carols from Heaven's gate. +She is the perfumed breeze, that evermore +Sweeps music from the Aeolian strings of life. +She is the sea, that fills with sweetest sound +The yearning earth that folds it in its arms. +Not love her--Ah! dear heart, how utterly! + + [_A pause_. + +What if amid these spirit wanderings, +This so mysterious power can grant at will,-- +What if the angels, smitten with her grace, +Woo'd her away for ever from my heart? +The dove came twice again unto the ark, +With messages of peace, and hope, and joy, +But the third time return'd not. She's my dove-- +Oh! wing'd she ever from my longing heart, +The waters of my life would quick subside, +And leave me stranded on the shoals of Time. +What if God saw her hovering aloft, +And smiled her in amongst his cherubim? +What if the draught of bliss should, Lethe-like, +Blot me for ever from her memory, +So that she sought me never, never more? +Oblivion! take again this fearful power-- +No more shall Fate be tempted with my wealth, +Lest covetous it rob me of my all. + + [_A pause_. + +And yet, these are but dreams, poor selfish fears, +That scum-like float and dim Love's limpid tide. +Shall I thus cage my bird from liberty, +And let it beat its life out on the bars, +Lest some dear bliss detain it in the heavens? +Shall I spill rashly forth this wine of joy, +Because for me within the crystal cup +Some dregs may haply rest when she has drunk? +Ah, no! for her alone shall I take thought. +The first pure sacrifice of Love is self! +There is no peril. God that sends the power +Will send the guardian angel to direct. +I work for her--Heaven speed the work of love. + + [_Enters the room_. + + MABEL. + +I waited for thee, love--'tis past the hour, +And on my dial slumbers Time in shade +When thou comest not to sun me. + + ORAN. + + I but stood +There on the threshold, following thy voice +Away, away through mazy lengths of dreams. +Music--low music from the lips we love, +Is the true siren that still lures the soul +From cares of earth to the Enchanted Isles. + + MABEL. + +Methinks that thou art sad to-day, my husband. +Let me share with thee pain as well as joy; +It is the sweetest right that love can claim. +We give our joys to strangers, but our grief +Sighs itself only forth for those we love. +We hang our sorrows on the loved one's ear, +Like jewell'd pendents for a bridal feast. + + ORAN. + +Tell me, my Mabel, if within this sleep, +To which mine art oft leads thee, there should come +Some angel bright with Heaven's reflected light, +Wooing thee upward with the songs of bliss,-- +Tell me, my Mabel, wouldst thou freely go, +Leaving this fair earth-vesture only here, +Leaving me lornly gazing on the sky, +Blotting its sun out with my blinding tears? + + MABEL. + +There is no angel but the angel Death +Could sever me from thee who art all my life! +What Heaven is there but that which Love creates? +What songs of Bliss, save those by Love intoned? +Ah! thou to me art as the sun to Day, +That dies out with its setting utterly-- +Thou art the ever-flowing crystal spring, +That keeps the fountain of my being full-- +Thou art the heart that beats with measured pulse +The joyous moments of my flowing life-- +Leave thee? How canst thou wrong me with the thought? + + ORAN. + +Dear Mabel!--Yet to-day thy brothers came, +Taxing me harshly, and in cruel terms, +With practising against thy precious life. + + MABEL. + +Oh, Heaven! + + ORAN. + +They dread these trances, whose dim fame +Hath floated on the ignorant air to them. +They deem this priceless power, new-fall'n on me, +And treasured for thy sake, my best beloved, +A most pernicious art, that may, perchance, +Work evil upon thee; say, dost thou fear? +My Mabel, hast thou faith and trust in me? +Shall I proceed, or break this magic wand, +Wherewith they deem that I am dower'd withal? + + MABEL. + +I trust in thee, my love, with perfect faith-- +Am I not as the floating gossamer, +Steering through ether on thy guiding breath? +Am I not as the clay within thy hand, +Taking the shape and image of thy thought? +Heed not these idle tongues, that launch their doubts +In erring love against thy watchful care. +That which thou doest I accept with joy; +I wait for thee as waits a full-sail'd bark +The coming breeze to waft it o'er the sea. + + ORAN. + +Fear not! I do well think no peril lies +Within this power, but virtue of rare worth, +Else nevermore its wand had waved o'er thee.-- +Tell me, dost bring no memory back to Earth +Of all these glorious wanderings above? +No certain visions of the hidden things +Thou seest in that far mystic spirit-land? + + MABEL. + +Nay! it must be as thou dost tell me oft, +The soul doth lose its secrets at Earth's gate, +And all the blinding glories it hath known +Shed but their mystic influence over life. +Therefore, it may be, 'tis I nought retain +Of that which passeth in these hours of trance. + + ORAN. + +Yet strive once more to grasp the fleeting dreams, +Else shall I doubt that which I fondly hope.-- +Sleep, love, and let thy spirit bask awhile +In Heaven's own sunshine;--yet forget not me! + + [_Makes passes over her, which shortly sink + her into a state of trance._ + +'Tis done! she's free! and now this lovely frame +Lies tenantless, a casket whose pure gems +Now sparkle 'mid the opal lights of Heaven. +This earth seems very lone and cold to me +Now she is absent, though a little space! +My heart goes restless wandering around, +Seeking her through old haunts and vacant nooks, +Like one who, waking from some troubled dream, +Findeth his love soft stolen from his side, +And straightway seeketh in a dim amaze +All through the moonlight for her straying feet. + + [_A pause._ + +Where art thou, O my dove! about the sky? +Ruffling thy breast across what honey breeze? +Flashing white pinions 'gainst the golden sun, +That fain would nest thee on his ardent breast? +Art thou soft floating through the joys of Heaven, +With Earth far, far beneath thee, like a star +Struggling up through the tremulous sea of light, +That sucks its life down from the eye of day? +About the gate of Heaven there floats my dove, +Fann'd by the breath of melodies divine; +Opes there no casement soft to take her in, +And lay her in the bosom of delight? +O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven! +Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide, +On shining pinions to thine own soft nest? + + [_A pause_. + +O wonderful! Thou mansion tenantless, +Unswept by memory, untrod by thought, +Where all lies tranced in motionless repose; +No whisper stirring round the silent place, +No foot of guest across the startled halls, +No rustling robes about the corridors, +No voices floating on the waveless air, +No laughters, no sweet songs like angel dreams +On silver wings among the archèd domes,-- +No swans upon the mere--no golden prow, +Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze,-- +No flapping sail before the idle wind,-- +No music pulsing out its great wild heart +In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through,-- +No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades, +In dreams that open wide the Eden gate, +And waft them past the guardian Seraphim. +Sleep over all the Present and the Past-- +The Future standing idle at the gate, +Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste +Bearing great tidings to some palace porch, +Findeth the place deserted. + + [_A noise without; enter in haste Father, + Maurice and Roger._ + +How now?--Friends, you are welcome! + + FATHER. + + Where's my child, +That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man? + + ORAN. + +Sir, you are over hasty in your words-- +Your child is here.-- + + [_Points to Mabel, who still lies entranced._ + + FATHER. + +Mabel! wake, Mabel--O my God! she's dead! + + MAURICE. + +How!--Dead! + + ROGER. + + Ay, murder'd! + + FATHER. + + O! my child! my child! + + ORAN. + +Peace! she is well--Sleep folds her in his arms, +And each upheaving of his drowsy breast +Is like a billow upon pleasure's sea, +Wafting her on to far Hesperides. + + FATHER. + +This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now, +Else would she waken at my anxious cry; +'Tis death-sleep, wretched man. + + MAURICE. + + Let's bear her hence. + + ROGER. + +Nay! let him now unwind his magic spells, +Or fall our vengeance on his guilty head. + + ORAN. + +Dismiss your fears, and cease your threats. Old man, +Soon shall I prove how much you wrong my love; +Thus do I call the spirit home again, +And wave the slumber backward from her eyes. + + [_Makes passes to awaken her, but without + effect after long persistence_. + + FATHER. + +Impostor! would you mock e'en Death itself, +Calling it sleep!--You see, Death mocks you back. + + MAURICE. + +In vain! no further seek to blind our fears. + + ORAN. + +'Tis strange!... stand back, Sirs ... 'tis your influence +Hath neutralized my power--stand off, I say! + + [_Continuing the passes in great agitation_. + + ROGER. + +By Heaven!--It is too much--Let fall the mask! +O villain! you have done your worst at last, +And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land; +But vengeance swift shall follow on your track. + + ORAN. + +Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here; +This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words-- +If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd. + + [_A silence--continuing the passes_. + +O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art! +Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,-- +Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears! +Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns; +A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues +Make morning on her downy cheek again: +Back ... back--my anguish shall unwind the charm! + + [_A silence_. + + FATHER. + +Sir, I acquit you--pity you--perceive +You loved her, and have err'd against yourself; +But cease these struggles that but mock us now, +They nought avail--my child is dead!... + + ORAN. + + Mabel! Mabel! + + + + + +HEBE. + + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Strength! +Strength for the struggle through good and ill; +Through good--that the soul may be upright still, +Unspoil'd by riches, unswerving in will, +To walk by the light of unvarnish'd truth, +Up the flower-border'd path of youth;-- +Through ill--that the soul may stoutly hold +Its faith, its freedom through hunger and cold, +Steadfast and pure as the true men of old. +Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom, +Strength for the conflict, strength for the tomb; +Let not the heart feel a craven fear-- +Draw from the fountain deep and clear; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Strength! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What--Pour in Truth! +Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul, +Like sleep's drowsy shadows backward roll, +And show the spirit its radiant goal, +That nought may blind it all its days, +Or tempt it down earth's crooked ways; +Drink! till the soul in the eastern skies +Behold the glorious star arise, +That guides its steps to the promised prize; +Drink! till the strong elixir fire +Each aim of the being with pure desire, +Nerve the courage to dare the world, +Though a thousand scoffers their arrows hurl'd; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Truth! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Love! +To quench the thirst of the longing heart, +Heal all its sorrows with wondrous art, +And freshness and joy to its hopes impart; +To make the blossoms of life expand, +And shed their sweetness on every hand; +To melt the frost of each sullen mood, +Cement the bond of true brotherhood, +Subdue the evil of Time with good, +And join the links which death hath riven +Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven, +Raising the soul above the sky +On wings of Immortality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Love! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Hope! +The soul looks out through the coming years, +Blinded by doubts, and blinded by tears, +Sear'd with the iron of tyrant fears:-- +Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky? +Can the heart reach it before it die? +The path is weary, the desert wide, +And Sorrow stalks by the pilgrim's side-- +Oh for a draught of Hope's crystal tide +To cheer the parch'd and fainting one, +Until his toilsome race be run, +And the bright mirage fall from the sky, +Displaced by a sweet reality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Hope! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Faith! +What is Life's fabric, so nobly plann'd, +Its stately dome, and its ramparts grand, +If their foundation rest on the sand, +Ready to shift with Time's ebbing stream, +And melt away like a gorgeous dream? +God! let us trust Thee in very sooth, +Feel that the visions, the dreams of youth, +Its glorious hopes are all based on Truth;-- +Thus shall the purpose of Life grow clear; +Love shall be freed from the bondage of fear; +And the soul calmly await the morrow +Untroubled by visions of coming sorrow. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Faith! + + + + + +SPRING. + + +On, like a giant, stalketh the strong Wind, + Wrapping the clouds about him, close and dark, +Rifting Creation's soul, for rage is blind,-- + No pity hath he for the Earth all stark, +Shivering beneath the loose and drifting snow, +A scanty shroud to hide the dead below. + +Dead? There is life within the mother's breast-- + So claspeth she her young ones to her heart;-- +"The time will come--the time will come--rest! rest! + Let the mad greybeard to his North depart; +Earth shall arise and mock him in his grave-- +Patience a little, let the dotard rave!" + +The palsied boughs grew still--there came a pause, + And Nature's heart scarce beat for listening, +Gazing abroad from all the tempest-flaws, + With prayerful longing for the saviour Spring; +And when she heard Spring coming up the sky, +Earth rose and threw her shroud off joyfully. + +Then she who once had wept like Niobe, + Beheld her children springing round her feet, +Raising young voices in the early day, + That never to her ear had seem'd so sweet; +And the soft murmur of a thousand rills +Proclaim'd how Spring had loosed them on the hills. + +The bright Evangel came, girt round with mirth, + And garlanded with youth, and crown'd with flowers +"Awake! arise! ye sons of the new birth, + And move to the quick measure of the hours! +Summer is coming--go ye forth to meet her, +With sweetest hymeneal songs to greet her." + +So there arose straightway a joyous train, + Gather'd by every nook and hedgerow shade, +That in its passage o'er the verdant plain, + 'Still in the heart a thrilling music made-- +Sweet pilgrims they of Love in youth's gay time, +Leading the year on to its golden prime. + +The birds sang homage to her evermore; + And myriad wingèd things, whose radiant dyes +Made sunshine beautiful, still hover'd o'er, + And bore her witness in the sunlit skies; +And rising from the tomb in glad amaze, +Came many a sainted flower to hymn her praise. + +Thus from the streams, and rivers, from the sea, + From the stirr'd bosom of the mighty hills, +From every glade there rose continually + A blessing for her, till with joyous thrills +Earth's bosom heaved, and in man's heart a voice +Echoed the anthem--"Spring is come! Rejoice!" + + + + + +THE BITTERN. + + +The reeds are idly waving o'er the marshy ground, +The rank and ragged herbage rots on many a mound, +And desolate pools and marshes deadly lie around. + +There is no life nor motion, save the winds that fly +With the close-muffled clouds in silence through the sky, +There is no sound to stir it, save the Bittern's cry; + +The Bittern, sitting sadly on the fluted edges +Of pillars once the prop and pride of palace ledges, +Now smear'd with damp decay and sunk in slimy sedges; + +Shatter'd and sunken, with the sculptured architrave +Peering above the surface of the sluggish wave, +Like a gaunt limb thrust fleshless from a shallow grave. + +The Bittern sitteth sadly on the time-worn stone, +Upon life's mouldering relics, fearfully alone, +Searing the silence ofttimes with his solemn tone. + +The Bittern--monarch of the sad and dreary place, +Mocking the pride and pageant of a ruin'd race, +Whose very name's forgotten, and whose deeds have left no trace. + +The pleasant songs of peace, the lute, the lover's sigh, +The statesman's eloquence, the warrior's battle-cry +Have pass'd,--and like their echo from the heedless sky, +The lonely Bittern's note comes sadly floating by. + +Oh, melancholy sound! Shall thus for ever end +The glory and the greatness whither all hopes tend, +And as the Past comes booming shall the Present wend? + +No ear to listen to the old and hard-earn'd glory, +That wore the heart out, made the locks grow scant and hoary, +No ear to listen, and no tongue to tell the story! + +The Bittern sitteth 'midst the marshes of the Past, +Sitteth amidst the ruins, whilst the hours fleet fast, +And at his own hoarse cry he looketh round aghast. + +The hours fleet fast unnoted, and the time is nigh, +When even he on noiseless wings shall soar on high, +Till his deep note is lost amid the azure sky. + + + + + +GONE. + + +The night is dark, and evermore + The thick drops patter on the pane + The wind is weary of the rain, +And round the thatches moaneth sore; + Dark is the night, and cold the air; + And all the trees stand stark and bare, +With leaves spread dank and sere below, + Slow rotting on the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +And many a bitter day and night + Have pour'd their storms upon her breast, + And chill'd her in her long, long rest, +With foul corruption's icy blight; + Earth's dews are freezing round the heart, + Where love alone so late had part; +And evermore the frost and snow + Are burrowing downward through the clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below! + +Those eyes so full of light are dim; + And the clear chalice of her youth, + All sparkling up with love and truth, +Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;-- + No more can mortal ear rejoice + In the soft music of her voice; +No wistful eye, through tears of woe, + Can pierce down through the heavy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below. + +A star shines, sudden, from the sky-- + God's angel cometh, pure and bright, + Making a radiance through the night, +Unto the place where, mute, I lie, + Gazing up in rapt devotion, + Shaken by a deep emotion; +And my thoughts no longer go + Wandering o'er the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +God's angel! ah I divinely bright! + But still the olden grace is there-- + The soft brown eyes--the raven hair-- +The gentle smile of calm delight, + That could such peace and joy impart-- + The veil is rent from off my heart, +And gazing upward, well I know + The rain may beat upon the clay + In the God's-acre far away; +But she no longer lies below, +Enshrouded by the frost and snow-- + Cold, cold below! + + + + + +BEATRICE DI TENDA. + + + 1. + +It was too sweet--such dreams do ever fade + When Sorrow shakes the sleeper from his rest-- +Life still to me hath been a masquerade, + Woe in Mirth's wildest, gayest mantle drest, +With the heart hidden--but the face display'd. + +But now the vizard droppeth, crush'd and torn, + And there is nought left but some tinsell'd rags, +To mock the wearer in the face of morn, + As through the gaping world she feebly drags +Her day-born measure of reproach and scorn. + +But that _his_ hand should pluck the dream away-- + And thus--and thus--O Heaven! it strikes too deep! +The knife that wounds me, if not meant to slay, + Stumbles upon my heart the while I weep: +So be it; no hand of mine its course shall stay. + +False? false to him? Release me--let me go + Before Heaven's judgment-seat to make appeal; +Unfold the records of this life, and show + All that the secret pages can reveal, +That Heaven and Earth the inmost truth may know! + +He cannot think it in his heart of hearts; + He cannot wear this falsehood in his soul, +Or deem me perjur'd; no delusive arts + Can make him blot my name from honour's scroll: +The sun will shine forth when the cloud departs. + +Patience, my heart! Error is quick, but Truth + Moves slowly, but moves surely up the earth, +Wiping from age the heresies of youth, + And kindling warmth on the once blasted hearth: +Patience, my heart! and rage will turn to ruth. + +There is no blush upon my brow, though tears + Are in mine eyes, and sorrow in my heart; +This sobbing breast heaves not with traitor fears: + No sighs for sin are these that sadly start, +And bear their bitter burden to thine ears. + +And though my woman's strength bend like a reed + Before the flowing of Affliction's river, +Not, not for shame, nor for one strumpet deed + Doth this weak frame bow down, or faintly quiver, +As I stand forth alone in deadly need. + +No! before thee, Filippo, and the world, + Cased in its petty panoply of scorn, +With myriad slavish lips in mocking curl'd, + Spotless and innocent, though most forlorn, +Here stand I, 'gainst the shafts Falsehood hath hurl'd. + + + 2. + +Confess'd! Confess'd the guilty act! What act? + What act, my Lord, that cometh home to me +Closer than each hot word, by torment rack'd, + Flies at the bidding of false tyranny, +That makes at will the pain-wrung falsehood fact? + +There are full many sins confess'd, my Lord, + In pain of body and in pain of soul; +Some from the heart unearth'd by fire and sword, + And stealing forth amid the spirit's dole, +With fiery pain-sweat seething every word; + +But none, my Lord, that riseth to the sky, + Bears guilt of mine upon its blister'd tongue; +Though torture's fire is quick to forge a lie, + None from these woman's lips could ere be wrung; +No! none, though on the rack-bed bound to die. + +Poor youth! This poison from his writhing throat, + Those hellish instruments have haply drawn, +And pain hath conn'd the aspish lies by rote; + But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn, +For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote. + +These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more; + The rack hath crush'd them in its wild embrace, +So that Truth's firm-set attitude is o'er, + Else had I met my judges face to face, +And challenged justice, as in days of yore. + +Yet is the spirit strong within me still, + And bears me up though manhood's strength succumb, +Unbent by any blighting blast of ill, + Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb; +They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill! + +I am a woman--weak to combat wrong, + But innocent, my Lord, I live or die; +And silent, though my God doth tarry long, + He sees me throughly with His holy eye, +And in my sore, sore need, doth make me strong. + +This hapless youth! I do forgive him all; + E'en now remorse must rankle in his breast, +And no cool comfort cometh at his call, + To set the tumult of his soul at rest: +God's pity on his human weakness fall! + + + 3. + +Nay, falter not, good friend; thy news is sweet; + Thanks, thanks! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind +That wafts the calm-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet, + O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind; +Ay! Death will bring rest to my weary feet! + +'Tis strange--but now the word falls on mine ear + Soft as the singing of a little child, +Heaven's music on light pinions floateth near, + Through all the strife of Earth, so harsh and wild; +Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear. + +The end is nigh--the end of grief and pain, + And Life's broad gates are opening to my soul; +O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign, + Enfranchised soon 'twill spurn the harsh control, +And never feel its empiry again. + +No more, Filippo, shall my hapless life + Stand betwixt thee and pleasure,--Duty's knot +Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife; + And upon memory one crimson blot +Shall be the record of a spotless wife. + +'Tis well! I would not wander through a haunted mind, + Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hours; +Would God that I could leave my peace behind, + To bless thee when the night of sorrow lours, +And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind! + +Shouldst thou awake when I have pass'd away, + Shouldst thou see clear the error and the wrong, +And Truth break on thee with its dazzling ray, + As sure it will, for Innocence is strong, +Then may my prayers thine every pang allay! + +For thee, poor youth,--go not unto the grave + With a red lie upon thy trembling tongue-- +Not for myself, but for thy soul I crave,-- + Death's champions should have sinews tightly strung, +And thou wilt falter where I shall be brave. + +In that dim world there flows no cooling stream, + No Lethe for the guilty and the fever'd, +There is no answer to their parching scream, + From hope and mercy they are ever sever'd, +There is no waking from their spectral dream. + +Then pause or e'er thou stampest on thy soul + Eternally such misery as thine, +And writest on God's conscience-blasting scroll, + A wife's dishonour, and a tarnish'd line, +To weigh for thee thine everlasting dole... + +Friend, let thine arm be strong, good sooth there's need, + Thou cuttest through a weary depth of woe!-- +Well! that will pass, and soon rest come indeed,-- + Ay, ay! the robe's white now ... will't long be so?... +Yet better far the crimson tide should flow, + Than the heart inly with its anguish bleed. + + + + + +SERENADE. + + +The day is fading from the sky, + And softly shines the Star of Even, +As watching with a lover's eye + The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven; +The dew is rising cool and sweet, + And, zephyr-rock'd, the flowers are closing, +The Night steals on with noiseless feet, + Oh! gentle be my love's reposing. + +The streamlet, as it flows along, + Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers; +And from the brake the Queen of Song + Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers; +And ever through the stirless leaves + The summer moon is brightly streaming, +Light fancies on the sward it weaves,-- + As radiant be my lady's dreaming. + +The silent hours move swiftly on, + With many a blessed vision laden, +That all the night has softly shone + Upon the hearts of youth and maiden; +And now, in golden splendors drest, + The new-born day is gladly breaking, +Oh! blissful be my lady's rest, + And sweet as Morn be her awaking. + + + + + +THE EAGLE. + + +The winds sweep by him on his mountain throne, +Hurling the clouds together at his feet, +Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up +As in the flood of waters,--and he sits +Eyeing the boundless firmament above, +Proud and unruffled, till his heart exclaims,-- +"I am a god, Heaven is my home,--the Earth +Serveth me but for footstool." + + The strong winds +Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he,-- +"Bear me afar!" and on the mighty storm +He rides triumphant, spurning the dim Earth-- +Whither, O whither goest thou? What star +Shall raise its mountains for thee? What far orb +Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry? + +What dost thou when the thunder is unloosed? +"I sit amongst the crags, and feel the Earth +Tremble beneath me, whilst my heart is firm. +I gaze upon the lightning, and my lid +Quivers not. Is their aught 'neath which my gaze +Quaileth, or waxeth faint--I read the sun +Undazzled where the stars grow dim and pale. + +"Men gather them to battle--host meets host-- +And I am borne aloft to marshal them,-- +I, the great King of Battles, that go forth +Conquering and to conquer. So do men +Worship me. Oh! the mighty crash ascends,-- +The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe, +One great full chaunt of homage to mine ears,-- +And there I wait the while the sacrifice +Is slain before me; then down with a swoop +I get me from my skyey throne, and dye +Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey-- +Hurrah! hurrah! blood red's the flag for me!" + +The time will come, proud one, when thou shalt die! +"Die! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes +That moult out from my pinions--let them go +To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave +To mortals. What have I to do with Time? +Let him pat forth his speed--these wings of mine +Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach +The limits of his empire, and I shake him off +Like dust upon the threshold of the world." + + + + + +WHITHER? + + + Whither away, youth, whither away, +With lightsome step, and with joyous heart, +And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart? + Whither away--whither away? + + Into the world, the glorious world, +To gain the prize, of the brave and bold, +To snatch the crown from the age of gold-- + Into the world--into the world! + + Whither away, girl, whither away? +Thy soft blue eyes are suffused with love, +And thy smile is as bright as the sunshine above,-- + Whither away, whither away? + + Into the world, the beautiful world, +To meet the heart that must mate with mine, +And make the measure of life divine,-- + Into the world, into the world. + + Whither away, old man, whither away, +With locks of white, and form bent low, +And trembling hands, and steps so slow? + Whither away,--whither away? + + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world, +With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys, +Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys-- + Out of the world, out of the world, +With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame, +From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,-- + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world. + + Whither away, poor one, whither away? +Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes, +And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs, + Whither away--whither away? + + Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world! +Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest +For the sinking soul, and the bruisèd breast, + Out of the world--out of the world! + + + + + +THE MORNING STAR. + + +Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last, + And my freed heart beats evenly again, + Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain +Cast backward from the unforgotten Past; + Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread, + Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled. + +Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear, + Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth, + Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth, +Shining serenely from its silver sphere + Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul, + Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll. + +Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light, + Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance + Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance, +Dividing Truth from Dreaming in its might, + Scourging Doubt's myriads from Day's temple-gate, + Leaving Life's worship pure, its heart elate. + +No herald thou of Night, like Hesper fair, + Pale with the dreaded Future's shapeless gloom, + Leading the spirit to an unknown doom, +Through clouds and darkness heavy fraught with care, + Hesper the beautiful alone our guide, + Beset by blinding fears on every side. + +Groping through Night's dim chambers wearily, + Longing to leave its cold sepulchral aisles, + Comest thou with thy calm assuring smiles, +Like Nemesis to lead us tenderly + Through all the dangers of the murky way, + Unto the golden portals of the Day. + +Yea! Night and Death shall pass away, and we, + By resurrection sweet, arise new-born + Like thee in glory, bright one, Sons of Morn, +Without a shade on our felicity, + Eyeing the fleeting vapours of the Past, + As thou dost now Night's mists dissolving fast. + + + + + +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. + + + How light and pleasant is the way +Across this quiet valley, whose soft mead +Springs lightly as the air that angels tread, + Beneath our footsteps weariless all day! +This crystal river flowing by our side, +One stream of sunshine, still has seem'd a guide + From Heaven in pure angelical array. + + These purple mountains now are nigh, +That all the valley through have fill'd our eyes +With day-dreams of the distant Paradise, + Their sun-surrounded summits can descry-- +We mount them now upon Hope's bounding wing, +That makes each short swift footstep long to spring + Suddenly upward to the shadeless sky. + + The air methinks is lighter here-- +And the breast heaves with full untrammell'd ease, +Drinking the life-draught of the fragrant breeze, + That wafts its soul-sighs to another sphere. +Earth groweth little in our eyes, but fair, +Fair as though sin had never enter'd there-- + Earth groweth little as Heaven draweth near. + + This rock--and then at last we stand +Upon the silent summit--scarce I dare +Gaze outward, through the clear and azure air, + Towards the radiance of the Promised Land: +I am so weak and fallen, friend, I fear +Mine eyes will dazzle, and the light appear + Darkness, so that I shall not see the Promised Land. + + Look thou afar, and tell me true +What thou discernest!--Oh! my eyes grow dim, +And floods of golden glories seem to swim, + Wave upon wave, through all the cloudless blue, +Blinding me with their sunny splendors quite, +So that, amid the pure excess of light, + But vaguest visions faintly glimmer through. + + Yet now, methinks, I seem to see +One spot of burning brightness, beaming clear +Through all the floating glory, like a sphere + Quenching light with its own intensity. +Yes! yes! it is the Holy City I behold, +With God's sun, from its towers of burnish'd gold, + Reflected broadly through immensity! + + I must gaze out, although I die: +Ah! yes, I see it through my longing tears-- +A great clear glow of glory there appears, + Like a light-fountain in the eastern sky, +That as I gaze pours forth its living light, +Flooding Creation, till the dazzled sight + Sees Heaven in all things that around it lie. + + So shall it ever henceforth be-- +Who, that discerneth once God's dwelling-place, +Can blot from vision the refulgent trace! + Ay! henceforth all things shall be Heaven to me-- +And as I journey on shall brightly rise +Divinest semblances of Paradise-- + Heaven mine in Time and in Eternity. + + + + + +THE DARK RIVER. + + + Across the mountains and the hills, +Across the valleys and the swelling seas, + By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills +Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies, + Together have we come unto this place, + And here we say farewell a little space: + + You, backward turning through the land, +To tarry 'mid its beauty yet awhile-- + I, o'er the River, to another strand +With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile. + Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls? + Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls! + + Together wend we to the tide, +And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;-- + E'en now methinks I see the other side; +And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart + And stalwart arm shall quell its cold dark waves. + Faith falters not e'en when the tempest raves. + + Dark stream flowing so blackly on, +Thy turbid billows roll o'er golden sands; + Beneath the surface all thy fear is gone, +And precious gems fill full the diver's hands. + Yet how the heart lists breathless for the roar + Of billows plashing on the other shore! + + _The other shore!_--Oh thou dim Land! +Hid by faint mists from the spent swimmer's eyes, + Until upon the sloping bank he stand, +Mute in the light of Eden-mysteries; + Thou golden Ophir of Youth's spirit-dream, + Shall I then reach thee through this turbid stream? + + Friend! quail not! This same gloomy tide +Rolling its fearful breakers to the shore, + Shall be transform'd, upon the other side, +Into the crystal Life-stream, shaded o'er + By Paradisal groves, whose mellow fruit + Shall heal the sorrows of the destitute. + + These ghostly vapours, brooding low, +Shall melt to sunny glories o'er my head, + And through them shall the golden city glow, +Whither I hasten singing, angel-led; + Friend! there is but a cloud-veil 'twixt us and the light, + One step beyond, and Heaven is in our sight. + + Now the stream laps my vesture hem; +Back thou from my sad bosom to the world, + Leaving me here this current cold to stem; +Soon from thy sight shall I be swiftly whirl'd + Into the mystic darkness--never fear! + God's hand shall guide me unto vision clear. + + Already thou art growing dim, +And distant on the fast receding shore; + The tide is strong, but still I trust in Him, +And know that I shall safely struggle o'er, + For now the plash on yonder shore I hear, + Amid sweet angel voices calm and clear. + + + + + +WYTHAM WOODS. + + +'Mid the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where the grand old beeches be, +And the deer-herds feeding by them: +'Mid the mossy Woods of Wytham, + Oft I roam in memory; + +Down the grand wide-arching alleys, + Marged by plumy ferns and flowers, + Whence all through the noontide hours +Many a fearless leveret sallies; +For amid those grassy alleys + Never hound nor huntsman scours. + +Still I see, through leafy casements, + Wytham Hall so quaint and old, + Remnant of the age of gold, +Gabled o'er from roof to basement +In most fanciful enlacement, + Looking far o'er wood and wold; + +With the mere outspread before it; + Whitest swans upon its tide, + That in mystic beauty glide; +And the wild fowl flapping o'er it, +To the reeds that broadly shore it, + Spear-like, on the sunny side. + +Through the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where I roam in memory; +'Mid the leaves, or flashing by them, +Like sunshine to glorify them, + On my sunless heart gleams she. + +Falling like the dreams of summer, + Making holy all the place, + Visions of that sweet pale face, +Sweeter than all dreams of summer, +Dearer than all dreams of summer, + Still in bower and glade I trace! + +Still her eyes come deeply glowing + Through the leafy lattices; + And the rustle of the trees, +'Neath the west wind softly blowing, +Only emulates the flowing + Of her love-toned melodies. + +Oh! those waving Woods of Wytham-- + Ceased she thus to hover near + Radiant from her happy sphere, +Like sunshine to glorify them, +Never would I wander nigh them-- +Madly weeping should I fly them, + Till their memory e'en grew sere. + +But ah! no, in endless slimmer, + Roams my heart through Wytham Woods, + Meeting in their solitudes +Evermore that angel comer, +Sweeter than the light of summer + Making golden Wytham Woods, +Now so far, so far from me +In the world of Memory. + + + + + +THE STAR IN THE EAST. + + +O'er the wide world I wander evermore, + Through wind and weather heedless and alone, +Alike through summer, and through winter hoar, +On cloud-capt mountain, by the sea-wash'd shore, + Seeking the star that riseth in the East. + +O'er the wide world--the world that knows not why, + And stares with stupid scorn to see me go; +Whilst I with solemn secret face pass by, +To laugh in desert spots where none are nigh, + Laugh loud and shrill unto the winds, Ho! Ho! + For that which none but I and _it_ do know. + +To think how when I find this lucky star, + And stand beneath it, like the Wise of old, +I shall mount upward on a golden car, +Girt round with glory unto worlds afar, + While Earth amazed the wonder shall behold, + That bears me unto happiness untold! + +Hush! I'll not whisper it, lest some should hear, + And hurry on before me to the spot, +Leaving me bound for ever to this sphere, +Parted for ever from my child--I here, + She in the realm that I could enter not. + +Hush! I must hurry on--for many nights + Have I sought for the star about the sky, +And found it not amid the myriad lights, +Greater and lesser with their satellites, + Flashing confusedly upon mine eye. + +I must unravel every golden hair + Upon the brow of Night for what I seek, +Lift every straggler from its moony lair, +Lest too _the_ star should haply linger there, + Unnoted by mine eyes so faint and weak. + +For as the Wise Men did in old time trace + The Holy Child by this same guiding star, +So I know well that by the Virgin's grace, +I too by it shall come unto the place + Where my sweet babe and its nurse-angels are. + +Wearisome are the days, they mock me so, + Pouring down light that seems to bid me see, +Yet hides the starry pilot by its glow, +Whose light I thirst for, whilst light-fountains, flow + Around me like the swelling of the sea. + +Wearisome are they, till the sun-god pales + Beneath the surges of the western wave, +And the last fold of his golden mantle trails +O'er the horizon where Earth's vision fails, + And space becomes a darkness and a grave. + +I ofttimes think to curse the Day, that tries + To keep my babe hid in its envious breast, +Smit with its hair of gold, and large blue eyes, +Close hid within its mantle, careless of my sighs, + That night and day must wake it from its rest. + +But Patience! when the sun is in the deep, + The Star will beam upon me suddenly, +And ere the sun-god waketh from his sleep, +The dear one shall be mine for whom I weep, + Mine, mine alone for all eternity. + +They call me crazed--Ha! ha!--They little know + Who are the crazed of Earth, or they, or I-- +They, by their greed of gold urged to and fro, +For petty pleasures bending God's soul low-- + I, seeking for my star about the sky. + +When it is found,--when it is found, how great + Will be the wonder of these blind and mad! +How great will be the wonder and the hate, +Waking to see the glorious truth too late + Will _he_, too, see his error, and be sad? + +The wind sweeps weirdly o'er the heaven to-night, + Weirdly and black, as though from guilty deeds,-- +From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight, +Leaving the drowning in their direful plight-- + Leaving the drown'd low waving in the weeds. + +No stars, no stars again! Oh woe! again + Night drowns me in its darkness and its gloom, +And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain, +Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain; + All things are leagued to darken down my doom. + +Perchance it is that I am growing weak, + And faint with wandering afar, afar, +And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek; +And yet I must not ask, I must not speak, + Nor tell--the secret of the Saviour star. + +No! dumb,--dumb,--I shall set me down to scan + Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space, +Hesper, heaven's loveliest, leading up the van-- +To-morrow--yes! to-morrow I shall watch, and man + Shall see this wonder when I reach the place. + +Will the babe know me--ope its sweet blue eyes-- + And stretch its little arms to clasp me round? +Ah! yes, God will send knowledge from the skies, +In pity for my prayers, and tears, and sighs, + Angels will sing for joy that I have found + My treasure, and _he_--he will hear the sound! + +Cold--cold it is--the wind is bitter chill-- + And the rain falls like curses on my head-- +No! no! not curses, for the drops say still +That there's an end to sorrow, and all ill +Flows from us like the water down a hill; + The star shall shine, and all the clouds be sped.... + + * * * * * + + The sought-for Star uprose upon the dead. + + + + + +UNDER THE SEA. + + +Deep in the bosom of the ocean, + Where sunshine fades to twilight gloom, + The pure pearls lie, and the coral bloom +Rests unsway'd by the upper motion-- + Calm and still the hours pass by + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The thunder rolls from cloud to cloud, + And the bitter blast sweeps o'er the sea, + Shaking the waters mightily; +But ne'er the tempest's voice so loud, + Sinketh down to the things that lie-- + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The icebergs crack with a sullen boom, + Riven by the hands of the angry North; + And, like the Angel of Wrath sent forth, +The whirlwind stalks with the breath of doom, + Crushing, like dust 'neath its heavy tread, + The last frail spar o'er the seaman's head; +But nought can reach the things that lie-- +The lovely things that sleeping lie, + Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre, + Beyond the reach of grief or care, + As sweetly rest the good and fair, +Where Life's rude foes can ne'er o'ertake her; + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The blessèd ones who sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + +Patience! thou poor one, faint and weary, + For thou shalt come unto this rest, + And leaning on a mother's breast, +Forget the world to thee so dreary: + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The happy ones who hoping lie +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + + + + + +WIND. + + +Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea, + Sad with the murmur of the weary waves, + Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves, +Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee, +With echoes of forgotten misery? + +The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing + From the far waters of the stormy main, + Welling their woes forth wearily in rain, +Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging, +And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging. + +Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart, + Till as of old the unseal'd waters run? + Whence is thy magic, Oh! thou unseen one, +To make still sorrows from their slumbers start, +And play again, unsought, their bitter part? + +We are all one with Nature--every breeze + Stealeth about the chambers of the soul, + Haunting their rest with sounds of joy or dole; +And every cloud that creepeth from the seas, +Traileth its shade o'er human sympathies. + +Blow! blow, thou weird wind, till the clouds be rent, + And starlight glimmer through the riven seams, + Scatter their darkness like the mist of dreams, +Till all the fleeting, spectre-gloom be spent, +And the bright Future gem the firmament. + +Blow! blow! Night's "Mene Tekel" even now + Glows on her palace-walls, and she shall pass + Like the dim vapour from a burnish'd glass; +And no chill shadows o'er the soul shall go, +Borne by each weeping West Wind to and fro. + + + + + +A CHALLENGE. + + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +My heart is true as steel, +Steady still in woe and weal, +Strong to bear, though quick to feel-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +Only my own ease seek I, +I am deaf to Pity's cry, +If men hunger, let them die-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a kiss for maiden fair, +I've a blow for who may dare, +I've a song to banish care-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I'm your servant whilst you're great, +As you sink, my cares abate, +When you're poor you have my hate,-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +If you trust me, I'll be true, +If you slight me, I'll slight you, +If you wrong me, you shall rue-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I can work with any tools-- +Clothe myself by stripping fools-- +Bend the knee whoever rules-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that hates all wrong, +Aids the weak against the strong, +Loves the Truth, and seeks it long-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I forgive no woman's sin, +Hunt her with self-righteous mien, +Never take her, mourning, in +From the desert of her sin-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe! + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that melts at sorrow, +I've a store the poor may borrow +I'm the same to-day, to-morrow-- + Take my hand! + + + + + +AT PARTING. + + +Peace! Let me go, or ere it be too late; + Dip not your arrows in the honey-mead; + Paint not the wound through which my heart doth bleed; +Leave me unmock'd, unpitied to my fate-- + Peace! Let me go. + +Think you that words can smooth my rugged track? + Words heal the stab your soft white hands have made, + Or stir the burthen on my bosom laid? +Winds shook not Earth from Atlas' bended back-- + Peace! Let me go. + +What though it be the last time we shall meet-- + Raise your white brow, and wreathe your raven hair, + And fill with music sweet the summer air; +Not this again shall draw me to your feet-- + Peace! Let me go. + +No laurels from my vanquish'd heart shall wave + Round your triumphant beauty as you go, + Not thus adorn'd work out some other's woe-- +Yet, if you will, pluck daisies from my grave! + Peace! Let me go. + + + + + +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD. + + +Time sets his footprints on our little Earth, + And, walk he ne'er so softly, some sweet thing +Falls 'neath each foot-fall, crush'd amid its mirth, + Tracking the course of Life's short wandering, +With fallen remnants of its mortal part, + Freeing the soul, but weighing down the heart. + +Thou flower of Love! thou little treasury + Of gentleness, and purity, and grace! +What hidden virtue hath Death reft from thee-- + What unseen essence melted into space? +For now thou liest like a sinless child, + Whom God hath homeward to his bosom smiled. + +The dew-shower fell on thee, the sunbeam play'd, + As Life is ever made of smiles and tears; +And ofttimes has the breeze of summer sway'd, + And with its mellow music mock'd thy fears; +But now, O wonder, thou art pale and wan, + And there's a beauty and a fragrance gone! + +Thus fade we--thus our hopes and joys, rose-bright, + Yield up their sweetness ere they reach their prime, +And their poor fabrics lie within our sight, + Stript of their radiance e'en in summer-time-- +Their spirit hath gone from them, and they wither, +But wherefore hath the spirit gone, and whither? + +Our knowledge is like dreams amid a sleep-- + Faint-pinion'd thoughts that beat the vault of Night, +And flutter earthward--so we smile or weep + At what we know not, cannot see aright; +Life is death, and death is life, perchance, +In the dim twilight of our waking trance. + +Thou art a leaf from the great Book of God, + Whose lightest word is wiser than the wise; +And, meekly resting there upon the sod, + Thou breathest upward holy mysteries, +In simple tones that steal upon the sense, +Like Childhood's prattling truth and innocence. + +Then, O sweet flower, that in thy low estate + Hast in thee emblems of the life of Man, +Read to our beings whispers of the fate + That waits us at the end of Time's short span; +How short we know not--e'en the bud may be +Gather'd in harvest to eternity. + + + + + +DE PROFUNDIS. + + +Turn thine eyes from me, Angel of Heaven-- + Read not my soul, Angel of Heaven-- +Sorrow is steeping my pale cheeks with weeping, + Evermore keeping her wand on my heart, + On my cold stony heart, while the tear-fountains start +To purge it from leaven too sinful for Heaven-- + Read not my soul, yet, Angel of Heaven! + +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? +Yearning to gain her, hast thou thus slain her + Ere sin could stain her--borne her away, + Borne her far, far away, into eternal day, + Left me alone to stay--left me to weep and pray? +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? + +Shines the place brighter, Angel of Heaven? + Brighter for her, Angel of Heaven? +Comes there not streaming into my dreaming, + At morning's beaming, rays more divine, + Rays from her soul divine, rays giving strength to mine? + Shines she not radiantly over the skies, + Over the morning skies, ere the Earth-vapours rise, +'Twixt me and Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + _Her_ blessed Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + +Turn thine eyes to me, Angel of Heaven-- + Search through and through me, Angel of Heaven; +Read my soul's yearning, wild, endlessly burning, + Tumultuously spurning Fate's bitter decree, + Fate's tyrannic decree, that tore her from me, + Bore her from me to Eternity. +Merciless Reaper, no more shalt thou keep her + From fond eyes that weep her for ever and ever, + Vain thine endeavour our spirits to sever, +Take my soul with thee, Angel of Heaven, + Bear me unto her, Angel of Heaven. + + + + + +THE MOTHER. + + +There is a land whereon the sun's warm gaze, + God-like, all-seeing, falls right down through space, +And the weak Earth, quite smitten by its rays, + Lies scorch'd and powerless with mute silent face, +Like a tranced body, where no changing glow +Tells that the life-streams through its channels flow. + +Peopled it is by nations scant and few, + Set far apart among the trackless sands, +Unlearn'd, uncultured, wild and swart of hue, + Roaming the deserts in divided bands, +Where the green pastures call them, and the deer +Troop yet within the range of bow and spear. + +Unhappy Afric! can thy boundless plains, + Where the royal lion snuffs the free pure air, +And every breeze laughs at the tyrant's chains, + Be but the nest of slavery and despair, +Rearing a brood whose craven souls can be +Robb'd of the very dream of Liberty? + +But, as the shore of this vast sea of sand, + Stretches afar a country rich and green, +With waving foliage shading all the land, + And flowing waters bright with sunny sheen; +And here browse countless herds of dappled deer, +Blesboks and antelopes, remote from fear. + +Amid it mighty mountains proudly rise, + Great monarchs of a boundless continent, +Rearing their hoary summits to the skies, + As claiming empire of the firmament; +Gaunt silent majesties of sea and earth, +Stern-featured children of Titanic birth. + +Within their shadows many peoples dwell; + Divided kingdoms gather'd round some chief, +With lodges cluster'd by some stream or well, + To yield their cattle ever cool relief +From the fierce scorching of the burning sun, +And slake their hot thirst when the toil is done. + +It chanced that war, which still doth enter in + Where men are most or fewest, small or great, +Here of a sudden raised its hellish din, + And woke to fury, lust, and bloody hate; +So that with battles, forays, murders, thefts, +Rang oft the echoes of the mountain clefts. + +There was one tribe that in unconscious ease + Slumber'd and thought of danger but in dreams, +Heard not the tramp of men upon the breeze, + While the stars, watching with faint trembling beams, +Saw noiseless spectres round the village creep, +Like apparitions of unquiet sleep. + +Then, silence-murder'd, what a yell arose! + And the scared sleepers, rushing forth in fear, +Met death without the portals from dim foes, + Or e'er the warrior could grasp his spear, +Or fit the arrow to his unstrung bow, +Or ward the fatal stroke that laid him low. + +So, with the plunder, and a captured band + Of hapless women, ere the morning light +Flitted the victors swiftly through the land, + Red with the trophies of their deadly fight, +Leaving the lion and his hungry crew +To clear the morning of this bloody dew. + +To meet them joyous forth their women came, + And led them back in triumph to the fold; +Taunting their foes with many a bitter shame, + Though now they lay in Death's aims stark and cold: +Whilst the poor captives, rack'd with fear and woe, +Cower'd close together from Fate's hapless blow. + +Soon there came traders from the coast, and then + The weeping captives all were marshall'd out, +And barter'd singly with the heartless men, + Each bosom trembling still with fear and doubt; +But when the truth burst on them, a hoarse cry +Of wild despair ascended to the sky. + +There was one there who from the Tree of Life + Pluck'd yet the blossoms with the fruit of years; +Scarce yet a woman, though a meek-soul'd wife, + And with a babe to claim her prayers and tears, +A tender bud of early summer time +Ere breezy woods are in their verdant prime. + +Her 'mongst the rest they barter'd, and the child, + Too young to sever from its mother's breast, +Left they unnoticed, whilst she, poor one, wild + 'Twixt hope and fear, still held it closely prest +Unto her heart, whose throbbings, loud and deep, +Beat an alarum through the infant's sleep. + +But soon her master, as he hasten'd off + With his new purchases, the infant caught, +And bid the mother, with a heartless scoff, + Fling it away: said he, "'Tis good for nought; +None of this lumber can we have, the road +Is long enough to tread without a load." + +The mother clasp'd her babe with bitter cry, + But a rude hand enforced it from her arms, +And the rough steward held it up on high, + Laughing aloud the while at her alarms; +Said he unto his master; "This shall be +A bait to draw her on with willingly." + +He bound around the infant's waist a line, + That fasten'd to his crupper, and then gave +The babe back to her, laughing,--"That end's thine-- + The other stays with me;" "A witty slave!" +The master chuckled, and they moved away, +She following with anguish and dismay. + +They journey'd o'er the desert, 'neath a sky + Scorch'd by the fiery footsteps of the sun, +Without a shade to bless the wistful eye; + And soon her fellow slaves droop'd, one by one, +Callous to blows that harshly drove them on, +Strength, hope, and love of life all seeming gone. + +But she went onward with no word or plaint, + Clasping the child unto her bosom still, +Unflagging when all else began to faint, + Intent to save her little one from ill; +And they look'd on her as she sped along, +Wond'ring what made so frail a creature strong. + +At eve she bent above her sleeping treasure, + With eyes that wept for pity and for love, +Filling its cup of life in richer measure, + With the blest care that watches us above; +And in the morn they bound the babe again, +And so drew on the mother in their train. + +Her tender feet soon wounded were, and sore + With the rough travel, and the weary way, +And her slight limbs, o'ertask'd and loaded, bore + Less lightly up their burden day by day; +But, nature failing, Love imparted power + To bear her steps up to the resting hour. + +Alas! the mother gazed with aching eyes + Upon the life-spring in her little child, +As one laid by a fountain while it dries; + Daily she watch'd it ebb, till she grew wild +With anguish at the Angel drawing near, + And bared her own breast for his fatal spear. + +She lost all sense of weariness and pain, + And with hot tearless eyes still hurried on, +Bearing the child girt by its cruel chain, + All thought save of her cherish'd burden gone, +Fearful alone lest other eyes should guess +The feeble thing her longing arms did press. + +At last they saw the babe was weaker growing, + That soon the little spark of life must fade, +So, spite of all her prayers, and wild tears flowing, + Beside a spring the sleeping child they laid, +And bid her onward, heedless of her woe +But on the earth she fell, and would not go. + +They raised her up, and bound her on a steed, + And so march'd onward on their weary way-- +For there was none to help her in her need, + And thus they travell'd eastward all the day, +But when they rested, and on each bow'd head +Sleep heavy lay, the mother rose and fled. + +And speeding swiftly with a lapwing's flight, + Backward she hurried to the little spring, +Led by a power that knoweth not the night, + But flies through darkness with unerring wing; +And so e'er morning shimmer'd in the East, +She clasp'd her dead babe to her panting breast. + +At morn they miss'd her, and the women said, + "She seeks her babe beside the distant well, +There wilt thou find her, if she be not dead, + For O! the love of mother who can tell." +And so the steward gallop'd back in haste, +To seek the lost one in the desert waste. + +At last the spring rose in the distant sand, + With its close verdure pleasant to the eye, +And there, as, nearing it, the place he scann'd, + He saw the mother with her infant lie, +Quiet and stilly on each other's breast, +Folded together in unbroken rest; + +Her arms around it thrown, that e'en in sleep + Still press'd the infant to her stricken heart, +No rest so perfect, no repose so deep, + From her sweet babe the mother's love to part. +Before him loud and bitter curses sped-- +Who heard him?--for the mother too lay dead. + + + + + +SONNET. + +DATUR HORA QUIETI. + + +The sun is slowly sinking in the West; +The plough lies idle, and the weary team, +Cool'd with the freshness of the shallow stream, +Over the meadows hasten to their rest; +The breeze is hush'd, and no more turns the mill, +With its light sails upon yon rising crest; +Its busy music now awhile is still, +And not a sound heaves up from Nature's breast; +The barks upon the river smoothly ride, +With sails all furl'd, and flags that listless fall, +Unrock'd, unshaken by the flowing tide; +The cattle lazy lie within the stall; +And thus the Time-stream on doth sweetly glide, +Bearing repose and slumber unto all. + + + + + +SEA MARGINS. + + + Ever restless, ever toiling, + Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds, + Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds, +Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling, + Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky, + Lashes again the beaches angrily: + + Slowly victor-like advancing, + Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land, + Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand, +In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing, + Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain, + No flower or shady leaf shall bud again. + + Slowly thus the ocean creeping, + Creeping coldly o'er the world of old, + Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold, +And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping, + Long cheerless wavings of the sullen seas, + Were once the sun shone bright on flowery leas. + + Over Earth, and over Being, + Over many glories of the Past, + Remorseless floods are flowing fierce and fast, +Snatching sun-lighted Tempes from our seeing, + Rolling their dreary surges o'er the shore, + Where Love had hoped to dwell for evermore. + + Sadly on Time's heaving ocean, + Waving darkly o'er Youth's Paradise, + Back gaze we ever with dim tearful eyes, +Seeking old joys beyond its rude commotion, + Seeking the old world glories pass'd away, + Seeking the golden shores of Life's Cathay. + + + + + +SONG. + + +Love took me softly by the hand, + Love led me all the country o'er, +And show'd me beauty in the land, + That I had never dreamt before, + Never before, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +There was a glory in the morn, + There was a calmness in the night, +A mildness by the south wind borne, + That I had never felt aright, + Never aright, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +But now it cannot pass away, + I see it wheresoe'er I go, +And in my heart by night and day, + Its gladness waveth to and fro, + By night and day, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + + + + + +THE BELL. + + +Through the calm and silent air + Floats the tolling funeral bell, + Swooning over hill and dell, +Heavy laden with despair; + Mute between each muffled stroke, + Sad as though a dead voice spoke, + Out of the dim Past time spoke, +Stands my heart all mute with care. + +The Bell is tolling on, and deep, + Deep and drear into my heart + All its bitter accents dart. +Peace! sad chime, I will not weep-- + What is there within thy tone, + That should wring my heart alone, + Rive it with this endless moan? +Peace! and let past sorrows sleep! + +Fling your music on the breeze, + Mock the sighing of the willows, + Mock the lapping of the billows, +Mock not human sympathies; + Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not, + With that loved voice ne'er forgot, + Flooding me with tears blood-hot; +Mock not soul-deep memories! + +Come not from the unseen Past, + Flying up the silent gale, + With that deep and muffled wail, + Slaying me with lying tale, +Base chime, false chime from the Past! + Not in sighs of mortal pain, + Pain and anguish rise again, + Voices from the far Death-plain-- +Not thus speaks she from the Past. + +Peace! yet--for though she speaks not + From her Paradise in thee, + Whispers nevermore to me + In my lonely misery, +Oh! that loved voice ne'er forgot, +Thou dost wake my brooding soul, + Smit'st it till the bitter dole + Breaks aloud beyond controul, + While the briny tear-drops roll, +Drowning, cries which she hears not. + +Cruel Bell! harsh Bell! ring on, + I shall turn my heart to stone, + Flinging back thy mocking tone, + Callous of thy deepest moan +Lying Bell! thy power is gone! + Spake she from her golden cloud, + Spake she to my heart aloud, +Every murmur of her voice, +Would bid my lone heart rejoice; +Every murmur of her voice, +Ah! would make my heart rejoice, + Lying Bell! thy power is gone. + + + + + +LLEWELLYN. + + + I.--_In the Porch._ + + MORGAN _and a_ MONK. + + + MORGAN. + +The tale is pitiful. 'Twas on this wise-- +Llewellyn went at morn among the hills, +To hunt, as is his use. My lady, too, +With all her maidens, early sallied forth, +A pilgrimage among the neighbouring vales, +Culling of simples, nor yet comes she home; +And so the child lay sleeping in his crib, +With Gelert--you remember the old hound? +He pull'd the stag of ten down by the Holy Well-- +With Gelert set to watch him like a nurse. + + MONK. + +The dog alone? nay! friend, but that is strange! + + MORGAN. + +Strange! Not a whit, for fifty times before +The hound hath kept him like his own bred whelp, +And ne'er a one could touch him; but the child +Play'd with his shaggy ears and great rough coat, +As no grown man had dared. + + MONK. + + I know there is +A strange nobility in dogs, to bear +The utmost sport of children, that would seize +Man by the throat e'en for a finger touch-- +But to your tale-- + + MORGAN. + + Well! suddenly at noon, +Llewellyn, baffled of his game, hied back, +Striding right grimly in his discontent, +And whistling, oft his spear upon the ground, +Slaying the visions of his fretful dreams; +And presently he thought him of his child: +So with its winsome ways to wile the time, +He went unto the chamber where it lay, +Watch'd o'er by Gelert, as his custom was: +But there, alack! or that the child had crost +The savage humour of the beast, or that +Some sudden madness had embolden'd it, +He saw the child lie bloody mid the sheets, +Slain by the hound, as it would seem, for there +Lay Gelert lapping from his chaps the blood, +That hung in gouts from every grisly curl. + + MONK. + +O Heaven! the woful deed! What did your lord? + + MORGAN. + +You know the hasty humour of the man, +That brooks no let betwixt him and his mood-- +He slew the old hound with his heavy spear, +That almost licking of his feet fell dead; +For Gelert loved him well, and, crouching, took +Without a cry the blow that struck his heart. + + MONK. + +This is a sorry day for all the house; they say +Llewellyn had his soul set on the child. + + MORGAN. + +His soul! Ay, marry! many a time and oft +I've seen the man's great heart stare from his eyes, +Just like a girl's, out at the crowing boy: +And yesterday it was he perch'd him fair +Upon his broad rough shoulder, like a lamb +Laid on the topmost reaches of a hill, +And so he bore him, all his face a-glow, +When heralds came with war-notes from the king; +At which he turn'd him soft--the startled babe +Still set astride, and looking fondly up, +Said he, "See! here's the only lord that sets +His foot upon my shoulder." The man's heart +Scarce beats, I warrant, now the child is dead. + + MONK. + +And hath he master'd aught his sorrow now, +Or still rides passion curbless through his soul? + + MORGAN. + +Ah! there, good Father, lies the chiefest woe, +For in the slaying of the hound his rage +Quite spent its force, and now I fear me much +His mind bath lost its olden empery. + + MONK. + +Nay! Death smites passion still upon the mouth, +And its grim shade is silence--'Tis no sign. + + MORGAN. + +But in this one act all his fury pass'd; +And turning softly from the dead child there, +Suffering none to touch it where it lay, +He sat him down in awful calmness nigh, +And gazed forth blankly like a sculptured face; +And when we fain would pass to take the child, +A strange wild voice still warns us back again, +"Hush! for the boy is sleeping." It would seem +He will not think that Death hath struck the babe, +But blinds his willing soul, and deems it sleep. + + MONK. + +A longer sleep, whose waking is not here! +Poor soul! that, catching at the skirts of Truth. +Muffleth his eyes that he may see her not. + + MORGAN. + +Good Father! go thou to him, for this doubt +That lays its stony spell upon his heart, +Is sadder far than tears-- + + MONK. + + It is mine office +Still to bear balm unto the bleeding heart; +Then lead on, friend, and let us trust in Heaven. + + [_They pass in_. + + + II.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + MONK. + +Benedicite! my son; + + LLEWELLYN. + + Hush! speak low, +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + Ay! we should speak low +Where Death is, though no sound can ever wake +Those whom he cradles in his bony arms. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Who speaks of Death in presence of a child! + + MONK. + +Alas! my son, the bud though ne'er so close +It fold the fragrant treasure of its youth, +Is by the nip of Winter shorn betimes. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Though Death should grimly stalk into the house, +And stand beside the slumber of a child, +Think you that gazing on its mimic self, +Sleep, beautiful and wondrous, in the crib, +His owlish thoughts would not wing suddenly, +Through cycles of decay, back to the time +When he was one with Sleep, and passing fair; +Think you he would not sigh, "Sleep, on! sleep on! +Thou copy and thou counterfeit of me, +And teach the world that I was beautiful." +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + O my son! my son! +These are delusions that but wrong the soul, +And keep the aching thoughts from peace and Heaven. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Why, Father, if Death woke him as he lay, +The lad would look up at him with a smile, +And twist his little limbs in childish sport, +Until the angel, surfeited with fear, +Would love and spare the thing that fear'd him not. +No man could see his pretty ways and frown,-- +And he was full of little childish tricks, +That won the very heart out of a man +In spite of him. There's Beowolf the Curst, +With ne'er a gentle word for man or child, +But cold and crusty as a northern hill-- +Why this day sen'night did my master there, +Crawl up his knees without a Yea or Nay, +And toy'd him with his sword-hilt merrily, +Till the rough man, caught with his gamesome arts, +Swore that he had the making of a man; +And, for the maids, there's none but has a word, +Or kiss to bandy with the gainsome lad; +Ay! when he wakes you'll see how he will crow, +And fill the place with laughter--he's no girl, +Puking and mewling evermore--not he. + + MONK. + +Good lack! my son, your heart is too much set +Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will, +That turns your soul back to itself with stripes; +Oh! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead? + + LLEWELLYN. + +You all have conn'd the same wise tale by rote-- +The child is sleeping; hush! and wake him not. + + MONK. + +Nay! doth your mind not stumble on the truth, +Here by this old hound lying at your feet, +With all his clotted blood in crimson pools +Curdling among the rushes on the floor? + + LLEWELLYN. + +The hound?--the hound--Poor Gelert! well-a-day! +It was ill-done of me--a wicked stroke, +A wicked stroke--and the boy, too, asleep. +And now I mind me how he loved the dog; +How many an hour he sported in the sun, +Twining his grisly neck with summer buds; +And how the dog was patient with the boy, +Yielding him gently to his little arms-- +There was a lion's heart in the old hound! +The deed's accursed--accursed--the child will wake, +And call for Gelert with his merry voice; +And when the dog no more comes stalking nigh, +With great mild head to meet the outstretch'd hands, +The child will sob his heart out for his friend; +For, Sir, his nature is right full of love, +And generous affections, never slack +To let his soul have space and mastery-- +A wicked stroke! + + MONK. + + Ah! would his voice could sound +Ever again among your silent halls; +But the sweet treble never more shall ring +Across the chambers to your wistful ear; +Then hear it now come floating down from heav'n, +Calling your lone and bleeding heart to God. + + LLEWELLYN. + +His voice was very sweet, a silvery stream +Of music, rippling softly through my life-- +And ne'er to hear his little prattling tongue, +Stumbling upon the threshold steps of speech, +Catching quaint sounds and fragments of discourse, +And setting them to childish uses straight-- +I've sat and heard him by the hour--you'd wonder +To hear his little saws and sentences, +And now to think I'll hear him never more-- +Alack! alack!--but no, it is not true-- +The child is sleeping--Ay! it must be so. +What know you, Father, of an infant's sleep? +You, in your stony cell 'mid shaven friars, +All crowding down the nether side of life, +Hearing no sweeter voice than matin-bells, +No speech, but grace in cold refectories; +Ay! thence it is--Oh fool! that I should doubt! +'Tis so--'tis so--I knew that I should pluck +The cowl from your delusion--Is't not so? + + MONK. + +Oh son, your woful faith moves all my heart. +'Tis pitiful! but see you not the blood +That hotly streaks your sleeping lily there? +See how it laces all his garments o'er, +And signs the grievous sentence of your joy. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Blood?--blood?--nay, how is this?--I--very like +The sun shines redly on him--I have seen +The sky look ruddy, as with all the blood +Of battle-fields, where no man cried for grace. +Blood? look, Sir; look again--I--something clouds +Mine eyes to-day--I see more thick than wont. + + MONK. + +Nay! lean on me--Come! look upon your child, +And Heav'n in ruth will smite your drouthy heart, +And send the balm of tears about your soul. + + + III.--_In the heart of the Child._ + + +There is a little dove that sits + Between the arches all alone, + Cut and carved in old grey stone, +And a spider o'er it flits: + +Round and round his web is spun, + With the still bird looking through, + From among the beads of dew, +Set in glories of the sun. + +So the bird looks out at morn + At the larks that mount the sky, + And it gazes, still and shy, +At the new moon's scanty horn. + +And the owls, that fly by night, + Mock it from the ivied tower, + Hooting at the midnight hour +Down upon it from the height. + +But the little dove sits on, + Calm between the arches there, + In the holy morning air, +When the owls with night are gone. + +Then the bells for matins ring, + And the grey friars past it go, + Into church in double row, +And it hears the chaunts they sing. + +And the incense stealing out + Through the chinks, and through the seams, + Floats among the dusty beams, +And wreathes all the bird about. + +All the children as they pass + Turn to see the bird of stone, + 'Twixt the arches all alone, +Wading to it through the grass. + +Is the spider's pretty net, + Hung across the arches there, + But a frail and foolish snare +For the little stone bird set? + +If the place should e'er decay, + And the tower be crumbled down, + And the arches overthrown, +Would the dove then fly away? + +So that, seeking it around, + All some golden summer day, + 'Mid the ruins as they lay, +It should never more be found? + + + IV.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + LLEWELLYN. + +My little one! my joy! my hope! dead--dead-- +I did not think to see this sorry sight. + + MONK. + +Holy St. David! is this death, or sleep? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Nay! Father, that is past--I am a man +Once more, and look at Sorrow in the eyes; +Let Truth e'en smite me with her two-edged blade, +But smite me, like a warrior, face to face. + + MONK. + +I stand all in amaze! or do I dream, +Or see I now the motion of a breath, +Ruffling the pouting lips that stand ajar? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Oh! Father, mock me not--I know that Death +Sits lightly on him as a dreamless sleep; +So dear a bud can never lose its sweets; +Oh! foolish heart! I thought to see him grow +In strength and beauty, like a sapling oak, +Spreading his stalwart shoots about the sky, +Till, when old age set burdens on my back, +In every bough my trembling hands should find +A staff to prop me onward to the grave; +And now--my heart is shaken somewhat sorely. + + MONK. + +Sir! This is wondrous--let me take the child, +For sure mine eyes do cheat me, or he lives. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Father, this is not well to mock me so; +My heart is sated with the draught of Hope, +And, loathing, turns from the delusive cup; +Nay! touch him not--'tis well that he should lie, +Calm and unquestion'd, on the breast of Heav'n; +Yet once again my lips must flutter his, +He may not be so distant, but that Love +May send its greeting flying on his track-- +The lips are warm--my God! he lives! he lives! + + [_Takes the child, who awakes in his arms._] + + MONK. + +Faith! This is stranger than a gossip's tale! +My son! the wonderment o'ermasters you-- +Nay! look not thus--let Nature have her way-- +Give words to joy, and be your thanks first paid +To Heav'n, that sends you thus your child again. + + LLEWELLYN. + +The joy was almost more than man might bear! +And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze-- +The child unhurt--this blood--the hound--in troth, +The riddle passes my poor wits. + + MONK. + + Let's search +The chamber well--Heav'n shield us! what is this? + + LLEWELLYN. + +A wolf! and dead!--Ah! now I see it clear-- +The hound kept worthy watch, and in my haste +I slew the saviour of my house and joy. +Poor Gelert! thou shalt have such recompense +As man may pay unto the dead--Thy name +Henceforth shall stand for Faithfulness, and men +For evermore shall speak thine epitaph. + + + + + +A SHELL. + + +From what rock-hollow'd cavern deep in ocean, + Where jagged columns break the billow's beat, +Whirl'd upward by some wild mid-world commotion, + Has this rose-tinted shell steer'd to my feet? + +Perchance the wave that bore it has rejoiced + Above Man's founder'd hopes, and shatter'd pride, +Whilst fierce Euroclydon swept, trumpet-voiced, + Through the frail spars, and hurl'd them in the tide, + And the lost seamen floated at its side! + +Ah! thus too oft do Woe and Beauty meet, + Swept onward by the self-same tide of fate, +The bitter following swift upon the sweet, + Close, close together, yet how separate! + +Frail waif from the sublime storm-shaken sea, + Thou seem'st the childhood toy of some old king, +Who 'mid the shock of nations lights on thee, + And instant backward do his thoughts take wing +To the unclouded days of infancy; + Then, sighing, thus away the foolish joy doth fling. + +Forth from thine inner chambers come there out + Low murmurs of sweet mystic melodies, +Old Neptune's couch winding lone caves about, + In tones that faintly through the waves arise, + And steal to mortal ears in softest sighs. + +The poet dreams of olden ages flowing + Through the time-ocean to the listening soul, +Ages when from each fountain clear and glowing, + Unto the spirit Naiad voices stole. + +And still, from earth and sea, there ever pealeth + A voice far softer than leal lover's lay, +Bearing the heart, o'er which its true sense stealeth, + Far to diviner dreams of joy away, + And to the wisdom of a riper day. + + + + + +THE RAVEN. + + +There sat a raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark at morn + A ragged bird with feathers rough and torn, +Whetting his grimy beak upon the bark, + And croaking hoarsely to the woods forlorn. + +Blood red the sky and misty in the east-- + Low vapours creeping bleakly o'er the hills-- + The rain will soon come plashing on the rills-- +No sound in all the place of bird or beast, + Save that hoarse croak that all the woodland fills. + +A slimy pool all rank with rotting weeds, + Close by the pines there at the highway side; + No ripple on its green and stagnant tide, +Where only cold and still the horse-leech breeds-- + Ugh! might not here some bloody murder hide! + +Pshaw! ... Cold the air slow stealing through the trees, + Scarce rustling the moist leaves beneath its tread-- + A fearful breast thus holds its breath for dread! +There is no healthful music in this breeze, + It sounds ... ha! ha! ... like sighs above the dead! + +What frights yon raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark around, + With ne'er accomplish'd circlings to the ground +Ruffling his wings so ragged and so stark? + Some half-dead victim haply hath he found. + +Ho! raven, now with thee I'll share the spoil! + This way, methinks, the dying game hath trod-- + Ay! broken twigs, and blood upon the sod-- +These thorns are sharp! well! soon will end the toil-- + This bough aside, and then the prize ... My God!... + + + + +SONNETS + +ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. + + + 1. + +The Land stood still to listen all that day, +And 'mid the hush of many a wrangling tongue, +Forth from the cannon's mouth the signal rung, +That from the earth a man had pass'd away-- +A mighty Man, that over many a field +Roll'd back the tide of Battle on the foe,-- +Thus far, no further, shall thy billows go. +Who Freedom's falchion did right nobly wield, +Like potter's vessel smiting Tyrants down, +And from Earth's strongest snatching Victory's crown; +Upon the anvil of each Battle-plain, +Still beating swords to ploughshares. All is past,-- +The glory, and the labour, and the pain-- +The Conqueror is conquer'd here at last. + + + 2. + +Yet other men have wrought, and fought, and won, +Cutting with crimson sword Fame's Gordian knot, +And, dying, nations wonder'd--and forgot,-- +But this Man's name shall circle with the sun; +And when our children's children feel the glow, +That ripens them unconsciously to men, +Asking, with upturn'd face, "What did he then?" +One answer from each quicken'd heart shall flow-- +"This Man submerg'd the Doer in the Deed, +Toil'd on for Duty, nor of Fame took heed; +Hew'd out his name upon the great world's sides. +In sure-aim'd strokes of nobleness and worth, +And never more Time's devastating tides +Shall wear the steadfast record from the Earth." + + + 3. + +This Duty, known and done, which all men praise, +Is it a thing for heroes utterly? +Or claims it aught, O Man! from thee and me, +Amid the sweat and grime of working days? +Stand forth, thou Conqueror, before God's throne, +Thou ruler, thou Earth-leader, great and strong, +Behold thy work, thy doing, labour'd long, +Before that mighty Presence little grown. +Stand forth, thou Man, low toiling 'mid the lees, +That measurest Duty out in poor degrees; +Are not all deeds, beside the deeds of Heaven, +But as the sands upon the ocean shore, +Which, softly breath'd on by God's winds, are driven +Into dim deserts, thenceforth seen no more! + + + 4. + +Then make thou Life heroic, O! thou Man, +Though not in Earth's eyes, still in Heaven's, which see +Each task accomplish'd not in poor degree, +But as fain workings out of Duty's plan,-- +The hewers and the drawers of the land, +No whit behind the mighty and the great, +Bearing unmoved the burden of the State,-- +Alike each duty challenged at man's hand. +Life is built up of smallest atomics, +Pile upon pile the ramparts still increase, +And as those, Roman walls, o'er which in scorn +The scoffer leapt, soon held the world at bay, +So shall thy deeds of duty, lowly born, +Be thy strong tower and glory ere the set of day. + + + + + +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. + + + Far, far away, over land and sea, +When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath, +And chills the flowers to the sleep of death, + Far, far away over land and sea, +Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee. + +Round the old grey spire in the evening calm, + No more they circle in sportive glee, +Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm, +And the swell of the organ so far below; + But far, far away, over land and sea, +In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds go. + + Over the earth that is scarcely seen + Through the curtain of vapour that waves between, +O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain, + O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar, + They flit like shadows, and pass the shore, +And wing their way o'er the pathless main. + + There is no rest for the weary wing, + No quivering bough where the feet can cling; +To the North, to the South, to the East, to the West, + The ocean lies with its heaving breast, + Within it, without it there is no rest. + + The tempest gathers beneath them far, + The Wind-god rides on his battle-car, +And the roar of the thunder, the lightning-flash, +Break on the waves with a sullen crash; + But Silence reigns where the Passage-birds fly, + And o'er them stretches the clear blue sky. + +The day wears out, and the starry night + Hushes the world to sleep, to sleep; +The dew-shower falls in the still moonlight, + And none wake now, save those who weep; +But rustling on through the starry night, + Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee, + Cleaving the darkness above the sea, +Swift and straight as an arrow's flight. + Is the wind their guide through the trackless sky? + For here there's no landmark to travel by. + +The first faint streak of the morning glows, +Like the feeble blush on the budding rose; + And in long grey lines the clouds divide, +And march away with retreating Night, +Whilst the bright gleams of victorious Light, + Follow them goldenly far and wide: +And when the mists have all pass'd away, + And left the heavens serene and clear, + As an eye that has never shed a tear +And the universe basks in the smile of Day, + Dreamy and still, and the sleepy breeze, + Lazily moves o'er the glassy seas, +The Passage-birds flit o'er the disc of noon, + Like shadows across a mirror's face, + For now their journey wanes apace, +And the realms of Summer they'll enter soon. + + The land looms far through the waters blue, +The Land of Promise, the Land of Rest; + Through cloud and storm they have travell'd true, +And joy thrills now in each throbbing breast +Down they sink, with a wheeling flight, +Whilst the song of birds comes floating high, +And they pass the lark in the sunny sky; +But down, without pausing, down they fly; +Their travel is over, their Summer shines bright. + + + + + +MEMNON. + + +Hot blows the wild simoom across the waste, + The desert waste, amid the dreary sand, + With fiery breath swift burning up the land, +O'er the scared pilgrim, speeding on in haste, + Hurling fierce death-drifts with broad-scorching hand. + +O weary Wilderness! No shady tree + To spread its arms around the fainting soul; + No spring to sparkle in the parchèd bowl; +No refuge in the drear immensity, +Where lies the Past, wreck'd 'neath a sandy sea, + Where o'er its glories blighting billows roll. + +Ho! Sea, yield up thy buried dead again; + Heave back thy waves, and let the Past arise; + Restore Time's relics to the startled skies, +Till giant shadows tremble on the plain, + And awe the heart with old-world mysteries! + +Old Menmon! Once again thy Poet-voice + May sing sweet paeans to the golden Morn, + Again may hail the saviour Light sun-born, +And bid the wild and desert waste rejoice,-- + Again with sighs the looming darkness mourn. + +Thou Watchman, waiting weary for the dawn, + Breathing low longings for its golden light, + Through the dim silence of the drowsy night, +What wistful sighs with thine are softly drawn, + Till day-beams on the darken'd spirit smite! + +The dawning light of Knowledge smites thee now, + And forth from the dim Past come voices clear, + Falling in solemn music on the ear, +Which, as the haloes brighten on thy brow, + Shall still in richer harmonies draw near. + +The Past comes back in music soft and sweet, + And lo! the Present like a strung harp stands + Waiting the sweeping of prophetic hands, +To send its living music, loud and fleet, + Careering calmly through unnumber'd lands. + +Then swift uprise, thou Sun, thou Music-Maker! + Smiting the chords of Life with gladsome rays, + Till from each Memnon burst the song of praise, +From lips which thou hast freed, O silence-breaker! + That over Earth the sound may swell always. + + * * * * * + +NOTE--It will of course be remembered that the celebrated statue of +Memnon was believed to utter lugubrious and mournful sounds at sunset, +and during the hours of darkness, which changed to sounds of joy as the +first rays of morning fell upon it. + + + + + +A CONCEIT. + + +The Grey-beard Winter sat alone and still, + Locking his treasures in the flinty earth; +And like a miser comfortless and chill, + Frown'd upon pleasure and rejected mirth; + +But Spring came, gentle Spring, the young, the fair, + And with her smiles subdued his frosty heart, +So that for very joy to see her there, + His soul, relenting, play'd the lover's part; + +And nought could bring too lovely or too sweet, + To lavish on the bright Evangel's head; +No flowers too radiant for her tender feet; + No joys too blissful o'er her life to shed. + +And thus the land became a Paradise, + A new-made Eden, redolent of joy, +Where beauty blossom'd under sunny skies, + And peaceful pleasure reign'd without alloy. + + + + + +THE LAND'S END. + + +I stood on the Land's End, alone and still. + Man might have been unmade, for no frail trace + Of mortal labour startled the wild place, +And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill, + Circled beneath me over the dark sea, +Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white, +That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light + Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly. +It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose + Above the world of waters, high and steep, + With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep, +Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows; + A noble brow to a firm-founded world, + That at the limits of its empire stood, + Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood, +And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd. + The Midnight Sun rose like an angry god, +Girt round with clouds, through which a lurid glow +Fev'rously trembled to the waves below, + And smote the waters with a fiery rod; +Above, the glory circled up the sky, + Fainter and fainter to the sullen grey, + Till the black under-drift of clouds away +Went with the gathering wind, and let it die. +A moaning sound swept o'er the heaving ocean, + Toss'd hoarsely on from angry crest to crest, + Like groans from a great soul in its unrest, +Stirring the ranks of men to fierce commotion. +My longing vision measured the wide waste, + "This cannot be the end of things; that man + Should see his path lead on so short a span, +And then the unstable ocean mock his haste! +Better have stay'd where I could still look on, + And see a sturdy world to bear my feet, + Than thus outstrip the multitude to cheat +Earth of its knowledge, and here find it gone." +A Shadow rose betwixt me and the sky, + Out of the Ocean, as it seem'd, that set + A perfect shape before mine eyes, and yet +Hid not the sky that did behind it lie; +But, through its misty substance, all things grew + Faint, pale, and ghostly, and the risen sun + Gleam'd like a fiery globe half quench'd and dun, +Through the sere shadow which the spectre threw: +It answer'd me, "Man! this is not the end; + Progression ceaseth not until the goal + Of all perfection stop the running soul, +Whither through life its aspirations tend. +Spring from thy height, then, for till thou art free + From earth, thy course is narrow and restrain'd!" + I said, "No! Spirit, nought were thus attain'd; +Better pause here than perish in the sea; +Man can but do his utmost--there's a length + He cannot overleap." The spectre smiled, + "Then trust to me; for though the sea be wild, +It cannot shake the sinews of my strength,-- +Within my breast the fearful fall asleep, + And wake out of their terrors, calm and still, + Having outstripp'd the speed of time and ill, +And pass'd unconsciously the stormy deep." +Quicker and quicker drew I in my breath, + "If there be land beyond, receive me now; + I'll trust in thee--but, Spirit, who art thou?" +The winds bore on a murmur, "I am Death!" + + + + + +THE OLDEN TIME. + + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +When I did long for eve all day, + And watch'd upon the new-mown grass + The shadows slowly eastward pass, +And o'er the meadows glide away, + Till I could steal, with heart elate, + Unto the little cottage-gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +How all the night I long'd for morn, + And bless'd the thrush whose early note + The silver chords of silence smote +With greetings to the day new-born; + For then again, with heart elate, + I hoped to meet her at the gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +But now hath pass'd the olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time; +And there is neither morn nor night + That bears a freight of hopes and fears, + To bless my soul in coming years +With any harvest of delight; + For never more, with heart elate, + Can I behold her at the gate, +As in the sweet, sweet olden time. + +For the sake of that dear olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time, +I look forth ever sadly still, + And hope the time may come again, + When Life hath borne its meed of pain, +And stoutly struggled up the hill, +When I once more, with heart elate, + May meet her at _another_ gate, + Beyond the blighting breath of fate, +That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time. + + + + + +FATHER AND SON. + + +The King call'd forth his first-born, and took him by the hand, +"Come! boy, and see the people you must soon command: + +A bold and stalwart nation, dauntless in the fight, +Strong as an iron buckler to guard their monarch's right." + +Then the trumpets sounded, and his vassals came, +Gather'd round his banner, loudly rang his name; + +Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel +A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel. + +"Child! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king, +As I look around me on this martial ring; + +There I see the sinews that support a state, +There I see the strength that makes a monarch great. + +Men whose life is glory--men whose death is fame, +Living still in story past the reach of shame." + +Many years pass'd over--the old King was dead, +And his child, his first-born, reignèd in his stead. + +Many years he reignèd, and upon his brow +Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow. + +So he took his son forth, as his father had, +"Come! and see thy people," said he to the lad. + +And they rode together through the busy town: +Many a peaceful merchant passing up and down; + +Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air +Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware; + +And the sounds of labour, blent with cheerful song, +Told of peace and plenty as they rode along. + +Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling lass, +Trader, man and master, stood to see them pass, + +With a bonnet lifted, and "God bless him!" said +By many a gentle bosom, many a reverend head. + +So the father turn'd him to his son and cried, +"Are not these bold subjects worth a monarch's pride? + +In their own free circles, by their quiet hearth, +Rearing him a bulwark steady as the Earth: + +On their mighty anvils, with a giant's skill, +Bending stubborn iron to his lightest will: + +Prosperous and happy, free in heart and soul, +These send forth my glory to the furthest Pole. + +Where is there in story any fame above +That King's whose deeds are written in his people's love?" + + + + + +ORION. + + +"A hunter of shadows, himself a shade."--HOMER. + + +Oh! weary sleeper by the lone sea-shore, + Where billows toil for ever 'mid the rocks, + Scourged on by winds in stormy equinox, +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + The stern Earth calls thee, and the Ocean mocks; + Roll thy poor sightless orbs about the sky, + Through tears of blind and powerless agony; +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + +Ay! blind I stand beside the lone sea-shore; + Hearing the mighty murmur of the waves, + Shaking with giant arms earth's architraves, +Scaling the riven cloud-crags bald and boar, + Surging hoarse secrets through the central caves; + God! shall thine ocean undiscernèd roll, + Night on mine eyes, and darkness on my soul, +Groping for knowledge blindly evermore? + +Wild laugh the winds, Ho! ho! about my face; + Heaven! mock me not!--with night-struck eyes upraised, + Still fronting full the dome where once I gazed, +Yearns my unsighted soul through dimmest space-- + Before it let these earth-mists sink abased; + Let me behold the All before I die, + Passing, swift-wing'd, into Eternity; +Let me no more these shapeless shadows chase! + +Is there not Phoebus in the golden East, + Pouring forth floods of brilliancy divine, + That fire the spirit more than Jove's own wine? +Arise! and drain the droppings of the feast!-- + Heaven! there's no East for these blind eyes of mine, + Staring the sun down into black eclipse! + What hand will raise the chalice to my lips? +Give me a child to guide me--e'en the least. + +Then on! thou giant, child-led, through the land, + Tottering feebly with uncertain stride, + With heavy moans along the mountain side, +Groping the darkness wildly, staff in hand, + Staying, deep-voiced, the quick steps of thy guide; + On! with wild sightless sockets to the sun, + Thirsting for the light-streams that around it run; +Far on yon summit, turning eastward, stand! + +God! let me rather die than thus, child-led, + Totter about the world an infant's slave-- + Ay! die, and darkly slumber in the grave!-- +Peace! proud one, bow thine unsubmitting head; + Peace! soon the light-streams shall thine eyelids lave, + And wash this barren blindness from thy soul, + Till these dark mystic vapours backward roll, +And leave all nature in thy sight outspread. + +We are upon the summit now. Ho! boy, + Place me where I shall see the sun arise, + When its great glory lightens up; mine eyes-- +Oh! that I thus should be an infant's toy!-- + See, now the morning streaks the Eastern skies! + Ay! boy, I feel the light-spring bubbling up; + My lips are parch'd, and thirsting for the cup +That now brims up my everlasting joy. + +There is a low thin cloud along the sky, + That melts away apace to brightest gold! + Ay! boy, so shall my clouds melt fold on fold, +Till glory flood my vision utterly. + The sun! the sun! I see it upward roll'd,-- + Day for the world, but life, fire-life for me, + Smiting asunder Death's night-mystery +With lightning-blade of strength and ecstasy! + +Now, on to work and action, seeing clear-- + Blindness swift throwing to Time's charnel-place-- + Eyeing, unscathed, the Sun-god face to face! +Ho! light! more light! dissolving sphere on sphere! + Would that my very life could lighten space, + Shining out like some constellation bright, + Back beating all the myrmidons of Night, +With starry splendors flashing sword and spear! + + + + + +THE GOLDEN WATER. + + +[It is scarcely necessary to say that the following fragment is +founded upon the beautiful, and well-known tale in the "Arabian Nights," +entitled, "The two Sisters who were jealous of their younger Sister;" +and the reader need only be reminded that the two brothers of Perizade, +Bahman and Perviz, had previously gone in search of the treasures +described by the Devotee, and had perished in the attempt,--the fate +of the latter having just been intimated to her at the commencement +of this episode, by the fixture of the pearls in the magic chaplet, +which Perviz had left her for that purpose.] + + +The days flow'd on, and each day Perizade +At morn and eve told o'er the snowy pearls, +That morn and eve ran swiftly through her hands; +The days flow'd on--one morn the pearls ran not, +And well she knew that Perviz too was lost. +Tears doubled every bead; but, evermore, +Through pain and sorrow, yearn'd her thirsting soul +For that far Golden Water in the East, +Whence one bright drop would fill her fountain full, +With glistening jets still rising in the midst. +She rose up straight, and donning man's attire, +For that the road was hard and difficult, +Took horse, and towards the sunrise swiftly rode, +Saying, "Thus much life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die." + +She sped right onward nineteen days in haste, +Morning and noontide turning not aside; +Then, as the next day dawn'd, afar she saw +The aged Dervise 'neath his lonely tree. +No other shape of man or beast in view, +Dull grey the sky, and moaning low the wind. +"O! holy man, now tell me, for God's grace, +Where in the Land the Golden Water flows?" +He, lifting slow his head with locks snow-white, +And rheumy eyes, spake out with feeble voice, +"Good youth! the place I know, yet ask me not; +Bid not these aged lips the secret tell; +That hath wooed on so many to their death. +Thirst for Earth's honours, for her wealth, her joys, +Thirst for the sweetest things beneath the sky, +But O! thirst not for that far Golden Spring, +By many sought, by none ere found till now." +She, softly, with her open hand upraised, +"Nay! Father, from afar I hither come. +And all my heart is set upon the thing, +So that there is no joy 'neath sun and moon, +No rarest charm can move me, lacking it; +Tell me then all the dangers of the quest, +That I may measure well my strength, and know +If mortal man may meet it and o'ercome." +With sad dissenting mien, and solemn voice, +That trembled 'neath its burden, thus spake he,-- +"Full many of the good and bold have come +From every land the pilgrim-sun looks on, +All thirsting for this water golden bright; +These darkening eyes have seen them all pass on, +But ne'er a one return; and I am old. +Hear then, poor youth, and turn while yet you may; +A mid-day's journey hence a mountain stands, +Rugged and bare as outcast poverty, +With many a gap and chasm yawning wide, +With many a rock to drive the climber back; +And, far above, the summit hides in clouds,-- +There springs the Golden Water through the rock +Brighter than sunlight in a summer noon; +But as the weary seeker toils aloft, +Rude voices rush upon him, loud and shrill, +Now far, now near, but all with anger fraught, +Rough menace, insult, and hoarse mockery; +Whereat the wondering climber, turning back, +In fury, or in fear, to meet the foe +Shouting loud threats e'en in his very ear, +Stands face to face with Death, and sinks transform'd +Into cold stone, 'mongst myriads more that lie, +And all day fright him with their dreary stare. +Ay! he that setteth forth upon this quest, +And looketh ever back for friend or foe, +For cruel laughter, or for mocking jeers, +Turns straight to stone like all beside his path; +But once upon the summit, at his feet +Flows the pure Golden Water, bright and clear." + +"This frights me not, O Father; for meseems +He is unworthy who should turn aside +For any mocking voice of man or maid; +Then tell me quick the way, that I may on; +Mine eyes look only forward, and mine ears +Hear only the far flowing of the spring. +Two brothers there lie lock'd in stony sleep,-- +I go to wake them on the mountain's side." +The Dervise laid his forehead in the dust, +"Allah go with thee, since it must be so! +Take thou this ebon bowl, and cast it down; +The ball will roll before thee swift and sure, +Until it stop beneath the mountain's side; +There stop thou; and, dismounting, leave thy steed, +And climb the fearful hill; but oh! beware +Thy glance turn never backward on the way! +Above, the golden fountain bubbles clear, +Whose water, sprinkled o'er these dead black stones, +Will wake the sleepers from their chilly sleep." + +With lips compress'd she took the ebon bowl, +And cast it on before the startled steed; +Swiftly it roll'd, and swiftly follow'd she; +The road all desolate--no shade of tree, +No living thing about the dreary waste; +No sound but of her courser's clanging hoofs, +His shaking tassels, and his measured breath; +Afar, the mountain black against the sky. +Still onward roll'd the ball, until the sun +Stood midway in the heavens, a fiery red, +Looking through clouds with half his glory quench'd; +And then it stopp'd close at the mountain's base. +Perizade straightway leapt from off her steed, +And threw the bridle on his arching neck +With calm caress, and left him neighing low; +One glance along the mountain, black and bare, +With low mists creeping o'er its rocky sides; +Mysterious exhalations veiling all the peak; +Dead silence--O but for a passing wind +To mimic Life beside her living soul! +Then upward with quick footsteps firm and bold. +Before her myriad dull black stones lay strewn, +Fearful to see, and know that souls of men +Lay prison'd in their cold and heavy frames.-- +Sudden behind her sprang a mighty cry, +"Ho! Traitress! turn, or die!" and evermore +Voices leapt out to wound her, like sharp swords, +With words of contumely, and mocking taunts, +Scoffs at her woman's heart 'mid manhood's guise, +Threats, rude defiances on every side. +At first she clomb, nigh stunn'd with wrathful cries, +Now at her side, whilst she would shrink in fear +To feel the sword's point pierce her fluttering heart, +Now from afar, below her and above, +Till she scarce breath'd, awaiting o'erturn'd rocks +To crush her in their fury as she went. +Yet, minding well the Dervise, still she held +Her pale face forward, with eyes ever bent +Towards the misty summit far away. + +More slowly soon her heart beat, and she laugh'd, +Like echo, at the scornful taunts and jeers; +"Scoff on!" she cried, "How small a thing it is +That scorn pursue us like a backward shade, +Whilst there is still the broad sun on before." +Weary and steep the path through cloud and mist, +Piercing the darkness on an unknown way; +But still she onward trod, and near'd the top, +Whence voices louder, fiercer ever came, +"Back, fool! intruder! sacrilegious wretch! +Slay the mad climber! crush her to the dust!" +Once stood she half irresolute, her hands +Press'd hotly on her too oppressèd heart; +But still she thirsted for the golden spring, +And with her soul made strength to reach the top, +Sighing, "Thus much Life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die!" + +Upon the summit totter'd she at last: +Far, far below the vapours tossing lay, +A great broad sea of heaving cloud and mist; +And upward the clear sky, as soft and blue +As a child's heaven--the sun unveil'd and bright. +No wrathful voices hover'd round her now, +But low sweet music of Aeolian tone, +With all the sadness melted into joy. +Unto the spring she hurried, breathing short, +And there the Golden Water bubbled up, +Like summer morning rising in the East,-- +A crystal chalice sparkled on the marge. +She fill'd it from the precious tide in haste, +And raised the clear elixir to her lips; +And then, as at a draught from Lethe's tide, +Her weariness pass'd from her suddenly, +And in her heart great peace and joy arose. + +Then from the chalice pour'd she on the stones, +That lay all cold and black upon the path, +And at that mystic baptism, anew +Sprang up the chilly sleepers in amaze, +Their stony hearts back-melted into Life; +Soon follow'd her a train of noble youths, +Gather'd from East, and West, and North, and South, +The rarest and the goodliest of Earth. +Bahman and Perviz, risen with the rest, +Walk'd at her side with wonder-stricken hearts, +Gazing upon her through kind tearful eyes. +Each found his steed beside the mountain base, +And mounted, all that goodly company, +She with her crystal chalice at the head. + +Then with her soft voice trembling through the crowd, +"Back let us to the world from whence we came; +And since that Life hath many Golden Springs, +Hath many joys to gain through toil and doubt, +Still let us scale the mountain for the prize, +And close our ears to Folly's wagging tongue." + +They spurr'd along until the sun sank low, +And by the way arose the lonely tree, +Mere sat the Dervise, rheumy-eyed and old-- +Blood-red the western sky--the clouds back waved, +And one faint star pale glimmering in the height-- +There found they still the Dervise 'neath his tree, +Where he had pointed them the Eastern way, +Now sleeping the last sleep with smiling lips. +"The Golden Water found, his task is done, +And now the Watcher calmly takes his rest!" +Then on in silence through the quiet night. + + + + + +YEARS AGO. + + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first we met; +When first her voice thrill'd through my heart, +Aeolian-sweet, thrill'd through my heart; + And glances from her soft brown eyes, + Like gleamings out of Paradise, +Shone on my heart, and made it bright +With fulness of celestial light; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I knew +How all her beauty fill'd my soul, +With mystic glory fill'd my soul; + And every word and smile she gave, + Like motions of a sunlit wave, +Rock'd me with divine emotion, +Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I heard, +Amid the silence of my soul, +The fearful silence of my soul, + That warning voice of doom declare-- + O God! unmoved by my despair-- +How her soft eyes would lose their light, +Their holy, pure, and stainless light, +And all the beauty of her being +Fade sadly, swiftly from my seeing; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when dumb I stood +Beside that little grass-green mound-- +Would I had lain beneath the mound!-- + And gazed out through my briny tears, + Upon the future lonely years, + Upon the cold, bleak, cheerless years, +Till Earth should ope her grassy breast, +And take me to my welcome rest, +Where she in Death's cold arms lay prest; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago; and yet I still +Gaze through moist eyes upon the Past, +The cherish'd, unforgotten Past; + Gaze onward through the coming days, + And wonder, with a sweet amaze, +What sunrise with its rosy light +Will bring her to my longing sight; + What sunset with its golden glow + Will o'er the long-sought slumber flow, +Amid whose visions she shall gleam, +As once she did through youth's sweet dream, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + + + + +VULCAN. + + +From the darksome earth-mine lifted, + From the clay and from the rock + Loosen'd out with many a shock; +Slowly from the clay-dross sifted, + Molten in the fire bright-burning, + Ever purer, whiter turning-- +Ho! the anvil, cool and steady, +For the soften'd rod make ready! + +Blow, thou wind, upon the flame, + Raise it ever higher, hotter, + Till, like clay before the potter, +Soft become the iron frame, + Bending at the worker's will, + All his purpose to fulfil-- +Ho! the fire-purged rod is ready +For the anvil, cool and steady! + +At each stroke the sparks fly brightly + Upward from the glowing mass; + Hail! the stroke that makes them pass, +Fall it heavy, fall it lightly! + Now the stubborn strength bends humbly, + To the Master yielding dumbly; +From the metal, purged and glowing, +Forms of freest grace are flowing. + +Wield thine hammer well, strong arm! + Strength to Beauty [*] wedded brings + Glory out of rudest things, + Facts from mere imaginings; +Strike from steel its hidden charm! + Little reck the rocks the blow + That makes the living water flow; +Little recks man's soul the rod +That scourges it through tears to God. + + +[*Footnote: Vulcan was wedded to Venus.] + + + + + +SONG. + + +The days are past, the days are past, + When we did meet, my love and I; +And youthful joys are fading fast, + Like radiant angels up the sky; +But still with every dawning day + Come back the blessed thoughts of old, +Like sunshine in a morn of May, + To keep the heart from growing cold. + +The flowers are gone, the leaves are shed, + That waved about us as we stray'd; +And many a bird for aye has fled, + That chaunted to us from the glade; +Yet every leaf and flower that springs + In beauty round the ripening year, +And every summer carol brings + New sweetness from the old time dear. + + + + + +GUY OF WARWICK. + +AN EPISODE. + + +Autumn went faintly flying o'er the land, +Trailing her golden hair along the West, +Weeping to find her waving fields despoil'd, +Her yellow leaves all floating on the wind: +And Winter grim came stalking from the North. +Around the coast rough blasts began to blow, +And toss the seas about in giant sport, +Lurking without to catch unwary sails, +And snap their bellying seams against the mast. +So Guy lay idly waiting in the port, +Gazing out eastward through the stormy mist, +Gazing out eastward morn and closing eve, +Seeking some break amid the hurtling clouds. +But many days the same wind strongly blew, +Keeping his bark close moor'd within the bay, +Jerking the cable, like a restive steed. +And waiting thus impatient to be gone, +Looking out seaward from the dripping wharf, +Strange rumours fill'd his ears, from inland come, +How all the land around his native place +Was devastated by a mighty Beast, +Most terrible to see, and passing strong. +They told him how it slew both man and brute, +Destroying every living thing around, +And laying waste the land for many a mile; +And how 'twas thought no blade, by mortal wrought, +Could cleave its way into the monster's heart; +And then they told him how his lord the King +Had late proclaim'd through all the country round, +That whosoe'er should slay the noisome Beast, +Should straight be knighted by his kingly sword, +And honour'd greatly in the rescued land. + +Yet none was found so stout of heart and limb, +To venture in this perilous emprize; +"But ah!" they said, supposing him far off, +"If famous Guy were here, there were a man +Would rid us of this monster presently. +But as for him, he speeds away through France, +Bearing to other lands his strength, that, faith, +Were better spent at home amongst his kin." + +And still the East wind bluster'd to the shore. + +Now Guy, whose ears still tingled all the day +With these strange murmurs of the troubled land, +Began to feel his heart with pity move; +And, for his soul still fretted at delay, +Like a leash'd hound that scents the flying game, +He straight resolved to take this quarrel up, +And for his country's weal to slay the Beast. + +So he arose, girt on his trusty sword, +And with his bow and quiver slung behind, +And at his belt his mighty battle-axe, +Rode calmly forth to slay the hurtful Beast. +And no man knew that he was Guy, for all +Believed him far away on foreign shores; +Which pleased him passing well, "Because," he said, +"I do this thing for Phoelice and the King, +And none shall know but Heaven that sees the deed. +But when the country feels returning joy, +Her heart will flutter with a secret thought." + +And all the land was desolate and waste; +The fields stood rotting 'neath the Autumn rains, +And no man pluckt the sodden corn that lay, +Dead ripe, along the furrows 'mid the weeds; +No cattle browsed upon the long rank grass, +Or paused to gaze upon him as he rode; +The cottages, deserted all in haste, +Stood open-door'd and rifted by the winds, +With cold grey ashes scatter'd o'er the hearth. +Here he beheld the homely meal spread forth, +Which no man ate; and there, upon the floor, +An o'erturn'd cradle, whence a mother late +Had snatch'd her babe up with a cry, and fled. + +And all his heart was sore with what he saw, +For he met none to wish him once "God speed;" +So he spurr'd onward swifter to the place +Where lurk'd the monster that thus spoil'd the land; +And long the road seem'd to him in his wrath. +At last he came unto the fearful spot, +Mark'd with the blanching bones of man and beast; +A thicket planted by a lonely heath, +O'ergrown with brambles and unwholesome weeds, +That clasping trees around with witch-like arms, +Poison'd their life out, and still held them dead. +And at one side there stretch'd a stagnant pool, +Unstirr'd by any grateful breeze, but thick +With slimy leaves, and rushes all forlorn, +And every footstep on the spongy bank +Fill'd straightway with the oozing of decay. +The Beast hid in the bosom of this wood; +And as Guy went he saw two eyes of fire +Burn through the darkness of the wood, like blasts +Sent from a smith's forge suddenly at night. +But, nought dismay'd, he bent his bow of steel, +And sent an arrow whirring through the leaves. +He heard the shaft ring on the monster's ribs, +And backward leap, as when a falchion strikes +Full on a warrior's casque with fiery force; +Whereat with roaring horrible to hear, +Like storm-winds belching through a cavern's mouth, +Forth rush'd the monster, furious and grim, +With open jaws and reeking breath at Guy; +Who, leaping nimbly back, put forth his strength, +And struck her full between the eyes a blow +That made the stout axe quiver in his hand. +But, nothing hurt, the madden'd Beast rush'd on, +And nigh o'erwhelm'd him in her headlong course, +Denting his breastplate, wrought of temper'd steel, +With the close home-thrust of her pointed horns. +But Guy, swift wheeling round his snorting steed, +Thought on his Phoelice, and, with mighty strength, +Launch'd forth a stroke that made the thick blood flow +In loathsome torrents from a gaping wound. +So, cheer'd at heart, he thunder'd blow on blow, +Till, with a bellow of despair and pain, +The monster tore the earth, and, writhing, died. + +And when Guy saw that he had slain the Beast, +He was right glad, and full of sweet content. +And so he wiped his blood-stain'd battle-axe, +And rode with lighten'd heart in haste away +To bear the welcome tidings to the town. +And as he pass'd, or that he dreamt, or saw, +It seem'd as though the land bloom'd up again, +And sunshine fill'd the air with hope and life. +And so he bore the tidings to the town-- +And when the people heard the Beast was dead, +They gather'd round with tears and cries of joy, +And scarce found words to thank and honour him. +And one brought forth her babe, and held him up, +And cried, "Look, child upon him, that your soul +May know the fashion of a noble man!" + +But still he told no man that he was Guy. + +And all desired to lead him to the King, +But he would not, and turn'd another way-- +"Nay! friends," said he, "I need no recompense. +For in the doing of a worthy deed +Lies all the honour that a man should seek." +And thus he turn'd away unto the sea, +And would not tarry, or for prayers, or tears; +And when he came unto the quiet port, +He said no word unto his waiting men, +But gazed out seaward; and the waves were down, +The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew; +And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main, +White in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing-- +And so he went on ship-board cheerily, +And they hove anchor with a right good-will, +And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze, +Bore swiftly out into the open sea; +And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows, +Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile. + + + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + + + The day fades fast; +And backward ebbs the tide of light +From the far hills in billows bright, + Scattering foam, as they sweep past, +O'er the low clouds that bank the sky, +And barrier day off solemnly. + + Above the land +Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold, +Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold, + Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand + Presses down sorrow on the heart, +And silence on the lips that part. + + The dew-mist broods +Heavy and low o'er field and fen, +Like gloom above the souls of men; + And through the forest solitudes +The fitful night-wind rustles by, +Breathing many a wailing sigh-- + + O Day! O Life! +Ending in gloom together here-- +Though not one star of Hope appear, + Still through the cold bleak Future gaze, + That mocks thee with its murky haze; +Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife, + And give unto thy weeping eyes + The far night-guarded Paradise! + + + + + +A DIRGE. + + +Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves; + Sadly float the midnight hours away; +Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves, + Fall the first pale chilly tints of day, + Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day. + +Soon the darkness will be past and gone; + Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing; +Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on; + Life commence its weary wandering, + Ah me! its weary, weary wandering. + +Not the sighing of my lonely heart, + Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er, +Not its silence can with night depart: + Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore, + Ah me! darkness ever, evermore. + + + + + +TO MY DREAM-LOVE. + + +Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar + I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, + And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, +Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star; + Where art thou? Ah! where art thou, hid in light + That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight? + +Not wholly--ah! not wholly--still Love's eyes + Trace thy dim beauty through the mystic veil, + Like the young moon that glimmers faint and pale, +At noontide through the sun-web of the skies; + But ah! I ope mine arms, and thou art gone, + And only Memory knows where thou hast shone. + +Night--Night the tender, the compassionate, + Binds thee, gem-like, amid her raven hair; + I dream--I see--I feel that thou art there-- +And stand all weeping at Sleep's golden gate, + Till the leaves open, and the glory streams + Down through my trancèd soul in radiant dreams. + +Too short--too short--soon comes the chilly morn, + To shake from love's boughs all their sleep-born bloom, + And wake my heart back to its bitter doom, +Sending me through the land down-cast, forlorn, + Whilst thou, my Beautiful, art far away, + Bearing the brightness from my joyless day. + +I stand and gaze across Earth's fairest sea, + And still the plashing of the restless main, + Sounds like the clashing of a prisoner's chain, +That binds me, oh! my Beautiful, from thee. + Oh! sea-bird, flashing past on snow-white wing, + Bear my soul to her in thy wandering. + +My heart is weary gazing o'er the sea; + O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky; + Through solemn sun-sets ever mournfully, +Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee; + Hearing the sullen waves for evermore + Dashing around me on the lonely shore. + +But tides creep lazily about the sands, + Washing frail landmarks, Lethe-like, away, + And though their records perish day by day, +Still stand I ever, with close claspèd hands, + Gazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, + Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee. + + + + + +A NIGHT SCENE. + + +The lights have faded from the little casement, + As though her closing eyes had brought on night; + And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright, +While silence reigns around from roof to basement. + And slow the moon is mounting up the sky, +Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train, + Flinging rich largesse, as she passes by, +Of beauty freely over hill and plain. + +Around the lattice creep the pure white roses, + And one light bough rests gently on the pane, + The diamond pane, through which the angel train +Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes; + The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now; +And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly, + Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow; +The peace and stillness make the place seem holy. + +The little garden where she daily strays, + Sleeps like the precinct of a place enchanted; + And many a flower by her own dear hands planted, +Waves mystically 'neath the starry rays. + There is such strange still beauty in the spot, +That in the misty moonshine oft it seems + A vision that the waking eye sees not, +But some fair plesaunce blooming up in dreams. + +The dew distillèd perfumes richly rise, + And float unseen about the silent air, + Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere, +Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise; + Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press, +Within the stillness of this inner shrine, + Where Nature has unveil'd her loveliness, +And to the angels bared her soul divine. + +There is no sound upon the ear of Night; + The distant watch-dog's bay hath sunk to rest; + The thrush is brooding o'er his quiet nest; +And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight. + O heart, why beat so wildly--she will hear, +And start from slumber in serene surprise-- + Away! away! why longer linger here +To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs! + + + + + +SONNET. + + +O Cloud so golden, stealing o'er the sky, +Like pensive thought across a virgin mind, +Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind; +Would that o'er heaven with thee my soul could fly, +Scanning Earth's beauty with a lover's eye, +Tracing the waving waters and the woods, +Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes, +Where all the summer through I long to lie. +O Cloud so golden stealing o'er the sky, +Sail'd I within thy bosom o'er heaven's main, +Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory, +The liquid loveliness of sea and plain, +Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory, +My soul would melt and fall again in rain. + + + + + +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER. + + +My little bark glides steadily along, + Still and unshaken as a summer dream; + And never falls the oar into the stream, +For 'tis but morning, and the current strong; + So let the ripples bear me as they will; +Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song; + Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still + Swift floating down the River. + +Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees; + One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky, + As o'er the widening stream below steal I, +Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze; + Bird-music answers sweetly through the air, +The unheard warbling of heart melodies; + Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care, + Swift floating down the River. + +Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies on the tide, + With glowing petals in the midst, that rest + Like the gold shower on Danae's lovely breast; +And the tall rushes cluster on the side. + Ho! sweet-lipp'd lily, thou must be my prize-- +Thus shall I pluck thee in thy beauty's pride! + Fail'd--all too steadily my shallop hies, + Swift floating down the River. + +The stream fast widens, and upon the shore + Rise busy hamlets 'mid the falling woods, + Filling their shorn and broken solitudes, +With labour's clamour ever more and more: + No more, no more in dreams of love all day, +Rich set in music from the forests hoar, + Now gaily speeds my untoss'd bark away, + Swift floating down the River. + +Let me take oar, and turn mine eager prow, + Back to the quiet waveless source again, +Where no harsh sound breaks on the dreaming brain, +And winds steal softly round the careless brow,-- + Swift as a dream my tiny bark hath gone, +And stoutly though I ply the oar, yet now + My weary shallop still goes sadly on, + Swift floating down the River. + +Ah! never more for me--Ah! never more + Return those blessed morning hours again; + The sun beats hotly on my throbbing brain, +And no cool shade waves friendly from the shore: + My feeble oar dips powerless utterly, +And onward, onward, though I struggle sore, + Still goes my bark towards the surging sea, + Swift floating down the River. + +Welcome art thou, O cool and fragrant eve! + Welcome art thou, though night pursue thee fast + With thee the burning and the toil roll past, +And there is time to gaze back and to grieve. + Hoarse ocean-murmurs fall upon mine ears, +And round me now prophetic billows heave, + As on I go, out-looking through salt tears, + Swift floating down the River, + Swift floating to the Sea. + + + + + +ORPHEUS. + + +About the land I wander, all forlorn, +About the land, with sorrow-quenchèd eyes; +Seeking my love among the silent woods; +Seeking her by the fountains and the streams; +Calling her name unto lone mountain tops; +Sending it flying on the clouds to heaven. +I drop my tears amid the dews at morn; +I trouble all the night with prayers and sighs, +That, like a veil thick set with golden stars, +Hideth my woe, but cannot silence it; +Yet never more at morning, noon, or night, +Cometh there answer back, Eurydice, +Thy voice speaks never more, Eurydice; +O far, death-stricken, lost Eurydice! + +Hear'st thou my weary cries, Eurydice? +Hearing, but answering not from out the past, +Wrapp'd in thy robe of everlasting light, +Round which the accents flutter faintingly, +Like larks slow panting upward to the sun? +Or roll the golden sands of day away, +And never more the voice of my despair +Trickles among them o'er thine unmoved ear, +Though every grove doth multiply the sound, +And all the land sigh forth "Eurydice"? + +My heart is all untamed for evermore; +The strings hang loose and warp'd for evermore; +The rocks resound not with my olden songs, +Nor melt in echoes on the trancèd breeze; +The streams flow on to music all their own; +The magic of my lyre hath pass'd away, +For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music from its chords; +For thou art pass'd away, Eurydice; +Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice; +And there is nought to guide the erring tones +That once breath'd but of thee, Eurydice; +That made each breeze sweet with Eurydice; +And taught each fountain and each running stream +To sing of thee, O lost Eurydice! + +The serpent saw thee, O Eurydice! +The serpent slew thee, O Eurydice! +Stealing amongst the grass, Eurydice; +The long rank grass, that stretched Briarian arms +To clasp thee to itself, Eurydice! +And soon they laid thee from the sight of men; +Laid thee beneath the rankly waving grass; +Opening Earth's portals wide to let thee wend +Forth to Plutonian realms of gloom away; +And never more about the waiting land +Stray'd thy light steps at morn or shady eve. +No fountain hid thine image in its heart; +No flowers leapt up to wreathe thy golden hair; +No more the fawns within the forest glade +Follow'd a foot more lightsome than their own; +The moon stole through the night in dim surprise; +And all the stars look'd pale with wondering; +For thou cam'st not, O lost Eurydice! +Earth found thee not, O lost Eurydice! +Love found thee not, O lost Eurydice! + +I could not stay where thou wert not, forlorn; +I could not live, O lost Eurydice!-- +Not Acheron itself could fright me back +From where thy footsteps wander'd, best beloved! +And so I sought thee e'en at Hades' gate, +Charm'd wide its leaves with melody of woe, +And dared the grave to keep me from thine arms; +I flow'd away upon a stream of song, +E'en to dark Pluto's grimly guarded throne, +Melting the cruel Cerberus himself, +The Parcae, and snake-lock'd Eumenides, +To pity of my measureless despair. +I sang thy beauty, O Eurydice! +I sigh'd my love forth, O Eurydice! +With tears and weary sighs, Eurydice! +And at thy name the pains of Hell grew light; +Ixion's wheel stopp'd in its weary rounds, +The rock of Sisyphus forgot to roll, +And draughts of comfort flow'd o'er Tantalus:-- +Then from old Dis's hands the keys slipp'd down, +And words of hope and pity spake he forth. +He promised thee again if I would go, +Never back-looking, from those realms of gloom, +Those realms of gloom where thou wert, best beloved. + +How could I leave thee thus, Eurydice? +Without one look, one glance, Eurydice? +And I perchance no more to gaze on thee, +Snared by some fatal falsehood from thy side? +Yet strove I hard; until at length I came +Where Lethe flow'd before me, faint and dim; +Ye gods! how could I cross it from my love, +That might wash out her memory for aye; +That I should live and dream of her no more; +That I should live and love her never more; +That I should sing no more, Eurydice; +That I should leave her in the grip of Hell, +Nor bear her forth e'en on the wings of thought. +And so I turn'd to gaze, Eurydice! +I turn'd to clasp thee, O Eurydice!-- +And lo! thy form straightway dissolved away; +Thy beauty in the light dissolved away; +And Hades and all things dissolved away; +Until I found me on thy cold, cold grave, +Amid the grass that I would grew o'er me, +Clasping us close within one narrow home, +Where I no more might wake and find thee gone.-- +The earth oped not unto my frantic cries; +The portals closed thee from me evermore-- +Else had I melted Hell itself with prayers, +And borne thee back to Earth triumphantly. + +I cried, heart-stricken, on Proserpina; +I rent the rocks around with endless prayers; +I told her all the story of our love, +I launch'd my sorrows on her woman's heart; +I sought her through the barren winter-time, +The woful winter-time for Earth and me; +And, "Oh!" I thought, "her soul will soon relent, +And rush in crystal torrents from her eyes, +Till in the joy of sympathetic tears, +She woo my love from Pluto's stony heart." +I waited, and I question'd long the Spring; +I question'd every flower and budding spray, +If thou didst come among them back again; +I conjured each bright blossom, each green leaf, +That, leaving Earth, she bears full-arm'd to Dis, +But backward flingeth ere her glad return, +That every step of glorious liberty, +Fall upon flowers throughout the happy land; +But never came response, Eurydice,-- +The flowers were dumb, O lost Eurydice! +They would not see thee spring from Earth like them, +Outshining all their fainter loveliness, +And so they left me to my lorn despair; +She left me lorn, O false Proserpina! +And never more may I behold thee here, +In Spring or Summer, O Eurydice! +By day or night, O lost Eurydice! + +They shall not keep me from thee, O beloved! +Dis shall not keep me from thee, O beloved; +But I shall shake his gates in my despair, +Until they open wide to let me pass; +I'll take my life up like a mighty rock, +And so beat breaches in the walls of Time; +I'll cast existence from me like a wrestler's robes, +And with my supple, naked soul throw Fate; +I'll snap the shackles whose Promethean links +Bind down my soul unto this narrow earth.-- +Dost hear my voice dim floating to thee now, +Along the waves that ripple at my feet? +Thus do I come to thee, Eurydice, +Through waving water-floods, Eurydice, +I come, I come, beloved Eurydice! + + + + + +THE SCULPTOR. + + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night, + Stealing amid the waving of the corn, + That waited, golden, for the harvest morn-- +The dream fell on him through the still moonlight. + +The land lay silent, and the new mown hay + Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep; + And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap, +The night-breeze bore sweet incense-breath away. + +The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves; + The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd; + The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast +Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves. + +He had been straying through the land that day, + Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love; + And all the earth beneath, the heaven above, +In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay. + +And, as he went, from every sight and sound, + From silence, from the sweetness in the air, + From earth, from heaven, from nature everywhere, +Gleam'd forth a deep dim thought and clasp'd him round. + +The thought oppress'd him with a weary joy, + Seeking for ever for its perfect shape, + That from his eager eyes would still escape, +Flatter him onward--then his hopes destroy. + +He sought it in the bosom of the hills; + He sought it in the silence of the woods, + Their sunny nooks and shady solitudes; +He sought it in the fountains and the rills. + +He watch'd the stars come faintly through the skies; + And on his upturn'd brow the clear moon shone, + Flooding his heart like pale Endymion; +But still the thought hid dimly from his eyes; + +Its voice came to him on the evening breeze, + That flutter'd faintly through his summer dreams-- + He heard it through the flowing of the streams; +He heard it softly rustling through the trees. + +Yet still the thought that murmur'd through his heart, + He found not anywhere about the land; + Ne'er saw its spirit shape before him stand, +Though from all nature it seem'd prone to start. + +And thus he wander'd homeward, dreaming still + Of all the beauty that had haunted him, + With mystic meanings shadowy and dim, +By woodland, and by meadow, vale and hill: + +He wander'd homeward, and in musing mood + Stay'd his slow steps beside a marble block, + Hewn from some far unstain'd Italian rock, +That for his shaping chisel waiting stood. + +Then his heart spoke out to him, "Not alone + This thought divine hides in the streams and woods, + Seeking expression through their solitudes, +Perchance e'en lies it in this unhewn stone. + +It may be that the soul which fills all space, + And speaks up to us from each thing we see, + In words that are for ever mystery, +Within this Parian, too, hath resting-place." + +He gazed on, dreaming through the dim twilight, + And to his inner sight the marble grew + Clear and translucent, so that, gazing through, +A mystic shape form'd to his wondering sight, + +That seem'd imprison'd in the Parian cell, + Seeking in vain release and utterance; + For evermore, with upward beaming glance, +Framing the words its lips could never tell. + +The vision pass'd; but still with unseen power, + It stirr'd within his heart by night and day; + And swift to hew the prison walls away, +The Sculptor toil'd, love-strengthen'd, from that hour. + +He wrought with patience, and at length, amazed, + Beheld the mystic form all perfect stand, + Released in beauty by his artist hand, +He scarce knew how, and wonder'd as he gazed. + +It was a lovely form whose lifted arms + Yearn'd towards heaven with all its radiant frame, + As though the soul within on wings of flame +Up from the earth would waft its angel charms; + +But still one touch retain'd it to the ground; + So that the love that beam'd up from its eyes + Flow'd evermore towards the distant skies, +And yet to earth the shape remain'd spell-bound. + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night; + And thus in that fair form still heavenward turning + Eternal aspiration, endless yearning, +Stood now the Thought before his gladden'd sight. + + + +THE END. + + + + + +[ADVERTISEMENT] + +By the same Author. + +EIDOLON, AND OTHER POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Walter R. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10328-8.zip b/old/10328-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..eb91fa0 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10328-8.zip diff --git a/old/10328.txt b/old/10328.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1848ad --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10328.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5050 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Walter R. Cassels + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + +Author: Walter R. Cassels + +Release Date: November 29, 2003 [EBook #10328] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Ross and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +WALTER R. CASSELS + + + +LONDON + +1856 + + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +MABEL +HEBE +SPRING +THE BITTERN +GONE +BEATRICE DI TENDA +SERENADE +THE EAGLE +WHITHER? +THE MORNING STAR +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS +THE DARK RIVER +WYTHAM WOODS +THE STAR IN THE EAST +UNDER THE SEA +WIND +A CHALLENGE +AT PARTING +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD +DE PROFUNDIS +THE MOTHER +SONNET--DATUR HORA QUIETI +SEA MARGINS +SONG--"LOVE TOOK ME SOFTLY BY THE HAND" +THE BELL +LLEWELLYN +A SHELL +THE RAVEN +SONNETS ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS +MEMNON +A CONCEIT +THE LAND'S END +THE OLDEN TIME +FATHER AND SON +ORION +THE GOLDEN WATER +YEARS AGO +VULCAN +SONG--"THE DAYS ARE PAST" +GUY OF WARWICK +AT EVENTIDE +A DIRGE +TO MY DREAM-LOVE +A NIGHT SCENE +SONNET--"O CLOUD SO GOLDEN" +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER +ORPHEUS +THE SCULPTOR + + + + + +M A B E L, +A Sketch. + + + DRAMATIS PERSONAE. + + ORAN, _a Speculative Philosopher._ + MABEL, _his Wife._ + HER FATHER. + MAURICE, } + ROGER, } _her brothers._ + + + +MABEL. + +SCENE I--_A Study. Books, pictures, and sculpture +about the room, interspersed with chemical and other +instruments, globes, &c.; a singular blending of science +with art, indicating a delicate and speculative organization +in the arranger_. + + + ORAN, MAURICE, _and_ ROGER. + + ORAN. + +Well, well! and so ye deem I love her not, +Ye and the world that love so passing well?-- +That still I trifle with her bright young life, +As the wind plays with some frail water-bell, +Wafting it wantonly about the sky, +Till at some harsher breath it breaks and dies? + + MAURICE. + +Nay, not thus far would our reflections go. +Friendship paints not with the foul brush of Conscience! +But thou, a man of dark and mystic aims, +Tracking out Science through forbidden ways, +Leaving the light and trodden paths to grope +'Mid fearful speculations and wild dreams, +May'st hunt thy Will-o'-the-wisp until thou lead'st +Our sister, all unwitting, to her death. + + ROGER. + +That shalt thou answer unto us. Thy life +Shall be to her life like the sun and shade, +Lost in one setting. + + ORAN. + + Ay! thou sayest well-- +Thou sayest well. How oft a random shaft +Striketh King Truth betwixt the armour-joints!-- +One life, one sun, one setting for us both. + +Which way, then, tend your fears? What certain aim +Have all these strokes you level at my ways? + + ROGER. + +We say that you, against all light received, +Against all laws of prudence and of love, +Practise dark magic on our sister's soul-- +That by strange motions, incantations, spells, +So work you on her spirit that strange sleep, +Sombre as Death's dark shadow, presently +Steals o'er her fragile body, dulls her sense, +And wraps her wholly in its chill embrace; +That thus, spell-bound, lost to the living world, +She lies till thou again unwind her chain, +And wak'st her feebly to this life of earth. +Thus dost thou peril her, thou blinded man! +Sett'st her dear life against thy moonstruck thought, +And slay'st thy dove on Folly's altar-steps. + + MAURICE. + +Ay! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd +The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now, +Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health +To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad? +Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses, +Glow now with faint exotic loveliness, +Not native to this harsh and gusty earth; +And from her large dark eyes there seems to gaze +Some angel with mute, melancholy looks, +As from a casement at this jarring world. + + ORAN. + +Ha! then you too have seen it; it is not, +O Heaven!--is not delusion, this fond dream, +But even now it works, works bliss for her. +Proceed, Sir ... you were saying ... Sir, I list ... +That in her eyes you saw angelic fire, +Pure from the dross, the dimming clouds of earth, +Deem'd now her frame ethereal, unakin +To earth's clay-moulded fabrics--such, perchance, +As entering heaven, might have left its dust +At the bright folding portals, sandal-like, +And thence, repassing in seraphic trance, +Still left unclaim'd the vesture at the gate! + + ROGER. + +You glory in her weakness! 'Tis too much-- +Rash man, beware, a bitter end will come. + + MAURICE. + +I fain would think that study hath o'erwrought +Your heated brain to this short fever fit, +That soon may pass and leave your vision clear. +In truth, I note strange changes in your mien-- +A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness, +Rapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind +Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings: +Your cheeks are pale, and all your nervous frame +Thrills 'neath some strange enthusiastic touch. +Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again, +As in those days gone by, the country air, +The sweet, calm country air, where perfume floats +Like love that finds no heart so godlike large +Can clasp it wholly in its one embrace, +But overflows creation with its bliss. +Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness, +And cleanse your brain of these pernicious dreams. + + ORAN. + +This madness! I bethink me of the past, +Of all the great and noble who have toil'd +Amid the deep dark mines of burning thought, +Wearing out life to quarry forth the Truth; +Of all the seers and watchers, early and late +Waiting with eager blood-hot eyes the light +Rising afar in some untrodden East, +Full of divine and precious influence, +Calling, like Mezzuin from his minaret, +The thankless world to worship and be glad; +Of all the patient thinkers of the earth +Who talk'd with Wisdom like familiar friends, +Until their voices unaccustom'd grew, +And men stared blankly at them as they pass'd: +I do bethink me of them all, and know +How each walk'd through his labyrinth of scorn, +And was accounted mad before all men. +But patience!--Winter bears within its breast +The nascent seeds of golden harvest-time. + +This only shall I tell you of my ways-- +Straying, now here, now there, 'mid science' wealth, +I have discover'd a vast hidden power-- +A power that perfected shall surely work +Great revolution in all human laws,-- +Where stop its courses I as yet know not; +'Tis to me like the sun, that all the day +Shines godlike in my vision, and, at night, +Though darkness hide its brightness, still, I feel, +Shines on in glory over other spheres; +It is a power beneficent and good, +That grants to spirit infinite control +Over all matter, and that frees the soul +From its flesh shackles, and its sensuous means. +What else its influences, or for health, +For happiness, or blessing, I say not-- +Save that such glimpses of vast powers unknown +Dawn on my wondering mind, that like a man +Standing upon some giddy pinnacle, +With a whole world seen faint and small below, +I close mine eyes for very fear and joy. +To her, my Mabel, do I bear in love +Some first-fruits of my finding--make her rich, +That, gazing through her eyes, I may behold +How sweet is heaven, how dear is happiness. +This is the sum of that I work on her; +Then, though I thank you for your good intent, +Leave me untroubled to my life of thought, +Leave her all trustful in the arms of love. + + ROGER. + +You love her not, false man! your heart and soul +Are steep'd in science till not e'en the heel, +Achilles-like, is vulnerable left. +Ay! wear thus feeling's semblance as you will, +Pale visionary! no more shall I pause, +But with strong hand arrest your mad career! +Soon we return arm'd with a father's power, +To snatch our sister from your fearful arts. + + MAURICE. + +Oh! if you love her, Sir, as once you did-- +If yet upon the dial of your life +Her sun mark out the short sweet hours of joy, +And all too swiftly on the shadows glide-- +If yet you prize the loving heart you hold, +From this most mad delusion waken up, +That blindly blights her whom it seeks to bless; +Cease your Utopian and unsafe essays, +And rather turn your studious care to call +The fading roses back into her cheeks, +And shed health's gladness on her feeble frame; +Reflect whilst yet you may, lest late Remorse +Stalk, ghost-like, through the chambers of your soul, +Haunting their gloomy void for evermore. + + [_Exeunt Maurice and Roger_. + + + +SCENE II.--_The Same_. + + + ORAN. + + + ORAN. + +Not love her! O my God! thou knowest me-- +Thou, looking through me as the sun at noon +That searches through the being of the world-- +Thou setting life against thy glory light, +As men hold up a crystal 'gainst the sun, +Making its frame as nothing in the blaze! + +Lo! my heart was like a chaotic world, +Still, silent, 'mid the dreary waste of time. +Man there was not in all its desert bounds, +But hoary ruins of past wondrous things, +Old unbeliefs, fierce doubts, unsightly dreams, +That wearing out their wild hot-breathing life, +Wearily stretch'd their writhing shapes to die; +Then came she moving o'er my awe-hush'd soul, +Like God's own Spirit over earth's void waters, +And there arose order and life through all. +She was my sun, set high to rule the day, +And make my world all bright and beautiful; +She was my moon, amid the stilly night +Subduing darkness with her quiet smiles, +And stealing softly through my anxious dreams, +A sweet-soul'd hostage for departed day; +She was my summer, clothing all my life +With fragrant blossoms of delight and joy. + + [_A pause_. + +Not love her! 'Tis as yesterday the time +When first my love stole fainting to her ear, +In deep scarce-worded murmurs of desire. +'Twas evening, and above the weary land +Silence lay dreaming in a golden hush; +The summer's sunset yellow'd in the wheat, +And the ripe year, with harvest promise full, +Slept on the wavy slopes and verdant leas, +Like one who through long hours of toil at last +Sees the glad work accomplish'd, and in peace +Flings him along the meadows to repose; +Below, the bells of even faintly chimed, +And sent their hymnal music up the breeze +To where I stood, half-praying, by her side. +Then all my words and thoughts that came and went, +Waving about the secret of my love, +Like billows plashing on a silent shore, +All at one gush flow'd from me o'er her heart, +And broke the banks of silence; then my love +Sank through her liquid eyes to read her soul, +Like diver that through waving water-floods +Seeketh the priceless pearl that lies below, +And there found life--found joy for evermore: +It is as yesterday that time to me,-- +Sweet time, when love entwines the locks of life +With fragrant blossoms, like a one-hour's bride, +And claspeth summer with soft pleading arms, +That she, though ne'er so eager to be gone, +Still tarries smiling for a last embrace, +And drops her hoarded flowers upon the way: +It is as yesterday--my love the same-- +The love that led me through all heavy tasks, +All lonely watchings by the midnight lamp, +To win the fame that still might shine on her; +And e'en--how dear the thought!--this wondrous power, +This godlike influence which has dawn'd on me, +Thus from my love takes colouring and aim! +Not love her! Well, well, I'll forget the word-- +The sun shines on, though blind eyes see it not. + + [_A pause_. + +It cannot be--this aim so deeply--weigh'd, +So long and calmly sifted, cannot fail. +O wondrous power! great mystery of life! +Reserved for me of all the sons of men; +Fruit ripening high upon the wall of heaven +For me to pluck with eager, trembling hands, +And press its vintage out for thirsting worlds +More blessed still that into her sweet cup +First may I pour the clearest of the wine-- +For her--for her--ah, yes! for her supreme, +I struggle onward through this blinding light, +E'en at whose dazzling threshold I might stand, +Pale, trembling, like a terror-smitten soul, +Waiting bewilder'd at the gate of heaven. +Yet once again let me the plan review, +Searching within my soul of souls each part, +That doubt or danger, lurking there, may thus +By love's keen-scented instincts hunted be.-- + + [_A long pause_. + +Yes! it is so--this deep magnetic sleep, +That from my being passes upon her, +Bindeth the body close in deepest thrall, +But setteth free the soul. What real need +Hath spirit of these sensuous avenues, +Through which the soul looks feebly on the world? +This power then opes the prison door awhile, +And sends the spirit chainless o'er the earth. +This know I--without eyes the spirit sees, +Gains instant cognizance of hidden things, +And counts all space for nothing; knowledge comes +Upon it with the falling of the flesh, +So that there is no thing in earth or heaven +But to the unhoused spirit native is-- +The mantle falls and leaves the Prophet angel! +Body, then, is the prison-house of soul, +And freedom is its highest happiness, +Its heaven, its primal being full of joy. +This power that holdeth thus the keys of life, +Can then at will give moments of release, +Which to the soul are as the water-brooks +That scantly rise amid a sun-scorch'd waste: +These, oft repeated, must at length destroy +The thraldom of the flesh, and give at will +A freer issue to the practised soul-- +At lowest gladden it with gleams of bliss, +Glimpses of heaven amid this exile time. +Yes! thus, my Mabel, shall thy prison'd soul +Rise to its sister angels heavenward still; +And soon the mortal fetters shall hang loose, +Scarce clogging aught its motions glad and free. +Thus shall thy young fair frame no longer be +A prison, but a meetest dwelling-place, +Full of all infinite delights, and dear +As is its nest to the heaven-soaring lark, +That yearns down, singing, to it from the sky. +These men, did they not see it in thine eyes, +Amazed and fearful at the dazzling sight, +As some rude passer gazing up aloft +Sees from some casement, unawares, a face +That makes his great rough heart on sudden rock +With wonder and with worship--in her frame +Did they not see the mortal waxing faint, +The immortal fusing it with heavenly fire? +Ay! the charm works, and thou, my life, my love, +Reapest the first-fruits of my long, long toil. + + + +SCENE III.--_A Boudoir. Flowers about it, in beautifully +shaped Vases. A Greenhouse at one end. The +window-panes delicately tinted, and hung with light +fleecy draperies_. MABEL _working, and singing in a +low voice_. + + + MABEL (_singing_). + +At night when stars shine bright and clear, + The soft winds on the casements blow, + And round the chamber rustle low, +Like one unseen, whose voice we hear, + On tiptoe stealing to and fro-- + +At night when clouds are dark and drear, + They moan about the lattice sore, + And murmur sighs for evermore, +That fill us with a chilly fear, + Oft glancing at the well-barr'd door-- + +At night, in moonlight or in gloom, + They wander round the drooping thatch, + Like some poor exile thence to catch +Fond glimpses of each well-loved room, + And sigh beside the unraised latch-- + +O unseen Wind! art thou alone, + Thus breathing round the sleeping land? + Or roams with thee a spirit band, +Blending sad voices with thine own,-- +Voices that once with cheerful tone + Made music round the sleeping land? + + ORAN (_from the Greenhouse, unperceived_). + +Ah! her dear voice. How all my nature thrills, +My heart, my brain, beneath the mellow sound, +Like some great dome with holy music fill'd! +She is the lark, above my listening soul +Hovering still with carols from Heaven's gate. +She is the perfumed breeze, that evermore +Sweeps music from the Aeolian strings of life. +She is the sea, that fills with sweetest sound +The yearning earth that folds it in its arms. +Not love her--Ah! dear heart, how utterly! + + [_A pause_. + +What if amid these spirit wanderings, +This so mysterious power can grant at will,-- +What if the angels, smitten with her grace, +Woo'd her away for ever from my heart? +The dove came twice again unto the ark, +With messages of peace, and hope, and joy, +But the third time return'd not. She's my dove-- +Oh! wing'd she ever from my longing heart, +The waters of my life would quick subside, +And leave me stranded on the shoals of Time. +What if God saw her hovering aloft, +And smiled her in amongst his cherubim? +What if the draught of bliss should, Lethe-like, +Blot me for ever from her memory, +So that she sought me never, never more? +Oblivion! take again this fearful power-- +No more shall Fate be tempted with my wealth, +Lest covetous it rob me of my all. + + [_A pause_. + +And yet, these are but dreams, poor selfish fears, +That scum-like float and dim Love's limpid tide. +Shall I thus cage my bird from liberty, +And let it beat its life out on the bars, +Lest some dear bliss detain it in the heavens? +Shall I spill rashly forth this wine of joy, +Because for me within the crystal cup +Some dregs may haply rest when she has drunk? +Ah, no! for her alone shall I take thought. +The first pure sacrifice of Love is self! +There is no peril. God that sends the power +Will send the guardian angel to direct. +I work for her--Heaven speed the work of love. + + [_Enters the room_. + + MABEL. + +I waited for thee, love--'tis past the hour, +And on my dial slumbers Time in shade +When thou comest not to sun me. + + ORAN. + + I but stood +There on the threshold, following thy voice +Away, away through mazy lengths of dreams. +Music--low music from the lips we love, +Is the true siren that still lures the soul +From cares of earth to the Enchanted Isles. + + MABEL. + +Methinks that thou art sad to-day, my husband. +Let me share with thee pain as well as joy; +It is the sweetest right that love can claim. +We give our joys to strangers, but our grief +Sighs itself only forth for those we love. +We hang our sorrows on the loved one's ear, +Like jewell'd pendents for a bridal feast. + + ORAN. + +Tell me, my Mabel, if within this sleep, +To which mine art oft leads thee, there should come +Some angel bright with Heaven's reflected light, +Wooing thee upward with the songs of bliss,-- +Tell me, my Mabel, wouldst thou freely go, +Leaving this fair earth-vesture only here, +Leaving me lornly gazing on the sky, +Blotting its sun out with my blinding tears? + + MABEL. + +There is no angel but the angel Death +Could sever me from thee who art all my life! +What Heaven is there but that which Love creates? +What songs of Bliss, save those by Love intoned? +Ah! thou to me art as the sun to Day, +That dies out with its setting utterly-- +Thou art the ever-flowing crystal spring, +That keeps the fountain of my being full-- +Thou art the heart that beats with measured pulse +The joyous moments of my flowing life-- +Leave thee? How canst thou wrong me with the thought? + + ORAN. + +Dear Mabel!--Yet to-day thy brothers came, +Taxing me harshly, and in cruel terms, +With practising against thy precious life. + + MABEL. + +Oh, Heaven! + + ORAN. + +They dread these trances, whose dim fame +Hath floated on the ignorant air to them. +They deem this priceless power, new-fall'n on me, +And treasured for thy sake, my best beloved, +A most pernicious art, that may, perchance, +Work evil upon thee; say, dost thou fear? +My Mabel, hast thou faith and trust in me? +Shall I proceed, or break this magic wand, +Wherewith they deem that I am dower'd withal? + + MABEL. + +I trust in thee, my love, with perfect faith-- +Am I not as the floating gossamer, +Steering through ether on thy guiding breath? +Am I not as the clay within thy hand, +Taking the shape and image of thy thought? +Heed not these idle tongues, that launch their doubts +In erring love against thy watchful care. +That which thou doest I accept with joy; +I wait for thee as waits a full-sail'd bark +The coming breeze to waft it o'er the sea. + + ORAN. + +Fear not! I do well think no peril lies +Within this power, but virtue of rare worth, +Else nevermore its wand had waved o'er thee.-- +Tell me, dost bring no memory back to Earth +Of all these glorious wanderings above? +No certain visions of the hidden things +Thou seest in that far mystic spirit-land? + + MABEL. + +Nay! it must be as thou dost tell me oft, +The soul doth lose its secrets at Earth's gate, +And all the blinding glories it hath known +Shed but their mystic influence over life. +Therefore, it may be, 'tis I nought retain +Of that which passeth in these hours of trance. + + ORAN. + +Yet strive once more to grasp the fleeting dreams, +Else shall I doubt that which I fondly hope.-- +Sleep, love, and let thy spirit bask awhile +In Heaven's own sunshine;--yet forget not me! + + [_Makes passes over her, which shortly sink + her into a state of trance._ + +'Tis done! she's free! and now this lovely frame +Lies tenantless, a casket whose pure gems +Now sparkle 'mid the opal lights of Heaven. +This earth seems very lone and cold to me +Now she is absent, though a little space! +My heart goes restless wandering around, +Seeking her through old haunts and vacant nooks, +Like one who, waking from some troubled dream, +Findeth his love soft stolen from his side, +And straightway seeketh in a dim amaze +All through the moonlight for her straying feet. + + [_A pause._ + +Where art thou, O my dove! about the sky? +Ruffling thy breast across what honey breeze? +Flashing white pinions 'gainst the golden sun, +That fain would nest thee on his ardent breast? +Art thou soft floating through the joys of Heaven, +With Earth far, far beneath thee, like a star +Struggling up through the tremulous sea of light, +That sucks its life down from the eye of day? +About the gate of Heaven there floats my dove, +Fann'd by the breath of melodies divine; +Opes there no casement soft to take her in, +And lay her in the bosom of delight? +O dove, white dove, now at the gate of Heaven! +Wilt thou wing homeward ere the eventide, +On shining pinions to thine own soft nest? + + [_A pause_. + +O wonderful! Thou mansion tenantless, +Unswept by memory, untrod by thought, +Where all lies tranced in motionless repose; +No whisper stirring round the silent place, +No foot of guest across the startled halls, +No rustling robes about the corridors, +No voices floating on the waveless air, +No laughters, no sweet songs like angel dreams +On silver wings among the arched domes,-- +No swans upon the mere--no golden prow, +Parting the crystal tide to Pleasure's breeze,-- +No flapping sail before the idle wind,-- +No music pulsing out its great wild heart +In sweetest passion-beats the noontide through,-- +No lovers gliding down sun-chequer'd glades, +In dreams that open wide the Eden gate, +And waft them past the guardian Seraphim. +Sleep over all the Present and the Past-- +The Future standing idle at the gate, +Gazing amazed, like one who, in hot haste +Bearing great tidings to some palace porch, +Findeth the place deserted. + + [_A noise without; enter in haste Father, + Maurice and Roger._ + +How now?--Friends, you are welcome! + + FATHER. + + Where's my child, +That you maltreat, most rash and guilty man? + + ORAN. + +Sir, you are over hasty in your words-- +Your child is here.-- + + [_Points to Mabel, who still lies entranced._ + + FATHER. + +Mabel! wake, Mabel--O my God! she's dead! + + MAURICE. + +How!--Dead! + + ROGER. + + Ay, murder'd! + + FATHER. + + O! my child! my child! + + ORAN. + +Peace! she is well--Sleep folds her in his arms, +And each upheaving of his drowsy breast +Is like a billow upon pleasure's sea, +Wafting her on to far Hesperides. + + FATHER. + +This is no healthy sleep that wraps her now, +Else would she waken at my anxious cry; +'Tis death-sleep, wretched man. + + MAURICE. + + Let's bear her hence. + + ROGER. + +Nay! let him now unwind his magic spells, +Or fall our vengeance on his guilty head. + + ORAN. + +Dismiss your fears, and cease your threats. Old man, +Soon shall I prove how much you wrong my love; +Thus do I call the spirit home again, +And wave the slumber backward from her eyes. + + [_Makes passes to awaken her, but without + effect after long persistence_. + + FATHER. + +Impostor! would you mock e'en Death itself, +Calling it sleep!--You see, Death mocks you back. + + MAURICE. + +In vain! no further seek to blind our fears. + + ORAN. + +'Tis strange!... stand back, Sirs ... 'tis your influence +Hath neutralized my power--stand off, I say! + + [_Continuing the passes in great agitation_. + + ROGER. + +By Heaven!--It is too much--Let fall the mask! +O villain! you have done your worst at last, +And ta'en the sweetest life in all the land; +But vengeance swift shall follow on your track. + + ORAN. + +Hold! hold! young man, talk not of vengeance here; +This sleep shall pass and shame your blood-hot words-- +If it pass'd not the vengeance were forestall'd. + + [_A silence--continuing the passes_. + +O Mabel! Mabel! hear me where thou art! +Come to the lonely heart that yearns for thee,-- +Come to the eyes that seek thee through salt tears! +Patience, Sirs, now methinks the sense returns; +A smile steals o'er her lips, and roseate hues +Make morning on her downy cheek again: +Back ... back--my anguish shall unwind the charm! + + [_A silence_. + + FATHER. + +Sir, I acquit you--pity you--perceive +You loved her, and have err'd against yourself; +But cease these struggles that but mock us now, +They nought avail--my child is dead!... + + ORAN. + + Mabel! Mabel! + + + + + +HEBE. + + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Strength! +Strength for the struggle through good and ill; +Through good--that the soul may be upright still, +Unspoil'd by riches, unswerving in will, +To walk by the light of unvarnish'd truth, +Up the flower-border'd path of youth;-- +Through ill--that the soul may stoutly hold +Its faith, its freedom through hunger and cold, +Steadfast and pure as the true men of old. +Strength for the sunshine, strength for the gloom, +Strength for the conflict, strength for the tomb; +Let not the heart feel a craven fear-- +Draw from the fountain deep and clear; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Strength! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What--Pour in Truth! +Drink! till the mists that enshroud the soul, +Like sleep's drowsy shadows backward roll, +And show the spirit its radiant goal, +That nought may blind it all its days, +Or tempt it down earth's crooked ways; +Drink! till the soul in the eastern skies +Behold the glorious star arise, +That guides its steps to the promised prize; +Drink! till the strong elixir fire +Each aim of the being with pure desire, +Nerve the courage to dare the world, +Though a thousand scoffers their arrows hurl'd; +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Truth! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Love! +To quench the thirst of the longing heart, +Heal all its sorrows with wondrous art, +And freshness and joy to its hopes impart; +To make the blossoms of life expand, +And shed their sweetness on every hand; +To melt the frost of each sullen mood, +Cement the bond of true brotherhood, +Subdue the evil of Time with good, +And join the links which death hath riven +Betwixt this fallen sphere and Heaven, +Raising the soul above the sky +On wings of Immortality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Love! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Hope! +The soul looks out through the coming years, +Blinded by doubts, and blinded by tears, +Sear'd with the iron of tyrant fears:-- +Is there a break in Life's gloomy sky? +Can the heart reach it before it die? +The path is weary, the desert wide, +And Sorrow stalks by the pilgrim's side-- +Oh for a draught of Hope's crystal tide +To cheer the parch'd and fainting one, +Until his toilsome race be run, +And the bright mirage fall from the sky, +Displaced by a sweet reality. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Hope! + +Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in! + What?--Pour in Faith! +What is Life's fabric, so nobly plann'd, +Its stately dome, and its ramparts grand, +If their foundation rest on the sand, +Ready to shift with Time's ebbing stream, +And melt away like a gorgeous dream? +God! let us trust Thee in very sooth, +Feel that the visions, the dreams of youth, +Its glorious hopes are all based on Truth;-- +Thus shall the purpose of Life grow clear; +Love shall be freed from the bondage of fear; +And the soul calmly await the morrow +Untroubled by visions of coming sorrow. +Brim up Life's chalice--pour in! pour in! + Pour in Faith! + + + + + +SPRING. + + +On, like a giant, stalketh the strong Wind, + Wrapping the clouds about him, close and dark, +Rifting Creation's soul, for rage is blind,-- + No pity hath he for the Earth all stark, +Shivering beneath the loose and drifting snow, +A scanty shroud to hide the dead below. + +Dead? There is life within the mother's breast-- + So claspeth she her young ones to her heart;-- +"The time will come--the time will come--rest! rest! + Let the mad greybeard to his North depart; +Earth shall arise and mock him in his grave-- +Patience a little, let the dotard rave!" + +The palsied boughs grew still--there came a pause, + And Nature's heart scarce beat for listening, +Gazing abroad from all the tempest-flaws, + With prayerful longing for the saviour Spring; +And when she heard Spring coming up the sky, +Earth rose and threw her shroud off joyfully. + +Then she who once had wept like Niobe, + Beheld her children springing round her feet, +Raising young voices in the early day, + That never to her ear had seem'd so sweet; +And the soft murmur of a thousand rills +Proclaim'd how Spring had loosed them on the hills. + +The bright Evangel came, girt round with mirth, + And garlanded with youth, and crown'd with flowers +"Awake! arise! ye sons of the new birth, + And move to the quick measure of the hours! +Summer is coming--go ye forth to meet her, +With sweetest hymeneal songs to greet her." + +So there arose straightway a joyous train, + Gather'd by every nook and hedgerow shade, +That in its passage o'er the verdant plain, + 'Still in the heart a thrilling music made-- +Sweet pilgrims they of Love in youth's gay time, +Leading the year on to its golden prime. + +The birds sang homage to her evermore; + And myriad winged things, whose radiant dyes +Made sunshine beautiful, still hover'd o'er, + And bore her witness in the sunlit skies; +And rising from the tomb in glad amaze, +Came many a sainted flower to hymn her praise. + +Thus from the streams, and rivers, from the sea, + From the stirr'd bosom of the mighty hills, +From every glade there rose continually + A blessing for her, till with joyous thrills +Earth's bosom heaved, and in man's heart a voice +Echoed the anthem--"Spring is come! Rejoice!" + + + + + +THE BITTERN. + + +The reeds are idly waving o'er the marshy ground, +The rank and ragged herbage rots on many a mound, +And desolate pools and marshes deadly lie around. + +There is no life nor motion, save the winds that fly +With the close-muffled clouds in silence through the sky, +There is no sound to stir it, save the Bittern's cry; + +The Bittern, sitting sadly on the fluted edges +Of pillars once the prop and pride of palace ledges, +Now smear'd with damp decay and sunk in slimy sedges; + +Shatter'd and sunken, with the sculptured architrave +Peering above the surface of the sluggish wave, +Like a gaunt limb thrust fleshless from a shallow grave. + +The Bittern sitteth sadly on the time-worn stone, +Upon life's mouldering relics, fearfully alone, +Searing the silence ofttimes with his solemn tone. + +The Bittern--monarch of the sad and dreary place, +Mocking the pride and pageant of a ruin'd race, +Whose very name's forgotten, and whose deeds have left no trace. + +The pleasant songs of peace, the lute, the lover's sigh, +The statesman's eloquence, the warrior's battle-cry +Have pass'd,--and like their echo from the heedless sky, +The lonely Bittern's note comes sadly floating by. + +Oh, melancholy sound! Shall thus for ever end +The glory and the greatness whither all hopes tend, +And as the Past comes booming shall the Present wend? + +No ear to listen to the old and hard-earn'd glory, +That wore the heart out, made the locks grow scant and hoary, +No ear to listen, and no tongue to tell the story! + +The Bittern sitteth 'midst the marshes of the Past, +Sitteth amidst the ruins, whilst the hours fleet fast, +And at his own hoarse cry he looketh round aghast. + +The hours fleet fast unnoted, and the time is nigh, +When even he on noiseless wings shall soar on high, +Till his deep note is lost amid the azure sky. + + + + + +GONE. + + +The night is dark, and evermore + The thick drops patter on the pane + The wind is weary of the rain, +And round the thatches moaneth sore; + Dark is the night, and cold the air; + And all the trees stand stark and bare, +With leaves spread dank and sere below, + Slow rotting on the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +And many a bitter day and night + Have pour'd their storms upon her breast, + And chill'd her in her long, long rest, +With foul corruption's icy blight; + Earth's dews are freezing round the heart, + Where love alone so late had part; +And evermore the frost and snow + Are burrowing downward through the clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below! + +Those eyes so full of light are dim; + And the clear chalice of her youth, + All sparkling up with love and truth, +Hath Death drain'd keenly from the brim;-- + No more can mortal ear rejoice + In the soft music of her voice; +No wistful eye, through tears of woe, + Can pierce down through the heavy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! lies cold below,-- + Cold, cold below. + +A star shines, sudden, from the sky-- + God's angel cometh, pure and bright, + Making a radiance through the night, +Unto the place where, mute, I lie, + Gazing up in rapt devotion, + Shaken by a deep emotion; +And my thoughts no longer go + Wandering o'er the plashy clay, + In the God's-acre far away, +Where she, O God! _lay_ cold below-- + Cold, cold below! + +God's angel! ah I divinely bright! + But still the olden grace is there-- + The soft brown eyes--the raven hair-- +The gentle smile of calm delight, + That could such peace and joy impart-- + The veil is rent from off my heart, +And gazing upward, well I know + The rain may beat upon the clay + In the God's-acre far away; +But she no longer lies below, +Enshrouded by the frost and snow-- + Cold, cold below! + + + + + +BEATRICE DI TENDA. + + + 1. + +It was too sweet--such dreams do ever fade + When Sorrow shakes the sleeper from his rest-- +Life still to me hath been a masquerade, + Woe in Mirth's wildest, gayest mantle drest, +With the heart hidden--but the face display'd. + +But now the vizard droppeth, crush'd and torn, + And there is nought left but some tinsell'd rags, +To mock the wearer in the face of morn, + As through the gaping world she feebly drags +Her day-born measure of reproach and scorn. + +But that _his_ hand should pluck the dream away-- + And thus--and thus--O Heaven! it strikes too deep! +The knife that wounds me, if not meant to slay, + Stumbles upon my heart the while I weep: +So be it; no hand of mine its course shall stay. + +False? false to him? Release me--let me go + Before Heaven's judgment-seat to make appeal; +Unfold the records of this life, and show + All that the secret pages can reveal, +That Heaven and Earth the inmost truth may know! + +He cannot think it in his heart of hearts; + He cannot wear this falsehood in his soul, +Or deem me perjur'd; no delusive arts + Can make him blot my name from honour's scroll: +The sun will shine forth when the cloud departs. + +Patience, my heart! Error is quick, but Truth + Moves slowly, but moves surely up the earth, +Wiping from age the heresies of youth, + And kindling warmth on the once blasted hearth: +Patience, my heart! and rage will turn to ruth. + +There is no blush upon my brow, though tears + Are in mine eyes, and sorrow in my heart; +This sobbing breast heaves not with traitor fears: + No sighs for sin are these that sadly start, +And bear their bitter burden to thine ears. + +And though my woman's strength bend like a reed + Before the flowing of Affliction's river, +Not, not for shame, nor for one strumpet deed + Doth this weak frame bow down, or faintly quiver, +As I stand forth alone in deadly need. + +No! before thee, Filippo, and the world, + Cased in its petty panoply of scorn, +With myriad slavish lips in mocking curl'd, + Spotless and innocent, though most forlorn, +Here stand I, 'gainst the shafts Falsehood hath hurl'd. + + + 2. + +Confess'd! Confess'd the guilty act! What act? + What act, my Lord, that cometh home to me +Closer than each hot word, by torment rack'd, + Flies at the bidding of false tyranny, +That makes at will the pain-wrung falsehood fact? + +There are full many sins confess'd, my Lord, + In pain of body and in pain of soul; +Some from the heart unearth'd by fire and sword, + And stealing forth amid the spirit's dole, +With fiery pain-sweat seething every word; + +But none, my Lord, that riseth to the sky, + Bears guilt of mine upon its blister'd tongue; +Though torture's fire is quick to forge a lie, + None from these woman's lips could ere be wrung; +No! none, though on the rack-bed bound to die. + +Poor youth! This poison from his writhing throat, + Those hellish instruments have haply drawn, +And pain hath conn'd the aspish lies by rote; + But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn, +For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote. + +These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more; + The rack hath crush'd them in its wild embrace, +So that Truth's firm-set attitude is o'er, + Else had I met my judges face to face, +And challenged justice, as in days of yore. + +Yet is the spirit strong within me still, + And bears me up though manhood's strength succumb, +Unbent by any blighting blast of ill, + Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb; +They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill! + +I am a woman--weak to combat wrong, + But innocent, my Lord, I live or die; +And silent, though my God doth tarry long, + He sees me throughly with His holy eye, +And in my sore, sore need, doth make me strong. + +This hapless youth! I do forgive him all; + E'en now remorse must rankle in his breast, +And no cool comfort cometh at his call, + To set the tumult of his soul at rest: +God's pity on his human weakness fall! + + + 3. + +Nay, falter not, good friend; thy news is sweet; + Thanks, thanks! Ay, sweet as is the welcome wind +That wafts the calm-lock'd seaman, smooth and fleet, + O'er tropic seas unto his sigh'd-for Ind; +Ay! Death will bring rest to my weary feet! + +'Tis strange--but now the word falls on mine ear + Soft as the singing of a little child, +Heaven's music on light pinions floateth near, + Through all the strife of Earth, so harsh and wild; +Time's stream is rippling on its marges clear. + +The end is nigh--the end of grief and pain, + And Life's broad gates are opening to my soul; +O'er my weak heart no more shall sorrow reign, + Enfranchised soon 'twill spurn the harsh control, +And never feel its empiry again. + +No more, Filippo, shall my hapless life + Stand betwixt thee and pleasure,--Duty's knot +Shall soon be sever'd by the headsman's knife; + And upon memory one crimson blot +Shall be the record of a spotless wife. + +'Tis well! I would not wander through a haunted mind, + Ghost-like and fearful in the evening hours; +Would God that I could leave my peace behind, + To bless thee when the night of sorrow lours, +And thou art rifted by Affliction's wind! + +Shouldst thou awake when I have pass'd away, + Shouldst thou see clear the error and the wrong, +And Truth break on thee with its dazzling ray, + As sure it will, for Innocence is strong, +Then may my prayers thine every pang allay! + +For thee, poor youth,--go not unto the grave + With a red lie upon thy trembling tongue-- +Not for myself, but for thy soul I crave,-- + Death's champions should have sinews tightly strung, +And thou wilt falter where I shall be brave. + +In that dim world there flows no cooling stream, + No Lethe for the guilty and the fever'd, +There is no answer to their parching scream, + From hope and mercy they are ever sever'd, +There is no waking from their spectral dream. + +Then pause or e'er thou stampest on thy soul + Eternally such misery as thine, +And writest on God's conscience-blasting scroll, + A wife's dishonour, and a tarnish'd line, +To weigh for thee thine everlasting dole... + +Friend, let thine arm be strong, good sooth there's need, + Thou cuttest through a weary depth of woe!-- +Well! that will pass, and soon rest come indeed,-- + Ay, ay! the robe's white now ... will't long be so?... +Yet better far the crimson tide should flow, + Than the heart inly with its anguish bleed. + + + + + +SERENADE. + + +The day is fading from the sky, + And softly shines the Star of Even, +As watching with a lover's eye + The rest of Earth the peace of Heaven; +The dew is rising cool and sweet, + And, zephyr-rock'd, the flowers are closing, +The Night steals on with noiseless feet, + Oh! gentle be my love's reposing. + +The streamlet, as it flows along, + Sounds like a voice 'mid childhood's slumbers; +And from the brake the Queen of Song + Pours forth her softest, clearest numbers; +And ever through the stirless leaves + The summer moon is brightly streaming, +Light fancies on the sward it weaves,-- + As radiant be my lady's dreaming. + +The silent hours move swiftly on, + With many a blessed vision laden, +That all the night has softly shone + Upon the hearts of youth and maiden; +And now, in golden splendors drest, + The new-born day is gladly breaking, +Oh! blissful be my lady's rest, + And sweet as Morn be her awaking. + + + + + +THE EAGLE. + + +The winds sweep by him on his mountain throne, +Hurling the clouds together at his feet, +Till Earth is hidden, lost, and swallow'd up +As in the flood of waters,--and he sits +Eyeing the boundless firmament above, +Proud and unruffled, till his heart exclaims,-- +"I am a god, Heaven is my home,--the Earth +Serveth me but for footstool." + + The strong winds +Sweep on, and wide his pinions spreadeth he,-- +"Bear me afar!" and on the mighty storm +He rides triumphant, spurning the dim Earth-- +Whither, O whither goest thou? What star +Shall raise its mountains for thee? What far orb +Echo the fierceness of thy battle-cry? + +What dost thou when the thunder is unloosed? +"I sit amongst the crags, and feel the Earth +Tremble beneath me, whilst my heart is firm. +I gaze upon the lightning, and my lid +Quivers not. Is their aught 'neath which my gaze +Quaileth, or waxeth faint--I read the sun +Undazzled where the stars grow dim and pale. + +"Men gather them to battle--host meets host-- +And I am borne aloft to marshal them,-- +I, the great King of Battles, that go forth +Conquering and to conquer. So do men +Worship me. Oh! the mighty crash ascends,-- +The shoutings, and the glory, and the woe, +One great full chaunt of homage to mine ears,-- +And there I wait the while the sacrifice +Is slain before me; then down with a swoop +I get me from my skyey throne, and dye +Deep in the ruddy stream my talons grey-- +Hurrah! hurrah! blood red's the flag for me!" + +The time will come, proud one, when thou shalt die! +"Die! Death I cast from me as these loose plumes +That moult out from my pinions--let them go +To Earth, and Death go with them, both I leave +To mortals. What have I to do with Time? +Let him pat forth his speed--these wings of mine +Shall match him stroke for stroke, until we reach +The limits of his empire, and I shake him off +Like dust upon the threshold of the world." + + + + + +WHITHER? + + + Whither away, youth, whither away, +With lightsome step, and with joyous heart, +And eyes that Hope's gay glances dart? + Whither away--whither away? + + Into the world, the glorious world, +To gain the prize, of the brave and bold, +To snatch the crown from the age of gold-- + Into the world--into the world! + + Whither away, girl, whither away? +Thy soft blue eyes are suffused with love, +And thy smile is as bright as the sunshine above,-- + Whither away, whither away? + + Into the world, the beautiful world, +To meet the heart that must mate with mine, +And make the measure of life divine,-- + Into the world, into the world. + + Whither away, old man, whither away, +With locks of white, and form bent low, +And trembling hands, and steps so slow? + Whither away,--whither away? + + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world, +With its empty pleasures, and poison'd joys, +Whose draught first gladdens, and then destroys-- + Out of the world, out of the world, +With shatter'd hopes, and with feeble frame, +From Life's sharp struggle, and unsped aim,-- + Out of the world, Oh! the weary world. + + Whither away, poor one, whither away? +Hurrying swiftly, with weeping eyes, +And hectic cheeks, and smother'd sighs, + Whither away--whither away? + + Out of the world, oh! the cold, cold world! +Oh! Father, my heart ... but there is rest +For the sinking soul, and the bruised breast, + Out of the world--out of the world! + + + + + +THE MORNING STAR. + + +Night's heavy hand is lifted up at last, + And my freed heart beats evenly again, + Unpress'd by that dull heavy weight of pain +Cast backward from the unforgotten Past; + Darkness no longer muffles Time's slow tread, + Till my own pulse-beat mark the moment fled. + +Over the speeding shadows, calm and clear, + Rises the Star of Morn upon the Earth, + Eternal Prophet of the Sun-god's birth, +Shining serenely from its silver sphere + Mute mystic meanings on the strengthen'd soul, + Till all its night-bred vapours backward roll. + +Oh, bright-eyed Angel of the undimm'd Light, + Standing upon Heaven's pinnacle, thy glance + Pierces like two-edged sword through many a trance, +Dividing Truth from Dreaming in its might, + Scourging Doubt's myriads from Day's temple-gate, + Leaving Life's worship pure, its heart elate. + +No herald thou of Night, like Hesper fair, + Pale with the dreaded Future's shapeless gloom, + Leading the spirit to an unknown doom, +Through clouds and darkness heavy fraught with care, + Hesper the beautiful alone our guide, + Beset by blinding fears on every side. + +Groping through Night's dim chambers wearily, + Longing to leave its cold sepulchral aisles, + Comest thou with thy calm assuring smiles, +Like Nemesis to lead us tenderly + Through all the dangers of the murky way, + Unto the golden portals of the Day. + +Yea! Night and Death shall pass away, and we, + By resurrection sweet, arise new-born + Like thee in glory, bright one, Sons of Morn, +Without a shade on our felicity, + Eyeing the fleeting vapours of the Past, + As thou dost now Night's mists dissolving fast. + + + + + +THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS. + + + How light and pleasant is the way +Across this quiet valley, whose soft mead +Springs lightly as the air that angels tread, + Beneath our footsteps weariless all day! +This crystal river flowing by our side, +One stream of sunshine, still has seem'd a guide + From Heaven in pure angelical array. + + These purple mountains now are nigh, +That all the valley through have fill'd our eyes +With day-dreams of the distant Paradise, + Their sun-surrounded summits can descry-- +We mount them now upon Hope's bounding wing, +That makes each short swift footstep long to spring + Suddenly upward to the shadeless sky. + + The air methinks is lighter here-- +And the breast heaves with full untrammell'd ease, +Drinking the life-draught of the fragrant breeze, + That wafts its soul-sighs to another sphere. +Earth groweth little in our eyes, but fair, +Fair as though sin had never enter'd there-- + Earth groweth little as Heaven draweth near. + + This rock--and then at last we stand +Upon the silent summit--scarce I dare +Gaze outward, through the clear and azure air, + Towards the radiance of the Promised Land: +I am so weak and fallen, friend, I fear +Mine eyes will dazzle, and the light appear + Darkness, so that I shall not see the Promised Land. + + Look thou afar, and tell me true +What thou discernest!--Oh! my eyes grow dim, +And floods of golden glories seem to swim, + Wave upon wave, through all the cloudless blue, +Blinding me with their sunny splendors quite, +So that, amid the pure excess of light, + But vaguest visions faintly glimmer through. + + Yet now, methinks, I seem to see +One spot of burning brightness, beaming clear +Through all the floating glory, like a sphere + Quenching light with its own intensity. +Yes! yes! it is the Holy City I behold, +With God's sun, from its towers of burnish'd gold, + Reflected broadly through immensity! + + I must gaze out, although I die: +Ah! yes, I see it through my longing tears-- +A great clear glow of glory there appears, + Like a light-fountain in the eastern sky, +That as I gaze pours forth its living light, +Flooding Creation, till the dazzled sight + Sees Heaven in all things that around it lie. + + So shall it ever henceforth be-- +Who, that discerneth once God's dwelling-place, +Can blot from vision the refulgent trace! + Ay! henceforth all things shall be Heaven to me-- +And as I journey on shall brightly rise +Divinest semblances of Paradise-- + Heaven mine in Time and in Eternity. + + + + + +THE DARK RIVER. + + + Across the mountains and the hills, +Across the valleys and the swelling seas, + By lakes and rivers whose deep murmur fills +Earth's dreams with sweet prophetic melodies, + Together have we come unto this place, + And here we say farewell a little space: + + You, backward turning through the land, +To tarry 'mid its beauty yet awhile-- + I, o'er the River, to another strand +With cheerful heart, so part we with a smile. + Shall space have any power o'er god-like souls? + Love shall bridge o'er the stream that 'twixt us rolls! + + Together wend we to the tide, +And as the first wave wets my foot, we part;-- + E'en now methinks I see the other side; +And, though the stream be swift, a steady heart + And stalwart arm shall quell its cold dark waves. + Faith falters not e'en when the tempest raves. + + Dark stream flowing so blackly on, +Thy turbid billows roll o'er golden sands; + Beneath the surface all thy fear is gone, +And precious gems fill full the diver's hands. + Yet how the heart lists breathless for the roar + Of billows plashing on the other shore! + + _The other shore!_--Oh thou dim Land! +Hid by faint mists from the spent swimmer's eyes, + Until upon the sloping bank he stand, +Mute in the light of Eden-mysteries; + Thou golden Ophir of Youth's spirit-dream, + Shall I then reach thee through this turbid stream? + + Friend! quail not! This same gloomy tide +Rolling its fearful breakers to the shore, + Shall be transform'd, upon the other side, +Into the crystal Life-stream, shaded o'er + By Paradisal groves, whose mellow fruit + Shall heal the sorrows of the destitute. + + These ghostly vapours, brooding low, +Shall melt to sunny glories o'er my head, + And through them shall the golden city glow, +Whither I hasten singing, angel-led; + Friend! there is but a cloud-veil 'twixt us and the light, + One step beyond, and Heaven is in our sight. + + Now the stream laps my vesture hem; +Back thou from my sad bosom to the world, + Leaving me here this current cold to stem; +Soon from thy sight shall I be swiftly whirl'd + Into the mystic darkness--never fear! + God's hand shall guide me unto vision clear. + + Already thou art growing dim, +And distant on the fast receding shore; + The tide is strong, but still I trust in Him, +And know that I shall safely struggle o'er, + For now the plash on yonder shore I hear, + Amid sweet angel voices calm and clear. + + + + + +WYTHAM WOODS. + + +'Mid the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where the grand old beeches be, +And the deer-herds feeding by them: +'Mid the mossy Woods of Wytham, + Oft I roam in memory; + +Down the grand wide-arching alleys, + Marged by plumy ferns and flowers, + Whence all through the noontide hours +Many a fearless leveret sallies; +For amid those grassy alleys + Never hound nor huntsman scours. + +Still I see, through leafy casements, + Wytham Hall so quaint and old, + Remnant of the age of gold, +Gabled o'er from roof to basement +In most fanciful enlacement, + Looking far o'er wood and wold; + +With the mere outspread before it; + Whitest swans upon its tide, + That in mystic beauty glide; +And the wild fowl flapping o'er it, +To the reeds that broadly shore it, + Spear-like, on the sunny side. + +Through the waving Woods of Wytham, + Now so far, so far from me, + Where I roam in memory; +'Mid the leaves, or flashing by them, +Like sunshine to glorify them, + On my sunless heart gleams she. + +Falling like the dreams of summer, + Making holy all the place, + Visions of that sweet pale face, +Sweeter than all dreams of summer, +Dearer than all dreams of summer, + Still in bower and glade I trace! + +Still her eyes come deeply glowing + Through the leafy lattices; + And the rustle of the trees, +'Neath the west wind softly blowing, +Only emulates the flowing + Of her love-toned melodies. + +Oh! those waving Woods of Wytham-- + Ceased she thus to hover near + Radiant from her happy sphere, +Like sunshine to glorify them, +Never would I wander nigh them-- +Madly weeping should I fly them, + Till their memory e'en grew sere. + +But ah! no, in endless slimmer, + Roams my heart through Wytham Woods, + Meeting in their solitudes +Evermore that angel comer, +Sweeter than the light of summer + Making golden Wytham Woods, +Now so far, so far from me +In the world of Memory. + + + + + +THE STAR IN THE EAST. + + +O'er the wide world I wander evermore, + Through wind and weather heedless and alone, +Alike through summer, and through winter hoar, +On cloud-capt mountain, by the sea-wash'd shore, + Seeking the star that riseth in the East. + +O'er the wide world--the world that knows not why, + And stares with stupid scorn to see me go; +Whilst I with solemn secret face pass by, +To laugh in desert spots where none are nigh, + Laugh loud and shrill unto the winds, Ho! Ho! + For that which none but I and _it_ do know. + +To think how when I find this lucky star, + And stand beneath it, like the Wise of old, +I shall mount upward on a golden car, +Girt round with glory unto worlds afar, + While Earth amazed the wonder shall behold, + That bears me unto happiness untold! + +Hush! I'll not whisper it, lest some should hear, + And hurry on before me to the spot, +Leaving me bound for ever to this sphere, +Parted for ever from my child--I here, + She in the realm that I could enter not. + +Hush! I must hurry on--for many nights + Have I sought for the star about the sky, +And found it not amid the myriad lights, +Greater and lesser with their satellites, + Flashing confusedly upon mine eye. + +I must unravel every golden hair + Upon the brow of Night for what I seek, +Lift every straggler from its moony lair, +Lest too _the_ star should haply linger there, + Unnoted by mine eyes so faint and weak. + +For as the Wise Men did in old time trace + The Holy Child by this same guiding star, +So I know well that by the Virgin's grace, +I too by it shall come unto the place + Where my sweet babe and its nurse-angels are. + +Wearisome are the days, they mock me so, + Pouring down light that seems to bid me see, +Yet hides the starry pilot by its glow, +Whose light I thirst for, whilst light-fountains, flow + Around me like the swelling of the sea. + +Wearisome are they, till the sun-god pales + Beneath the surges of the western wave, +And the last fold of his golden mantle trails +O'er the horizon where Earth's vision fails, + And space becomes a darkness and a grave. + +I ofttimes think to curse the Day, that tries + To keep my babe hid in its envious breast, +Smit with its hair of gold, and large blue eyes, +Close hid within its mantle, careless of my sighs, + That night and day must wake it from its rest. + +But Patience! when the sun is in the deep, + The Star will beam upon me suddenly, +And ere the sun-god waketh from his sleep, +The dear one shall be mine for whom I weep, + Mine, mine alone for all eternity. + +They call me crazed--Ha! ha!--They little know + Who are the crazed of Earth, or they, or I-- +They, by their greed of gold urged to and fro, +For petty pleasures bending God's soul low-- + I, seeking for my star about the sky. + +When it is found,--when it is found, how great + Will be the wonder of these blind and mad! +How great will be the wonder and the hate, +Waking to see the glorious truth too late + Will _he_, too, see his error, and be sad? + +The wind sweeps weirdly o'er the heaven to-night, + Weirdly and black, as though from guilty deeds,-- +From some sad shipwreck, it has taken flight, +Leaving the drowning in their direful plight-- + Leaving the drown'd low waving in the weeds. + +No stars, no stars again! Oh woe! again + Night drowns me in its darkness and its gloom, +And I must crouch amidst the wind and rain, +Without one hope-gleam lightening my pain; + All things are leagued to darken down my doom. + +Perchance it is that I am growing weak, + And faint with wandering afar, afar, +And my dim eyes see not the thing I seek; +And yet I must not ask, I must not speak, + Nor tell--the secret of the Saviour star. + +No! dumb,--dumb,--I shall set me down to scan + Each twinkling orb that rolleth up through space, +Hesper, heaven's loveliest, leading up the van-- +To-morrow--yes! to-morrow I shall watch, and man + Shall see this wonder when I reach the place. + +Will the babe know me--ope its sweet blue eyes-- + And stretch its little arms to clasp me round? +Ah! yes, God will send knowledge from the skies, +In pity for my prayers, and tears, and sighs, + Angels will sing for joy that I have found + My treasure, and _he_--he will hear the sound! + +Cold--cold it is--the wind is bitter chill-- + And the rain falls like curses on my head-- +No! no! not curses, for the drops say still +That there's an end to sorrow, and all ill +Flows from us like the water down a hill; + The star shall shine, and all the clouds be sped.... + + * * * * * + + The sought-for Star uprose upon the dead. + + + + + +UNDER THE SEA. + + +Deep in the bosom of the ocean, + Where sunshine fades to twilight gloom, + The pure pearls lie, and the coral bloom +Rests unsway'd by the upper motion-- + Calm and still the hours pass by + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The thunder rolls from cloud to cloud, + And the bitter blast sweeps o'er the sea, + Shaking the waters mightily; +But ne'er the tempest's voice so loud, + Sinketh down to the things that lie-- + The lovely things that sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +The icebergs crack with a sullen boom, + Riven by the hands of the angry North; + And, like the Angel of Wrath sent forth, +The whirlwind stalks with the breath of doom, + Crushing, like dust 'neath its heavy tread, + The last frail spar o'er the seaman's head; +But nought can reach the things that lie-- +The lovely things that sleeping lie, + Deep in the bosom of the ocean. + +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre, + Beyond the reach of grief or care, + As sweetly rest the good and fair, +Where Life's rude foes can ne'er o'ertake her; + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The blessed ones who sleeping lie, +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + +Patience! thou poor one, faint and weary, + For thou shalt come unto this rest, + And leaning on a mother's breast, +Forget the world to thee so dreary: + Calmly and sweetly the hours pass by + The happy ones who hoping lie +Deep in the bosom of God's-acre. + + + + + +WIND. + + +Oh! weird West Wind, that comest from the sea, + Sad with the murmur of the weary waves, + Wand'ring for ever through old ocean caves, +Why troublest thou the hearts that list to thee, +With echoes of forgotten misery? + +The night is black with clouds that thou art bringing + From the far waters of the stormy main, + Welling their woes forth wearily in rain, +Betwixt us and the light their dark course winging, +And dreary shadows o'er the spirit flinging. + +Whence is thy power to smite the silent heart, + Till as of old the unseal'd waters run? + Whence is thy magic, Oh! thou unseen one, +To make still sorrows from their slumbers start, +And play again, unsought, their bitter part? + +We are all one with Nature--every breeze + Stealeth about the chambers of the soul, + Haunting their rest with sounds of joy or dole; +And every cloud that creepeth from the seas, +Traileth its shade o'er human sympathies. + +Blow! blow, thou weird wind, till the clouds be rent, + And starlight glimmer through the riven seams, + Scatter their darkness like the mist of dreams, +Till all the fleeting, spectre-gloom be spent, +And the bright Future gem the firmament. + +Blow! blow! Night's "Mene Tekel" even now + Glows on her palace-walls, and she shall pass + Like the dim vapour from a burnish'd glass; +And no chill shadows o'er the soul shall go, +Borne by each weeping West Wind to and fro. + + + + + +A CHALLENGE. + + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +My heart is true as steel, +Steady still in woe and weal, +Strong to bear, though quick to feel-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +Only my own ease seek I, +I am deaf to Pity's cry, +If men hunger, let them die-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a kiss for maiden fair, +I've a blow for who may dare, +I've a song to banish care-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I'm your servant whilst you're great, +As you sink, my cares abate, +When you're poor you have my hate,-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +If you trust me, I'll be true, +If you slight me, I'll slight you, +If you wrong me, you shall rue-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I can work with any tools-- +Clothe myself by stripping fools-- +Bend the knee whoever rules-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that hates all wrong, +Aids the weak against the strong, +Loves the Truth, and seeks it long-- + Take my hand! + +What art thou--friend or foe? + Stand! stand! +I forgive no woman's sin, +Hunt her with self-righteous mien, +Never take her, mourning, in +From the desert of her sin-- + Traitor! stand! + +What art thou--friend or foe! + Stand! stand! +I've a heart that melts at sorrow, +I've a store the poor may borrow +I'm the same to-day, to-morrow-- + Take my hand! + + + + + +AT PARTING. + + +Peace! Let me go, or ere it be too late; + Dip not your arrows in the honey-mead; + Paint not the wound through which my heart doth bleed; +Leave me unmock'd, unpitied to my fate-- + Peace! Let me go. + +Think you that words can smooth my rugged track? + Words heal the stab your soft white hands have made, + Or stir the burthen on my bosom laid? +Winds shook not Earth from Atlas' bended back-- + Peace! Let me go. + +What though it be the last time we shall meet-- + Raise your white brow, and wreathe your raven hair, + And fill with music sweet the summer air; +Not this again shall draw me to your feet-- + Peace! Let me go. + +No laurels from my vanquish'd heart shall wave + Round your triumphant beauty as you go, + Not thus adorn'd work out some other's woe-- +Yet, if you will, pluck daisies from my grave! + Peace! Let me go. + + + + + +A WITHERED ROSE-BUD. + + +Time sets his footprints on our little Earth, + And, walk he ne'er so softly, some sweet thing +Falls 'neath each foot-fall, crush'd amid its mirth, + Tracking the course of Life's short wandering, +With fallen remnants of its mortal part, + Freeing the soul, but weighing down the heart. + +Thou flower of Love! thou little treasury + Of gentleness, and purity, and grace! +What hidden virtue hath Death reft from thee-- + What unseen essence melted into space? +For now thou liest like a sinless child, + Whom God hath homeward to his bosom smiled. + +The dew-shower fell on thee, the sunbeam play'd, + As Life is ever made of smiles and tears; +And ofttimes has the breeze of summer sway'd, + And with its mellow music mock'd thy fears; +But now, O wonder, thou art pale and wan, + And there's a beauty and a fragrance gone! + +Thus fade we--thus our hopes and joys, rose-bright, + Yield up their sweetness ere they reach their prime, +And their poor fabrics lie within our sight, + Stript of their radiance e'en in summer-time-- +Their spirit hath gone from them, and they wither, +But wherefore hath the spirit gone, and whither? + +Our knowledge is like dreams amid a sleep-- + Faint-pinion'd thoughts that beat the vault of Night, +And flutter earthward--so we smile or weep + At what we know not, cannot see aright; +Life is death, and death is life, perchance, +In the dim twilight of our waking trance. + +Thou art a leaf from the great Book of God, + Whose lightest word is wiser than the wise; +And, meekly resting there upon the sod, + Thou breathest upward holy mysteries, +In simple tones that steal upon the sense, +Like Childhood's prattling truth and innocence. + +Then, O sweet flower, that in thy low estate + Hast in thee emblems of the life of Man, +Read to our beings whispers of the fate + That waits us at the end of Time's short span; +How short we know not--e'en the bud may be +Gather'd in harvest to eternity. + + + + + +DE PROFUNDIS. + + +Turn thine eyes from me, Angel of Heaven-- + Read not my soul, Angel of Heaven-- +Sorrow is steeping my pale cheeks with weeping, + Evermore keeping her wand on my heart, + On my cold stony heart, while the tear-fountains start +To purge it from leaven too sinful for Heaven-- + Read not my soul, yet, Angel of Heaven! + +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? +Yearning to gain her, hast thou thus slain her + Ere sin could stain her--borne her away, + Borne her far, far away, into eternal day, + Left me alone to stay--left me to weep and pray? +Why hast thou ta'en her, Angel of Heaven? + Ta'en her so soon, Angel of Heaven? + +Shines the place brighter, Angel of Heaven? + Brighter for her, Angel of Heaven? +Comes there not streaming into my dreaming, + At morning's beaming, rays more divine, + Rays from her soul divine, rays giving strength to mine? + Shines she not radiantly over the skies, + Over the morning skies, ere the Earth-vapours rise, +'Twixt me and Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + _Her_ blessed Paradise, Angel of Heaven? + +Turn thine eyes to me, Angel of Heaven-- + Search through and through me, Angel of Heaven; +Read my soul's yearning, wild, endlessly burning, + Tumultuously spurning Fate's bitter decree, + Fate's tyrannic decree, that tore her from me, + Bore her from me to Eternity. +Merciless Reaper, no more shalt thou keep her + From fond eyes that weep her for ever and ever, + Vain thine endeavour our spirits to sever, +Take my soul with thee, Angel of Heaven, + Bear me unto her, Angel of Heaven. + + + + + +THE MOTHER. + + +There is a land whereon the sun's warm gaze, + God-like, all-seeing, falls right down through space, +And the weak Earth, quite smitten by its rays, + Lies scorch'd and powerless with mute silent face, +Like a tranced body, where no changing glow +Tells that the life-streams through its channels flow. + +Peopled it is by nations scant and few, + Set far apart among the trackless sands, +Unlearn'd, uncultured, wild and swart of hue, + Roaming the deserts in divided bands, +Where the green pastures call them, and the deer +Troop yet within the range of bow and spear. + +Unhappy Afric! can thy boundless plains, + Where the royal lion snuffs the free pure air, +And every breeze laughs at the tyrant's chains, + Be but the nest of slavery and despair, +Rearing a brood whose craven souls can be +Robb'd of the very dream of Liberty? + +But, as the shore of this vast sea of sand, + Stretches afar a country rich and green, +With waving foliage shading all the land, + And flowing waters bright with sunny sheen; +And here browse countless herds of dappled deer, +Blesboks and antelopes, remote from fear. + +Amid it mighty mountains proudly rise, + Great monarchs of a boundless continent, +Rearing their hoary summits to the skies, + As claiming empire of the firmament; +Gaunt silent majesties of sea and earth, +Stern-featured children of Titanic birth. + +Within their shadows many peoples dwell; + Divided kingdoms gather'd round some chief, +With lodges cluster'd by some stream or well, + To yield their cattle ever cool relief +From the fierce scorching of the burning sun, +And slake their hot thirst when the toil is done. + +It chanced that war, which still doth enter in + Where men are most or fewest, small or great, +Here of a sudden raised its hellish din, + And woke to fury, lust, and bloody hate; +So that with battles, forays, murders, thefts, +Rang oft the echoes of the mountain clefts. + +There was one tribe that in unconscious ease + Slumber'd and thought of danger but in dreams, +Heard not the tramp of men upon the breeze, + While the stars, watching with faint trembling beams, +Saw noiseless spectres round the village creep, +Like apparitions of unquiet sleep. + +Then, silence-murder'd, what a yell arose! + And the scared sleepers, rushing forth in fear, +Met death without the portals from dim foes, + Or e'er the warrior could grasp his spear, +Or fit the arrow to his unstrung bow, +Or ward the fatal stroke that laid him low. + +So, with the plunder, and a captured band + Of hapless women, ere the morning light +Flitted the victors swiftly through the land, + Red with the trophies of their deadly fight, +Leaving the lion and his hungry crew +To clear the morning of this bloody dew. + +To meet them joyous forth their women came, + And led them back in triumph to the fold; +Taunting their foes with many a bitter shame, + Though now they lay in Death's aims stark and cold: +Whilst the poor captives, rack'd with fear and woe, +Cower'd close together from Fate's hapless blow. + +Soon there came traders from the coast, and then + The weeping captives all were marshall'd out, +And barter'd singly with the heartless men, + Each bosom trembling still with fear and doubt; +But when the truth burst on them, a hoarse cry +Of wild despair ascended to the sky. + +There was one there who from the Tree of Life + Pluck'd yet the blossoms with the fruit of years; +Scarce yet a woman, though a meek-soul'd wife, + And with a babe to claim her prayers and tears, +A tender bud of early summer time +Ere breezy woods are in their verdant prime. + +Her 'mongst the rest they barter'd, and the child, + Too young to sever from its mother's breast, +Left they unnoticed, whilst she, poor one, wild + 'Twixt hope and fear, still held it closely prest +Unto her heart, whose throbbings, loud and deep, +Beat an alarum through the infant's sleep. + +But soon her master, as he hasten'd off + With his new purchases, the infant caught, +And bid the mother, with a heartless scoff, + Fling it away: said he, "'Tis good for nought; +None of this lumber can we have, the road +Is long enough to tread without a load." + +The mother clasp'd her babe with bitter cry, + But a rude hand enforced it from her arms, +And the rough steward held it up on high, + Laughing aloud the while at her alarms; +Said he unto his master; "This shall be +A bait to draw her on with willingly." + +He bound around the infant's waist a line, + That fasten'd to his crupper, and then gave +The babe back to her, laughing,--"That end's thine-- + The other stays with me;" "A witty slave!" +The master chuckled, and they moved away, +She following with anguish and dismay. + +They journey'd o'er the desert, 'neath a sky + Scorch'd by the fiery footsteps of the sun, +Without a shade to bless the wistful eye; + And soon her fellow slaves droop'd, one by one, +Callous to blows that harshly drove them on, +Strength, hope, and love of life all seeming gone. + +But she went onward with no word or plaint, + Clasping the child unto her bosom still, +Unflagging when all else began to faint, + Intent to save her little one from ill; +And they look'd on her as she sped along, +Wond'ring what made so frail a creature strong. + +At eve she bent above her sleeping treasure, + With eyes that wept for pity and for love, +Filling its cup of life in richer measure, + With the blest care that watches us above; +And in the morn they bound the babe again, +And so drew on the mother in their train. + +Her tender feet soon wounded were, and sore + With the rough travel, and the weary way, +And her slight limbs, o'ertask'd and loaded, bore + Less lightly up their burden day by day; +But, nature failing, Love imparted power + To bear her steps up to the resting hour. + +Alas! the mother gazed with aching eyes + Upon the life-spring in her little child, +As one laid by a fountain while it dries; + Daily she watch'd it ebb, till she grew wild +With anguish at the Angel drawing near, + And bared her own breast for his fatal spear. + +She lost all sense of weariness and pain, + And with hot tearless eyes still hurried on, +Bearing the child girt by its cruel chain, + All thought save of her cherish'd burden gone, +Fearful alone lest other eyes should guess +The feeble thing her longing arms did press. + +At last they saw the babe was weaker growing, + That soon the little spark of life must fade, +So, spite of all her prayers, and wild tears flowing, + Beside a spring the sleeping child they laid, +And bid her onward, heedless of her woe +But on the earth she fell, and would not go. + +They raised her up, and bound her on a steed, + And so march'd onward on their weary way-- +For there was none to help her in her need, + And thus they travell'd eastward all the day, +But when they rested, and on each bow'd head +Sleep heavy lay, the mother rose and fled. + +And speeding swiftly with a lapwing's flight, + Backward she hurried to the little spring, +Led by a power that knoweth not the night, + But flies through darkness with unerring wing; +And so e'er morning shimmer'd in the East, +She clasp'd her dead babe to her panting breast. + +At morn they miss'd her, and the women said, + "She seeks her babe beside the distant well, +There wilt thou find her, if she be not dead, + For O! the love of mother who can tell." +And so the steward gallop'd back in haste, +To seek the lost one in the desert waste. + +At last the spring rose in the distant sand, + With its close verdure pleasant to the eye, +And there, as, nearing it, the place he scann'd, + He saw the mother with her infant lie, +Quiet and stilly on each other's breast, +Folded together in unbroken rest; + +Her arms around it thrown, that e'en in sleep + Still press'd the infant to her stricken heart, +No rest so perfect, no repose so deep, + From her sweet babe the mother's love to part. +Before him loud and bitter curses sped-- +Who heard him?--for the mother too lay dead. + + + + + +SONNET. + +DATUR HORA QUIETI. + + +The sun is slowly sinking in the West; +The plough lies idle, and the weary team, +Cool'd with the freshness of the shallow stream, +Over the meadows hasten to their rest; +The breeze is hush'd, and no more turns the mill, +With its light sails upon yon rising crest; +Its busy music now awhile is still, +And not a sound heaves up from Nature's breast; +The barks upon the river smoothly ride, +With sails all furl'd, and flags that listless fall, +Unrock'd, unshaken by the flowing tide; +The cattle lazy lie within the stall; +And thus the Time-stream on doth sweetly glide, +Bearing repose and slumber unto all. + + + + + +SEA MARGINS. + + + Ever restless, ever toiling, + Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds, + Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds, +Old ocean, sullen from its rocks recoiling, + Rearing wild waves foam-crested to the sky, + Lashes again the beaches angrily: + + Slowly victor-like advancing, + Marching roughly o'er the conquer'd land, + Clean sweeping olden limits from the strand, +In proud derision o'er the spoil'd Earth glancing, + Where 'neath its ruthless tide on hill or plain, + No flower or shady leaf shall bud again. + + Slowly thus the ocean creeping, + Creeping coldly o'er the world of old, + Stole many an Eden from the Age of Gold, +And gazing now we see blank billows sweeping, + Long cheerless wavings of the sullen seas, + Were once the sun shone bright on flowery leas. + + Over Earth, and over Being, + Over many glories of the Past, + Remorseless floods are flowing fierce and fast, +Snatching sun-lighted Tempes from our seeing, + Rolling their dreary surges o'er the shore, + Where Love had hoped to dwell for evermore. + + Sadly on Time's heaving ocean, + Waving darkly o'er Youth's Paradise, + Back gaze we ever with dim tearful eyes, +Seeking old joys beyond its rude commotion, + Seeking the old world glories pass'd away, + Seeking the golden shores of Life's Cathay. + + + + + +SONG. + + +Love took me softly by the hand, + Love led me all the country o'er, +And show'd me beauty in the land, + That I had never dreamt before, + Never before, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +There was a glory in the morn, + There was a calmness in the night, +A mildness by the south wind borne, + That I had never felt aright, + Never aright, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + +But now it cannot pass away, + I see it wheresoe'er I go, +And in my heart by night and day, + Its gladness waveth to and fro, + By night and day, Oh! Love! sweet Love! + + + + + +THE BELL. + + +Through the calm and silent air + Floats the tolling funeral bell, + Swooning over hill and dell, +Heavy laden with despair; + Mute between each muffled stroke, + Sad as though a dead voice spoke, + Out of the dim Past time spoke, +Stands my heart all mute with care. + +The Bell is tolling on, and deep, + Deep and drear into my heart + All its bitter accents dart. +Peace! sad chime, I will not weep-- + What is there within thy tone, + That should wring my heart alone, + Rive it with this endless moan? +Peace! and let past sorrows sleep! + +Fling your music on the breeze, + Mock the sighing of the willows, + Mock the lapping of the billows, +Mock not human sympathies; + Slow chime, sad chime, mock me not, + With that loved voice ne'er forgot, + Flooding me with tears blood-hot; +Mock not soul-deep memories! + +Come not from the unseen Past, + Flying up the silent gale, + With that deep and muffled wail, + Slaying me with lying tale, +Base chime, false chime from the Past! + Not in sighs of mortal pain, + Pain and anguish rise again, + Voices from the far Death-plain-- +Not thus speaks she from the Past. + +Peace! yet--for though she speaks not + From her Paradise in thee, + Whispers nevermore to me + In my lonely misery, +Oh! that loved voice ne'er forgot, +Thou dost wake my brooding soul, + Smit'st it till the bitter dole + Breaks aloud beyond controul, + While the briny tear-drops roll, +Drowning, cries which she hears not. + +Cruel Bell! harsh Bell! ring on, + I shall turn my heart to stone, + Flinging back thy mocking tone, + Callous of thy deepest moan +Lying Bell! thy power is gone! + Spake she from her golden cloud, + Spake she to my heart aloud, +Every murmur of her voice, +Would bid my lone heart rejoice; +Every murmur of her voice, +Ah! would make my heart rejoice, + Lying Bell! thy power is gone. + + + + + +LLEWELLYN. + + + I.--_In the Porch._ + + MORGAN _and a_ MONK. + + + MORGAN. + +The tale is pitiful. 'Twas on this wise-- +Llewellyn went at morn among the hills, +To hunt, as is his use. My lady, too, +With all her maidens, early sallied forth, +A pilgrimage among the neighbouring vales, +Culling of simples, nor yet comes she home; +And so the child lay sleeping in his crib, +With Gelert--you remember the old hound? +He pull'd the stag of ten down by the Holy Well-- +With Gelert set to watch him like a nurse. + + MONK. + +The dog alone? nay! friend, but that is strange! + + MORGAN. + +Strange! Not a whit, for fifty times before +The hound hath kept him like his own bred whelp, +And ne'er a one could touch him; but the child +Play'd with his shaggy ears and great rough coat, +As no grown man had dared. + + MONK. + + I know there is +A strange nobility in dogs, to bear +The utmost sport of children, that would seize +Man by the throat e'en for a finger touch-- +But to your tale-- + + MORGAN. + + Well! suddenly at noon, +Llewellyn, baffled of his game, hied back, +Striding right grimly in his discontent, +And whistling, oft his spear upon the ground, +Slaying the visions of his fretful dreams; +And presently he thought him of his child: +So with its winsome ways to wile the time, +He went unto the chamber where it lay, +Watch'd o'er by Gelert, as his custom was: +But there, alack! or that the child had crost +The savage humour of the beast, or that +Some sudden madness had embolden'd it, +He saw the child lie bloody mid the sheets, +Slain by the hound, as it would seem, for there +Lay Gelert lapping from his chaps the blood, +That hung in gouts from every grisly curl. + + MONK. + +O Heaven! the woful deed! What did your lord? + + MORGAN. + +You know the hasty humour of the man, +That brooks no let betwixt him and his mood-- +He slew the old hound with his heavy spear, +That almost licking of his feet fell dead; +For Gelert loved him well, and, crouching, took +Without a cry the blow that struck his heart. + + MONK. + +This is a sorry day for all the house; they say +Llewellyn had his soul set on the child. + + MORGAN. + +His soul! Ay, marry! many a time and oft +I've seen the man's great heart stare from his eyes, +Just like a girl's, out at the crowing boy: +And yesterday it was he perch'd him fair +Upon his broad rough shoulder, like a lamb +Laid on the topmost reaches of a hill, +And so he bore him, all his face a-glow, +When heralds came with war-notes from the king; +At which he turn'd him soft--the startled babe +Still set astride, and looking fondly up, +Said he, "See! here's the only lord that sets +His foot upon my shoulder." The man's heart +Scarce beats, I warrant, now the child is dead. + + MONK. + +And hath he master'd aught his sorrow now, +Or still rides passion curbless through his soul? + + MORGAN. + +Ah! there, good Father, lies the chiefest woe, +For in the slaying of the hound his rage +Quite spent its force, and now I fear me much +His mind bath lost its olden empery. + + MONK. + +Nay! Death smites passion still upon the mouth, +And its grim shade is silence--'Tis no sign. + + MORGAN. + +But in this one act all his fury pass'd; +And turning softly from the dead child there, +Suffering none to touch it where it lay, +He sat him down in awful calmness nigh, +And gazed forth blankly like a sculptured face; +And when we fain would pass to take the child, +A strange wild voice still warns us back again, +"Hush! for the boy is sleeping." It would seem +He will not think that Death hath struck the babe, +But blinds his willing soul, and deems it sleep. + + MONK. + +A longer sleep, whose waking is not here! +Poor soul! that, catching at the skirts of Truth. +Muffleth his eyes that he may see her not. + + MORGAN. + +Good Father! go thou to him, for this doubt +That lays its stony spell upon his heart, +Is sadder far than tears-- + + MONK. + + It is mine office +Still to bear balm unto the bleeding heart; +Then lead on, friend, and let us trust in Heaven. + + [_They pass in_. + + + II.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + MONK. + +Benedicite! my son; + + LLEWELLYN. + + Hush! speak low, +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + Ay! we should speak low +Where Death is, though no sound can ever wake +Those whom he cradles in his bony arms. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Who speaks of Death in presence of a child! + + MONK. + +Alas! my son, the bud though ne'er so close +It fold the fragrant treasure of its youth, +Is by the nip of Winter shorn betimes. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Though Death should grimly stalk into the house, +And stand beside the slumber of a child, +Think you that gazing on its mimic self, +Sleep, beautiful and wondrous, in the crib, +His owlish thoughts would not wing suddenly, +Through cycles of decay, back to the time +When he was one with Sleep, and passing fair; +Think you he would not sigh, "Sleep, on! sleep on! +Thou copy and thou counterfeit of me, +And teach the world that I was beautiful." +The child is sleeping. + + MONK. + + O my son! my son! +These are delusions that but wrong the soul, +And keep the aching thoughts from peace and Heaven. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Why, Father, if Death woke him as he lay, +The lad would look up at him with a smile, +And twist his little limbs in childish sport, +Until the angel, surfeited with fear, +Would love and spare the thing that fear'd him not. +No man could see his pretty ways and frown,-- +And he was full of little childish tricks, +That won the very heart out of a man +In spite of him. There's Beowolf the Curst, +With ne'er a gentle word for man or child, +But cold and crusty as a northern hill-- +Why this day sen'night did my master there, +Crawl up his knees without a Yea or Nay, +And toy'd him with his sword-hilt merrily, +Till the rough man, caught with his gamesome arts, +Swore that he had the making of a man; +And, for the maids, there's none but has a word, +Or kiss to bandy with the gainsome lad; +Ay! when he wakes you'll see how he will crow, +And fill the place with laughter--he's no girl, +Puking and mewling evermore--not he. + + MONK. + +Good lack! my son, your heart is too much set +Upon the child, to bow before Heav'n's will, +That turns your soul back to itself with stripes; +Oh! know you not, Sir, that the child is dead? + + LLEWELLYN. + +You all have conn'd the same wise tale by rote-- +The child is sleeping; hush! and wake him not. + + MONK. + +Nay! doth your mind not stumble on the truth, +Here by this old hound lying at your feet, +With all his clotted blood in crimson pools +Curdling among the rushes on the floor? + + LLEWELLYN. + +The hound?--the hound--Poor Gelert! well-a-day! +It was ill-done of me--a wicked stroke, +A wicked stroke--and the boy, too, asleep. +And now I mind me how he loved the dog; +How many an hour he sported in the sun, +Twining his grisly neck with summer buds; +And how the dog was patient with the boy, +Yielding him gently to his little arms-- +There was a lion's heart in the old hound! +The deed's accursed--accursed--the child will wake, +And call for Gelert with his merry voice; +And when the dog no more comes stalking nigh, +With great mild head to meet the outstretch'd hands, +The child will sob his heart out for his friend; +For, Sir, his nature is right full of love, +And generous affections, never slack +To let his soul have space and mastery-- +A wicked stroke! + + MONK. + + Ah! would his voice could sound +Ever again among your silent halls; +But the sweet treble never more shall ring +Across the chambers to your wistful ear; +Then hear it now come floating down from heav'n, +Calling your lone and bleeding heart to God. + + LLEWELLYN. + +His voice was very sweet, a silvery stream +Of music, rippling softly through my life-- +And ne'er to hear his little prattling tongue, +Stumbling upon the threshold steps of speech, +Catching quaint sounds and fragments of discourse, +And setting them to childish uses straight-- +I've sat and heard him by the hour--you'd wonder +To hear his little saws and sentences, +And now to think I'll hear him never more-- +Alack! alack!--but no, it is not true-- +The child is sleeping--Ay! it must be so. +What know you, Father, of an infant's sleep? +You, in your stony cell 'mid shaven friars, +All crowding down the nether side of life, +Hearing no sweeter voice than matin-bells, +No speech, but grace in cold refectories; +Ay! thence it is--Oh fool! that I should doubt! +'Tis so--'tis so--I knew that I should pluck +The cowl from your delusion--Is't not so? + + MONK. + +Oh son, your woful faith moves all my heart. +'Tis pitiful! but see you not the blood +That hotly streaks your sleeping lily there? +See how it laces all his garments o'er, +And signs the grievous sentence of your joy. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Blood?--blood?--nay, how is this?--I--very like +The sun shines redly on him--I have seen +The sky look ruddy, as with all the blood +Of battle-fields, where no man cried for grace. +Blood? look, Sir; look again--I--something clouds +Mine eyes to-day--I see more thick than wont. + + MONK. + +Nay! lean on me--Come! look upon your child, +And Heav'n in ruth will smite your drouthy heart, +And send the balm of tears about your soul. + + + III.--_In the heart of the Child._ + + +There is a little dove that sits + Between the arches all alone, + Cut and carved in old grey stone, +And a spider o'er it flits: + +Round and round his web is spun, + With the still bird looking through, + From among the beads of dew, +Set in glories of the sun. + +So the bird looks out at morn + At the larks that mount the sky, + And it gazes, still and shy, +At the new moon's scanty horn. + +And the owls, that fly by night, + Mock it from the ivied tower, + Hooting at the midnight hour +Down upon it from the height. + +But the little dove sits on, + Calm between the arches there, + In the holy morning air, +When the owls with night are gone. + +Then the bells for matins ring, + And the grey friars past it go, + Into church in double row, +And it hears the chaunts they sing. + +And the incense stealing out + Through the chinks, and through the seams, + Floats among the dusty beams, +And wreathes all the bird about. + +All the children as they pass + Turn to see the bird of stone, + 'Twixt the arches all alone, +Wading to it through the grass. + +Is the spider's pretty net, + Hung across the arches there, + But a frail and foolish snare +For the little stone bird set? + +If the place should e'er decay, + And the tower be crumbled down, + And the arches overthrown, +Would the dove then fly away? + +So that, seeking it around, + All some golden summer day, + 'Mid the ruins as they lay, +It should never more be found? + + + IV.--_In the Chamber._ + + LLEWELLYN _and_ MONK. + + + LLEWELLYN. + +My little one! my joy! my hope! dead--dead-- +I did not think to see this sorry sight. + + MONK. + +Holy St. David! is this death, or sleep? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Nay! Father, that is past--I am a man +Once more, and look at Sorrow in the eyes; +Let Truth e'en smite me with her two-edged blade, +But smite me, like a warrior, face to face. + + MONK. + +I stand all in amaze! or do I dream, +Or see I now the motion of a breath, +Ruffling the pouting lips that stand ajar? + + LLEWELLYN. + +Oh! Father, mock me not--I know that Death +Sits lightly on him as a dreamless sleep; +So dear a bud can never lose its sweets; +Oh! foolish heart! I thought to see him grow +In strength and beauty, like a sapling oak, +Spreading his stalwart shoots about the sky, +Till, when old age set burdens on my back, +In every bough my trembling hands should find +A staff to prop me onward to the grave; +And now--my heart is shaken somewhat sorely. + + MONK. + +Sir! This is wondrous--let me take the child, +For sure mine eyes do cheat me, or he lives. + + LLEWELLYN. + +Father, this is not well to mock me so; +My heart is sated with the draught of Hope, +And, loathing, turns from the delusive cup; +Nay! touch him not--'tis well that he should lie, +Calm and unquestion'd, on the breast of Heav'n; +Yet once again my lips must flutter his, +He may not be so distant, but that Love +May send its greeting flying on his track-- +The lips are warm--my God! he lives! he lives! + + [_Takes the child, who awakes in his arms._] + + MONK. + +Faith! This is stranger than a gossip's tale! +My son! the wonderment o'ermasters you-- +Nay! look not thus--let Nature have her way-- +Give words to joy, and be your thanks first paid +To Heav'n, that sends you thus your child again. + + LLEWELLYN. + +The joy was almost more than man might bear! +And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze-- +The child unhurt--this blood--the hound--in troth, +The riddle passes my poor wits. + + MONK. + + Let's search +The chamber well--Heav'n shield us! what is this? + + LLEWELLYN. + +A wolf! and dead!--Ah! now I see it clear-- +The hound kept worthy watch, and in my haste +I slew the saviour of my house and joy. +Poor Gelert! thou shalt have such recompense +As man may pay unto the dead--Thy name +Henceforth shall stand for Faithfulness, and men +For evermore shall speak thine epitaph. + + + + + +A SHELL. + + +From what rock-hollow'd cavern deep in ocean, + Where jagged columns break the billow's beat, +Whirl'd upward by some wild mid-world commotion, + Has this rose-tinted shell steer'd to my feet? + +Perchance the wave that bore it has rejoiced + Above Man's founder'd hopes, and shatter'd pride, +Whilst fierce Euroclydon swept, trumpet-voiced, + Through the frail spars, and hurl'd them in the tide, + And the lost seamen floated at its side! + +Ah! thus too oft do Woe and Beauty meet, + Swept onward by the self-same tide of fate, +The bitter following swift upon the sweet, + Close, close together, yet how separate! + +Frail waif from the sublime storm-shaken sea, + Thou seem'st the childhood toy of some old king, +Who 'mid the shock of nations lights on thee, + And instant backward do his thoughts take wing +To the unclouded days of infancy; + Then, sighing, thus away the foolish joy doth fling. + +Forth from thine inner chambers come there out + Low murmurs of sweet mystic melodies, +Old Neptune's couch winding lone caves about, + In tones that faintly through the waves arise, + And steal to mortal ears in softest sighs. + +The poet dreams of olden ages flowing + Through the time-ocean to the listening soul, +Ages when from each fountain clear and glowing, + Unto the spirit Naiad voices stole. + +And still, from earth and sea, there ever pealeth + A voice far softer than leal lover's lay, +Bearing the heart, o'er which its true sense stealeth, + Far to diviner dreams of joy away, + And to the wisdom of a riper day. + + + + + +THE RAVEN. + + +There sat a raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark at morn + A ragged bird with feathers rough and torn, +Whetting his grimy beak upon the bark, + And croaking hoarsely to the woods forlorn. + +Blood red the sky and misty in the east-- + Low vapours creeping bleakly o'er the hills-- + The rain will soon come plashing on the rills-- +No sound in all the place of bird or beast, + Save that hoarse croak that all the woodland fills. + +A slimy pool all rank with rotting weeds, + Close by the pines there at the highway side; + No ripple on its green and stagnant tide, +Where only cold and still the horse-leech breeds-- + Ugh! might not here some bloody murder hide! + +Pshaw! ... Cold the air slow stealing through the trees, + Scarce rustling the moist leaves beneath its tread-- + A fearful breast thus holds its breath for dread! +There is no healthful music in this breeze, + It sounds ... ha! ha! ... like sighs above the dead! + +What frights yon raven 'mid the pines so dark, + The pines so silent and so dark around, + With ne'er accomplish'd circlings to the ground +Ruffling his wings so ragged and so stark? + Some half-dead victim haply hath he found. + +Ho! raven, now with thee I'll share the spoil! + This way, methinks, the dying game hath trod-- + Ay! broken twigs, and blood upon the sod-- +These thorns are sharp! well! soon will end the toil-- + This bough aside, and then the prize ... My God!... + + + + +SONNETS + +ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. + + + 1. + +The Land stood still to listen all that day, +And 'mid the hush of many a wrangling tongue, +Forth from the cannon's mouth the signal rung, +That from the earth a man had pass'd away-- +A mighty Man, that over many a field +Roll'd back the tide of Battle on the foe,-- +Thus far, no further, shall thy billows go. +Who Freedom's falchion did right nobly wield, +Like potter's vessel smiting Tyrants down, +And from Earth's strongest snatching Victory's crown; +Upon the anvil of each Battle-plain, +Still beating swords to ploughshares. All is past,-- +The glory, and the labour, and the pain-- +The Conqueror is conquer'd here at last. + + + 2. + +Yet other men have wrought, and fought, and won, +Cutting with crimson sword Fame's Gordian knot, +And, dying, nations wonder'd--and forgot,-- +But this Man's name shall circle with the sun; +And when our children's children feel the glow, +That ripens them unconsciously to men, +Asking, with upturn'd face, "What did he then?" +One answer from each quicken'd heart shall flow-- +"This Man submerg'd the Doer in the Deed, +Toil'd on for Duty, nor of Fame took heed; +Hew'd out his name upon the great world's sides. +In sure-aim'd strokes of nobleness and worth, +And never more Time's devastating tides +Shall wear the steadfast record from the Earth." + + + 3. + +This Duty, known and done, which all men praise, +Is it a thing for heroes utterly? +Or claims it aught, O Man! from thee and me, +Amid the sweat and grime of working days? +Stand forth, thou Conqueror, before God's throne, +Thou ruler, thou Earth-leader, great and strong, +Behold thy work, thy doing, labour'd long, +Before that mighty Presence little grown. +Stand forth, thou Man, low toiling 'mid the lees, +That measurest Duty out in poor degrees; +Are not all deeds, beside the deeds of Heaven, +But as the sands upon the ocean shore, +Which, softly breath'd on by God's winds, are driven +Into dim deserts, thenceforth seen no more! + + + 4. + +Then make thou Life heroic, O! thou Man, +Though not in Earth's eyes, still in Heaven's, which see +Each task accomplish'd not in poor degree, +But as fain workings out of Duty's plan,-- +The hewers and the drawers of the land, +No whit behind the mighty and the great, +Bearing unmoved the burden of the State,-- +Alike each duty challenged at man's hand. +Life is built up of smallest atomics, +Pile upon pile the ramparts still increase, +And as those, Roman walls, o'er which in scorn +The scoffer leapt, soon held the world at bay, +So shall thy deeds of duty, lowly born, +Be thy strong tower and glory ere the set of day. + + + + + +THE PASSAGE-BIRDS. + + + Far, far away, over land and sea, +When Winter comes with his cold, cold breath, +And chills the flowers to the sleep of death, + Far, far away over land and sea, +Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee. + +Round the old grey spire in the evening calm, + No more they circle in sportive glee, +Hearing the hum of the vesper psalm, +And the swell of the organ so far below; + But far, far away, over land and sea, +In the still mid-air the swift Passage-birds go. + + Over the earth that is scarcely seen + Through the curtain of vapour that waves between, +O'er city and hamlet, o'er hill and plain, + O'er forest green, and o'er mountain hoar, + They flit like shadows, and pass the shore, +And wing their way o'er the pathless main. + + There is no rest for the weary wing, + No quivering bough where the feet can cling; +To the North, to the South, to the East, to the West, + The ocean lies with its heaving breast, + Within it, without it there is no rest. + + The tempest gathers beneath them far, + The Wind-god rides on his battle-car, +And the roar of the thunder, the lightning-flash, +Break on the waves with a sullen crash; + But Silence reigns where the Passage-birds fly, + And o'er them stretches the clear blue sky. + +The day wears out, and the starry night + Hushes the world to sleep, to sleep; +The dew-shower falls in the still moonlight, + And none wake now, save those who weep; +But rustling on through the starry night, + Like a band of spirits the Passage-birds flee, + Cleaving the darkness above the sea, +Swift and straight as an arrow's flight. + Is the wind their guide through the trackless sky? + For here there's no landmark to travel by. + +The first faint streak of the morning glows, +Like the feeble blush on the budding rose; + And in long grey lines the clouds divide, +And march away with retreating Night, +Whilst the bright gleams of victorious Light, + Follow them goldenly far and wide: +And when the mists have all pass'd away, + And left the heavens serene and clear, + As an eye that has never shed a tear +And the universe basks in the smile of Day, + Dreamy and still, and the sleepy breeze, + Lazily moves o'er the glassy seas, +The Passage-birds flit o'er the disc of noon, + Like shadows across a mirror's face, + For now their journey wanes apace, +And the realms of Summer they'll enter soon. + + The land looms far through the waters blue, +The Land of Promise, the Land of Rest; + Through cloud and storm they have travell'd true, +And joy thrills now in each throbbing breast +Down they sink, with a wheeling flight, +Whilst the song of birds comes floating high, +And they pass the lark in the sunny sky; +But down, without pausing, down they fly; +Their travel is over, their Summer shines bright. + + + + + +MEMNON. + + +Hot blows the wild simoom across the waste, + The desert waste, amid the dreary sand, + With fiery breath swift burning up the land, +O'er the scared pilgrim, speeding on in haste, + Hurling fierce death-drifts with broad-scorching hand. + +O weary Wilderness! No shady tree + To spread its arms around the fainting soul; + No spring to sparkle in the parched bowl; +No refuge in the drear immensity, +Where lies the Past, wreck'd 'neath a sandy sea, + Where o'er its glories blighting billows roll. + +Ho! Sea, yield up thy buried dead again; + Heave back thy waves, and let the Past arise; + Restore Time's relics to the startled skies, +Till giant shadows tremble on the plain, + And awe the heart with old-world mysteries! + +Old Menmon! Once again thy Poet-voice + May sing sweet paeans to the golden Morn, + Again may hail the saviour Light sun-born, +And bid the wild and desert waste rejoice,-- + Again with sighs the looming darkness mourn. + +Thou Watchman, waiting weary for the dawn, + Breathing low longings for its golden light, + Through the dim silence of the drowsy night, +What wistful sighs with thine are softly drawn, + Till day-beams on the darken'd spirit smite! + +The dawning light of Knowledge smites thee now, + And forth from the dim Past come voices clear, + Falling in solemn music on the ear, +Which, as the haloes brighten on thy brow, + Shall still in richer harmonies draw near. + +The Past comes back in music soft and sweet, + And lo! the Present like a strung harp stands + Waiting the sweeping of prophetic hands, +To send its living music, loud and fleet, + Careering calmly through unnumber'd lands. + +Then swift uprise, thou Sun, thou Music-Maker! + Smiting the chords of Life with gladsome rays, + Till from each Memnon burst the song of praise, +From lips which thou hast freed, O silence-breaker! + That over Earth the sound may swell always. + + * * * * * + +NOTE--It will of course be remembered that the celebrated statue of +Memnon was believed to utter lugubrious and mournful sounds at sunset, +and during the hours of darkness, which changed to sounds of joy as the +first rays of morning fell upon it. + + + + + +A CONCEIT. + + +The Grey-beard Winter sat alone and still, + Locking his treasures in the flinty earth; +And like a miser comfortless and chill, + Frown'd upon pleasure and rejected mirth; + +But Spring came, gentle Spring, the young, the fair, + And with her smiles subdued his frosty heart, +So that for very joy to see her there, + His soul, relenting, play'd the lover's part; + +And nought could bring too lovely or too sweet, + To lavish on the bright Evangel's head; +No flowers too radiant for her tender feet; + No joys too blissful o'er her life to shed. + +And thus the land became a Paradise, + A new-made Eden, redolent of joy, +Where beauty blossom'd under sunny skies, + And peaceful pleasure reign'd without alloy. + + + + + +THE LAND'S END. + + +I stood on the Land's End, alone and still. + Man might have been unmade, for no frail trace + Of mortal labour startled the wild place, +And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill, + Circled beneath me over the dark sea, +Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white, +That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light + Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly. +It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose + Above the world of waters, high and steep, + With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep, +Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows; + A noble brow to a firm-founded world, + That at the limits of its empire stood, + Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood, +And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd. + The Midnight Sun rose like an angry god, +Girt round with clouds, through which a lurid glow +Fev'rously trembled to the waves below, + And smote the waters with a fiery rod; +Above, the glory circled up the sky, + Fainter and fainter to the sullen grey, + Till the black under-drift of clouds away +Went with the gathering wind, and let it die. +A moaning sound swept o'er the heaving ocean, + Toss'd hoarsely on from angry crest to crest, + Like groans from a great soul in its unrest, +Stirring the ranks of men to fierce commotion. +My longing vision measured the wide waste, + "This cannot be the end of things; that man + Should see his path lead on so short a span, +And then the unstable ocean mock his haste! +Better have stay'd where I could still look on, + And see a sturdy world to bear my feet, + Than thus outstrip the multitude to cheat +Earth of its knowledge, and here find it gone." +A Shadow rose betwixt me and the sky, + Out of the Ocean, as it seem'd, that set + A perfect shape before mine eyes, and yet +Hid not the sky that did behind it lie; +But, through its misty substance, all things grew + Faint, pale, and ghostly, and the risen sun + Gleam'd like a fiery globe half quench'd and dun, +Through the sere shadow which the spectre threw: +It answer'd me, "Man! this is not the end; + Progression ceaseth not until the goal + Of all perfection stop the running soul, +Whither through life its aspirations tend. +Spring from thy height, then, for till thou art free + From earth, thy course is narrow and restrain'd!" + I said, "No! Spirit, nought were thus attain'd; +Better pause here than perish in the sea; +Man can but do his utmost--there's a length + He cannot overleap." The spectre smiled, + "Then trust to me; for though the sea be wild, +It cannot shake the sinews of my strength,-- +Within my breast the fearful fall asleep, + And wake out of their terrors, calm and still, + Having outstripp'd the speed of time and ill, +And pass'd unconsciously the stormy deep." +Quicker and quicker drew I in my breath, + "If there be land beyond, receive me now; + I'll trust in thee--but, Spirit, who art thou?" +The winds bore on a murmur, "I am Death!" + + + + + +THE OLDEN TIME. + + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +When I did long for eve all day, + And watch'd upon the new-mown grass + The shadows slowly eastward pass, +And o'er the meadows glide away, + Till I could steal, with heart elate, + Unto the little cottage-gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +O! well I mind the olden time, + The sweet, sweet olden time; +How all the night I long'd for morn, + And bless'd the thrush whose early note + The silver chords of silence smote +With greetings to the day new-born; + For then again, with heart elate, + I hoped to meet her at the gate, +In the sweet, sweet olden time. + +But now hath pass'd the olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time; +And there is neither morn nor night + That bears a freight of hopes and fears, + To bless my soul in coming years +With any harvest of delight; + For never more, with heart elate, + Can I behold her at the gate, +As in the sweet, sweet olden time. + +For the sake of that dear olden time, + That sweet, sweet olden time, +I look forth ever sadly still, + And hope the time may come again, + When Life hath borne its meed of pain, +And stoutly struggled up the hill, +When I once more, with heart elate, + May meet her at _another_ gate, + Beyond the blighting breath of fate, +That chill'd the sweet, sweet olden time. + + + + + +FATHER AND SON. + + +The King call'd forth his first-born, and took him by the hand, +"Come! boy, and see the people you must soon command: + +A bold and stalwart nation, dauntless in the fight, +Strong as an iron buckler to guard their monarch's right." + +Then the trumpets sounded, and his vassals came, +Gather'd round his banner, loudly rang his name; + +Clash'd their burnish'd targets, waved their flashing steel +A goodly gath'ring look'd they, arm'd from head to heel. + +"Child! my heart beats proudly, now I feel a king, +As I look around me on this martial ring; + +There I see the sinews that support a state, +There I see the strength that makes a monarch great. + +Men whose life is glory--men whose death is fame, +Living still in story past the reach of shame." + +Many years pass'd over--the old King was dead, +And his child, his first-born, reigned in his stead. + +Many years he reigned, and upon his brow +Now the frost of age lay like the winter's snow. + +So he took his son forth, as his father had, +"Come! and see thy people," said he to the lad. + +And they rode together through the busy town: +Many a peaceful merchant passing up and down; + +Loud the workman's hammer sounded through the air +Portly look'd the craftsmen, standing 'mid their ware; + +And the sounds of labour, blent with cheerful song, +Told of peace and plenty as they rode along. + +Smith and craftsman pausing, youth and smiling lass, +Trader, man and master, stood to see them pass, + +With a bonnet lifted, and "God bless him!" said +By many a gentle bosom, many a reverend head. + +So the father turn'd him to his son and cried, +"Are not these bold subjects worth a monarch's pride? + +In their own free circles, by their quiet hearth, +Rearing him a bulwark steady as the Earth: + +On their mighty anvils, with a giant's skill, +Bending stubborn iron to his lightest will: + +Prosperous and happy, free in heart and soul, +These send forth my glory to the furthest Pole. + +Where is there in story any fame above +That King's whose deeds are written in his people's love?" + + + + + +ORION. + + +"A hunter of shadows, himself a shade."--HOMER. + + +Oh! weary sleeper by the lone sea-shore, + Where billows toil for ever 'mid the rocks, + Scourged on by winds in stormy equinox, +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + The stern Earth calls thee, and the Ocean mocks; + Roll thy poor sightless orbs about the sky, + Through tears of blind and powerless agony; +Rise! rise in haste, or slumber evermore! + +Ay! blind I stand beside the lone sea-shore; + Hearing the mighty murmur of the waves, + Shaking with giant arms earth's architraves, +Scaling the riven cloud-crags bald and boar, + Surging hoarse secrets through the central caves; + God! shall thine ocean undiscerned roll, + Night on mine eyes, and darkness on my soul, +Groping for knowledge blindly evermore? + +Wild laugh the winds, Ho! ho! about my face; + Heaven! mock me not!--with night-struck eyes upraised, + Still fronting full the dome where once I gazed, +Yearns my unsighted soul through dimmest space-- + Before it let these earth-mists sink abased; + Let me behold the All before I die, + Passing, swift-wing'd, into Eternity; +Let me no more these shapeless shadows chase! + +Is there not Phoebus in the golden East, + Pouring forth floods of brilliancy divine, + That fire the spirit more than Jove's own wine? +Arise! and drain the droppings of the feast!-- + Heaven! there's no East for these blind eyes of mine, + Staring the sun down into black eclipse! + What hand will raise the chalice to my lips? +Give me a child to guide me--e'en the least. + +Then on! thou giant, child-led, through the land, + Tottering feebly with uncertain stride, + With heavy moans along the mountain side, +Groping the darkness wildly, staff in hand, + Staying, deep-voiced, the quick steps of thy guide; + On! with wild sightless sockets to the sun, + Thirsting for the light-streams that around it run; +Far on yon summit, turning eastward, stand! + +God! let me rather die than thus, child-led, + Totter about the world an infant's slave-- + Ay! die, and darkly slumber in the grave!-- +Peace! proud one, bow thine unsubmitting head; + Peace! soon the light-streams shall thine eyelids lave, + And wash this barren blindness from thy soul, + Till these dark mystic vapours backward roll, +And leave all nature in thy sight outspread. + +We are upon the summit now. Ho! boy, + Place me where I shall see the sun arise, + When its great glory lightens up; mine eyes-- +Oh! that I thus should be an infant's toy!-- + See, now the morning streaks the Eastern skies! + Ay! boy, I feel the light-spring bubbling up; + My lips are parch'd, and thirsting for the cup +That now brims up my everlasting joy. + +There is a low thin cloud along the sky, + That melts away apace to brightest gold! + Ay! boy, so shall my clouds melt fold on fold, +Till glory flood my vision utterly. + The sun! the sun! I see it upward roll'd,-- + Day for the world, but life, fire-life for me, + Smiting asunder Death's night-mystery +With lightning-blade of strength and ecstasy! + +Now, on to work and action, seeing clear-- + Blindness swift throwing to Time's charnel-place-- + Eyeing, unscathed, the Sun-god face to face! +Ho! light! more light! dissolving sphere on sphere! + Would that my very life could lighten space, + Shining out like some constellation bright, + Back beating all the myrmidons of Night, +With starry splendors flashing sword and spear! + + + + + +THE GOLDEN WATER. + + +[It is scarcely necessary to say that the following fragment is +founded upon the beautiful, and well-known tale in the "Arabian Nights," +entitled, "The two Sisters who were jealous of their younger Sister;" +and the reader need only be reminded that the two brothers of Perizade, +Bahman and Perviz, had previously gone in search of the treasures +described by the Devotee, and had perished in the attempt,--the fate +of the latter having just been intimated to her at the commencement +of this episode, by the fixture of the pearls in the magic chaplet, +which Perviz had left her for that purpose.] + + +The days flow'd on, and each day Perizade +At morn and eve told o'er the snowy pearls, +That morn and eve ran swiftly through her hands; +The days flow'd on--one morn the pearls ran not, +And well she knew that Perviz too was lost. +Tears doubled every bead; but, evermore, +Through pain and sorrow, yearn'd her thirsting soul +For that far Golden Water in the East, +Whence one bright drop would fill her fountain full, +With glistening jets still rising in the midst. +She rose up straight, and donning man's attire, +For that the road was hard and difficult, +Took horse, and towards the sunrise swiftly rode, +Saying, "Thus much life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die." + +She sped right onward nineteen days in haste, +Morning and noontide turning not aside; +Then, as the next day dawn'd, afar she saw +The aged Dervise 'neath his lonely tree. +No other shape of man or beast in view, +Dull grey the sky, and moaning low the wind. +"O! holy man, now tell me, for God's grace, +Where in the Land the Golden Water flows?" +He, lifting slow his head with locks snow-white, +And rheumy eyes, spake out with feeble voice, +"Good youth! the place I know, yet ask me not; +Bid not these aged lips the secret tell; +That hath wooed on so many to their death. +Thirst for Earth's honours, for her wealth, her joys, +Thirst for the sweetest things beneath the sky, +But O! thirst not for that far Golden Spring, +By many sought, by none ere found till now." +She, softly, with her open hand upraised, +"Nay! Father, from afar I hither come. +And all my heart is set upon the thing, +So that there is no joy 'neath sun and moon, +No rarest charm can move me, lacking it; +Tell me then all the dangers of the quest, +That I may measure well my strength, and know +If mortal man may meet it and o'ercome." +With sad dissenting mien, and solemn voice, +That trembled 'neath its burden, thus spake he,-- +"Full many of the good and bold have come +From every land the pilgrim-sun looks on, +All thirsting for this water golden bright; +These darkening eyes have seen them all pass on, +But ne'er a one return; and I am old. +Hear then, poor youth, and turn while yet you may; +A mid-day's journey hence a mountain stands, +Rugged and bare as outcast poverty, +With many a gap and chasm yawning wide, +With many a rock to drive the climber back; +And, far above, the summit hides in clouds,-- +There springs the Golden Water through the rock +Brighter than sunlight in a summer noon; +But as the weary seeker toils aloft, +Rude voices rush upon him, loud and shrill, +Now far, now near, but all with anger fraught, +Rough menace, insult, and hoarse mockery; +Whereat the wondering climber, turning back, +In fury, or in fear, to meet the foe +Shouting loud threats e'en in his very ear, +Stands face to face with Death, and sinks transform'd +Into cold stone, 'mongst myriads more that lie, +And all day fright him with their dreary stare. +Ay! he that setteth forth upon this quest, +And looketh ever back for friend or foe, +For cruel laughter, or for mocking jeers, +Turns straight to stone like all beside his path; +But once upon the summit, at his feet +Flows the pure Golden Water, bright and clear." + +"This frights me not, O Father; for meseems +He is unworthy who should turn aside +For any mocking voice of man or maid; +Then tell me quick the way, that I may on; +Mine eyes look only forward, and mine ears +Hear only the far flowing of the spring. +Two brothers there lie lock'd in stony sleep,-- +I go to wake them on the mountain's side." +The Dervise laid his forehead in the dust, +"Allah go with thee, since it must be so! +Take thou this ebon bowl, and cast it down; +The ball will roll before thee swift and sure, +Until it stop beneath the mountain's side; +There stop thou; and, dismounting, leave thy steed, +And climb the fearful hill; but oh! beware +Thy glance turn never backward on the way! +Above, the golden fountain bubbles clear, +Whose water, sprinkled o'er these dead black stones, +Will wake the sleepers from their chilly sleep." + +With lips compress'd she took the ebon bowl, +And cast it on before the startled steed; +Swiftly it roll'd, and swiftly follow'd she; +The road all desolate--no shade of tree, +No living thing about the dreary waste; +No sound but of her courser's clanging hoofs, +His shaking tassels, and his measured breath; +Afar, the mountain black against the sky. +Still onward roll'd the ball, until the sun +Stood midway in the heavens, a fiery red, +Looking through clouds with half his glory quench'd; +And then it stopp'd close at the mountain's base. +Perizade straightway leapt from off her steed, +And threw the bridle on his arching neck +With calm caress, and left him neighing low; +One glance along the mountain, black and bare, +With low mists creeping o'er its rocky sides; +Mysterious exhalations veiling all the peak; +Dead silence--O but for a passing wind +To mimic Life beside her living soul! +Then upward with quick footsteps firm and bold. +Before her myriad dull black stones lay strewn, +Fearful to see, and know that souls of men +Lay prison'd in their cold and heavy frames.-- +Sudden behind her sprang a mighty cry, +"Ho! Traitress! turn, or die!" and evermore +Voices leapt out to wound her, like sharp swords, +With words of contumely, and mocking taunts, +Scoffs at her woman's heart 'mid manhood's guise, +Threats, rude defiances on every side. +At first she clomb, nigh stunn'd with wrathful cries, +Now at her side, whilst she would shrink in fear +To feel the sword's point pierce her fluttering heart, +Now from afar, below her and above, +Till she scarce breath'd, awaiting o'erturn'd rocks +To crush her in their fury as she went. +Yet, minding well the Dervise, still she held +Her pale face forward, with eyes ever bent +Towards the misty summit far away. + +More slowly soon her heart beat, and she laugh'd, +Like echo, at the scornful taunts and jeers; +"Scoff on!" she cried, "How small a thing it is +That scorn pursue us like a backward shade, +Whilst there is still the broad sun on before." +Weary and steep the path through cloud and mist, +Piercing the darkness on an unknown way; +But still she onward trod, and near'd the top, +Whence voices louder, fiercer ever came, +"Back, fool! intruder! sacrilegious wretch! +Slay the mad climber! crush her to the dust!" +Once stood she half irresolute, her hands +Press'd hotly on her too oppressed heart; +But still she thirsted for the golden spring, +And with her soul made strength to reach the top, +Sighing, "Thus much Life lacks of perfectness, +In God's name on to gain it then, or die!" + +Upon the summit totter'd she at last: +Far, far below the vapours tossing lay, +A great broad sea of heaving cloud and mist; +And upward the clear sky, as soft and blue +As a child's heaven--the sun unveil'd and bright. +No wrathful voices hover'd round her now, +But low sweet music of Aeolian tone, +With all the sadness melted into joy. +Unto the spring she hurried, breathing short, +And there the Golden Water bubbled up, +Like summer morning rising in the East,-- +A crystal chalice sparkled on the marge. +She fill'd it from the precious tide in haste, +And raised the clear elixir to her lips; +And then, as at a draught from Lethe's tide, +Her weariness pass'd from her suddenly, +And in her heart great peace and joy arose. + +Then from the chalice pour'd she on the stones, +That lay all cold and black upon the path, +And at that mystic baptism, anew +Sprang up the chilly sleepers in amaze, +Their stony hearts back-melted into Life; +Soon follow'd her a train of noble youths, +Gather'd from East, and West, and North, and South, +The rarest and the goodliest of Earth. +Bahman and Perviz, risen with the rest, +Walk'd at her side with wonder-stricken hearts, +Gazing upon her through kind tearful eyes. +Each found his steed beside the mountain base, +And mounted, all that goodly company, +She with her crystal chalice at the head. + +Then with her soft voice trembling through the crowd, +"Back let us to the world from whence we came; +And since that Life hath many Golden Springs, +Hath many joys to gain through toil and doubt, +Still let us scale the mountain for the prize, +And close our ears to Folly's wagging tongue." + +They spurr'd along until the sun sank low, +And by the way arose the lonely tree, +Mere sat the Dervise, rheumy-eyed and old-- +Blood-red the western sky--the clouds back waved, +And one faint star pale glimmering in the height-- +There found they still the Dervise 'neath his tree, +Where he had pointed them the Eastern way, +Now sleeping the last sleep with smiling lips. +"The Golden Water found, his task is done, +And now the Watcher calmly takes his rest!" +Then on in silence through the quiet night. + + + + + +YEARS AGO. + + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first we met; +When first her voice thrill'd through my heart, +Aeolian-sweet, thrill'd through my heart; + And glances from her soft brown eyes, + Like gleamings out of Paradise, +Shone on my heart, and made it bright +With fulness of celestial light; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I knew +How all her beauty fill'd my soul, +With mystic glory fill'd my soul; + And every word and smile she gave, + Like motions of a sunlit wave, +Rock'd me with divine emotion, +Joyous, o'er Life's smiling ocean; +This day it seems--this day--and yet, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when first I heard, +Amid the silence of my soul, +The fearful silence of my soul, + That warning voice of doom declare-- + O God! unmoved by my despair-- +How her soft eyes would lose their light, +Their holy, pure, and stainless light, +And all the beauty of her being +Fade sadly, swiftly from my seeing; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago, when dumb I stood +Beside that little grass-green mound-- +Would I had lain beneath the mound!-- + And gazed out through my briny tears, + Upon the future lonely years, + Upon the cold, bleak, cheerless years, +Till Earth should ope her grassy breast, +And take me to my welcome rest, +Where she in Death's cold arms lay prest; +This day it seems--Ah me! this day, + Though years ago--sad years ago. + + This day it was--Ah! years ago, +Long years ago; and yet I still +Gaze through moist eyes upon the Past, +The cherish'd, unforgotten Past; + Gaze onward through the coming days, + And wonder, with a sweet amaze, +What sunrise with its rosy light +Will bring her to my longing sight; + What sunset with its golden glow + Will o'er the long-sought slumber flow, +Amid whose visions she shall gleam, +As once she did through youth's sweet dream, + Ah! years ago--long years ago. + + + + + +VULCAN. + + +From the darksome earth-mine lifted, + From the clay and from the rock + Loosen'd out with many a shock; +Slowly from the clay-dross sifted, + Molten in the fire bright-burning, + Ever purer, whiter turning-- +Ho! the anvil, cool and steady, +For the soften'd rod make ready! + +Blow, thou wind, upon the flame, + Raise it ever higher, hotter, + Till, like clay before the potter, +Soft become the iron frame, + Bending at the worker's will, + All his purpose to fulfil-- +Ho! the fire-purged rod is ready +For the anvil, cool and steady! + +At each stroke the sparks fly brightly + Upward from the glowing mass; + Hail! the stroke that makes them pass, +Fall it heavy, fall it lightly! + Now the stubborn strength bends humbly, + To the Master yielding dumbly; +From the metal, purged and glowing, +Forms of freest grace are flowing. + +Wield thine hammer well, strong arm! + Strength to Beauty [*] wedded brings + Glory out of rudest things, + Facts from mere imaginings; +Strike from steel its hidden charm! + Little reck the rocks the blow + That makes the living water flow; +Little recks man's soul the rod +That scourges it through tears to God. + + +[*Footnote: Vulcan was wedded to Venus.] + + + + + +SONG. + + +The days are past, the days are past, + When we did meet, my love and I; +And youthful joys are fading fast, + Like radiant angels up the sky; +But still with every dawning day + Come back the blessed thoughts of old, +Like sunshine in a morn of May, + To keep the heart from growing cold. + +The flowers are gone, the leaves are shed, + That waved about us as we stray'd; +And many a bird for aye has fled, + That chaunted to us from the glade; +Yet every leaf and flower that springs + In beauty round the ripening year, +And every summer carol brings + New sweetness from the old time dear. + + + + + +GUY OF WARWICK. + +AN EPISODE. + + +Autumn went faintly flying o'er the land, +Trailing her golden hair along the West, +Weeping to find her waving fields despoil'd, +Her yellow leaves all floating on the wind: +And Winter grim came stalking from the North. +Around the coast rough blasts began to blow, +And toss the seas about in giant sport, +Lurking without to catch unwary sails, +And snap their bellying seams against the mast. +So Guy lay idly waiting in the port, +Gazing out eastward through the stormy mist, +Gazing out eastward morn and closing eve, +Seeking some break amid the hurtling clouds. +But many days the same wind strongly blew, +Keeping his bark close moor'd within the bay, +Jerking the cable, like a restive steed. +And waiting thus impatient to be gone, +Looking out seaward from the dripping wharf, +Strange rumours fill'd his ears, from inland come, +How all the land around his native place +Was devastated by a mighty Beast, +Most terrible to see, and passing strong. +They told him how it slew both man and brute, +Destroying every living thing around, +And laying waste the land for many a mile; +And how 'twas thought no blade, by mortal wrought, +Could cleave its way into the monster's heart; +And then they told him how his lord the King +Had late proclaim'd through all the country round, +That whosoe'er should slay the noisome Beast, +Should straight be knighted by his kingly sword, +And honour'd greatly in the rescued land. + +Yet none was found so stout of heart and limb, +To venture in this perilous emprize; +"But ah!" they said, supposing him far off, +"If famous Guy were here, there were a man +Would rid us of this monster presently. +But as for him, he speeds away through France, +Bearing to other lands his strength, that, faith, +Were better spent at home amongst his kin." + +And still the East wind bluster'd to the shore. + +Now Guy, whose ears still tingled all the day +With these strange murmurs of the troubled land, +Began to feel his heart with pity move; +And, for his soul still fretted at delay, +Like a leash'd hound that scents the flying game, +He straight resolved to take this quarrel up, +And for his country's weal to slay the Beast. + +So he arose, girt on his trusty sword, +And with his bow and quiver slung behind, +And at his belt his mighty battle-axe, +Rode calmly forth to slay the hurtful Beast. +And no man knew that he was Guy, for all +Believed him far away on foreign shores; +Which pleased him passing well, "Because," he said, +"I do this thing for Phoelice and the King, +And none shall know but Heaven that sees the deed. +But when the country feels returning joy, +Her heart will flutter with a secret thought." + +And all the land was desolate and waste; +The fields stood rotting 'neath the Autumn rains, +And no man pluckt the sodden corn that lay, +Dead ripe, along the furrows 'mid the weeds; +No cattle browsed upon the long rank grass, +Or paused to gaze upon him as he rode; +The cottages, deserted all in haste, +Stood open-door'd and rifted by the winds, +With cold grey ashes scatter'd o'er the hearth. +Here he beheld the homely meal spread forth, +Which no man ate; and there, upon the floor, +An o'erturn'd cradle, whence a mother late +Had snatch'd her babe up with a cry, and fled. + +And all his heart was sore with what he saw, +For he met none to wish him once "God speed;" +So he spurr'd onward swifter to the place +Where lurk'd the monster that thus spoil'd the land; +And long the road seem'd to him in his wrath. +At last he came unto the fearful spot, +Mark'd with the blanching bones of man and beast; +A thicket planted by a lonely heath, +O'ergrown with brambles and unwholesome weeds, +That clasping trees around with witch-like arms, +Poison'd their life out, and still held them dead. +And at one side there stretch'd a stagnant pool, +Unstirr'd by any grateful breeze, but thick +With slimy leaves, and rushes all forlorn, +And every footstep on the spongy bank +Fill'd straightway with the oozing of decay. +The Beast hid in the bosom of this wood; +And as Guy went he saw two eyes of fire +Burn through the darkness of the wood, like blasts +Sent from a smith's forge suddenly at night. +But, nought dismay'd, he bent his bow of steel, +And sent an arrow whirring through the leaves. +He heard the shaft ring on the monster's ribs, +And backward leap, as when a falchion strikes +Full on a warrior's casque with fiery force; +Whereat with roaring horrible to hear, +Like storm-winds belching through a cavern's mouth, +Forth rush'd the monster, furious and grim, +With open jaws and reeking breath at Guy; +Who, leaping nimbly back, put forth his strength, +And struck her full between the eyes a blow +That made the stout axe quiver in his hand. +But, nothing hurt, the madden'd Beast rush'd on, +And nigh o'erwhelm'd him in her headlong course, +Denting his breastplate, wrought of temper'd steel, +With the close home-thrust of her pointed horns. +But Guy, swift wheeling round his snorting steed, +Thought on his Phoelice, and, with mighty strength, +Launch'd forth a stroke that made the thick blood flow +In loathsome torrents from a gaping wound. +So, cheer'd at heart, he thunder'd blow on blow, +Till, with a bellow of despair and pain, +The monster tore the earth, and, writhing, died. + +And when Guy saw that he had slain the Beast, +He was right glad, and full of sweet content. +And so he wiped his blood-stain'd battle-axe, +And rode with lighten'd heart in haste away +To bear the welcome tidings to the town. +And as he pass'd, or that he dreamt, or saw, +It seem'd as though the land bloom'd up again, +And sunshine fill'd the air with hope and life. +And so he bore the tidings to the town-- +And when the people heard the Beast was dead, +They gather'd round with tears and cries of joy, +And scarce found words to thank and honour him. +And one brought forth her babe, and held him up, +And cried, "Look, child upon him, that your soul +May know the fashion of a noble man!" + +But still he told no man that he was Guy. + +And all desired to lead him to the King, +But he would not, and turn'd another way-- +"Nay! friends," said he, "I need no recompense. +For in the doing of a worthy deed +Lies all the honour that a man should seek." +And thus he turn'd away unto the sea, +And would not tarry, or for prayers, or tears; +And when he came unto the quiet port, +He said no word unto his waiting men, +But gazed out seaward; and the waves were down, +The clouds fast breaking, and the West wind blew; +And many a sail sped swiftly o'er the main, +White in the sunshine as a sea-gull's wing-- +And so he went on ship-board cheerily, +And they hove anchor with a right good-will, +And spreading canvas to the welcome breeze, +Bore swiftly out into the open sea; +And Guy stood silent in the dipping bows, +Gazing out seaward with a strange still smile. + + + + + +AT EVENTIDE. + + + The day fades fast; +And backward ebbs the tide of light +From the far hills in billows bright, + Scattering foam, as they sweep past, +O'er the low clouds that bank the sky, +And barrier day off solemnly. + + Above the land +Grey shadows stretch out, still and cold, +Flinging o'er water, wood, and wold, + Mysterious shapes, whose ghastly hand + Presses down sorrow on the heart, +And silence on the lips that part. + + The dew-mist broods +Heavy and low o'er field and fen, +Like gloom above the souls of men; + And through the forest solitudes +The fitful night-wind rustles by, +Breathing many a wailing sigh-- + + O Day! O Life! +Ending in gloom together here-- +Though not one star of Hope appear, + Still through the cold bleak Future gaze, + That mocks thee with its murky haze; +Soon morn shall end the doubt, the strife, + And give unto thy weeping eyes + The far night-guarded Paradise! + + + + + +A DIRGE. + + +Winds are sighing round the drooping eaves; + Sadly float the midnight hours away; +Dun and grey athwart the ivy-leaves, + Fall the first pale chilly tints of day, + Ah me! the weary, weary tints of day. + +Soon the darkness will be past and gone; + Soon the silence spread its noiseless wing; +Sleep will strike its tent and hurry on; + Life commence its weary wandering, + Ah me! its weary, weary wandering. + +Not the sighing of my lonely heart, + Not the heavy grief-clouds hanging o'er, +Not its silence can with night depart: + Gloom hangs o'er it ever, evermore, + Ah me! darkness ever, evermore. + + + + + +TO MY DREAM-LOVE. + + +Where art thou, oh! my Beautiful? Afar + I seek thee sadly, till the day is done, + And o'er the splendour of the setting sun, +Cold, calm, and silvery, floats the evening star; + Where art thou? Ah! where art thou, hid in light + That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight? + +Not wholly--ah! not wholly--still Love's eyes + Trace thy dim beauty through the mystic veil, + Like the young moon that glimmers faint and pale, +At noontide through the sun-web of the skies; + But ah! I ope mine arms, and thou art gone, + And only Memory knows where thou hast shone. + +Night--Night the tender, the compassionate, + Binds thee, gem-like, amid her raven hair; + I dream--I see--I feel that thou art there-- +And stand all weeping at Sleep's golden gate, + Till the leaves open, and the glory streams + Down through my tranced soul in radiant dreams. + +Too short--too short--soon comes the chilly morn, + To shake from love's boughs all their sleep-born bloom, + And wake my heart back to its bitter doom, +Sending me through the land down-cast, forlorn, + Whilst thou, my Beautiful, art far away, + Bearing the brightness from my joyless day. + +I stand and gaze across Earth's fairest sea, + And still the plashing of the restless main, + Sounds like the clashing of a prisoner's chain, +That binds me, oh! my Beautiful, from thee. + Oh! sea-bird, flashing past on snow-white wing, + Bear my soul to her in thy wandering. + +My heart is weary gazing o'er the sea; + O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky; + Through solemn sun-sets ever mournfully, +Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee; + Hearing the sullen waves for evermore + Dashing around me on the lonely shore. + +But tides creep lazily about the sands, + Washing frail landmarks, Lethe-like, away, + And though their records perish day by day, +Still stand I ever, with close clasped hands, + Gazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, + Gazing in vain, my Beautiful, for thee. + + + + + +A NIGHT SCENE. + + +The lights have faded from the little casement, + As though her closing eyes had brought on night; + And now she dreams--Ah! dreams supremely bright, +While silence reigns around from roof to basement. + And slow the moon is mounting up the sky, +Drawing Heaven's myriads in her queenly train, + Flinging rich largesse, as she passes by, +Of beauty freely over hill and plain. + +Around the lattice creep the pure white roses, + And one light bough rests gently on the pane, + The diamond pane, through which the angel train +Gaze on the sister saint who there reposes; + The moonlight silvers softly o'er it now; +And round the eaves the south wind whispers lowly, + Waving the leaves like curls on maiden's brow; +The peace and stillness make the place seem holy. + +The little garden where she daily strays, + Sleeps like the precinct of a place enchanted; + And many a flower by her own dear hands planted, +Waves mystically 'neath the starry rays. + There is such strange still beauty in the spot, +That in the misty moonshine oft it seems + A vision that the waking eye sees not, +But some fair plesaunce blooming up in dreams. + +The dew distilled perfumes richly rise, + And float unseen about the silent air, + Breathing a balmy sweetness everywhere, +Like some blest secret fresh from Paradise; + Upon the soul dim thoughts of Eden press, +Within the stillness of this inner shrine, + Where Nature has unveil'd her loveliness, +And to the angels bared her soul divine. + +There is no sound upon the ear of Night; + The distant watch-dog's bay hath sunk to rest; + The thrush is brooding o'er his quiet nest; +And the light clouds sweep on with noiseless flight. + O heart, why beat so wildly--she will hear, +And start from slumber in serene surprise-- + Away! away! why longer linger here +To mar the silence with thy swelling sighs! + + + + + +SONNET. + + +O Cloud so golden, stealing o'er the sky, +Like pensive thought across a virgin mind, +Scarce sadder than the sunshine left behind; +Would that o'er heaven with thee my soul could fly, +Scanning Earth's beauty with a lover's eye, +Tracing the waving waters and the woods, +Their sleepy shades and silent solitudes, +Where all the summer through I long to lie. +O Cloud so golden stealing o'er the sky, +Sail'd I within thy bosom o'er heaven's main, +Methinks that, gazing downward on the glory, +The liquid loveliness of sea and plain, +Of mountain, isle, and leafy promontory, +My soul would melt and fall again in rain. + + + + + +FLOATING DOWN THE RIVER. + + +My little bark glides steadily along, + Still and unshaken as a summer dream; + And never falls the oar into the stream, +For 'tis but morning, and the current strong; + So let the ripples bear me as they will; +Sweet, sweet is Life, and every sound is song; + Sorrow lies sleeping, and Joy sends me still + Swift floating down the River. + +Bright shines the sun athwart the linden-trees; + One little cloud alone steals o'er the sky, + As o'er the widening stream below steal I, +Fann'd by the same faint perfume-laden breeze; + Bird-music answers sweetly through the air, +The unheard warbling of heart melodies; + Thus go I dreaming, free from faintest care, + Swift floating down the River. + +Pure lie the broad-leaved lilies on the tide, + With glowing petals in the midst, that rest + Like the gold shower on Danae's lovely breast; +And the tall rushes cluster on the side. + Ho! sweet-lipp'd lily, thou must be my prize-- +Thus shall I pluck thee in thy beauty's pride! + Fail'd--all too steadily my shallop hies, + Swift floating down the River. + +The stream fast widens, and upon the shore + Rise busy hamlets 'mid the falling woods, + Filling their shorn and broken solitudes, +With labour's clamour ever more and more: + No more, no more in dreams of love all day, +Rich set in music from the forests hoar, + Now gaily speeds my untoss'd bark away, + Swift floating down the River. + +Let me take oar, and turn mine eager prow, + Back to the quiet waveless source again, +Where no harsh sound breaks on the dreaming brain, +And winds steal softly round the careless brow,-- + Swift as a dream my tiny bark hath gone, +And stoutly though I ply the oar, yet now + My weary shallop still goes sadly on, + Swift floating down the River. + +Ah! never more for me--Ah! never more + Return those blessed morning hours again; + The sun beats hotly on my throbbing brain, +And no cool shade waves friendly from the shore: + My feeble oar dips powerless utterly, +And onward, onward, though I struggle sore, + Still goes my bark towards the surging sea, + Swift floating down the River. + +Welcome art thou, O cool and fragrant eve! + Welcome art thou, though night pursue thee fast + With thee the burning and the toil roll past, +And there is time to gaze back and to grieve. + Hoarse ocean-murmurs fall upon mine ears, +And round me now prophetic billows heave, + As on I go, out-looking through salt tears, + Swift floating down the River, + Swift floating to the Sea. + + + + + +ORPHEUS. + + +About the land I wander, all forlorn, +About the land, with sorrow-quenched eyes; +Seeking my love among the silent woods; +Seeking her by the fountains and the streams; +Calling her name unto lone mountain tops; +Sending it flying on the clouds to heaven. +I drop my tears amid the dews at morn; +I trouble all the night with prayers and sighs, +That, like a veil thick set with golden stars, +Hideth my woe, but cannot silence it; +Yet never more at morning, noon, or night, +Cometh there answer back, Eurydice, +Thy voice speaks never more, Eurydice; +O far, death-stricken, lost Eurydice! + +Hear'st thou my weary cries, Eurydice? +Hearing, but answering not from out the past, +Wrapp'd in thy robe of everlasting light, +Round which the accents flutter faintingly, +Like larks slow panting upward to the sun? +Or roll the golden sands of day away, +And never more the voice of my despair +Trickles among them o'er thine unmoved ear, +Though every grove doth multiply the sound, +And all the land sigh forth "Eurydice"? + +My heart is all untamed for evermore; +The strings hang loose and warp'd for evermore; +The rocks resound not with my olden songs, +Nor melt in echoes on the tranced breeze; +The streams flow on to music all their own; +The magic of my lyre hath pass'd away, +For Love ne'er sweeps sweet music from its chords; +For thou art pass'd away, Eurydice; +Thou tuner of my song, Eurydice; +And there is nought to guide the erring tones +That once breath'd but of thee, Eurydice; +That made each breeze sweet with Eurydice; +And taught each fountain and each running stream +To sing of thee, O lost Eurydice! + +The serpent saw thee, O Eurydice! +The serpent slew thee, O Eurydice! +Stealing amongst the grass, Eurydice; +The long rank grass, that stretched Briarian arms +To clasp thee to itself, Eurydice! +And soon they laid thee from the sight of men; +Laid thee beneath the rankly waving grass; +Opening Earth's portals wide to let thee wend +Forth to Plutonian realms of gloom away; +And never more about the waiting land +Stray'd thy light steps at morn or shady eve. +No fountain hid thine image in its heart; +No flowers leapt up to wreathe thy golden hair; +No more the fawns within the forest glade +Follow'd a foot more lightsome than their own; +The moon stole through the night in dim surprise; +And all the stars look'd pale with wondering; +For thou cam'st not, O lost Eurydice! +Earth found thee not, O lost Eurydice! +Love found thee not, O lost Eurydice! + +I could not stay where thou wert not, forlorn; +I could not live, O lost Eurydice!-- +Not Acheron itself could fright me back +From where thy footsteps wander'd, best beloved! +And so I sought thee e'en at Hades' gate, +Charm'd wide its leaves with melody of woe, +And dared the grave to keep me from thine arms; +I flow'd away upon a stream of song, +E'en to dark Pluto's grimly guarded throne, +Melting the cruel Cerberus himself, +The Parcae, and snake-lock'd Eumenides, +To pity of my measureless despair. +I sang thy beauty, O Eurydice! +I sigh'd my love forth, O Eurydice! +With tears and weary sighs, Eurydice! +And at thy name the pains of Hell grew light; +Ixion's wheel stopp'd in its weary rounds, +The rock of Sisyphus forgot to roll, +And draughts of comfort flow'd o'er Tantalus:-- +Then from old Dis's hands the keys slipp'd down, +And words of hope and pity spake he forth. +He promised thee again if I would go, +Never back-looking, from those realms of gloom, +Those realms of gloom where thou wert, best beloved. + +How could I leave thee thus, Eurydice? +Without one look, one glance, Eurydice? +And I perchance no more to gaze on thee, +Snared by some fatal falsehood from thy side? +Yet strove I hard; until at length I came +Where Lethe flow'd before me, faint and dim; +Ye gods! how could I cross it from my love, +That might wash out her memory for aye; +That I should live and dream of her no more; +That I should live and love her never more; +That I should sing no more, Eurydice; +That I should leave her in the grip of Hell, +Nor bear her forth e'en on the wings of thought. +And so I turn'd to gaze, Eurydice! +I turn'd to clasp thee, O Eurydice!-- +And lo! thy form straightway dissolved away; +Thy beauty in the light dissolved away; +And Hades and all things dissolved away; +Until I found me on thy cold, cold grave, +Amid the grass that I would grew o'er me, +Clasping us close within one narrow home, +Where I no more might wake and find thee gone.-- +The earth oped not unto my frantic cries; +The portals closed thee from me evermore-- +Else had I melted Hell itself with prayers, +And borne thee back to Earth triumphantly. + +I cried, heart-stricken, on Proserpina; +I rent the rocks around with endless prayers; +I told her all the story of our love, +I launch'd my sorrows on her woman's heart; +I sought her through the barren winter-time, +The woful winter-time for Earth and me; +And, "Oh!" I thought, "her soul will soon relent, +And rush in crystal torrents from her eyes, +Till in the joy of sympathetic tears, +She woo my love from Pluto's stony heart." +I waited, and I question'd long the Spring; +I question'd every flower and budding spray, +If thou didst come among them back again; +I conjured each bright blossom, each green leaf, +That, leaving Earth, she bears full-arm'd to Dis, +But backward flingeth ere her glad return, +That every step of glorious liberty, +Fall upon flowers throughout the happy land; +But never came response, Eurydice,-- +The flowers were dumb, O lost Eurydice! +They would not see thee spring from Earth like them, +Outshining all their fainter loveliness, +And so they left me to my lorn despair; +She left me lorn, O false Proserpina! +And never more may I behold thee here, +In Spring or Summer, O Eurydice! +By day or night, O lost Eurydice! + +They shall not keep me from thee, O beloved! +Dis shall not keep me from thee, O beloved; +But I shall shake his gates in my despair, +Until they open wide to let me pass; +I'll take my life up like a mighty rock, +And so beat breaches in the walls of Time; +I'll cast existence from me like a wrestler's robes, +And with my supple, naked soul throw Fate; +I'll snap the shackles whose Promethean links +Bind down my soul unto this narrow earth.-- +Dost hear my voice dim floating to thee now, +Along the waves that ripple at my feet? +Thus do I come to thee, Eurydice, +Through waving water-floods, Eurydice, +I come, I come, beloved Eurydice! + + + + + +THE SCULPTOR. + + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night, + Stealing amid the waving of the corn, + That waited, golden, for the harvest morn-- +The dream fell on him through the still moonlight. + +The land lay silent, and the new mown hay + Rested upon it like a dreamy sleep; + And stealing softly o'er each yellow heap, +The night-breeze bore sweet incense-breath away. + +The dew lay thick upon the unstirr'd leaves; + The glow-worm glisten'd brightly as he pass'd; + The thrush still chaunted, but the swallows fast +Hied to their home beneath lone cottage eaves. + +He had been straying through the land that day, + Dreaming of beauty as some dream of love; + And all the earth beneath, the heaven above, +In mirror'd glory on his spirit lay. + +And, as he went, from every sight and sound, + From silence, from the sweetness in the air, + From earth, from heaven, from nature everywhere, +Gleam'd forth a deep dim thought and clasp'd him round. + +The thought oppress'd him with a weary joy, + Seeking for ever for its perfect shape, + That from his eager eyes would still escape, +Flatter him onward--then his hopes destroy. + +He sought it in the bosom of the hills; + He sought it in the silence of the woods, + Their sunny nooks and shady solitudes; +He sought it in the fountains and the rills. + +He watch'd the stars come faintly through the skies; + And on his upturn'd brow the clear moon shone, + Flooding his heart like pale Endymion; +But still the thought hid dimly from his eyes; + +Its voice came to him on the evening breeze, + That flutter'd faintly through his summer dreams-- + He heard it through the flowing of the streams; +He heard it softly rustling through the trees. + +Yet still the thought that murmur'd through his heart, + He found not anywhere about the land; + Ne'er saw its spirit shape before him stand, +Though from all nature it seem'd prone to start. + +And thus he wander'd homeward, dreaming still + Of all the beauty that had haunted him, + With mystic meanings shadowy and dim, +By woodland, and by meadow, vale and hill: + +He wander'd homeward, and in musing mood + Stay'd his slow steps beside a marble block, + Hewn from some far unstain'd Italian rock, +That for his shaping chisel waiting stood. + +Then his heart spoke out to him, "Not alone + This thought divine hides in the streams and woods, + Seeking expression through their solitudes, +Perchance e'en lies it in this unhewn stone. + +It may be that the soul which fills all space, + And speaks up to us from each thing we see, + In words that are for ever mystery, +Within this Parian, too, hath resting-place." + +He gazed on, dreaming through the dim twilight, + And to his inner sight the marble grew + Clear and translucent, so that, gazing through, +A mystic shape form'd to his wondering sight, + +That seem'd imprison'd in the Parian cell, + Seeking in vain release and utterance; + For evermore, with upward beaming glance, +Framing the words its lips could never tell. + +The vision pass'd; but still with unseen power, + It stirr'd within his heart by night and day; + And swift to hew the prison walls away, +The Sculptor toil'd, love-strengthen'd, from that hour. + +He wrought with patience, and at length, amazed, + Beheld the mystic form all perfect stand, + Released in beauty by his artist hand, +He scarce knew how, and wonder'd as he gazed. + +It was a lovely form whose lifted arms + Yearn'd towards heaven with all its radiant frame, + As though the soul within on wings of flame +Up from the earth would waft its angel charms; + +But still one touch retain'd it to the ground; + So that the love that beam'd up from its eyes + Flow'd evermore towards the distant skies, +And yet to earth the shape remain'd spell-bound. + +The dream fell on him one calm summer night; + And thus in that fair form still heavenward turning + Eternal aspiration, endless yearning, +Stood now the Thought before his gladden'd sight. + + + +THE END. + + + + + +[ADVERTISEMENT] + +By the same Author. + +EIDOLON, AND OTHER POEMS. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Walter R. 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