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diff --git a/1381-h/1381-h.htm b/1381-h/1381-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e8c6ff5 --- /dev/null +++ b/1381-h/1381-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9141 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Poems, Vol. 1 [of 3], by George Meredith</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems, Vol. 1 [of 3], by George Meredith + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Poems, Vol. 1 [of 3] + + +Author: George Meredith + + + +Release Date: January 2, 2015 [eBook #1381] +[This file was first posted on May 7, 1998] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, VOL. 1 [OF 3]*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1912 Times Book Club “Surrey +Edition” by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/coverb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Book cover" +title= +"Book cover" + src="images/covers.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Home cottage, Box Hill" +title= +"Home cottage, Box Hill" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>POEMS<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">VOL. I</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +GEORGE MEREDITH</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">SURREY EDITION</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +THE TIMES BOOK CLUB<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">376–384 OXFORD STREET, W.</span><br +/> +1912</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="pageiv"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. iv</span>Edinburgh: T. and A. Constable, +Printers to his Majesty</p> +<h2><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>CHILLIANWALLAH,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE DOE: A FRAGMENT,</p> +<p class="gutindent">And—‘Yonder look! yoho! +yoho!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>BEAUTY ROHTRAUT,</p> +<p class="gutindent">What is the name of King Ringang’s +daughter?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE OLIVE BRANCH,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A dove flew with an Olive Branch;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Love within the lover’s breast</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE WILD ROSE AND THE SNOWDROP,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The Snowdrop is the prophet of the +flowers;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE DEATH OF WINTER,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When April with her wild blue eye</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The moon is alone in the sky</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>JOHN LACKLAND,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A wicked man is bad enough on earth;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE SLEEPING CITY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A Princess in the eastern tale</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF CHAUCER,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Grey with all honours of age! but +fresh-featured and ruddy</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF SPENSER,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Lakes where the sunsheen is mystic with +splendour and softness;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pagevi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vi</span>THE POETRY OF SHAKESPEARE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Picture some Isle smiling green ’mid +the white-foaming ocean;—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF MILTON,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Like to some deep-chested organ whose grand +inspiration,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF SOUTHEY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Keen as an eagle whose flight towards the +dim empyréan</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF COLERIDGE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A brook glancing under green leaves, +self-delighting, exulting,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF SHELLEY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">See’st thou a Skylark whose glistening +winglets ascending</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A breath of the mountains, fresh born in the +regions majestic,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE POETRY OF KEATS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The song of a nightingale sent thro’ a +slumbrous valley,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>VIOLETS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Violets, shy violets!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>ANGELIC LOVE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Angelic love that stoops with heavenly +lips</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TWILIGHT MUSIC,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Know you the low pervading breeze</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>REQUIEM,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Where faces are hueless, where eyelids are +dewless,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE FLOWER OF THE RUINS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Take thy lute and sing</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE RAPE OF AURORA,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Never, O never,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SOUTH-WEST WIND IN THE WOODLAND,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The silence of preluded song—</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>WILL O’ THE WISP,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Follow me, follow me,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page46">46</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Fair and false! No dawn will greet</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Two wedded lovers watched the rising +moon,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">I cannot lose thee for a day,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>DAPHNE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Musing on the fate of Daphne,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>LONDON BY LAMPLIGHT,</p> +<p class="gutindent">There stands a singer in the street,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Under boughs of breathing May,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>PASTORALS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">How sweet on sunny afternoons,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TO A SKYLARK,</p> +<p class="gutindent">O skylark! I see thee and call thee joy!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG—SPRING,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When buds of palm do burst and spread</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG—AUTUMN,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When nuts behind the hazel-leaf</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SORROWS AND JOYS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Bury thy sorrows, and they shall rise</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The Flower unfolds its dawning cup,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Thou to me art such a spring</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>ANTIGONE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The buried voice bespake Antigone.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pageviii"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. viii</span>‘SWATHED ROUND IN MIST AND +CROWN’D WITH CLOUD,’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">No, no, the falling blossom is no sign</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE TWO BLACKBIRDS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A Blackbird in a wicker cage,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>JULY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Blue July, bright July,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">I would I were the drop of rain</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Come to me in any shape!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE SHIPWRECK OF IDOMENEUS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Swept from his fleet upon that fatal +night</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE LONGEST DAY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">On yonder hills soft twilight dwells</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TO ROBIN REDBREAST,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Merrily ’mid the faded leaves,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The daisy now is out upon the green;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SUNRISE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The clouds are withdrawn</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>PICTURES OF THE RHINE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The spirit of Romance dies not to those</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page120">120</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TO A NIGHTINGALE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">O nightingale! how hast thou learnt</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Now ’tis Spring on wood and wold,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE SWEET O’ THE YEAR,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Now the frog, all lean and weak,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>AUTUMN EVEN-SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The long cloud edged with streaming grey</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE SONG OF COURTESY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When Sir Gawain was led to his +bridal-bed,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE THREE MAIDENS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">There were three maidens met on the +highway;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page131">131</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>OVER THE HILLS,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The old hound wags his shaggy tail,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>JUGGLING JERRY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Pitch here the tent, while the old horse +grazes:</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE CROWN OF LOVE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">O might I load my arms with thee,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE HEAD OF BRAN THE BLEST,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When the Head of Bran</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE MEETING,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The old coach-road through a common of +furze,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE BEGGAR’S SOLILOQUY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Now, this, to my notion, is pleasant +cheer,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>BY THE ROSANNA TO F. M.,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The old grey Alp has caught the cloud,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>PHANTASY,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Within a Temple of the Toes,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE OLD CHARTIST,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Whate’er I be, old England is my +dam!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SONG,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Should thy love die;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>TO ALEX. SMITH, THE ‘GLASGOW +POET,’</p> +<p class="gutindent">Not vainly doth the earnest voice of man</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>GRANDFATHER BRIDGEMAN,</p> +<p class="gutindent">‘Heigh, boys!’ cried Grandfather +Bridgeman, ‘it’s time before dinner +to-day.’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pagex"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +x</span>THE PROMISE IN DISTURBANCE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">How low when angels fall their black +descent,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>MODERN LOVE,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">I.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">II.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>It ended, and the morrow brought the task.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">III.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>This was the woman; what now of the man?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>All other joys of life he strove to warm,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">V.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>A message from her set his brain aflame.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>It chanced his lips did meet her forehead cool.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>She issues radiant from her dressing-room,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">VIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">IX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">X.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>But where began the change; and what’s my crime?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Not solely that the Future she destroys,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>‘I play for Seasons; not Eternities!’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>What soul would bargain for a cure that brings</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when low</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Here Jack and Tom are paired with Moll and Meg.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>No state is enviable. To the luck alone</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>I am not of those miserable males</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn;</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>What may the woman labour to confess?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>’Tis Christmas weather, and a country house</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>The misery is greater, as I live!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>You like not that French novel? Tell me why.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Distraction is the panacea, Sir!</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>I must be flattered. The imperious</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Am I failing? For no longer can I cast</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>What are we first? First, animals; and next</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>This golden head has wit in it. I live</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>‘In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I seen</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Madam would speak with me. So, now it comes:</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><a name="pagexi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. xi</span><span +class="GutSmall">XXXV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>It is no vulgar nature I have wived.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>My Lady unto Madam makes her bow.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Along the garden terrace, under which</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Give to imagination some pure light</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XXXIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XL.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>I bade my Lady think what she might mean.</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>How many a thing which we cast to the ground,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>I am to follow her. There is much grace</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Mark where the pressing wind shoots javelin-like</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLIV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>They say, that Pity in Love’s service dwells,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLV.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>It is the season of the sweet wild rose,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLVI.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>At last we parley: we so strangely dumb</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLVII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLVIII.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Their sense is with their senses all mixed in,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">XLIX.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>He found her by the ocean’s moaning verge,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">L.</span></p> +</td> +<td><p>Thus piteously Love closed what he begat:</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"> </p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE PATRIOT ENGINEER,</p> +<p class="gutindent">‘Sirs! may I shake your hands?</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>CASSANDRA,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Captive on a foreign shore,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE YOUNG USURPER,</p> +<p class="gutindent">On my darling’s bosom</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>MARGARET’S BRIDAL EVE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">The old grey mother she thrummed on her +knee:</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page241">241</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>MARIAN,</p> +<p class="gutindent">She can be as wise as we,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page248">248</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>BY MORNING TWILIGHT,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Night, like a dying mother,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page249">249</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>UNKNOWN FAIR FACES,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Though I am faithful to my loves lived +through,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page249">249</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>SHEMSELNIHAR,</p> +<p class="gutindent">O my lover! the night like a broad smooth +wave</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>A ROAR THROUGH THE TALL TWIN ELM-TREES,</p> +<p class="gutindent">A roar thro’ the tall twin +elm-trees</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page252">252</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span>WHEN I WOULD IMAGE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">When I would image her features,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page252">252</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>THE SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Thy greatest knew thee, Mother Earth; +unsoured</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page253">253</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>CONTINUED,</p> +<p class="gutindent">How smiles he at a generation ranked</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page253">253</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF EARTH IN AUTUMN,</p> +<p class="gutindent">Fair Mother Earth lay on her back last +night,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p>MARTIN’S PUZZLE,</p> +<p class="gutindent">There she goes up the street with her book +in her hand,</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>CHILLIANWALLAH <a name="citation1"></a><a +href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Chillanwallah</span>, +Chillanwallah!<br /> + Where our brothers fought and bled,<br /> +O thy name is natural music<br /> + And a dirge above the dead!<br /> +Though we have not been defeated,<br /> + Though we can’t be overcome,<br /> +Still, whene’er thou art repeated,<br /> + I would fain that grief were dumb.</p> +<p class="poetry">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!<br /> + ’Tis a name so sad and strange,<br /> +Like a breeze through midnight harpstrings<br /> + Ringing many a mournful change;<br /> +But the wildness and the sorrow<br /> + Have a meaning of their own—<br /> +Oh, whereof no glad to-morrow<br /> + Can relieve the dismal tone!</p> +<p class="poetry">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!<br /> + ’Tis a village dark and low,<br /> +By the bloody Jhelum river<br /> + Bridged by the foreboding foe;<br /> +<a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>And across +the wintry water<br /> + He is ready to retreat,<br /> +When the carnage and the slaughter<br /> + Shall have paid for his defeat.</p> +<p class="poetry">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!<br /> + ’Tis a wild and dreary plain,<br /> +Strewn with plots of thickest jungle,<br /> + Matted with the gory stain.<br /> +There the murder-mouthed artillery,<br /> + In the deadly ambuscade,<br /> +Wrought the thunder of its treachery<br /> + On the skeleton brigade.</p> +<p class="poetry">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!<br /> + When the night set in with rain,<br /> +Came the savage plundering devils<br /> + To their work among the slain;<br /> +And the wounded and the dying<br /> + In cold blood did share the doom<br /> +Of their comrades round them lying,<br /> + Stiff in the dead skyless gloom.</p> +<p class="poetry">Chillianwallah, Chillianwallah!<br /> + Thou wilt be a doleful chord,<br /> +And a mystic note of mourning<br /> + That will need no chiming word;<br /> +And that heart will leap with anguish<br /> + Who may understand thee best;<br /> +But the hopes of all will languish<br /> + Till thy memory is at rest.</p> +<h2><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>THE DOE: +A FRAGMENT<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(</span><span +class="GutSmall"><i>FROM</i></span><span class="GutSmall"> +‘</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>WANDERING +WILLIE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">’)</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span +class="smcap">And</span>—‘Yonder look! yoho! yoho!<br +/> +Nancy is off!’ the farmer cried,<br /> +Advancing by the river side,<br /> +Red-kerchieft and brown-coated;—‘So,<br /> +My girl, who else could leap like that?<br /> +So neatly! like a lady! ‘Zounds!<br /> +Look at her how she leads the hounds!’<br /> +And waving his dusty beaver hat,<br /> +He cheered across the chase-filled water,<br /> +And clapt his arm about his daughter,<br /> +And gave to Joan a courteous hug,<br /> +And kiss that, like a stubborn plug<br /> +From generous vats in vastness rounded,<br /> +The inner wealth and spirit sounded:<br /> +Eagerly pointing South, where, lo,<br /> +The daintiest, fleetest-footed doe<br /> +Led o’er the fields and thro’ the furze<br /> +Beyond: her lively delicate ears<br /> +Prickt up erect, and in her track<br /> +A dappled lengthy-striding pack.</p> +<p class="poetry">Scarce had they cast eyes upon her,<br /> +When every heart was wagered on her,<br /> +And half in dread, and half delight,<br /> +They watched her lovely bounding flight;<br /> +As now across the flashing green,<br /> +<a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>And now +beneath the stately trees,<br /> +And now far distant in the dene,<br /> +She headed on with graceful ease:<br /> +Hanging aloft with doubled knees,<br /> +At times athwart some hedge or gate;<br /> +And slackening pace by slow degrees,<br /> +As for the foremost foe to wait.<br /> +Renewing her outstripping rate<br /> +Whene’er the hot pursuers neared,<br /> +By garden wall and paled estate,<br /> +Where clambering gazers whooped and cheered.<br /> +Here winding under elm and oak,<br /> +And slanting up the sunny hill:<br /> +Splashing the water here like smoke<br /> +Among the mill-holms round the mill.</p> +<p class="poetry">And—‘Let her go; she shows her +game,<br /> +My Nancy girl, my pet and treasure!’<br /> +The farmer sighed: his eyes with pleasure<br /> +Brimming: ‘’Tis my daughter’s name,<br /> +My second daughter lying yonder.’<br /> +And Willie’s eye in search did wander,<br /> +And caught at once, with moist regard,<br /> +The white gleams of a grey churchyard.<br /> +‘Three weeks before my girl had gone,<br /> +And while upon her pillows propped,<br /> +She lay at eve; the weakling fawn—<br /> +For still it seems a fawn just dropt<br /> +A se’nnight—to my Nancy’s bed<br /> +I brought to make my girl a gift:<br /> +The mothers of them both were dead:<br /> +And both to bless it was my drift,<br /> +By giving each a friend; not thinking<br /> +How rapidly my girl was sinking.<br /> +And I remember how, to pat<br /> +<a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Its neck, +she stretched her hand so weak,<br /> +And its cold nose against her cheek<br /> +Pressed fondly: and I fetched the mat<br /> +To make it up a couch just by her,<br /> +Where in the lone dark hours to lie:<br /> +For neither dear old nurse nor I<br /> +Would any single wish deny her.<br /> +And there unto the last it lay;<br /> +And in the pastures cared to play<br /> +Little or nothing: there its meals<br /> +And milk I brought: and even now<br /> +The creature such affection feels<br /> +For that old room that, when and how,<br /> +’Tis strange to mark, it slinks and steals<br /> +To get there, and all day conceals.<br /> +And once when nurse who, since that time,<br /> +Keeps house for me, was very sick,<br /> +Waking upon the midnight chime,<br /> +And listening to the stair-clock’s click,<br /> +I heard a rustling, half uncertain,<br /> +Close against the dark bed-curtain:<br /> +And while I thrust my leg to kick,<br /> +And feel the phantom with my feet,<br /> +A loving tongue began to lick<br /> +My left hand lying on the sheet;<br /> +And warm sweet breath upon me blew,<br /> +And that ’twas Nancy then I knew.<br /> +So, for her love, I had good cause<br /> +To have the creature “Nancy” christened.’</p> +<p class="poetry">He paused, and in the moment’s pause,<br +/> +His eyes and Willie’s strangely glistened.<br /> +Nearer came Joan, and Bessy hung<br /> +With face averted, near enough<br /> +To hear, and sob unheard; the young<br /> +<a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>And careless +ones had scampered off<br /> +Meantime, and sought the loftiest place<br /> +To beacon the approaching chase.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Daily upon the meads to browse,<br /> +Goes Nancy with those dairy cows<br /> +You see behind the clematis:<br /> +And such a favourite she is,<br /> +That when fatigued, and helter skelter,<br /> +Among them from her foes to shelter,<br /> +She dashes when the chase is over,<br /> +They’ll close her in and give her cover,<br /> +And bend their horns against the hounds,<br /> +And low, and keep them out of bounds!<br /> +From the house dogs she dreads no harm,<br /> +And is good friends with all the farm,<br /> +Man, and bird, and beast, howbeit<br /> +Their natures seem so opposite.<br /> +And she is known for many a mile,<br /> +And noted for her splendid style,<br /> +For her clear leap and quick slight hoof;<br /> +Welcome she is in many a roof.<br /> +And if I say, I love her, man!<br /> +I say but little: her fine eyes full<br /> +Of memories of my girl, at Yule<br /> +And May-time, make her dearer than<br /> +Dumb brute to men has been, I think.<br /> +So dear I do not find her dumb.<br /> +I know her ways, her slightest wink,<br /> +So well; and to my hand she’ll come,<br /> +Sidelong, for food or a caress,<br /> +Just like a loving human thing.<br /> +Nor can I help, I do confess,<br /> +Some touch of human sorrowing<br /> +To think there may be such a doubt<br /> +<a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>That from +the next world she’ll be shut out,<br /> +And parted from me! And well I mind<br /> +How, when my girl’s last moments came,<br /> +Her soft eyes very soft and kind,<br /> +She joined her hands and prayed the same,<br /> +That she “might meet her father, mother,<br /> +Sister Bess, and each dear brother,<br /> +And with them, if it might be, one<br /> +Who was her last companion.”<br /> +Meaning the fawn—the doe you mark—<br /> +For my bay mare was then a foal,<br /> +And time has passed since then:—but hark!’</p> +<p class="poetry">For like the shrieking of a soul<br /> +Shut in a tomb, a darkened cry<br /> +Of inward-wailing agony<br /> +Surprised them, and all eyes on each<br /> +Fixed in the mute-appealing speech<br /> +Of self-reproachful apprehension:<br /> +Knowing not what to think or do:<br /> +But Joan, recovering first, broke through<br /> +The instantaneous suspension,<br /> +And knelt upon the ground, and guessed<br /> +The bitterness at a glance, and pressed<br /> +Into the comfort of her breast<br /> +The deep-throed quaking shape that drooped<br /> +In misery’s wilful aggravation,<br /> +Before the farmer as he stooped,<br /> +Touched with accusing consternation:<br /> +Soothing her as she sobbed aloud:—<br /> +<a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>‘Not +me! not me! Oh, no, no, no!<br /> +Not me! God will not take me in!<br /> +Nothing can wipe away my sin!<br /> +I shall not see her: you will go;<br /> +You and all that she loves so:<br /> +Not me! not me! Oh, no, no, no!’<br /> +Colourless, her long black hair,<br /> +Like seaweed in a tempest tossed<br /> +Tangling astray, to Joan’s care<br /> +She yielded like a creature lost:<br /> +Yielded, drooping toward the ground,<br /> +As doth a shape one half-hour drowned,<br /> +And heaved from sea with mast and spar,<br /> +All dark of its immortal star.<br /> +And on that tender heart, inured<br /> +To flatter basest grief, and fight<br /> +Despair upon the brink of night,<br /> +She suffered herself to sink, assured<br /> +Of refuge; and her ear inclined<br /> +To comfort; and her thoughts resigned<br /> +To counsel; her wild hair let brush<br /> +From off her weeping brows; and shook<br /> +With many little sobs that took<br /> +Deeper-drawn breaths, till into sighs,<br /> +Long sighs, they sank; and to the ‘hush!’<br /> +Of Joan’s gentle chide, she sought<br /> +Childlike to check them as she ought,<br /> +Looking up at her infantwise.<br /> +And Willie, gazing on them both,<br /> +Shivered with bliss through blood and brain,<br /> +To see the darling of his troth<br /> +Like a maternal angel strain<br /> +The sinful and the sinless child<br /> +At once on either breast, and there<br /> +In peace and promise reconciled<br /> +Unite them: nor could Nature’s care<br /> +With subtler sweet beneficence<br /> +Have fed the springs of penitence,<br /> +Still keeping true, though harshly tried,<br /> +The vital prop of human pride.</p> +<h2><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>BEAUTY +ROHTRAUT<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">(</span><span class="GutSmall"><i>FROM +MÖRICKE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">)</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> is the name of +King Ringang’s daughter?<br /> + Rohtraut, Beauty Rohtraut!<br /> +And what does she do the livelong day,<br /> +Since she dare not knit and spin alway?<br /> +O hunting and fishing is ever her play!<br /> +And, heigh! that her huntsman I might be!<br /> +I’d hunt and fish right merrily!<br /> + Be silent, +heart!</p> +<p class="poetry">And it chanced that, after this some +time,—<br /> + Rohtraut, Beauty Rohtraut,—<br /> +The boy in the Castle has gained access,<br /> +And a horse he has got and a huntsman’s dress,<br /> +To hunt and to fish with the merry Princess;<br /> +And, O! that a king’s son I might be!<br /> +Beauty Rohtraut I love so tenderly.<br /> + Hush! hush! my +heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">Under a grey old oak they sat,<br /> + Beauty, Beauty Rohtraut!<br /> +She laughs: ‘Why look you so slyly at me?<br /> +If you have heart enough, come, kiss me.’<br /> +Cried the breathless boy, ‘kiss thee?’<br /> +But he thinks, kind fortune has favoured my youth;<br /> +And thrice he has kissed Beauty Rohtraut’s mouth.<br /> + Down! down! mad +heart.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>Then slowly and silently they rode home,—<br /> + Rohtraut, Beauty Rohtraut!<br /> +The boy was lost in his delight:<br /> +‘And, wert thou Empress this very night,<br /> +I would not heed or feel the blight;<br /> +Ye thousand leaves of the wild wood wist<br /> +How Beauty Rohtraut’s mouth I kiss’d.<br /> + Hush! hush! wild +heart.’</p> +<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>THE +OLIVE BRANCH</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">dove</span> flew with an +Olive Branch;<br /> +It crossed the sea and reached the shore,<br /> +And on a ship about to launch<br /> +Dropped down the happy sign it bore.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘An omen’ rang the glad acclaim!<br +/> +The Captain stooped and picked it up,<br /> +‘Be then the Olive Branch her name,’<br /> +Cried she who flung the christening cup.</p> +<p class="poetry">The vessel took the laughing tides;<br /> +It was a joyous revelry<br /> +To see her dashing from her sides<br /> +The rough, salt kisses of the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">And forth into the bursting foam<br /> +She spread her sail and sped away,<br /> +The rolling surge her restless home,<br /> +Her incense wreaths the showering spray.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far out, and where the riot waves<br /> +Run mingling in tumultuous throngs,<br /> +She danced above a thousand graves,<br /> +And heard a thousand briny songs.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her mission with her manly crew,<br /> +Her flag unfurl’d, her title told,<br /> +She took the Old World to the New,<br /> +And brought the New World to the Old.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>Secure of friendliest welcomings,<br /> +She swam the havens sheening fair;<br /> +Secure upon her glad white wings,<br /> +She fluttered on the ocean air.</p> +<p class="poetry">To her no more the bastioned fort<br /> +Shot out its swarthy tongue of fire;<br /> +From bay to bay, from port to port,<br /> +Her coming was the world’s desire.</p> +<p class="poetry">And tho’ the tempest lashed her oft,<br +/> +And tho’ the rocks had hungry teeth,<br /> +And lightnings split the masts aloft,<br /> +And thunders shook the planks beneath,</p> +<p class="poetry">And tho’ the storm, self-willed and +blind,<br /> +Made tatters of her dauntless sail,<br /> +And all the wildness of the wind<br /> +Was loosed on her, she did not fail;</p> +<p class="poetry">But gallantly she ploughed the main,<br /> +And gloriously her welcome pealed,<br /> +And grandly shone to sky and plain<br /> +The goodly bales her decks revealed;</p> +<p class="poetry">Brought from the fruitful eastern glebes<br /> +Where blow the gusts of balm and spice,<br /> +Or where the black blockaded ribs<br /> +Are jammed ’mongst ghostly fleets of ice,</p> +<p class="poetry">Or where upon the curling hills<br /> +Glow clusters of the bright-eyed grape,<br /> +Or where the hand of labour drills<br /> +The stubbornness of earth to shape;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>Rich harvestings and wealthy germs,<br /> +And handicrafts and shapely wares,<br /> +And spinnings of the hermit worms,<br /> +And fruits that bloom by lions’ lairs.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, read the meaning of the deep!<br /> +The use of winds and waters learn!<br /> +’Tis not to make the mother weep<br /> +For sons that never will return;</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis not to make the nations show<br /> +Contempt for all whom seas divide;<br /> +’Tis not to pamper war and woe,<br /> +Nor feed traditionary pride;</p> +<p class="poetry">’Tis not to make the floating bulk<br /> +Mask death upon its slippery deck,<br /> +Itself in turn a shattered hulk,<br /> +A ghastly raft, a bleeding wreck.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is to knit with loving lip<br /> +The interests of land to land;<br /> +To join in far-seen fellowship<br /> +The tropic and the polar strand.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is to make that foaming Strength<br /> +Whose rebel forces wrestle still<br /> +Thro’ all his boundaried breadth and length<br /> +Become a vassal to our will.</p> +<p class="poetry">It is to make the various skies,<br /> +And all the various fruits they vaunt,<br /> +And all the dowers of earth we prize,<br /> +Subservient to our household want.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>And more, for knowledge crowns the gain<br /> +Of intercourse with other souls,<br /> +And Wisdom travels not in vain<br /> +The plunging spaces of the poles.</p> +<p class="poetry">The wild Atlantic’s weltering gloom,<br +/> +Earth-clasping seas of North and South,<br /> +The Baltic with its amber spume,<br /> +The Caspian with its frozen mouth;</p> +<p class="poetry">The broad Pacific, basking bright,<br /> +And girdling lands of lustrous growth,<br /> +Vast continents and isles of light,<br /> +Dumb tracts of undiscovered sloth;</p> +<p class="poetry">She visits these, traversing each;<br /> +They ripen to the common sun;<br /> +Thro’ diverse forms and different speech,<br /> +The world’s humanity is one.</p> +<p class="poetry">O may her voice have power to say<br /> +How soon the wrecking discords cease,<br /> +When every wandering wave is gay<br /> +With golden argosies of peace!</p> +<p class="poetry">Now when the ark of human fate,<br /> +Long baffled by the wayward wind,<br /> +Is drifting with its peopled freight,<br /> +Safe haven on the heights to find;</p> +<p class="poetry">Safe haven from the drowning slime<br /> +Of evil deeds and Deluge wrath;—<br /> +To plant again the foot of Time<br /> +Upon a purer, firmer path;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>’Tis now the hour to probe the ground,<br /> +To watch the Heavens, to speak the word,<br /> +The fathoms of the deep to sound,<br /> +And send abroad the missioned bird,</p> +<p class="poetry">On strengthened wing for evermore,<br /> +Let Science, swiftly as she can,<br /> +Fly seaward on from shore to shore,<br /> +And bind the links of man to man;</p> +<p class="poetry">And like that fair propitious Dove<br /> +Bless future fleets about to launch;<br /> +Make every freight a freight of love,<br /> +And every ship an Olive Branch.</p> +<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Love</span> within the +lover’s breast<br /> +Burns like Hesper in the west,<br /> +O’er the ashes of the sun,<br /> +Till the day and night are done;<br /> +Then when dawn drives up her car—<br /> +Lo! it is the morning star.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love! thy love pours down on mine<br /> +As the sunlight on the vine,<br /> +As the snow-rill on the vale,<br /> +As the salt breeze in the sail;<br /> +As the song unto the bird,<br /> +On my lips thy name is heard.</p> +<p class="poetry">As a dewdrop on the rose<br /> +In thy heart my passion glows,<br /> +As a skylark to the sky<br /> +Up into thy breast I fly;<br /> +As a sea-shell of the sea<br /> +Ever shall I sing of thee.</p> +<h2><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>THE +WILD ROSE AND THE SNOWDROP</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> Snowdrop is the +prophet of the flowers;<br /> +It lives and dies upon its bed of snows;<br /> +And like a thought of spring it comes and goes,<br /> +Hanging its head beside our leafless bowers.<br /> +The sun’s betrothing kiss it never knows,<br /> +Nor all the glowing joy of golden showers;<br /> +But ever in a placid, pure repose,<br /> +More like a spirit with its look serene,<br /> +Droops its pale cheek veined thro’ with infant green.</p> +<p class="poetry">Queen of her sisters is the sweet Wild Rose,<br +/> +Sprung from the earnest sun and ripe young June;<br /> +The year’s own darling and the Summer’s Queen!<br /> +Lustrous as the new-throned crescent moon.<br /> +Much of that early prophet look she shows,<br /> +Mixed with her fair espoused blush which glows,<br /> +As if the ethereal fairy blood were seen;<br /> +Like a soft evening over sunset snows,<br /> +Half twilight violet shade, half crimson sheen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Twin-born are both in beauteousness, most +fair<br /> +In all that glads the eye and charms the air;<br /> +In all that wakes emotions in the mind<br /> +And sows sweet sympathies for human kind.<br /> +Twin-born, albeit their seasons are apart,<br /> +They bloom together in the thoughtful heart;<br /> +Fair symbols of the marvels of our state,<br /> +Mute speakers of the oracles of fate!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>For each, fulfilling nature’s law, fulfils<br /> +Itself and its own aspirations pure;<br /> +Living and dying; letting faith ensure<br /> +New life when deathless Spring shall touch the hills.<br /> +Each perfect in its place; and each content<br /> +With that perfection which its being meant:<br /> +Divided not by months that intervene,<br /> +But linked by all the flowers that bud between.<br /> +Forever smiling thro’ its season brief,<br /> +The one in glory and the one in grief:<br /> +Forever painting to our museful sight,<br /> +How lowlihead and loveliness unite.</p> +<p class="poetry">Born from the first blind yearning of the +earth<br /> +To be a mother and give happy birth,<br /> +Ere yet the northern sun such rapture brings,<br /> +Lo, from her virgin breast the Snowdrop springs;<br /> +And ere the snows have melted from the grass,<br /> +And not a strip of greensward doth appear,<br /> +Save the faint prophecy its cheeks declare,<br /> +Alone, unkissed, unloved, behold it pass!<br /> +While in the ripe enthronement of the year,<br /> +Whispering the breeze, and wedding the rich air<br /> +With her so sweet, delicious bridal breath,—<br /> +Odorous and exquisite beyond compare,<br /> +And starr’d with dews upon her forehead clear,<br /> +Fresh-hearted as a Maiden Queen should be<br /> +Who takes the land’s devotion as her fee,—<br /> +The Wild Rose blooms, all summer for her dower,<br /> +Nature’s most beautiful and perfect flower.</p> +<h2><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>THE +DEATH OF WINTER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> April with her +wild blue eye<br /> + Comes dancing over the grass,<br /> +And all the crimson buds so shy<br /> + Peep out to see her pass;<br /> +As lightly she loosens her showery locks<br /> + And flutters her rainy wings;<br /> + Laughingly stoops<br /> + To the glass of +the stream,<br /> + And loosens and loops<br /> + Her hair by the +gleam,<br /> +While all the young villagers blithe as the flocks<br /> + Go frolicking round in rings;—<br /> +Then Winter, he who tamed the fly,<br /> +Turns on his back and prepares to die,<br /> +For he cannot live longer under the sky.</p> +<p class="poetry">Down the valleys glittering green,<br /> +Down from the hills in snowy rills,<br /> +He melts between the border sheen<br /> + And leaps the flowery verges!<br /> +He cannot choose but brighten their hues,<br /> +And tho’ he would creep, he fain must leap,<br /> + For the quick Spring spirit urges.<br /> +Down the vale and down the dale<br /> +He leaps and lights, till his moments fail,<br /> +Buried in blossoms red and pale,<br /> + While the sweet birds sing his dirges!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>O Winter! I’d live that life of thine,<br /> +With a frosty brow and an icicle tongue,<br /> +And never a song my whole life long,—<br /> +Were such delicious burial mine!<br /> +To die and be buried, and so remain<br /> +A wandering brook in April’s train,<br /> +Fixing my dying eyes for aye<br /> +On the dawning brows of maiden May.</p> +<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> moon is alone in the sky<br /> + As thou in my soul;<br /> + The sea takes her image to lie<br /> + Where the white ripples roll<br /> + All night in a +dream,<br /> + With the light +of her beam,<br /> +Hushedly, mournfully, mistily up to the shore.<br /> + The pebbles +speak low<br /> + In the ebb and +the flow,<br /> +As I when thy voice came at intervals, tuned to adore:<br /> + Nought other +stirred<br /> + Save my heart +all unheard<br /> +Beating to bliss that is past evermore.</p> +<h2>JOHN LACKLAND</h2> +<p class="poetry"> A <span +class="smcap">wicked</span> man is bad enough on earth;<br /> + But O the baleful lustre of a chief<br /> + Once pledged in tyranny! O star of dearth<br +/> + Darkly illumining a nation’s grief!<br /> + How many men have worn thee on their brows!<br /> + Alas for them and us! God’s precious +gift<br /> + Of gracious dispensation got by theft—<br /> + The damning form of false unholy vows!<br /> + The thief of God and man must have his fee:<br /> + And thou, John Lackland, despicable prince—<br +/> + Basest of England’s banes before or since!<br +/> + Thrice traitor, coward, thief! O thou shalt +be<br /> + The historic warning, trampled and abhorr’d<br +/> +Who dared to steal and stain the symbols of the Lord!</p> +<h2><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>THE +SLEEPING CITY</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Princess</span> in the +eastern tale<br /> +Paced thro’ a marble city pale,<br /> +And saw in ghastly shapes of stone<br /> +The sculptured life she breathed alone;</p> +<p class="poetry">Saw, where’er her eye might range,<br /> +Herself the only child of change;<br /> +And heard her echoed footfall chime<br /> +Between Oblivion and Time;</p> +<p class="poetry">And in the squares where fountains played,<br +/> +And up the spiral balustrade,<br /> +Along the drowsy corridors,<br /> +Even to the inmost sleeping floors,</p> +<p class="poetry">Surveyed in wonder chilled with dread<br /> +The seemingness of Death, not dead;<br /> +Life’s semblance but without its storm,<br /> +And silence frosting every form;</p> +<p class="poetry">Crowned figures, cold and grouping slaves,<br +/> +Like suddenly arrested waves<br /> +About to sink, about to rise,—<br /> +Strange meaning in their stricken eyes;</p> +<p class="poetry">And cloths and couches live with flame<br /> +Of leopards fierce and lions tame,<br /> +And hunters in the jungle reed,<br /> +Thrown out by sombre glowing brede;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>Dumb chambers hushed with fold on fold,<br /> +And cumbrous gorgeousness of gold;<br /> +White casements o’er embroidered seats,<br /> +Looking on solitudes of streets,—</p> +<p class="poetry">On palaces and column’d towers,<br /> +Unconscious of the stony hours;<br /> +Harsh gateways startled at a sound,<br /> +With burning lamps all burnish’d round;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Surveyed in awe this wealth and state,<br /> +Touched by the finger of a Fate,<br /> +And drew with slow-awakening fear<br /> +The sternness of the atmosphere;—</p> +<p class="poetry">And gradually, with stealthier foot,<br /> +Became herself a thing as mute,<br /> +And listened,—while with swift alarm<br /> +Her alien heart shrank from the charm;</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet as her thoughts dilating rose,<br /> +Took glory in the great repose,<br /> +And over every postured form<br /> +Spread lava-like and brooded warm,—</p> +<p class="poetry">And fixed on every frozen face<br /> +Beheld the record of its race,<br /> +And in each chiselled feature knew<br /> +The stormy life that once blushed thro’;—</p> +<p class="poetry">The ever-present of the past<br /> +There written; all that lightened last,<br /> +Love, anguish, hope, disease, despair,<br /> +Beauty and rage, all written there;—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>Enchanted Passions! whose pale doom<br /> +Is never flushed by blight or bloom,<br /> +But sentinelled by silent orbs,<br /> +Whose light the pallid scene absorbs.—</p> +<p class="poetry">Like such a one I pace along<br /> +This City with its sleeping throng;<br /> +Like her with dread and awe, that turns<br /> +To rapture, and sublimely yearns;—</p> +<p class="poetry">For now the quiet stars look down<br /> +On lights as quiet as their own;<br /> +The streets that groaned with traffic show<br /> +As if with silence paved below;</p> +<p class="poetry">The latest revellers are at peace,<br /> +The signs of in-door tumult cease,<br /> +From gay saloon and low resort,<br /> +Comes not one murmur or report:</p> +<p class="poetry">The clattering chariot rolls not by,<br /> +The windows show no waking eye,<br /> +The houses smoke not, and the air<br /> +Is clear, and all the midnight fair.</p> +<p class="poetry">The centre of the striving world,<br /> +Round which the human fate is curled,<br /> +To which the future crieth wild,—<br /> +Is pillowed like a cradled child.</p> +<p class="poetry">The palace roof that guards a crown,<br /> +The mansion swathed in dreamy down,<br /> +Hovel, court, and alley-shed,<br /> +Sleep in the calmness of the dead.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>Now while the many-motived heart<br /> +Lies hushed—fireside and busy mart,<br /> +And mortal pulses beat the tune<br /> +That charms the calm cold ear o’ the moon</p> +<p class="poetry">Whose yellowing crescent down the West<br /> +Leans listening, now when every breast<br /> +Its basest or its purest heaves,<br /> +The soul that joys, the soul that grieves;—</p> +<p class="poetry">While Fame is crowning happy brows<br /> +That day will blindly scorn, while vows<br /> +Of anguished love, long hidden, speak<br /> +From faltering tongue and flushing cheek</p> +<p class="poetry">The language only known to dreams,<br /> +Rich eloquence of rosy themes!<br /> +While on the Beauty’s folded mouth<br /> +Disdain just wrinkles baby youth;</p> +<p class="poetry">While Poverty dispenses alms<br /> +To outcasts, bread, and healing balms;<br /> +While old Mammon knows himself<br /> +The greatest beggar for his pelf;</p> +<p class="poetry">While noble things in darkness grope,<br /> +The Statesman’s aim, the Poet’s hope;<br /> +The Patriot’s impulse gathers fire,<br /> +And germs of future fruits aspire;—</p> +<p class="poetry">Now while dumb nature owns its links,<br /> +And from one common fountain drinks,<br /> +Methinks in all around I see<br /> +This Picture in Eternity;—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>A marbled City planted there<br /> +With all its pageants and despair;<br /> +A peopled hush, a Death not dead,<br /> +But stricken with Medusa’s head;—</p> +<p class="poetry">And in the Gorgon’s glance for aye<br /> +The lifeless immortality<br /> +Reveals in sculptured calmness all<br /> +Its latest life beyond recall.</p> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>THE +POETRY OF CHAUCER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Grey</span> with all honours of age! but +fresh-featured and ruddy<br /> + As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard has thrice heard +Chaunticlere.<br /> + Tender to tearfulness—childlike, and manly, +and motherly;<br /> +Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English +ground.</p> +<h2>THE POETRY OF SPENSER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Lakes</span> where the sunsheen is mystic with +splendour and softness;<br /> + Vales where sweet life is all Summer with golden +romance:<br /> + Forests that glimmer with twilight round +revel-bright palaces;<br /> +Here in our May-blood we wander, careering ’mongst ladies +and knights.</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>THE +POETRY OF SHAKESPEARE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Picture</span> some Isle smiling green ’mid +the white-foaming ocean;—<br /> + Full of old woods, leafy wisdoms, and frolicsome +fays;<br /> + Passions and pageants; sweet love singing bird-like +above it;<br /> +Life in all shapes, aims, and fates, is there warm’d by one +great human heart.</p> +<h2>THE POETRY OF MILTON</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Like</span> to some deep-chested organ whose grand +inspiration,<br /> + Serenely majestic in utterance, lofty and calm,<br +/> + Interprets to mortals with melody great as its +burthen<br /> +The mystical harmonies chiming for ever throughout the bright +spheres.</p> +<h2><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 29</span>THE +POETRY OF SOUTHEY</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Keen</span> as an eagle whose flight towards the +dim empyréan<br /> + Fearless of toil or fatigue ever royally wends!<br +/> + Vast in the cloud-coloured robes of the +balm-breathing Orient<br /> +Lo! the grand Epic advances, unfolding the humanest truth.</p> +<h2>THE POETRY OF COLERIDGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"> A <span +class="smcap">brook</span> glancing under green leaves, +self-delighting, exulting,<br /> + And full of a gurgling melody ever renewed—<br +/> + Renewed thro’ all changes of Heaven, unceasing +in sunlight,<br /> +Unceasing in moonlight, but hushed in the beams of the holier +orb.</p> +<h2><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>THE +POETRY OF SHELLEY</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">See’st</span> thou a Skylark whose glistening +winglets ascending<br /> + Quiver like pulses beneath the melodious dawn?<br /> + Deep in the heart-yearning distance of heaven it +flutters—<br /> +Wisdom and beauty and love are the treasures it brings down at +eve.</p> +<h2>THE POETRY OF WORDSWORTH</h2> +<p class="poetry"> A <span +class="smcap">breath</span> of the mountains, fresh born in the +regions majestic,<br /> + That look with their eye-daring summits deep into +the sky.<br /> + The voice of great Nature; sublime with her lofty +conceptions,<br /> +Yet earnest and simple as any sweet child of the green lowly +vale.</p> +<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>THE +POETRY OF KEATS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> song of a nightingale sent thro’ a +slumbrous valley,<br /> + Low-lidded with twilight, and tranced with the +dolorous sound,<br /> + Tranced with a tender enchantment; the yearning of +passion<br /> +That wins immortality even while panting delirious with +death.</p> +<h2>VIOLETS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Violets</span>, shy +violets!<br /> + How many hearts with you compare!<br /> + Who hide themselves in thickest +green,<br /> + + +And thence, unseen,<br /> + Ravish the enraptured air<br /> + With sweetness, dewy fresh and rare!</p> +<p class="poetry">Violets, shy violets!<br /> + Human hearts to me shall be<br /> + Viewless violets in the grass,<br +/> + + +And as I pass,<br /> + Odours and sweet imagery<br /> + Will wait on mine and gladden me!</p> +<h2><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>ANGELIC LOVE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Angelic</span> love that +stoops with heavenly lips<br /> + To meet its earthly mate;<br /> +Heroic love that to its sphere’s eclipse<br /> + Can dare to join its fate<br /> +With one beloved devoted human heart,<br /> +And share with it the passion and the smart,<br /> + The undying +bliss<br /> + Of its most +fleeting kiss;<br /> + The fading +grace<br /> + Of its most +sweet embrace:—<br /> + Angelic love, heroic love!<br /> + Whose birth can only be above,<br /> + Whose wandering must be on earth,<br /> + Whose haven where it first had birth!<br /> +Love that can part with all but its own worth,<br /> + And joy in every sacrifice<br /> + That beautifies its Paradise!<br /> +And gently, like a golden-fruited vine,<br /> +With earnest tenderness itself consign,<br /> +And creeping up deliriously entwine<br /> + Its dear +delicious arms<br /> + + +Round the beloved being!<br /> + With fair +unfolded charms,<br /> + + +All-trusting, and all-seeing,—<br /> +Grape-laden with full bunches of young wine!<br /> +While to the panting heart’s dry yearning drouth<br /> + Buds the rich dewy mouth—<br /> + <a +name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>Tenderly +uplifted,<br /> + Like two +rose-leaves drifted<br /> +Down in a long warm sigh of the sweet South!<br /> + Such love, such +love is thine,<br /> + Such heart is +mine,<br /> +O thou of mortal visions most divine!</p> +<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>TWILIGHT MUSIC</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Know</span> you the low pervading breeze<br /> + + +That softly sings<br /> + In the trembling leaves of twilight trees,<br /> +As if the wind were dreaming on its wings?<br /> + And have you marked their still degrees<br /> + Of ebbing melody, like the strings<br /> +Of a silver harp swept by a spirit’s hand<br /> + In some strange glimmering +land,<br /> + + +’Mid gushing springs,<br /> + + +And glistenings<br /> +Of waters and of planets, wild and grand!<br /> + And have you marked in that still time<br /> + The chariots of those shining cars<br /> + Brighten upon the hushing dark,<br /> + + +And bent to hark<br /> +That Voice, amid the poplar and the lime,<br /> + Pause in the dilating lustre<br /> + + +Of the spheral cluster;<br /> + Pause but to renew its sweetness, deep<br /> +As dreams of heaven to souls that sleep!<br /> + And felt, despite earth’s jarring wars,<br /> + + +When day is done<br /> + + +And dead the sun,<br /> + Still a voice divine can sing,<br /> + Still is there sympathy can bring<br /> + + +A whisper from the stars!<br /> +Ah, with this sentience quickly will you know<br /> +<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>How like a +tree I tremble to the tones<br /> + + +Of your sweet voice!<br /> + + +How keenly I rejoice<br /> + When in me with sweet motions slow<br /> +The spiritual music ebbs and moans—<br /> +Lives in the lustre of those heavenly eyes,<br /> +Dies in the light of its own paradise,—<br /> +Dies, and relives eternal from its death,<br /> +Immortal melodies in each deep breath;<br /> +Sweeps thro’ my being, bearing up to thee<br /> +Myself, the weight of its eternity;<br /> +Till, nerved to life from its ordeal fire,<br /> +It marries music with the human lyre,<br /> +Blending divine delight with loveliest desire.</p> +<h2><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>REQUIEM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Where</span> faces are +hueless, where eyelids are dewless,<br /> + Where passion is silent and hearts never crave;<br +/> +Where thought hath no theme, and where sleep hath no dream,<br /> + In patience and peace thou art gone—to thy +grave!<br /> +Gone where no warning can wake thee to morning,<br /> + Dead tho’ a thousand hands stretch’d out +to save.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou cam’st to us sighing, and singing +and dying,<br /> + How could it be otherwise, fair as thou wert?<br /> +Placidly fading, and sinking and shading<br /> + At last to that shadow, the latest desert;<br /> +Wasting and waning, but still, still remaining.<br /> + Alas for the hand that could deal the +death-hurt!</p> +<p class="poetry">The Summer that brightens, the Winter that +whitens,<br /> + The world and its voices, the sea and the sky,<br /> +The bloom of creation, the tie of relation,<br /> + All—all is a blank to thine ear and thine +eye;<br /> +The ear may not listen, the eye may not glisten,<br /> + Nevermore waked by a smile or a sigh.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tree that is rootless must ever be +fruitless;<br /> + And thou art alone in thy death and thy birth;<br /> +No last loving token of wedded love broken,<br /> + No sign of thy singleness, sweetness and worth;<br +/> +Lost as the flower that is drowned in the shower,<br /> + Fall’n like a snowflake to melt in the +earth.</p> +<h2><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>THE +FLOWER OF THE RUINS</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Take</span> thy lute and sing<br /> +By the ruined castle walls,<br /> +Where the torrent-foam falls,<br /> +And long weeds wave:<br /> + Take thy lute and sing,<br /> +O’er the grey ancestral grave!<br /> + Daughter of a King,<br /> + Tune thy string.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sing of happy hours,<br /> +In the roar of rushing time;<br /> +Till all the echoes chime<br /> +To the days gone by;<br /> + Sing of passing hours<br /> +To the ever-present sky;—<br /> + Weep—and let the showers<br /> + Wake thy flowers.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sing of glories +gone:—<br /> +No more the blazoned fold<br /> +From the banner is unrolled;<br /> +The gold sun is set.<br /> + Sing his glory gone,<br /> +For thy voice may charm him yet;<br /> + Daughter of the dawn,<br /> + He is gone!</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page38"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 38</span>Pour forth all thy grief!<br /> +Passionately sweep the chords,<br /> +Wed them quivering to thy words;<br /> +Wild words of wail!<br /> + Shed thy withered grief—<br /> +But hold not Autumn to thy bale;<br /> + The eddy of the leaf<br /> + Must be brief!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Sing up to the night:<br /> +Hard it is for streaming tears<br /> +To read the calmness of the spheres;<br /> +Coldly they shine;<br /> + Sing up to their light;<br /> +They have views thou may’st divine—<br /> + Gain prophetic sight<br /> + From their light!</p> +<p class="poetry"> On the windy hills<br /> +Lo, the little harebell leans<br /> +On the spire-grass that it queens,<br /> +With bonnet blue;<br /> + Trusting love instils<br /> +Love and subject reverence true;<br /> + Learn what love instils<br /> + On the hills!</p> +<p class="poetry"> By the bare wayside<br /> +Placid snowdrops hang their cheeks,<br /> +Softly touch’d with pale green streaks,<br /> +Soon, soon, to die;<br /> + On the clothed hedgeside<br /> +Bands of rosy beauties vie,<br /> + In their prophesied<br /> + Summer pride.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page39"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 39</span>From the snowdrop learn;<br /> +Not in her pale life lives she,<br /> +But in her blushing prophecy.<br /> +Thus be thy hopes,<br /> + Living but to yearn<br /> +Upwards to the hidden scopes;—<br /> + Even within the urn<br /> + Let them burn!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Heroes of thy race—<br +/> +Warriors with golden crowns,<br /> +Ghostly shapes with marbled frowns<br /> +Stare thee to stone;<br /> + Matrons of thy race<br /> +Pass before thee making moan;<br /> + Full of solemn grace<br /> + Is their pace.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Piteous their despair!<br /> +Piteous their looks forlorn!<br /> +Terrible their ghostly scorn!<br /> +Still hold thou fast;—<br /> + Heed not their despair!—<br /> +Thou art thy future, not thy past;<br /> + Let them glance and glare<br /> + Thro’ the air.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou the ruin’s bud,<br +/> +Be not that moist rich-smelling weed<br /> +With its arras-sembled brede,<br /> +And ruin-haunting stalk;<br /> + Thou the ruin’s bud,<br /> +Be still the rose that lights the walk,<br /> + Mix thy fragrant blood<br /> + With the flood!</p> +<h2><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>THE +RAPE OF AURORA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Never</span>, O never,<br +/> + Since dewy sweet Flora<br /> +Was ravished by Zephyr,<br /> + Was such a thing heard<br /> + + +In the valleys so hollow!<br /> + Till rosy Aurora,<br /> +Uprising as ever,<br /> + Bright Phosphor to follow,<br /> +Pale Phoebe to sever,<br /> + Was caught like a bird<br /> + + +To the breast of Apollo!</p> +<p class="poetry">Wildly she flutters,<br /> + And flushes all over<br /> +With passionate mutters<br /> + Of shame to the hush<br /> + + +Of his amorous whispers:<br /> + But O such a lover<br /> +Must win when he utters,<br /> + Thro’ rosy red lispers,<br /> +The pains that discover<br /> + The wishes that gush<br /> + + +From the torches of Hesperus.</p> +<p class="poetry">One finger just touching<br /> + The Orient chamber,<br /> +Unflooded the gushing<br /> + <a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>Of light that illumed<br /> + + +All her lustrous unveiling.<br /> + On clouds of glow amber,<br /> +Her limbs richly blushing,<br /> + She lay sweetly wailing,<br /> +In odours that gloomed<br /> + On the God as he bloomed<br /> + + +O’er her loveliness paling.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great Pan in his covert<br /> + Beheld the rare glistening,<br /> +The cry of the love-hurt,<br /> + The sigh and the kiss<br /> + + +Of the latest close mingling;<br /> + But love, thought he, listening,<br /> +Will not do a dove hurt,<br /> + I know,—and a tingling,<br /> +Latent with bliss,<br /> + Prickt thro’ him, I wis,<br /> + + +For the Nymph he was singling.</p> +<h2><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>SOUTH-WEST WIND IN THE WOODLAND</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> silence of +preluded song—<br /> +Æolian silence charms the woods;<br /> +Each tree a harp, whose foliaged strings<br /> +Are waiting for the master’s touch<br /> +To sweep them into storms of joy,<br /> +Stands mute and whispers not; the birds<br /> +Brood dumb in their foreboding nests,<br /> +Save here and there a chirp or tweet,<br /> +That utters fear or anxious love,<br /> +Or when the ouzel sends a swift<br /> +Half warble, shrinking back again<br /> +His golden bill, or when aloud<br /> +The storm-cock warns the dusking hills<br /> +And villages and valleys round:<br /> +For lo, beneath those ragged clouds<br /> +That skirt the opening west, a stream<br /> +Of yellow light and windy flame<br /> +Spreads lengthening southward, and the sky<br /> +Begins to gloom, and o’er the ground<br /> +A moan of coming blasts creeps low<br /> +And rustles in the crisping grass;<br /> +Till suddenly with mighty arms<br /> +Outspread, that reach the horizon round,<br /> +The great South-West drives o’er the earth,<br /> +And loosens all his roaring robes<br /> +Behind him, over heath and moor.<br /> +He comes upon the neck of night,<br /> +<a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>Like one +that leaps a fiery steed<br /> +Whose keen black haunches quivering shine<br /> +With eagerness and haste, that needs<br /> +No spur to make the dark leagues fly!<br /> +Whose eyes are meteors of speed;<br /> +Whose mane is as a flashing foam;<br /> +Whose hoofs are travelling thunder-shocks;—<br /> +He comes, and while his growing gusts,<br /> +Wild couriers of his reckless course,<br /> +Are whistling from the daggered gorse,<br /> +And hurrying over fern and broom,<br /> +Midway, far off, he feigns to halt<br /> +And gather in his streaming train.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, whirring like an eagle’s wing<br /> +Preparing for a wide blue flight;<br /> +Now, flapping like a sail that tacks<br /> +And chides the wet bewildered mast;<br /> +Now, screaming like an anguish’d thing<br /> +Chased close by some down-breathing beak;<br /> +Now, wailing like a breaking heart,<br /> +That will not wholly break, but hopes<br /> +With hope that knows itself in vain;<br /> +Now, threatening like a storm-charged cloud;<br /> +Now, cooing like a woodland dove;<br /> +Now, up again in roar and wrath<br /> +High soaring and wide sweeping; now,<br /> +With sudden fury dashing down<br /> +Full-force on the awaiting woods.</p> +<p class="poetry">Long waited there, for aspens frail<br /> +That tinkle with a silver bell,<br /> +To warn the Zephyr of their love,<br /> +When danger is at hand, and wake<br /> +The neighbouring boughs, surrendering all<br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>Their +prophet harmony of leaves,<br /> +Had caught his earliest windward thought,<br /> +And told it trembling; naked birk<br /> +Down showering her dishevelled hair,<br /> +And like a beauty yielding up<br /> +Her fate to all the elements,<br /> +Had swayed in answer; hazels close,<br /> +Thick brambles and dark brushwood tufts,<br /> +And briared brakes that line the dells<br /> +With shaggy beetling brows, had sung<br /> +Shrill music, while the tattered flaws<br /> +Tore over them, and now the whole<br /> +Tumultuous concords, seized at once<br /> +With savage inspiration,—pine,<br /> +And larch, and beech, and fir, and thorn,<br /> +And ash, and oak, and oakling, rave<br /> +And shriek, and shout, and whirl, and toss,<br /> +And stretch their arms, and split, and crack,<br /> +And bend their stems, and bow their heads,<br /> +And grind, and groan, and lion-like<br /> +Roar to the echo-peopled hills<br /> +And ravenous wilds, and crake-like cry<br /> +With harsh delight, and cave-like call<br /> +With hollow mouth, and harp-like thrill<br /> +With mighty melodies, sublime,<br /> +From clumps of column’d pines that wave<br /> +A lofty anthem to the sky,<br /> +Fit music for a prophet’s soul—<br /> +And like an ocean gathering power,<br /> +And murmuring deep, while down below<br /> +Reigns calm profound;—not trembling now<br /> +The aspens, but like freshening waves<br /> +That fall upon a shingly beach;—<br /> +And round the oak a solemn roll<br /> +Of organ harmony ascends,<br /> +<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>And in the +upper foliage sounds<br /> +A symphony of distant seas.</p> +<p class="poetry">The voice of nature is abroad<br /> +This night; she fills the air with balm;<br /> +Her mystery is o’er the land;<br /> +And who that hears her now and yields<br /> +His being to her yearning tones,<br /> +And seats his soul upon her wings,<br /> +And broadens o’er the wind-swept world<br /> +With her, will gather in the flight<br /> +More knowledge of her secret, more<br /> +Delight in her beneficence,<br /> +Than hours of musing, or the lore<br /> +That lives with men could ever give!<br /> +Nor will it pass away when morn<br /> +Shall look upon the lulling leaves,<br /> +And woodland sunshine, Eden-sweet,<br /> +Dreams o’er the paths of peaceful shade;—<br /> +For every elemental power<br /> +Is kindred to our hearts, and once<br /> +Acknowledged, wedded, once embraced,<br /> +Once taken to the unfettered sense,<br /> +Once claspt into the naked life,<br /> +The union is eternal.</p> +<h2><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>WILL +O’ THE WISP</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Follow</span> me, follow me,<br /> +Over brake and under tree,<br /> +Thro’ the bosky tanglery,<br /> + Brushwood and +bramble!<br /> + Follow me, follow me,<br /> + Laugh and leap +and scramble!<br /> + Follow, follow,<br /> + Hill and hollow,<br /> + Fosse and burrow,<br /> + Fen and furrow,<br /> +Down into the bulrush beds,<br /> +’Midst the reeds and osier heads,<br /> +In the rushy soaking damps,<br /> +Where the vapours pitch their camps,<br /> + Follow me, follow me,<br /> + For a midnight +ramble!<br /> +O! what a mighty fog,<br /> +What a merry night O ho!<br /> +Follow, follow, nigher, nigher—<br /> +Over bank, and pond, and briar,<br /> +Down into the croaking ditches,<br /> + Rotten log,<br /> + Spotted frog,<br /> + Beetle bright<br /> + With crawling light,<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> +Deep into the purple bog—<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>Where like +hosts of puckered witches<br /> +All the shivering agues sit<br /> +Warming hands and chafing feet,<br /> +By the blue marsh-hovering oils:<br /> +O the fools for all their moans!<br /> +Not a forest mad with fire<br /> +Could still their teeth, or warm their bones,<br /> +Or loose them from their chilly coils.<br /> + What a clatter,<br /> + How they chatter!<br /> + Shrink and huddle,<br /> + All a muddle!<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> +Down we go, down we go,<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> +Soon shall I be down below,<br /> +Plunging with a grey fat friar,<br /> +Hither, thither, to and fro,<br /> +Breathing mists and whisking lamps,<br /> +Plashing in the shiny swamps;<br /> +While my cousin Lantern Jack,<br /> +With cook ears and cunning eyes,<br /> +Turns him round upon his back,<br /> +Daubs him oozy green and black,<br /> +Sits upon his rolling size,<br /> +Where he lies, where he lies,<br /> +Groaning full of sack—<br /> +Staring with his great round eyes!<br /> +What a joy O ho!<br /> +Sits upon him in the swamps<br /> +Breathing mists and whisking lamps!<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> +Such a lad is Lantern Jack,<br /> + When he rides +the black nightmare<br /> +Through the fens, and puts a glare<br /> +<a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>In the +friar’s track.<br /> +Such a frolic lad, good lack!<br /> +To turn a friar on his back,<br /> +Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him.<br /> +Lay him sprawling, smack!<br /> +Such a lad is Lantern Jack!<br /> +Such a tricksy lad, good lack!<br /> + What a joy O +ho!<br /> + Follow me, follow me,<br /> +Where he sits, and you shall see!</p> +<h2><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> and +false! No dawn will greet<br /> + Thy waking beauty as of old;<br /> +The little flower beneath thy feet<br /> + Is alien to thy smile so cold;<br /> +The merry bird flown up to meet<br /> +Young morning from his nest i’ the wheat<br /> + Scatters his joy to wood and wold,<br /> + But scorns the arrogance of gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">False and fair! I scarce know why,<br /> + But standing in the lonely air,<br /> +And underneath the blessed sky,<br /> + I plead for thee in my despair;—<br /> +For thee cut off, both heart and eye<br /> +From living truth; thy spring quite dry;<br /> + For thee, that heaven my thought may share,<br /> + Forget—how false! and think—how +fair!</p> +<h2><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Two</span> wedded lovers +watched the rising moon,<br /> + That with her strange mysterious beauty glowing,<br +/> + Over misty hills and waters flowing,<br /> +Crowned the long twilight loveliness of June:<br /> + And thus in me, and thus in me, they spake,<br /> + The solemn secret of fist love did wake.</p> +<p class="poetry">Above the hills the blushing orb arose;<br /> + Her shape encircled by a radiant bower,<br /> + In which the nightingale with charméd +power<br /> +Poured forth enchantment o’er the dark repose:<br /> + And thus in me, and thus in me, they said,<br /> + Earth’s mists did with the sweet new spirit +wed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Far up the sky with ever purer beam,<br /> + Upon the throne of night the moon was seated,<br /> + And down the valley glens the shades retreated,<br +/> +And silver light was on the open stream.<br /> + And thus in me, and thus in me, they sighed,<br /> + Aspiring Love has hallowed Passion’s tide.</p> +<h2><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">cannot</span> lose thee +for a day,<br /> + But like a bird with restless wing<br /> +My heart will find thee far away,<br /> + And on thy bosom fall and sing,<br /> + My nest is here, my rest is +here;—<br /> + And in the lull of wind and rain,<br /> + Fresh voices make a sweet refrain,<br /> + ‘His rest is there, his nest +is there.’</p> +<p class="poetry">With thee the wind and sky are fair,<br /> + But parted, both are strange and dark;<br /> +And treacherous the quiet air<br /> + That holds me singing like a lark,<br /> + O shield my love, strong arm +above!<br /> + Till in the hush of wind and rain,<br /> + Fresh voices make a rich refrain,<br /> + ‘The arm above will shield +thy love.’</p> +<h2><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>DAPHNE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Musing</span> on the fate +of Daphne,<br /> +Many feelings urged my breast,<br /> +For the God so keen desiring,<br /> +And the Nymph so deep distrest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Never flashed thro’ sylvan valley<br /> +Visions so divinely fair!<br /> +He with early ardour glowing,<br /> +She with rosy anguish rare.</p> +<p class="poetry">Only still more sweet and lovely<br /> +For those terrors on her brows,<br /> +Those swift glances wild and brilliant,<br /> +Those delicious panting vows.</p> +<p class="poetry">Timidly the timid shoulders<br /> +Shrinking from the fervid hand!<br /> +Dark the tide of hair back-flowing<br /> +From the blue-veined temples bland!</p> +<p class="poetry">Lovely, too, divine Apollo<br /> +In the speed of his pursuit;<br /> +With his eye an azure lustre,<br /> +And his voice a summer lute!</p> +<p class="poetry">Looking like some burnished eagle<br /> +Hovering o’er a fluttered bird;<br /> +Not unseen of silver Naiad,<br /> +And of wistful Dryad heard!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>Many a morn the naked beauty<br /> +Saw her bright reflection drown<br /> +In the flowing smooth-faced river,<br /> +While the god came sheening down.</p> +<p class="poetry">Down from Pindus bright Peneus<br /> +Tells its muse-melodious source;<br /> +Sacred is its fountained birthplace,<br /> +And the Orient floods its course.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many a morn the sunny darling<br /> +Saw the rising chariot-rays,<br /> +From the winding river-reaches,<br /> +Mellowing in amber haze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thro’ the flaming mountain gorges<br /> +Lo, the River leaps the plain;<br /> +Like a wild god-stridden courser,<br /> +Tossing high its foamy mane.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then he swims thro’ laurelled +sunlight,<br /> +Full of all sensations sweet,<br /> +Misty with his morning incense,<br /> +To the mirrored maiden’s feet!</p> +<p class="poetry">Wet and bright the dinting pebbles<br /> +Shine where oft she paused and stood;<br /> +All her dreamy warmth revolving,<br /> +While the chilly waters wooed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like to rosy-born Aurora,<br /> +Glowing freshly into view,<br /> +When her doubtful foot she ventures<br /> +On the first cold morning blue.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>White as that Thessalian lily,<br /> +Fairest Tempe’s fairest flower,<br /> +Lo, the tall Peneïan virgin<br /> +Stands beneath her bathing bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">There the laurell’d wreaths +o’erarching<br /> +Crown’d the dainty shuddering maid;<br /> +There the dark prophetic laurel<br /> +Kiss’d her with its sister shade.</p> +<p class="poetry">There the young green glistening leaflets<br /> +Hush’d with love their breezy peal;<br /> +There the little opening flowerets<br /> +Blush’d beneath her vermeil heel!</p> +<p class="poetry">There among the conscious arbours<br /> +Sounds of soft tumultuous wail,<br /> +Mysteries of love, melodious,<br /> +Came upon the lyric gale!</p> +<p class="poetry">Breathings of a deep enchantment,<br /> +Effluence of immortal grace,<br /> +Flitted round her faltering footstep,<br /> +Spread a balm about her face!</p> +<p class="poetry">Witless of the enamour’d presence,<br /> +Like a dreamy lotus bud<br /> +From its drowsy stem down-drooping,<br /> +Gazed she in the glowing flood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Softly sweet with fluttering presage,<br /> +Felt she that ethereal sense,<br /> +Drinking charms of love delirious,<br /> +Reaping bliss of love intense!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>All the air was thrill’d with sunrise,<br /> +Birds made music of her name,<br /> +And the god-impregnate water<br /> +Claspt her image ere she came.</p> +<p class="poetry">Richer for that glance unconscious!<br /> +Dearer for that soft dismay!<br /> +And the sudden self-possession!<br /> +And the smile as bright as day!</p> +<p class="poetry">Plunging ’mid her scattered tresses,<br +/> +With her blue invoking eyes;<br /> +See her like a star descending!<br /> +Like a rosebud see her rise!</p> +<p class="poetry">Like a rosebud in the morning<br /> +Dashing off its jewell’d dews,<br /> +Ere unfolding all its fragrance<br /> +It is gathered by the muse!</p> +<p class="poetry">Beauteous in the foamy laughter<br /> +Bubbling round her shrinking waist,<br /> +Lo! from locks and lips and eyelids<br /> +Rain the glittering pearl-drops chaste!</p> +<p class="poetry">And about the maiden rapture<br /> +Still the ruddy ripples play’d,<br /> +Ebbing round in startled circlets<br /> +When her arms began to wade;</p> +<p class="poetry">Flowing in like tides attracted<br /> +To the glowing crescent shine!<br /> +Clasping her ambrosial whiteness<br /> +Like an Autumn-tinted vine!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>Sinking low with love’s emotion!<br /> +Levying with look and tone<br /> +All love’s rosy arts to mimic<br /> +Cytherea’s magic zone!</p> +<p class="poetry">Trembling up with adoration<br /> +To the crimson daisy tip<br /> +Budding from the snowy bosom—<br /> +Fainter than the rose-red lip!</p> +<p class="poetry">Rising in a storm of wavelets,<br /> +That for shelter, feigning fright,<br /> +Prest to those twin-heaving havens,<br /> +Harbour’d there beneath her light;</p> +<p class="poetry">Gleaming in a whirl of eddies<br /> +Round her lucid throat and neck;<br /> +Eddying in a gleam of dimples<br /> +Up against her bloomy cheek;</p> +<p class="poetry">Bribing all the breezy water<br /> +With rich warmth, the nymph to keep<br /> +In a self-imprison’d plaisance,<br /> +Tempting her from deep to deep.</p> +<p class="poetry">Till at last delirious passion<br /> +Thrill’d the god to wild excess,<br /> +And the fervour of a moment<br /> +Made divinity confess;</p> +<p class="poetry">And he stood in all his glory!<br /> +But so radiant, being near,<br /> +That her eyes were frozen on him<br /> +In a fascinated fear!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>All with orient splendour shining,<br /> +All with roseate birth aglow,<br /> +Gleam’d the golden god before her,<br /> +With his golden crescent bow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon the dazzled light subsided,<br /> +And he seem’d a beauteous youth,<br /> +Form’d to gain the maiden’s murmurs,<br /> +And to pledge the vows of truth.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! that thus he had continued!<br /> +O, that such for her had been!<br /> +Graceful with all godlike beauty,<br /> +But so humanly serene!</p> +<p class="poetry">Cheeks, and mouth, and mellow ringlets,<br /> +Bounteous as the mid-day beam;<br /> +Pleading looks and wistful tremour,<br /> +Tender as a maiden’s dream!</p> +<p class="poetry">Palms that like a bird’s throbb’d +bosom<br /> +Palpitate with eagerness,<br /> +Lips, the bridals of the roses,<br /> +Dewy sweet from the caress!</p> +<p class="poetry">Lips and limbs, and eyes and ringlets,<br /> +Swaying, praying to one prayer,<br /> +Like a lyre, swept by a spirit,<br /> +In the still, enraptur’d air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like a lyre in some far valley,<br /> +Uttering ravishments divine!<br /> +All its strings to viewless fingers<br /> +Yearning, modulations fine!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>Yearning with melodious fervour!<br /> +Like a beauteous maiden flower,<br /> +When the young beloved three paces<br /> +Hovers from the bridal bower.</p> +<p class="poetry">Throbbing thro’ the dawning stillness!<br +/> +As a heart within a breast,<br /> +When the young beloved is stepping<br /> +Radiant to the nuptial nest.</p> +<p class="poetry">O for Daphne! gentle Daphne<br /> +Ever warmer by degrees<br /> +Whispers full of hopes and visions<br /> +Throng her ears like honey bees!</p> +<p class="poetry">Never yet was lonely blossom<br /> +Woo’d with such delicious voice!<br /> +Never since hath mortal maiden<br /> +Dwelt on such celestial choice!</p> +<p class="poetry">Love-suffused she quivers, falters—<br /> +Falters, sighs, but never speaks,<br /> +All her rosy blood up-gushing<br /> +Overflows her ripe young cheeks.</p> +<p class="poetry">Blushing, sweet with virgin blushes,<br /> +All her loveliness a-flame,<br /> +Stands she in the orient waters,<br /> +Stricken o’er with speechless shame!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah! but lovelier, ever lovelier,<br /> +As more deep the colour glows,<br /> +And the honey-laden lily<br /> +Changes to the fragrant rose.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>While the god with meek embraces,<br /> +Whispering all his sacred charms,<br /> +Softly folds her, gently holds her,<br /> +In his white encircling arms!</p> +<p class="poetry">But, O Dian! veil not wholly<br /> +Thy pale crescent from the morn!<br /> +Vanish not, O virgin goddess,<br /> +With that look of pallid scorn!</p> +<p class="poetry">Still thy pure protecting influence<br /> +Shed from those fair watchful eyes!—<br /> +Lo! her angry orb has vanished,<br /> +And the bright sun thrones the skies!</p> +<p class="poetry">Voicelessly the forest Virgin<br /> +Vanished! but one look she gave—<br /> +Keen as Niobean arrow<br /> +Thro’ the maiden’s heart it drave.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus toward that throning bosom<br /> +Where all earth is warmed,—each spot<br /> +Nourished with autumnal blessings—<br /> +Icy chill was Daphne caught.</p> +<p class="poetry">Icy chill! but swift revulsion<br /> +All her gentler self renewed,<br /> +Even as icy Winter quickens<br /> +With bud-opening warmth imbued.</p> +<p class="poetry">Even as a torpid brooklet,<br /> +That to the night-gleaming moon<br /> +Flashed in turn the frozen glances,<br /> +Melts upon the breast of noon.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>But no more—O never, never,<br /> +Turns she to that bosom bright,<br /> +Swiftly all her senses counsel,<br /> +All her nerves are strung to flight.</p> +<p class="poetry">O’er the brows of radiant Pindus<br /> +Rolls a shadow dark and cold,<br /> +And a sound of lamentation<br /> +Issues from its mournful fold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Voice of the far-sighted Muses!<br /> +Cry of keen foreboding song!<br /> +Every cleft of startled Tempe<br /> +Tingles with it sharp and long.</p> +<p class="poetry">Over bourn and bosk and dingle,<br /> +Over rivers, over rills,<br /> +Runs the sad subservient Echo<br /> +Toward the dim blue distant hills!</p> +<p class="poetry">And another and another!<br /> +’Tis a cry more wild than all;<br /> +And the hills with muffled voices<br /> +Answer ‘Daphne!’ to the call.</p> +<p class="poetry">And another and another!<br /> +’Tis a cry so wildly sweet,<br /> +That her charmed heart turns rebel<br /> +To the instinct of her feet;</p> +<p class="poetry">And she pauses for an instant;<br /> +But his arms have scarcely slid<br /> +Round her waist in cestian girdles,<br /> +And his low voluptuous lid</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>Lifted pleading, and the honey<br /> +Of his mouth for hers athirst,<br /> +Ruby glistening, raised for moisture—<br /> +Like a bud that waits to burst</p> +<p class="poetry">In the sweet espousing showers—<br /> +And his tongue has scarce begun<br /> +With its inarticulate burthen,<br /> +And the clouds scarce show the sun</p> +<p class="poetry">As it pierces thro’ a crevice<br /> +Of the mass that closed it o’er,<br /> +When again the horror flashes—<br /> +And she turns to flight once more!</p> +<p class="poetry">And again o’er radiant Pindus<br /> +Rolls the shadow dark and cold,<br /> +And the sound of lamentation<br /> +Issues from its sable fold!</p> +<p class="poetry">And again the light winds chide her<br /> +As she darts from his embrace—<br /> +And again the far-voiced echoes<br /> +Speak their tidings of the chase.</p> +<p class="poetry">Loudly now as swiftly, swiftly,<br /> +O’er the glimmering sands she speeds;<br /> +Wildly now as in the furzes<br /> +From the piercing spikes she bleeds.</p> +<p class="poetry">Deeply and with direful anguish,<br /> +As above each crimson drop<br /> +Passion checks the god Apollo,<br /> +And love bids him weep and stop.—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>He above each drop of crimson<br /> +Shadowing—like the laurel leaf<br /> +That above himself will shadow—<br /> +Sheds a fadeless look of grief.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then with love’s remorseful discord,<br +/> +With its own desire at war,<br /> +Sighing turns, while dimly fleeting<br /> +Daphne flies the chase afar.</p> +<p class="poetry">But all nature is against her!<br /> +Pan, with all his sylvan troop,<br /> +Thro’ the vista’d woodland valleys<br /> +Blocks her course with cry and whoop!</p> +<p class="poetry">In the twilights of the thickets<br /> +Trees bend down their gnarled boughs,<br /> +Wild green leaves and low curved branches<br /> +Hold her hair and beat her brows.</p> +<p class="poetry">Many a brake of brushwood covert,<br /> +Where cold darkness slumbers mute,<br /> +Slips a shrub to thwart her passage,<br /> +Slides a hand to clutch her foot.</p> +<p class="poetry">Glens and glades of lushest verdure<br /> +Toil her in their tawny mesh,<br /> +Wilder-woofed ways and alleys<br /> +Lock her struggling limbs in leash.</p> +<p class="poetry">Feathery grasses, flowery mosses,<br /> +Knot themselves to make her trip;<br /> +Sprays and stubborn sprigs outstretching<br /> +Put a bridle on her lip;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>Many a winding lane betrays her,<br /> +Many a sudden bosky shoot,<br /> +And her knee makes many a stumble<br /> +O’er some hidden damp old root,</p> +<p class="poetry">Whose quaint face peers green and dusky<br /> +’Mongst the matted growth of plants,<br /> +While she rises wild and weltering,<br /> +Speeding on with many pants.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tangles of the wild red strawberry<br /> +Spread their freckled trammels frail;<br /> +In the pathway creeping brambles<br /> +Catch her in their thorny trail.</p> +<p class="poetry">All the widely sweeping greensward<br /> +Shifts and swims from knoll to knoll;<br /> +Grey rough-fingered oak and elm wood<br /> +Push her by from bole to bole.</p> +<p class="poetry">Groves of lemon, groves of citron,<br /> +Tall high-foliaged plane and palm,<br /> +Bloomy myrtle, light-blue olive,<br /> +Wave her back with gusts of balm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Languid jasmine, scrambling briony,<br /> +Walls of close-festooning braid,<br /> +Fling themselves about her, mingling<br /> +With her wafted looks, waylaid.</p> +<p class="poetry">Twisting bindweed, honey’d woodbine,<br +/> +Cling to her, while, red and blue,<br /> +On her rounded form ripe berries<br /> +Dash and die in gory dew.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>Running ivies dark and lingering<br /> +Round her light limbs drag and twine;<br /> +Round her waist with languorous tendrils<br /> +Reels and wreathes the juicy vine;</p> +<p class="poetry">Reining in the flying creature<br /> +With its arms about her mouth;<br /> +Bursting all its mellowing bunches<br /> +To seduce her husky drouth;</p> +<p class="poetry">Crowning her with amorous clusters;<br /> +Pouring down her sloping back<br /> +Fresh-born wines in glittering rillets,<br /> +Following her in crimson track.</p> +<p class="poetry">Buried, drenched in dewy foliage,<br /> +Thus she glimmers from the dawn,<br /> +Watched by every forest creature,<br /> +Fleet-foot Oread, frolic Faun.</p> +<p class="poetry">Silver-sandalled Arethusa<br /> +Not more swiftly fled the sands,<br /> +Fled the plains and fled the sunlights,<br /> +Fled the murmuring ocean strands.</p> +<p class="poetry">O, that now the earth would open!<br /> +O, that now the shades would hide!<br /> +O, that now the gods would shelter!<br /> +Caverns lead and seas divide!</p> +<p class="poetry">Not more faint soft-lowing Io<br /> +Panted in those starry eyes,<br /> +When the sleepless midnight meadows<br /> +Piteously implored the skies!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>Still her breathless flight she urges<br /> +By the sanctuary stream,<br /> +And the god with golden swiftness<br /> +Follows like an eastern beam.</p> +<p class="poetry">Her the close bewildering greenery<br /> +Darkens with its duskiest green,—<br /> +Him each little leaflet welcomes,<br /> +Flushing with an orient sheen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus he nears, and now all Tempe<br /> +Rings with his melodious cry,<br /> +Avenues and blue expanses<br /> +Beam in his large lustrous eye!</p> +<p class="poetry">All the branches start to music!<br /> +As if from a secret spring<br /> +Thousands of sweet bills are bubbling<br /> +In the nest and on the wing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gleams and shines the glassy river<br /> +And rich valleys every one;<br /> +But of all the throbbing beauty<br /> +Brightest! singled by the sun!</p> +<p class="poetry">Ivy round her glimmering ancle,<br /> +Vine about her glowing brow,<br /> +Never sure was bride so beauteous,<br /> +Daphne, chosen nymph, as thou!</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus he nears! and now she feels him<br /> +Breathing hot on every limb;<br /> +And he hears her own quick pantings—<br /> +Ah! that they might be for him.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>O, that like the flower he tramples,<br /> +Bending from his golden tread,<br /> +Full of fair celestial ardours,<br /> +She would bow her bridal head.</p> +<p class="poetry">O, that like the flower she presses,<br /> +Nodding from her lily touch,<br /> +Light as in the harmless breezes,<br /> +She would know the god for such!</p> +<p class="poetry">See! the golden arms are round her—<br /> +To the air she grasps and clings!<br /> +See! his glowing arms have wound her—<br /> +To the sky she shrieks and springs!</p> +<p class="poetry">See! the flushing chace of Tempe<br /> +Trembles with Olympian air—<br /> +See! green sprigs and buds are shooting<br /> +From those white raised arms of prayer!</p> +<p class="poetry">In the earth her feet are rooting!—<br /> +Breasts and limbs and lifted eyes,<br /> +Hair and lips and stretching fingers,<br /> +Fade away—and fadeless rise.</p> +<p class="poetry">And the god whose fervent rapture<br /> +Clasps her finds his close embrace<br /> +Full of palpitating branches,<br /> +And new leaves that bud apace,</p> +<p class="poetry">Bound his wonder-stricken forehead;—<br +/> +While in ebbing measures slow<br /> +Sounds of softly dying pulses<br /> +Pause and quiver, pause and go;</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>Go, and come again, and flutter<br /> +On the verge of life,—then flee!<br /> +All the white ambrosial beauty<br /> +Is a lustrous Laurel Tree!</p> +<p class="poetry">Still with the great panting love-chase<br /> +All its running sap is warmed;—<br /> +But from head to foot the virgin<br /> +Is transfigured and transformed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Changed!—yet the green Dryad nature<br /> +Is instinct with human ties,<br /> +And above its anguish’d lover<br /> +Breathes pathetic sympathies;</p> +<p class="poetry">Sympathies of love and sorrow;<br /> +Joy in her divine escape;<br /> +Breathing through her bursting foliage<br /> +Comfort to his bending shape.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vainly now the floating Naiads<br /> +Seek to pierce the laurel maze,<br /> +Nought but laurel meets their glances,<br /> +Laurel glistens as they gaze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nought but bright prophetic laurel!<br /> +Laurel over eyes and brows,<br /> +Over limbs and over bosom,<br /> +Laurel leaves and laurel boughs!</p> +<p class="poetry">And in vain the listening Dryad<br /> +Shells her hand against her ear!—<br /> +All is silence—save the echo<br /> +Travelling in the distance drear.</p> +<h2><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>LONDON +BY LAMPLIGHT</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> stands a +singer in the street,<br /> +He has an audience motley and meet;<br /> +Above him lowers the London night,<br /> +And around the lamps are flaring bright.</p> +<p class="poetry">His minstrelsy may be unchaste—<br /> +’Tis much unto that motley taste,<br /> +And loud the laughter he provokes<br /> +From those sad slaves of obscene jokes.</p> +<p class="poetry">But woe is many a passer by<br /> +Who as he goes turns half an eye,<br /> +To see the human form divine<br /> +Thus Circe-wise changed into swine!</p> +<p class="poetry">Make up the sum of either sex<br /> +That all our human hopes perplex,<br /> +With those unhappy shapes that know<br /> +The silent streets and pale cock-crow.</p> +<p class="poetry">And can I trace in such dull eyes<br /> +Of fireside peace or country skies?<br /> +And could those haggard cheeks presume<br /> +To memories of a May-tide bloom?</p> +<p class="poetry">Those violated forms have been<br /> +The pride of many a flowering green;<br /> +And still the virgin bosom heaves<br /> +With daisy meads and dewy leaves.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>But stygian darkness reigns within<br /> +The river of death from the founts of sin;<br /> +And one prophetic water rolls<br /> +Its gas-lit surface for their souls.</p> +<p class="poetry">I will not hide the tragic sight—<br /> +Those drown’d black locks, those dead lips white,<br /> +Will rise from out the slimy flood,<br /> +And cry before God’s throne for blood!</p> +<p class="poetry">Those stiffened limbs, that swollen +face,—<br /> +Pollution’s last and best embrace,<br /> +Will call, as such a picture can,<br /> +For retribution upon man.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hark! how their feeble laughter rings,<br /> +While still the ballad-monger sings,<br /> +And flatters their unhappy breasts<br /> +With poisonous words and pungent jests.</p> +<p class="poetry">O how would every daisy blush<br /> +To see them ’mid that earthy crush!<br /> +O dumb would be the evening thrush,<br /> +And hoary look the hawthorn bush!</p> +<p class="poetry">The meadows of their infancy<br /> +Would shrink from them, and every tree,<br /> +And every little laughing spot,<br /> +Would hush itself and know them not.</p> +<p class="poetry">Precursor to what black despairs<br /> +Was that child’s face which once was theirs!<br /> +And O to what a world of guile<br /> +Was herald that young angel smile!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span>That face which to a father’s eye<br /> +Was balm for all anxiety;<br /> +That smile which to a mother’s heart<br /> +Went swifter than the swallow’s dart!</p> +<p class="poetry">O happy homes! that still they know<br /> +At intervals, with what a woe<br /> +Would ye look on them, dim and strange,<br /> +Suffering worse than winter change!</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet could I transplant them there,<br /> +To breathe again the innocent air<br /> +Of youth, and once more reconcile<br /> +Their outcast looks with nature’s smile;</p> +<p class="poetry">Could I but give them one clear day<br /> +Of this delicious loving May,<br /> +Release their souls from anguish dark,<br /> +And stand them underneath the lark;—</p> +<p class="poetry">I think that Nature would have power<br /> +To graft again her blighted flower<br /> +Upon the broken stem, renew<br /> +Some portion of its early hue;—</p> +<p class="poetry">The heavy flood of tears unlock,<br /> +More precious than the Scriptured rock;<br /> +At least instil a happier mood,<br /> +And bring them back to womanhood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! how many lost ones claim<br /> +This refuge from despair and shame!<br /> +How many, longing for the light,<br /> +Sink deeper in the abyss this night!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +71</span>O, crying sin! O, blushing thought!<br /> +Not only unto those that wrought<br /> +The misery and deadly blight;<br /> +But those that outcast them this night!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, agony of grief! for who<br /> +Less dainty than his race, will do<br /> +Such battle for their human right,<br /> +As shall awake this startled night?</p> +<p class="poetry">Proclaim this evil human page<br /> +Will ever blot the Golden Age<br /> +That poets dream and saints invite,<br /> +If it be unredeemed this night?</p> +<p class="poetry">This night of deep solemnity,<br /> +And verdurous serenity,<br /> +While over every fleecy field<br /> +The dews descend and odours yield.</p> +<p class="poetry">This night of gleaming floods and falls,<br /> +Of forest glooms and sylvan calls,<br /> +Of starlight on the pebbly rills,<br /> +And twilight on the circling hills.</p> +<p class="poetry">This night! when from the paths of men<br /> +Grey error steams as from a fen;<br /> +As o’er this flaring City wreathes<br /> +The black cloud-vapour that it breathes!</p> +<p class="poetry">This night from which a morn will spring<br /> +Blooming on its orient wing;<br /> +A morn to roll with many more<br /> +Its ghostly foam on the twilight shore.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>Morn! when the fate of all mankind<br /> +Hangs poised in doubt, and man is blind.<br /> +His duties of the day will seem<br /> +The fact of life, and mine the dream:</p> +<p class="poetry">The destinies that bards have sung,<br /> +Regeneration to the young,<br /> +Reverberation of the truth,<br /> +And virtuous culture unto youth!</p> +<p class="poetry">Youth! in whose season let abound<br /> +All flowers and fruits that strew the ground,<br /> +Voluptuous joy where love consents,<br /> +And health and pleasure pitch their tents:</p> +<p class="poetry">All rapture and all pure delight;<br /> +A garden all unknown to blight;<br /> +But never the unnatural sight<br /> +That throngs the shameless song this night!</p> +<h2><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Under</span> boughs of +breathing May,<br /> +In the mild spring-time I lay,<br /> +Lonely, for I had no love;<br /> + And the sweet birds all sang for +pity,<br /> + Cuckoo, lark, and dove.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tell me, cuckoo, then I cried,<br /> +Dare I woo and wed a bride?<br /> +I, like thee, have no home-nest;<br /> + And the twin notes thus tuned +their ditty,—<br /> + ‘Love can answer best.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor, warm dove with tender coo,<br /> +Have I thy soft voice to woo,<br /> +Even were a damsel by;<br /> + And the deep woodland crooned its +ditty,—<br /> + ‘Love her first and try.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor have I, wild lark, thy wing,<br /> +That from bluest heaven can bring<br /> +Bliss, whatever fate befall;<br /> + And the sky-lyrist trilled this +ditty,—<br /> + ‘Love will give thee all.’</p> +<p class="poetry">So it chanced while June was young,<br /> +Wooing well with fervent song,<br /> +I had won a damsel coy;<br /> + And the sweet birds that sang for +pity,<br /> + Jubileed for joy.</p> +<h2><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>PASTORALS</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> sweet on sunny +afternoons,<br /> +For those who journey light and well,<br /> +To loiter up a hilly rise<br /> +Which hides the prospect far beyond,<br /> +And fancy all the landscape lying<br /> + Beautiful and +still;</p> +<p class="poetry">Beneath a sky of summer blue,<br /> +Whose rounded cloudlets, folded soft,<br /> +Gaze on the scene which we await<br /> +And picture from their peacefulness;<br /> +So calmly to the earth inclining<br /> + Float those +loving shapes!</p> +<p class="poetry">Like airy brides, each singling out<br /> +A spot to love and bless with love,<br /> +Their creamy bosoms glowing warm,<br /> +Till distance weds them to the hills,<br /> +And with its latest gleam the river<br /> + Sinks in their +embrace.</p> +<p class="poetry">And silverly the river runs,<br /> +And many a graceful wind he makes,<br /> +By fields where feed the happy flocks,<br /> +And hedge-rows hushing pleasant lanes,<br /> +The charms of English home reflected<br /> + In his shining +eye:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>Ancestral oak, broad-foliaged elm,<br /> +Rich meadows sunned and starred with flowers,<br /> +The cottage breathing tender smoke<br /> +Against the brooding golden air,<br /> +With glimpses of a stately mansion<br /> + On a woodland +sward;</p> +<p class="poetry">And circling round, as with a ring,<br /> +The distance spreading amber haze,<br /> +Enclosing hills and pastures sweet;<br /> +A depth of soft and mellow light<br /> +Which fills the heart with sudden yearning<br /> + Aimless and +serene!</p> +<p class="poetry">No disenchantment follows here,<br /> +For nature’s inspiration moves<br /> +The dream which she herself fulfils;<br /> +And he whose heart, like valley warmth,<br /> +Steams up with joy at scenes like this<br /> + Shall never be +forlorn.</p> +<p class="poetry">And O for any human soul<br /> +The rapture of a wide survey—<br /> +A valley sweeping to the West,<br /> +With all its wealth of loveliness,<br /> +Is more than recompense for days<br /> + That taught us +to endure.</p> +<h3><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>II</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Yon</span> upland slope which hides the sun<br /> + Ascending from his eastern deeps,<br /> + And now against the hues of dawn<br /> + One level line of tillage rears;<br /> + The furrowed brow of toil and time;<br /> +To many it is but a sweep of land!</p> +<p class="poetry"> To others ’tis an +Autumn trust,<br /> + But unto me a mystery;—<br /> + An influence strange and swift as dreams;<br /> + A whispering of old romance;<br /> + A temple naked to the clouds;<br /> +Or one of nature’s bosoms fresh revealed,</p> +<p class="poetry"> Heaving with adoration! +there<br /> + The work of husbandry is done,<br /> + And daily bread is daily earned;<br /> + Nor seems there ought to indicate<br /> + The springs which move in me such thoughts,<br /> +But from my soul a spirit calls them up.</p> +<p class="poetry"> All day into the open sky,<br +/> + All night to the eternal stars,<br /> + For ever both at morn and eve<br /> + Men mellow distances draw near,<br /> + And shadows lengthen in the dusk,<br /> +Athwart the heavens it rolls its glimmering line!</p> +<p class="poetry"> When twilight from the +dream-hued West<br /> + Sighs hush! and all the land is still;<br /> + <a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>When, from the lush empurpling East,<br /> + The twilight of the crowing cock<br /> + Peers on the drowsy village roofs,<br /> +Athwart the heavens that glimmering line is seen.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And now beneath the rising +sun,<br /> + Whose shining chariot overpeers<br /> + The irradiate ridge, while fetlock deep<br /> + In the rich soil his coursers plunge—<br /> + How grand in robes of light it looks!<br /> +How glorious with rare suggestive grace!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The ploughman mounting up the +height<br /> + Becomes a glowing shape, as though<br /> + ’Twere young Triptolemus, plough in hand,<br +/> + While Ceres in her amber scarf<br /> + With gentle love directs him how<br /> +To wed the willing earth and hope for fruits!</p> +<p class="poetry"> The furrows running up are +fraught<br /> + With meanings; there the goddess walks,<br /> + While Proserpine is young, and there—<br /> + ’Mid the late autumn sheaves, her voice<br /> + Sobbing and choked with dumb despair—<br /> +The nights will hear her wailing for her child!</p> +<p class="poetry"> Whatever dim tradition +tells,<br /> + Whatever history may reveal,<br /> + Or fancy, from her starry brows,<br /> + Of light or dreamful lustre shed,<br /> + Could not at this sweet time increase<br /> +The quiet consecration of the spot.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page78"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 78</span>Blest with the sweat of labour, +blest<br /> + With the young sun’s first vigorous beams,<br +/> + Village hope and harvest prayer,—<br /> + The heart that throbs beneath it holds<br /> + A bliss so perfect in itself<br /> +Men’s thoughts must borrow rather than bestow.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> standing on this +hedgeside path,<br /> +Up which the evening winds are blowing<br /> +Wildly from the lingering lines<br /> + Of sunset +o’er the hills;<br /> +Unaided by one motive thought,<br /> +My spirit with a strange impulsion<br /> +Rises, like a fledgling,<br /> +Whose wings are not mature, but still<br /> +Supported by its strong desire<br /> +Beats up its native air and leaves<br /> + The tender +mother’s nest.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great music under heaven is made,<br /> +And in the track of rushing darkness<br /> +Comes the solemn shape of night,<br /> + And broods above +the earth.<br /> +A thing of Nature am I now,<br /> +Abroad, without a sense or feeling<br /> +Born not of her bosom;<br /> +Content with all her truths and fates;<br /> +Ev’n as yon strip of grass that bows<br /> +Above the new-born violet bloom,<br /> + And sings with +wood and field.</p> +<h3><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Lo</span>, as a tree, whose wintry twigs<br /> + Drink in the sun with fibrous joy,<br /> + And down into its dampest roots<br /> + Thrills quickened with the draught of life,<br /> +I wake unto the dawn, and leave my griefs to drowse.</p> +<p class="poetry"> I rise and drink the fresh +sweet air:<br /> + Each draught a future bud of Spring;<br /> + Each glance of blue a birth of green;<br /> + I will not mimic yonder oak<br /> +That dallies with dead leaves ev’n while the primrose +peeps.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But full of these +warm-whispering beams,<br /> + Like Memnon in his mother’s eye,—<br /> + Aurora! when the statue stone<br /> + Moaned soft to her pathetic touch,—<br /> +My soul shall own its parent in the founts of day!</p> +<p class="poetry"> And ever in the recurring +light,<br /> + True to the primal joy of dawn,<br /> + Forget its barren griefs; and aye<br /> + Like aspens in the faintest breeze<br /> +Turn all its silver sides and tremble into song.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> from the meadow +floods the wild duck clamours,<br /> +Now the wood pigeon wings a rapid flight,<br /> +Now the homeward rookery follows up its vanguard,<br /> +And the valley mists are curling up the hills.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>Three short songs gives the clear-voiced throstle,<br /> +Sweetening the twilight ere he fills the nest;<br /> +While the little bird upon the leafless branches<br /> +Tweets to its mate a tiny loving note.</p> +<p class="poetry">Deeper the stillness hangs on every motion;<br +/> +Calmer the silence follows every call;<br /> +Now all is quiet save the roosting pheasant,<br /> +The bell-wether’s tinkle and the watch-dog’s +bark.</p> +<p class="poetry">Softly shine the lights from the silent +kindling homestead,<br /> +Stars of the hearth to the shepherd in the fold;<br /> +Springs of desire to the traveller on the roadway;<br /> +Ever breathing incense to the ever-blessing sky!</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry"> How barren would this valley +be,<br /> + Without the golden orb that gazes<br /> + On it, broadening to hues<br /> + Of rose, and spreading wings of amber;<br /> +Blessing it before it falls asleep.</p> +<p class="poetry"> How barren would this valley +be,<br /> + Without the human lives now beating<br /> + In it, or the throbbing hearts<br /> + Far distant, who their flower of childhood<br /> +Cherish here, and water it with tears!</p> +<p class="poetry"> How barren should I be, were +I<br /> + Without above that loving splendour,<br /> + Shedding light and warmth! without<br /> + Some kindred natures of my kind<br /> +To joy in me, or yearn towards me now!</p> +<h3><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Summer</span> glows warm on +the meadows, and speedwell, and gold-cups, and daisies<br /> +Darken ’mid deepening masses of sorrel, and shadowy +grasses<br /> +Show the ripe hue to the farmer, and summon the scythe and the +hay-makers<br /> +Down from the village; and now, even now, the air smells of the +mowing,<br /> +And the sharp song of the scythe whistles daily; from dawn, till +the gloaming<br /> +Wears its cool star, sweet and welcome to all flaming faces +afield now;<br /> +Heavily weighs the hot season, and drowses the darkening +foliage,<br /> +Drooping with languor; the white cloud floats, but sails not, for +windless<br /> +Heaven’s blue tents it; no lark singing up in its fleecy +white valleys;<br /> +Up in its fairy white valleys, once feathered with minstrels, +melodious<br /> +With the invisible joy that wakes dawn o’er the green +fields of England.<br /> +Summer glows warm on the meadows; then come, let us roam +thro’ them gaily,<br /> +Heedless of heat, and the hot-kissing sun, and the fear of dark +freckles.<br /> +Never one kiss will he give on a neck, or a lily-white +forehead,<br /> +Chin, hand, or bosom uncovered, all panting, to take the chance +coolness,<br /> +But full sure the fiery pressure leaves seal of espousal.<br /> +<a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>Heed him +not; come, tho’ he kiss till the soft little upper-lip +loses<br /> +Half its pure whiteness; just speck’d where the curve of +the rosy mouth reddens.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, let him kiss, let him kiss, and his +kisses shall make thee the sweeter.<br /> +Thou art no nun, veiled and vowed; doomed to nourish a withering +pallor!<br /> +City exotics beside thee would show like bleached linen at +mid-day,<br /> +Hung upon hedges of eglantine! Thou in the freedom of +nature,<br /> +Full of her beauty and wisdom, gentleness, joyance, and +kindness!<br /> +Come, and like bees will we gather the rich golden honey of +noontide;<br /> +Deep in the sweet summer meadows, border’d by hillside and +river,<br /> +Lined with long trenches half-hidden, where smell of white +meadow-sweet, sweetest,<br /> +Blissfully hovers—O sweetest! but pluck it not! even in the +tenderest<br /> +Grasp it will lose breath and wither; like many, not made for a +posy.</p> +<p class="poetry">See, the sun slopes down the meadows, where all +the flowers are falling!<br /> +Falling unhymned; for the nightingale scarce ever charms the long +twilight:<br /> +Mute with the cares of the nest; only known by a ‘chuck, +chuck,’ and dovelike<br /> +Call of content, but the finch and the linnet and blackcap pipe +loudly.<br /> +Round on the western hill-side warbles the rich-billed ouzel;<br +/> +<a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>And the +shrill throstle is filling the tangled thickening copses;<br /> +Singing o’er hyacinths hid, and most honey’d of +flowers, white field-rose.<br /> +Joy thus to revel all day in the grass of our own beloved +country;<br /> +Revel all day, till the lark mounts at eve with his sweet +‘tirra-lirra’:<br /> +Trilling delightfully. See, on the river the slow-rippled +surface<br /> +Shining; the slow ripple broadens in circles; the bright surface +smoothens;<br /> +Now it is flat as the leaves of the yet unseen water-lily.<br /> +There dart the lives of a day, ever-varying tactics fantastic.<br +/> +There, by the wet-mirrored osiers, the emerald wing of the +kingfisher<br /> +Flashes, the fish in his beak! there the dab-chick dived, and the +motion<br /> +Lazily undulates all thro’ the tall standing army of +rushes.</p> +<p class="poetry">Joy thus to revel all day, till the twilight +turns us homeward!<br /> +Till all the lingering deep-blooming splendour of sunset is +over,<br /> +And the one star shines mildly in mellowing hues, like a +spirit<br /> +Sent to assure us that light never dieth, tho’ day is now +buried.<br /> +Saying: to-morrow, to-morrow, few hours intervening, that +interval<br /> +Tuned by the woodlark in heaven, to-morrow my semblance, far +eastward,<br /> +Heralds the day ’tis my mission eternal to seal and to +prophecy.<br /> +<a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>Come then, +and homeward; passing down the close path of the meadows.<br /> +Home like the bees stored with sweetness; each with a lark in the +bosom,<br /> +Trilling for ever, and oh! will yon lark ever cease to sing up +there?</p> +<h2>TO A SKYLARK</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">skylark</span>! I see +thee and call thee joy!<br /> +Thy wings bear thee up to the breast of the dawn;<br /> +I see thee no more, but thy song is still<br /> +The tongue of the heavens to me!</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus are the days when I was a boy;<br /> +Sweet while I lived in them, dear now they’re gone:<br /> +I feel them no longer, but still, O still<br /> +They tell of the heavens to me.</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>SONG<br /> +SPRING</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> buds of palm do +burst and spread<br /> + Their downy feathers in the lane,<br /> +And orchard blossoms, white and red,<br /> + Breathe Spring delight for Autumn gain;<br /> + And the skylark shakes his wings in the rain;</p> +<p class="poetry">O then is the season to look for a bride!<br /> + Choose her warily, woo her unseen;<br /> +For the choicest maids are those that hide<br /> + Like dewy violets under the green.</p> +<h2>SONG<br /> +AUTUMN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> nuts behind the +hazel-leaf<br /> + Are brown as the squirrel that hunts them free,<br +/> +And the fields are rich with the sun-burnt sheaf,<br /> + ’Mid the blue cornflower and the yellowing +tree;<br /> + And the farmer glows and beams in his glee;</p> +<p class="poetry">O then is the season to wed thee a bride!<br /> + Ere the garners are filled and the ale-cups foam;<br +/> +For a smiling hostess is the pride<br /> + And flower of every Harvest Home.</p> +<h2><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>SORROWS AND JOYS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Bury</span> thy sorrows, +and they shall rise<br /> +As souls to the immortal skies,<br /> +And there look down like mothers’ eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry">But let thy joys be fresh as flowers,<br /> +That suck the honey of the showers,<br /> +And bloom alike on huts and towers.</p> +<p class="poetry">So shall thy days be sweet and bright;<br /> +Solemn and sweet thy starry night,<br /> +Conscious of love each change of light.</p> +<p class="poetry">The stars will watch the flowers asleep,<br /> +The flowers will feel the soft stars weep,<br /> +And both will mix sensations deep.</p> +<p class="poetry">With these below, with those above,<br /> +Sits evermore the brooding dove,<br /> +Uniting both in bonds of love.</p> +<p class="poetry">For both by nature are akin;<br /> +Sorrow, the ashen fruit of sin,<br /> +And joy, the juice of life within.</p> +<p class="poetry">Children of earth are these; and those<br /> +The spirits of divine repose—<br /> +Death radiant o’er all human woes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>O, think what then had been thy doom,<br /> +If homeless and without a tomb<br /> +They had been left to haunt the gloom!</p> +<p class="poetry">O, think again what now they are—<br /> +Motherly love, tho’ dim and far,<br /> +Imaged in every lustrous star.</p> +<p class="poetry">For they, in their salvation, know<br /> +No vestige of their former woe,<br /> +While thro’ them all the heavens do flow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus art thou wedded to the skies,<br /> +And watched by ever-loving eyes,<br /> +And warned by yearning sympathies.</p> +<h2><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> flower unfolds +its dawning cup,<br /> +And the young sun drinks the star-dews up,<br /> +At eve it droops with the bliss of day,<br /> +And dreams in the midnight far away.</p> +<p class="poetry">So am I in thy sole, sweet glance<br /> +Pressed with a weight of utterance;<br /> +Lovingly all my leaves unfold,<br /> +And gleam to the beams of thirsty gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">At eve I droop, for then the swell<br /> +Of feeling falters forth farewell;—<br /> +At midnight I am dreaming deep,<br /> +Of what has been, in blissful sleep.</p> +<p class="poetry">When—ah! when will love’s own +fight<br /> +Wed me alike thro’ day and night,<br /> +When will the stars with their linking charms<br /> +Wake us in each other’s arms?</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Thou</span> to me art such a spring<br /> + As the Arab seeks at eve,<br /> + Thirsty from the shining sands;<br /> + There to bathe his face and hands,<br /> + While the sun is taking leave,<br /> +And dewy sleep is a delicious thing.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou to me art such a +dream<br /> + As he dreams upon the grass,<br /> + While the bubbling coolness near<br /> + Makes sweet music in his ear;<br /> + And the stars that slowly pass<br /> +In solitary grandeur o’er him gleam.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Thou to me art such a dawn<br +/> + As the dawn whose ruddy kiss<br /> + Wakes him to his darling steed;<br /> + And again the desert speed,<br /> + And again the desert bliss,<br /> +Lightens thro’ his veins, and he is gone!</p> +<h2><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +90</span>ANTIGONE</h2> +<p class="poetry">The buried voice bespake Antigone.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘O <span class="smcap">sister</span>! +couldst thou know, as thou wilt know,<br /> +The bliss above, the reverence below,<br /> +Enkindled by thy sacrifice for me;<br /> +Thou wouldst at once with holy ecstasy<br /> +Give thy warm limbs into the yearning earth.<br /> +Sleep, Sister! for Elysium’s dawning birth,—<br /> +And faith will fill thee with what is to be!<br /> +Sleep, for the Gods are watching over thee!<br /> +Thy dream will steer thee to perform their will,<br /> +As silently their influence they instil.<br /> +O Sister! in the sweetness of thy prime,<br /> +Thy hand has plucked the bitter flower of death;<br /> +But this will dower thee with Elysian breath,<br /> +That fade into a never-fading clime.<br /> +Dear to the Gods are those that do like thee<br /> +A solemn duty! for the tyranny<br /> +Of kings is feeble to the soul that dares<br /> +Defy them to fulfil its sacred cares:<br /> +And weak against a mighty will are men.<br /> +O, Torch between two brothers! in whose gleam<br /> +Our slaughtered House doth shine as one again,<br /> +Tho’ severed by the sword; now may thy dream<br /> +Kindle desire in thee for us, and thou,<br /> +Forgetting not thy lover and his vow,<br /> +Leaving no human memory forgot,<br /> +Shalt cross, not unattended, the dark stream<br /> +Which runs by thee in sleep and ripples not.<br /> +<a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>The large +stars glitter thro’ the anxious night,<br /> +And the deep sky broods low to look at thee:<br /> +The air is hush’d and dark o’er land and sea,<br /> +And all is waiting for the morrow light:<br /> +So do thy kindred spirits wait for thee.<br /> +O Sister! soft as on the downward rill,<br /> +Will those first daybeams from the distant hill<br /> +Fall on the smoothness of thy placid brow,<br /> +Like this calm sweetness breathing thro’ me now:<br /> +And when the fated sounds shall wake thine eyes,<br /> +Wilt thou, confiding in the supreme will,<br /> +In all thy maiden steadfastness arise,<br /> +Firm to obey and earnest to fulfil;<br /> +Remembering the night thou didst not sleep,<br /> +And this same brooding sky beheld thee creep,<br /> +Defiant of unnatural decree,<br /> +To where I lay upon the outcast land;<br /> +Before the iron gates upon the plain;<br /> +A wretched, graveless ghost, whose wailing chill<br /> +Came to thy darkened door imploring thee;<br /> +Yearning for burial like my brother slain;—<br /> +And all was dared for love and piety!<br /> +This thought will nerve again thy virgin hand<br /> +To serve its purpose and its destiny.’</p> +<p class="poetry">She woke, they led her forth, and all was +still.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +92</span><span class="smcap">Swathed</span> round in mist and +crown’d with cloud,<br /> +O Mountain! hid from peak to base—<br /> +Caught up into the heavens and clasped<br /> +In white ethereal arms that make<br /> +Thy mystery of size sublime!<br /> +What eye or thought can measure now<br /> +Thy grand dilating loftiness!<br /> +What giant crest dispute with thee<br /> +Supremacy of air and sky!<br /> +What fabled height with thee compare!<br /> +Not those vine-terraced hills that seethe<br /> +The lava in their fiery cusps;<br /> +Nor that high-climbing robe of snow,<br /> +Whose summits touch the morning star,<br /> +And breathe the thinnest air of life;<br /> +Nor crocus-couching Ida, warm<br /> +With Juno’s latest nuptial lure;<br /> +Nor Tenedos whose dreamy eye<br /> +Still looks upon beleaguered Troy;<br /> +Nor yet Olympus crown’d with gods<br /> +Can boast a majesty like thine,<br /> +O Mountain! hid from peak to base,<br /> +And image of the awful power<br /> +With which the secret of all things,<br /> +That stoops from heaven to garment earth,<br /> +Can speak to any human soul,<br /> +When once the earthly limits lose<br /> +Their pointed heights and sharpened lines,<br /> +And measureless immensity<br /> +Is palpable to sense and sight.</p> +<h2><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">No</span>, no, the falling +blossom is no sign<br /> + Of loveliness destroy’d and sorrow mute;<br /> +The blossom sheds its loveliness divine;—<br /> + Its mission is to prophecy the fruit.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor is the day of love for ever dead,<br /> + When young enchantment and romance are gone;<br /> +The veil is drawn, but all the future dread<br /> + Is lightened by the finger of the dawn.</p> +<p class="poetry">Love moves with life along a darker way,<br /> + They cast a shadow and they call it death:<br /> +But rich is the fulfilment of their day;<br /> + The purer passion and the firmer faith.</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>THE +TWO BLACKBIRDS</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">Blackbird</span> in a +wicker cage,<br /> + That hung and swung ’mid fruits and +flowers,<br /> +Had learnt the song-charm, to assuage<br /> + The drearness of its wingless hours.</p> +<p class="poetry">And ever when the song was heard,<br /> + From trees that shade the grassy plot<br /> +Warbled another glossy bird,<br /> + Whose mate not long ago was shot.</p> +<p class="poetry">Strange anguish in that creature’s +breast,<br /> + Unwept like human grief, unsaid,<br /> +Has quickened in its lonely nest<br /> + A living impulse from the dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not to console its own wild smart,—<br /> + But with a kindling instinct strong,<br /> +The novel feeling of its heart<br /> + Beats for the captive bird of song.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when those mellow notes are still,<br /> + It hops from off its choral perch,<br /> +O’er path and sward, with busy bill,<br /> + All grateful gifts to peck and search.</p> +<p class="poetry">Store of ouzel dainties choice<br /> + To those white swinging bars it brings;<br /> +And with a low consoling voice<br /> + It talks between its fluttering wings.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>Deeply in their bitter grief<br /> + Those sufferers reciprocate,<br /> +The one sings for its woodland life,<br /> + The other for its murdered mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">But deeper doth the secret prove,<br /> + Uniting those sad creatures so;<br /> +Humanity’s great link of love,<br /> + The common sympathy of woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Well divined from day to day<br /> + Is the swift speech between them twain;<br /> +For when the bird is scared away,<br /> + The captive bursts to song again.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet daily with its flattering voice,<br /> + Talking amid its fluttering wings,<br /> +Store of ouzel dainties choice<br /> + With busy bill the poor bird brings.</p> +<p class="poetry">And shall I say, till weak with age<br /> + Down from its drowsy branch it drops,<br /> +It will not leave that captive cage,<br /> + Nor cease those busy searching hops?</p> +<p class="poetry">Ah, no! the moral will not strain;<br /> + Another sense will make it range,<br /> +Another mate will soothe its pain,<br /> + Another season work a change.</p> +<p class="poetry">But thro’ the live-long summer, tried,<br +/> + A pure devotion we may see;<br /> +The ebb and flow of Nature’s tide;<br /> + A self-forgetful sympathy.</p> +<h2><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>JULY</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Blue</span> July, bright +July,<br /> + Month of storms and gorgeous blue;<br /> +Violet lightnings o’er thy sky,<br /> + Heavy falls of drenching dew;<br /> +Summer crown! o’er glen and glade<br /> +Shrinking hyacinths in their shade;<br /> +I welcome thee with all thy pride,<br /> +I love thee like an Eastern bride.<br /> + Though all the singing days are done<br /> + As in those climes that clasp the sun;<br /> + Though the cuckoo in his throat<br /> + Leaves to the dove his last twin note;<br /> +Come to me with thy lustrous eye,<br /> +Golden-dawning oriently,<br /> +Come with all thy shining blooms,<br /> +Thy rich red rose and rolling glooms.<br /> + Though the cuckoo doth but sing ‘cuk, +cuk,’<br /> + And the dove alone doth coo;<br /> + Though the cushat spins her coo-r-roo, +r-r-roo—<br /> + To the cuckoo’s halting +‘cuk.’</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">Sweet July, warm July!<br /> + Month when mosses near the stream,<br /> +Soft green mosses thick and shy,<br /> + Are a rapture and a dream.<br /> +<a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>Summer +Queen! whose foot the fern<br /> +Fades beneath while chestnuts burn;<br /> +I welcome thee with thy fierce love,<br /> +Gloom below and gleam above.<br /> + Though all the forest trees hang dumb,<br /> + With dense leafiness o’ercome;<br /> + Though the nightingale and thrush,<br /> + Pipe not from the bough or bush;<br /> +Come to me with thy lustrous eye,<br /> +Azure-melting westerly,<br /> +The raptures of thy face unfold,<br /> +And welcome in thy robes of gold!<br /> + Tho’ the nightingale +broods—‘sweet-chuck-sweet’—<br /> + And the ouzel flutes so chill,<br +/> + Tho’ the throstle gives but one shrilly +trill<br /> + To the nightingale’s +‘sweet-sweet.’</p> +<h2><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +98</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">would</span> I were the +drop of rain<br /> + That falls into the dancing rill,<br /> +For I should seek the river then,<br /> + And roll below the wooded hill,<br /> + Until I reached the sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">And O, to be the river swift<br /> + That wrestles with the wilful tide,<br /> + And fling the briny weeds aside<br /> +That o’er the foamy billows drift,<br /> + Until I came to thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">I would that after weary strife,<br /> + And storm beneath the piping wind,<br /> +The current of my true fresh life<br /> + Might come unmingled, unimbrined,<br /> + To where thou floatest free.</p> +<p class="poetry">Might find thee in some amber clime,<br /> + Where sunlight dazzles on the sail,<br /> + And dreaming of our plighted vale<br /> +Might seal the dream, and bless the time,<br /> + With maiden kisses three.</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> to me in any +shape!<br /> + As a victor crown’d with vine,<br /> +In thy curls the clustering grape,—<br /> + Or a vanquished slave:<br /> +’Tis thy coming that I crave,<br /> + And thy folding serpent twine,<br /> + + +Close and dumb;<br /> +Ne’er from that would I escape;<br /> +Come to me in any shape!<br /> + + +Only come!</p> +<p class="poetry">Only come, and in my breast<br /> + Hide thy shame or show thy pride;<br /> +In my bosom be caressed,<br /> + Never more to part;<br /> +Come into my yearning heart;<br /> + I, the serpent, golden-eyed,<br /> + + +Twine round thee;<br /> +Twine thee with no venomed test;<br /> +Absence makes the venomed nest;<br /> + + +Come to me!</p> +<p class="poetry">Come to me, my lover, come!<br /> + Violets on the tender stem<br /> +Die and wither in their bloom,<br /> + Under dewy grass;<br /> +Come, my lover, or, alas!<br /> + I shall die, shall die like them,<br /> + + +Frail and lone;<br /> +Come to me, my lover, come!<br /> +Let thy bosom be my tomb:<br /> + + +Come, my own!</p> +<h2><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>THE +SHIPWRECK OF IDOMENEUS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Swept</span> from his fleet +upon that fatal night<br /> +When great Poseidon’s sudden-veering wrath<br /> +Scattered the happy homeward-floating Greeks<br /> +Like foam-flakes off the waves, the King of Crete<br /> +Held lofty commune with the dark Sea-god.<br /> +His brows were crowned with victory, his cheeks<br /> +Were flushed with triumph, but the mighty joy<br /> +Of Troy’s destruction and his own great deeds<br /> +Passed, for the thoughts of home were dearer now,<br /> +And sweet the memory of wife and child,<br /> +And weary now the ten long, foreign years,<br /> +And terrible the doubt of short delay—<br /> +More terrible, O Gods! he cried, but stopped;<br /> +Then raised his voice upon the storm and prayed.<br /> +O thou, if injured, injured not by me,<br /> +Poseidon! whom sea-deities obey<br /> +And mortals worship, hear me! for indeed<br /> +It was our oath to aid the cause of Greece,<br /> +Not unespoused by Gods, and most of all<br /> +By thee, if gentle currents, havens calm,<br /> +Fair winds and prosperous voyage, and the Shape<br /> +Impersonate in many a perilous hour,<br /> +Both in the stately councils of the Kings,<br /> +And when the husky battle murmured thick,<br /> +May testify of services performed!<br /> +But now the seas are haggard with thy wrath,<br /> +Thy breath is tempest! never at the shores<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>Of +hostile Ilium did thy stormful brows<br /> +Betray such fierce magnificence! not even<br /> +On that wild day when, mad with torch and glare,<br /> +The frantic crowds with eyes like starving wolves<br /> +Burst from their ports impregnable, a stream<br /> +Of headlong fury toward the hissing deep;<br /> +Where then full-armed I stood in guard, compact<br /> +Beside thee, and alone, with brand and spear,<br /> +We held at bay the swarming brood, and poured<br /> +Blood of choice warriors on the foot-ploughed sands!<br /> +Thou, meantime, dark with conflict, as a cloud<br /> +That thickens in the bosom of the West<br /> +Over quenched sunset, circled round with flame,<br /> +Huge as a billow running from the winds<br /> +Long distances, till with black shipwreck swoln,<br /> +It flings its angry mane about the sky.<br /> +And like that billow heaving ere it burst;<br /> +And like that cloud urged by impulsive storm<br /> +With charge of thunder, lightning, and the drench<br /> +Of torrents, thou in all thy majesty<br /> +Of mightiness didst fall upon the war!<br /> +Remember that great moment! Nor forget<br /> +The aid I gave thee; how my ready spear<br /> +Flew swiftly seconding thy mortal stroke,<br /> +Where’er the press was hottest; never slacked<br /> +My arm its duty, nor mine eye its aim,<br /> +Though terribly they compassed us, and stood<br /> +Thick as an Autumn forest, whose brown hair,<br /> +Lustrous with sunlight, by the still increase<br /> +Of heat to glowing heat conceives like zeal<br /> +Of radiance, till at the pitch of noon<br /> +’Tis seized with conflagration and distends<br /> +Horridly over leagues of doom’d domain;<br /> +Mingling the screams of birds, the cries of brutes,<br /> +The wail of creatures in the covert pent,<br /> +<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>Howls, +yells, and shrieks of agony, the hiss<br /> +Of seething sap, and crash of falling boughs<br /> +Together in its dull voracious roar.<br /> + So closely and so fearfully they throng’d,<br +/> +Savage with phantasies of victory,<br /> +A sea of dusky shapes; for day had passed<br /> +And night fell on their darkened faces, red<br /> +With fight and torchflare; shrill the resonant air<br /> +With eager shouts, and hoarse with angry groans;<br /> +While over all the dense and sullen boom,<br /> +The din and murmur of the myriads,<br /> +Rolled with its awful intervals, as though<br /> +The battle breathed, or as against the shore<br /> +Waves gather back to heave themselves anew.<br /> +That night sleep dropped not from the dreary skies,<br /> +Nor could the prowess of our chiefs oppose<br /> +That sea of raging men. But what were they?<br /> +Or what is man opposed to thee? Its hopes<br /> +Are wrecks, himself the drowning, drifting weed<br /> +That wanders on thy waters; such as I<br /> +Who see the scattered remnants of my fleet,<br /> +Remembering the day when first we sailed,<br /> +Each glad ship shining like the morning star<br /> +With promise for the world. Oh! such as I<br /> +Thus darkly drifting on the drowning waves.<br /> +O God of waters! ’tis a dreadful thing<br /> +To suffer for an evil unrevealed;<br /> +Dreadful it is to hear the perishing cry<br /> +Of those we love; the silence that succeeds<br /> +How dreadful! Still my trust is fixed on thee<br /> +For those that still remain and for myself.<br /> +And if I hear thy swift foam-snorting steeds<br /> +Drawing thy dusky chariot, as in<br /> +The pauses of the wind I seem to hear,<br /> +Deaf thou art not to my entreating prayer!<br /> +<a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 103</span>Haste +then to give us help, for closely now<br /> +Crete whispers in my ears, and all my blood<br /> +Runs keen and warm for home, and I have yearning,<br /> +Such yearning as I never felt before,<br /> +To see again my wife, my little son,<br /> +My Queen, my pretty nursling of five years,<br /> +The darling of my hopes, our dearest pledge<br /> +Of marriage, and our brightest prize of love,<br /> +Whose parting cry rings clearest in my heart.<br /> +O lay this horror, much-offended God!<br /> +And making all as fair and firm as when<br /> +We trusted to thy mighty depths of old,—<br /> +I vow to sacrifice the first whom Zeus<br /> +Shall prompt to hail us from the white seashore<br /> +And welcome our return to royal Crete,<br /> +An offering, Poseidon, unto thee!</p> +<p class="poetry">Amid the din of elemental strife,<br /> +No voice may pierce but Deity supreme:<br /> +And Deity supreme alone can hear,<br /> +Above the hurricane’s discordant shrieks,<br /> +The cry of agonized humanity.</p> +<p class="poetry">Not unappeased was He who smites the waves,<br +/> +When to his stormy ears the warrior’s vow<br /> +Entered, and from his foamy pinnacle<br /> +Tumultuous he beheld the prostrate form,<br /> +And knew the mighty heart. Awhile he gazed,<br /> +As doubtful of his purpose, and the storm,<br /> +Conscious of that divine debate, withheld<br /> +Its fierce emotion, in the luminous gloom<br /> +Of those so dark irradiating eyes!<br /> +Beneath whose wavering lustre shone revealed<br /> +The tumult of the purpling deeps, and all<br /> +The throbbing of the tempest, as it paused,<br /> +<a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>Slowly +subsiding, seeming to await<br /> +The sudden signal, as a faithful hound<br /> +Pants with the forepaws stretched before its nose,<br /> +Athwart the greensward, after an eager chase;<br /> +Its hot tongue thrust to cool, its foamy jaws<br /> +Open to let the swift breath come and go,<br /> +Its quick interrogating eyes fixed keen<br /> +Upon the huntsman’s countenance, and ever<br /> +Lashing its sharp impatient tail with haste:<br /> +Prompt at the slightest sign to scour away,<br /> +And hang itself afresh by the bleeding fangs,<br /> +Upon the neck of some death-singled stag,<br /> +Whose royal antlers, eyes, and stumbling knees<br /> +Will supplicate the Gods in mute despair.<br /> +This time not mute, nor yet in vain this time!<br /> +For still the burden of the earnest voice<br /> +And all the vivid glories it revoked<br /> +Sank in the God, with that absorbed suspense<br /> +Felt only by the Olympians, whose minds<br /> +Unbounded like our mortal brain, perceive<br /> +All things complete, the end, the aim of all;<br /> +To whom the crown and consequence of deeds<br /> +Are ever present with the deed itself.</p> +<p class="poetry">And now the pouring surges, vast and smooth,<br +/> +Grew weary of restraint, and heaved themselves<br /> +Headlong beneath him, breaking at his feet<br /> +With wild importunate cries and angry wail;<br /> +Like crowds that shout for bread and hunger more.<br /> +And now the surface of their rolling backs<br /> +Was ridged with foam-topt furrows, rising high<br /> +And dashing wildly, like to fiery steeds,<br /> +Fresh from the Thracian or Thessalian plains,<br /> +High-blooded mares just tempering to the bit,<br /> +Whose manes at full-speed stream upon the winds,<br /> +<a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>And in +whose delicate nostrils when the gust<br /> +Breathes of their native plains, they ramp and rear,<br /> +Frothing the curb, and bounding from the earth,<br /> +As though the Sun-god’s chariot alone<br /> +Were fit to follow in their flashing track.<br /> +Anon with gathering stature to the height<br /> +Of those colossal giants, doomed long since<br /> +To torturous grief and penance, that assailed<br /> +The sky-throned courts of Zeus, and climbing, dared<br /> +For once in a world the Olympic wrath, and braved<br /> +The electric spirit which from his clenching hand<br /> +Pierces the dark-veined earth, and with a touch<br /> +Is death to mortals, fearfully they grew!<br /> +And with like purpose of audacity<br /> +Threatened Titanic fury to the God.<br /> +Such was the agitation of the sea<br /> +Beneath Poseidon’s thought-revolving brows,<br /> +Storming for signal. But no signal came.<br /> +And as when men, who congregate to hear<br /> +Some proclamation from the regal fount,<br /> +With eager questioning and anxious phrase<br /> +Betray the expectation of their hearts,<br /> +Till after many hours of fretful sloth,<br /> +Weary with much delay, they hold discourse<br /> +In sullen groups and cloudy masses, stirred<br /> +With rage irresolute and whispering plot,<br /> +Known more by indication than by word,<br /> +And understood alone by those whose minds<br /> +Participate;—even so the restless waves<br /> +Began to lose all sense of servitude,<br /> +And worked with rebel passions, bursting, now<br /> +To right, and now to left, but evermore<br /> +Subdued with influence, and controlled with dread<br /> +Of that inviolate Authority.<br /> +<a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 106</span>Then, +swiftly as he mused, the impetuous God<br /> +Seized on the pausing reins, his coursers plunged,<br /> +His brows resumed the grandeur of their ire;<br /> +Throughout his vast divinity the deeps<br /> +Concurrent thrilled with action, and away,<br /> +As sweeps a thunder-cloud across the sky<br /> +In harvest-time, preluded by dull blasts;<br /> +Or some black-visaged whirlwind, whose wide folds<br /> +Rush, wrestling on with all ’twixt heaven and earth,<br /> +Darkling he hurried, and his distant voice,<br /> +Not softened by delay, was heard in tones<br /> +Distinctly terrible, still following up<br /> +Its rapid utterance of tremendous wrath<br /> +With hoarse reverberations; like the roar<br /> +Of lions when they hunger, and awake<br /> +The sullen echoes from their forest sleep,<br /> +To speed the ravenous noise from hill to hill<br /> +And startle victims; but more awful, He,<br /> +Scudding across the hills that rise and sink,<br /> +With foam, and splash, and cataracts of spray,<br /> +Clothed in majestic splendour; girt about<br /> +With Sea-gods and swift creatures of the sea;<br /> +Their briny eyes blind with the showering drops;<br /> +Their stormy locks, salt tongues, and scaly backs,<br /> +Quivering in harmony with the tempest, fierce<br /> +And eager with tempestuous delight;—<br /> +He like a moving rock above them all<br /> +Solemnly towering while fitful gleams<br /> +Brake from his dense black forehead, which display’d<br /> +The enduring chiefs as their distracted fleets<br /> +Tossed, toiling with the waters, climbing high,<br /> +And plunging downward with determined beaks,<br /> +In lurid anguish; but the Cretan king<br /> +And all his crew were ’ware of under-tides,<br /> +That for the groaning vessel made a path,<br /> +<a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>On which +the impending and precipitous waves<br /> +Fell not, nor suck’d to their abysmal gorge.</p> +<p class="poetry">O, happy they to feel the mighty God,<br /> +Without his whelming presence near: to feel<br /> +Safety and sweet relief from such despair,<br /> +And gushing of their weary hopes once more<br /> +Within their fond warm hearts, tired limbs, and eyes<br /> +Heavy with much fatigue and want of sleep!<br /> +Prayers did not lack; like mountain springs they came,<br /> +After the earth has drunk the drenching rains,<br /> +And throws her fresh-born jets into the sun<br /> +With joyous sparkles;—for there needed not<br /> +Evidence more serene of instant grace,<br /> +Immortal mercy! and the sense which follows<br /> +Divine interposition, when the shock<br /> +Of danger hath been thwarted by the Gods,<br /> +Visibly, and through supplication deep,—<br /> +Rose in them, chiefly in the royal mind<br /> +Of him whose interceding vow had saved.<br /> +Tears from that great heroic soul sprang up;<br /> +Not painful as in grief, nor smarting keen<br /> +With shame of weeping; but calm, fresh, and sweet;<br /> +Such as in lofty spirits rise, and wed<br /> +The nature of the woman to the man;<br /> +A sight most lovely to the Gods! They fell<br /> +Like showers of starlight from his steadfast eyes,<br /> +As ever towards the prow he gazed, nor moved<br /> +One muscle, with firm lips and level lids,<br /> +Motionless; while the winds sang in his ears,<br /> +And took the length of his brown hair in streams<br /> +Behind him. Thus the hours passed, and the oars<br /> +Plied without pause, and nothing but the sound<br /> +Of the dull rowlocks and still watery sough,<br /> +Far off, the carnage of the storm, was heard.<br /> +<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>For +nothing spake the mariners in their toil,<br /> +And all the captains of the war were dumb:<br /> +Too much oppressed with wonder, too much thrilled<br /> +By their great chieftain’s silence, to disturb<br /> +Such meditation with poor human speech.<br /> +Meantime the moon through slips of driving cloud<br /> +Came forth, and glanced athwart the seas a path<br /> +Of dusky splendour, like the Hadean brows,<br /> +When with Elysian passion they behold<br /> +Persephone’s complacent hueless cheeks.<br /> +Soon gathering strength and lustre, as a ship<br /> +That swims into some blue and open bay<br /> +With bright full-bosomed sails, the radiant car<br /> +Of Artemis advanced, and on the waves<br /> +Sparkled like arrows from her silver bow<br /> +The keenness of her pure and tender gaze.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then, slowly, one by one the chiefs sought +rest;<br /> +The watches being set, and men to relieve<br /> +The rowers at midseason. Fair it was<br /> +To see them as they lay! Some up the prow,<br /> +Some round the helm, in open-handed sleep;<br /> +With casques unloosed, and bucklers put aside;<br /> +The ten years’ tale of war upon their cheeks,<br /> +Where clung the salt wet locks, and on their breasts<br /> +Beards, the thick growth of many a proud campaign;<br /> +And on their brows the bright invisible crown<br /> +Victory sheds from her own radiant form,<br /> +As o’er her favourites’ heads she sings and soars.<br +/> +But dreams came not so calmly; as around<br /> +Turbulent shores wild waves and swamping surf<br /> +Prevail, while seaward, on the tranquil deeps,<br /> +Reign placid surfaces and solemn peace,<br /> +So, from the troubled strands of memory, they<br /> +Launched and were tossed, long ere they found the tides<br /> +<a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 109</span>That +lead to the gentle bosoms of pure rest.<br /> +And like to one who from a ghostly watch<br /> +In a lone house where murder hath been done,<br /> +And secret violations, pale with stealth<br /> +Emerges, staggering on the first chill gust<br /> +Wherewith the morning greets him, feeling not<br /> +Its balmy freshness on his bloodless cheek,—<br /> +But swift to hide his midnight face afar,<br /> +’Mongst the old woods and timid-glancing flowers<br /> +Hastens, till on the fresh reviving breasts<br /> +Of tender Dryads folded he forgets<br /> +The pallid witness of those nameless things,<br /> +In renovated senses lapt, and joins<br /> +The full, keen joyance of the day, so they<br /> +From sights and sounds of battle smeared with blood,<br /> +And shrieking souls on Acheron’s bleak tides,<br /> +And wail of execrating kindred, slid<br /> +Into oblivious slumber and a sense<br /> +Of satiate deliciousness complete.</p> +<p class="poetry">Leave them, O Muse, in that so happy sleep!<br +/> +Leave them to reap the harvest of their toil,<br /> +While fast in moonlight the glad vessel glides,<br /> +As if instinctive to its forest home.<br /> +O Muse, that in all sorrows and all joys,<br /> +Rapturous bliss and suffering divine,<br /> +Dwellest with equal fervour, in the calm<br /> +Of thy serene philosophy, albeit<br /> +Thy gentle nature is of joy alone,<br /> +And loves the pipings of the happy fields,<br /> +Better than all the great parade and pomp<br /> +Which forms the train of heroes and of kings,<br /> +And sows, too frequently, the tragic seeds<br /> +That choke with sobs thy singing,—turn away<br /> +Thy lustrous eyes back to the oath-bound man!<br /> +<a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>For as a +shepherd stands above his flock,<br /> +The lofty figure of the king is seen,<br /> +Standing above his warriors as they sleep:<br /> +And still as from a rock grey waters gush,<br /> +While still the rock is passionless and dark,<br /> +Nor moves one feature of its giant face,<br /> +The tears fall from his eyes, and he stirs not.</p> +<p class="poetry">And O, bright Muse! forget not thou to fold<br +/> +In thy prophetic sympathy the thought<br /> +Of him whose destiny has heard its doom:<br /> +The Sacrifice thro’ whom the ship is saved.<br /> +Haply that Sacrifice is sleeping now,<br /> +And dreams of glad tomorrows. Haply now,<br /> +His hopes are keenest, and his fervent blood<br /> +Richest with youth, and love, and fond regard!<br /> +Round him the circle of affections blooms,<br /> +And in some happy nest of home he lives,<br /> +One name oft uttering in delighted ears,<br /> +Mother! at which the heart of men are kin<br /> +With reverence and yearning. Haply, too,<br /> +That other name, twin holy, twin revered,<br /> +He whispers often to the passing winds<br /> +That blow toward the Asiatic coasts;<br /> +For Crete has sent her bravest to the war,<br /> +And multitudes pressed forward to that rank,<br /> +Men with sad weeping wives and little ones.<br /> +That other name—O Father! who art thou,<br /> +Thus doomed to lose the star of thy last days?<br /> +It may be the sole flower of thy life,<br /> +And that of all who now look up to thee!<br /> +O Father, Father! unto thee even now<br /> +Fate cries; the future with imploring voice<br /> +Cries ‘Save me,’ ‘Save me,’ though thou +hearest not.<br /> +And O thou Sacrifice, foredoomed by Zeus;<br /> +<a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>Even now +the dark inexorable deed<br /> +Is dealing its relentless stroke, and vain<br /> +Are prayers, and tears, and struggles, and despair!<br /> +The mother’s tears, the nation’s stormful grief,<br +/> +The people’s indignation and revenge!<br /> +Vain the last childlike pleading voice for life,<br /> +The quick resolve, the young heroic brow,<br /> +So like, so like, and vainly beautiful!<br /> +Oh! whosoe’er ye are the Muse says not,<br /> +And sees not, but the Gods look down on both.</p> +<h2><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>THE +LONGEST DAY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> yonder hills soft +twilight dwells<br /> + And Hesper burns where sunset dies,<br /> +Moist and chill the woodland smells<br /> + From the fern-covered hollows uprise;<br /> + Darkness drops not from the skies,<br /> +But shadows of darkness are flung o’er the vale<br /> + From the boughs of the chestnut, the oak, and the +elm,<br /> +While night in yon lines of eastern pines<br /> + Preserves alone her inviolate realm<br /> + Against the +twilight pale.</p> +<p class="poetry">Say, then say, what is this day,<br /> + That it lingers thus with half-closed eyes,<br /> +When the sunset is quenched and the orient ray<br /> + Of the roseate moon doth rise,<br /> + Like a midnight sun o’er the skies!<br /> +’Tis the longest, the longest of all the glad year,<br /> + The longest in life and the fairest in hue,<br /> +When day and night, in bridal light,<br /> + Mingle their beings beneath the sweet blue,<br /> + And bless the +balmy air!</p> +<p class="poetry">Upward to this starry height<br /> + The culminating seasons rolled;<br /> +On one slope green with spring delight,<br /> + The other with harvest gold,<br /> + And treasures of Autumn untold:<br /> +<a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 113</span>And on +this highest throne of the midsummer now<br /> + The waning but deathless day doth dream,<br /> +With a rapturous grace, as tho’ from the face<br /> + Of the unveiled infinity, lo, a far beam<br /> + Had fall’n +on her dim-flushed brow!</p> +<p class="poetry">Prolong, prolong that tide of song,<br /> + O leafy nightingale and thrush!<br /> +Still, earnest-throated blackcap, throng<br /> + The woods with that emulous gush<br /> + Of notes in tumultuous rush.<br /> +Ye summer souls, raise up one voice!<br /> + A charm is afloat all over the land;<br /> +The ripe year doth fall to the Spirit of all,<br /> + Who blesses it with outstretched hand;<br /> + Ye summer souls, +rejoice!</p> +<h2><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>TO +ROBIN REDBREAST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Merrily</span> ’mid +the faded leaves,<br /> + O Robin of the bright red breast!<br /> +Cheerily over the Autumn eaves,<br /> + Thy note is heard, bonny bird;<br /> +Sent to cheer us, and kindly endear us<br /> + To what would be a sorrowful time<br /> + Without thee in the weltering clime:<br /> + Merry art thou in the boughs of the lime,<br /> + While thy fadeless waistcoat glows +on thy breast,<br /> + In Autumn’s reddest livery +drest.</p> +<p class="poetry">A merry song, a cheery song!<br /> + In the boughs above, on the sward below,<br /> +Chirping and singing the live day long,<br /> + While the maple in grief sheds its fiery leaf,<br /> +And all the trees waning, with bitter complaining,<br /> + Chestnut, and elm, and sycamore,<br /> + Catch the wild gust in their arms, and roar<br /> + Like the sea on a stormy shore,<br /> + Till wailfully they let it go,<br +/> + And weep themselves naked and +weary with woe.</p> +<p class="poetry">Merrily, cheerily, joyously still<br /> + Pours out the crimson-crested tide.<br /> +The set of the season burns bright on the hill,<br /> + Where the foliage dead falls yellow and red,<br /> +Picturing vainly, but foretelling plainly<br /> + The wealth of cottage warmth that comes<br /> + When the frost gleams and the blood numbs,<br /> + And then, bonny Robin, I’ll spread thee out +crumbs<br /> + In my garden porch for thy +redbreast pride,<br /> + The song and the ensign of dear +fireside.</p> +<h2><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> daisy now is out +upon the green;<br /> + And in the grassy lanes<br /> + The child of April rains,<br /> +The sweet fresh-hearted violet, is smelt and loved unseen.</p> +<p class="poetry">Along the brooks and meads, the daffodil<br /> + Its yellow richness spreads,<br /> + And by the fountain-heads<br /> +Of rivers, cowslips cluster round, and over every hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">The crocus and the primrose may have gone,<br +/> + The snowdrop may be low,<br /> + But soon the purple glow<br /> +Of hyacinths will fill the copse, and lilies watch the dawn.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in the sweetness of the budding year,<br /> + The cuckoo’s woodland call,<br /> + The skylark over all,<br /> +And then at eve, the nightingale, is doubly sweet and dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">My soul is singing with the happy birds,<br /> + And all my human powers<br /> + Are blooming with the flowers,<br /> +My foot is on the fields and downs, among the flocks and +herds.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>Deep in the forest where the foliage droops,<br /> + I wander, fill’d with joy.<br /> + Again as when a boy,<br /> +The sunny vistas tempt me on with dim delicious hopes.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sunny vistas, dim with hurrying shade,<br +/> + And old romantic haze:—<br /> + Again as in past days,<br /> +The spirit of immortal Spring doth every sense pervade.</p> +<p class="poetry">Oh! do not say that this will ever +cease;—<br /> + This joy of woods and fields,<br /> + This youth that nature yields,<br /> +Will never speak to me in vain, tho’ soundly rapt in +peace.</p> +<h2><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>SUNRISE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> clouds are +withdrawn<br /> +And their thin-rippled mist,<br /> +That stream’d o’er the lawn<br /> +To the drowsy-eyed west.<br /> +Cold and grey<br /> +They slept in the way,<br /> +And shrank from the ray<br /> +Of the chariot East:<br /> +But now they are gone,<br /> +And the bounding light<br /> +Leaps thro’ the bars<br /> +Of doubtful dawn;<br /> +Blinding the stars,<br /> +And blessing the sight;<br /> +Shedding delight<br /> +On all below;<br /> +Glimmering fields,<br /> +And wakening wealds,<br /> +And rising lark,<br /> +And meadows dark,<br /> +And idle rills,<br /> +And labouring mills,<br /> +And far-distant hills<br /> +Of the fawn and the doe.<br /> +The sun is cheered<br /> +And his path is cleared,<br /> +As he steps to the air<br /> +From his emerald cave,<br /> +His heel in the wave,<br /> +<a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 118</span>Most +bright and bare;<br /> +In the tide of the sky<br /> +His radiant hair<br /> +From his temples fair<br /> +Blown back on high;<br /> +As forward he bends,<br /> +And upward ascends,<br /> +Timely and true,<br /> +To the breast of the blue;<br /> +His warm red lips<br /> +Kissing the dew,<br /> +Which sweetened drips<br /> +On his flower cupholders;<br /> +Every hue<br /> +From his gleaming shoulders<br /> +Shining anew<br /> +With colour sky-born,<br /> +As it washes and dips<br /> +In the pride of the morn.<br /> +Robes of azure,<br /> +Fringed with amber,<br /> +Fold upon fold<br /> +Of purple and gold,<br /> +Vine-leaf bloom,<br /> +And the grape’s ripe gloom,<br /> +When season deep<br /> +In noontide leisure,<br /> +With clustering heap<br /> +The tendrils clamber<br /> +Full in the face<br /> +Of his hot embrace,<br /> +Fill’d with the gleams<br /> +Of his firmest beams.<br /> +Autumn flushes,<br /> +Roseate blushes,<br /> +<a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 119</span>Vermeil +tinges,<br /> +Violet fringes,<br /> +Every hue<br /> +Of his flower cupholders,<br /> +O’er the clear ether<br /> +Mingled together,<br /> +Shining anew<br /> +From his gleaming shoulders!<br /> +Circling about<br /> +In a coronal rout,<br /> +And floating behind,<br /> +The way of the wind,<br /> +As forward he bends,<br /> +And upward ascends,<br /> +Timely and true,<br /> +To the breast of the blue.<br /> +His bright neck curved,<br /> +His clear limbs nerved,<br /> +Diamond keen<br /> +On his front serene,<br /> +While each white arm strains<br /> +To the racing reins,<br /> +As plunging, eyes flashing,<br /> +Dripping, and dashing,<br /> +His steeds triple grown<br /> +Rear up to his throne,<br /> +Ruffling the rest<br /> +Of the sea’s blue breast,<br /> +From his flooding, flaming crimson crest!</p> +<h2><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>PICTURES OF THE RHINE</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> spirit of Romance dies not to those<br +/> + Who hold a kindred spirit in their souls:<br /> + Even as the odorous life within the rose<br /> + Lives in the scattered leaflets and controls<br /> + Mysterious adoration, so there glows<br /> + Above dead things a thing that cannot die;<br /> + Faint as the glimmer of a tearful eye,<br /> + Ere the orb fills and all the sorrow flows.<br /> + Beauty renews itself in many ways;<br /> + The flower is fading while the new bud blows;<br /> + And this dear land as true a symbol shows,<br /> + While o’er it like a mellow sunset strays<br +/> + The legendary splendour of old days,<br /> + In visible, inviolate repose.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry"> About a mile behind the viny +banks,<br /> + How sweet it was, upon a sloping green,<br /> + Sunspread, and shaded with a branching screen,<br /> + To lie in peace half-murmuring words of thanks!<br +/> + To see the mountains on each other climb,<br /> + With spaces for rich meadows flowery bright;<br /> + The winding river freshening the sight<br /> + At intervals, the trees in leafy prime;<br /> + The distant village-roofs of blue and white,<br /> + With intersections of quaint-fashioned beams<br /> + All slanting crosswise, and the feudal gleams<br /> + Of ruined turrets, barren in the light;—<br /> + To watch the changing clouds, like clime in +clime;<br /> +Oh sweet to lie and bless the luxury of time.</p> +<h3><a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +121</span>III</h3> +<p class="poetry"> Fresh blows the early breeze, +our sail is full;<br /> + A merry morning and a mighty tide.<br /> + Cheerily O! and past St. Goar we glide,<br /> + Half hid in misty dawn and mountain cool.<br /> + The river is our own! and now the sun<br /> + In saffron clothes the warming atmosphere;<br /> + The sky lifts up her white veil like a nun,<br /> + And looks upon the landscape blue and +clear;—<br /> + The lark is up; the hills, the vines in sight;<br /> + The river broadens with his waking bliss<br /> + And throws up islands to behold the light;<br /> + Voices begin to rise, all hues to kiss;—<br /> + Was ever such a happy morn as this!<br /> +Birds sing, we shout, flowers breathe, trees shine with one +delight!</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry"> Between the two white breasts +of her we love,<br /> + A dewy blushing rose will sometimes spring;<br /> + Thus Nonnenwerth like an enchanted thing<br /> + Rises mid-stream the crystal depths above.<br /> + On either side the waters heave and swell,<br /> + But all is calm within the little Isle;<br /> + Content it is to give its holy smile,<br /> + And bless with peace the lives that in it dwell.<br +/> + Most dear on the dark grass beneath its bower<br /> + Of kindred trees embracing branch and bough,<br /> + To dream of fairy foot and sudden flower;<br /> + Or haply with a twilight on the brow,<br /> + To muse upon the legendary hour,<br /> +And Roland’s lonely love and Hildegard’s sad vow.</p> +<h3><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>V</h3> +<p class="poetry"> Hark! how the bitter winter +breezes blow<br /> + Round the sharp rocks and o’er the half-lifted +wave,<br /> + While all the rocky woodland branches rave<br /> + Shrill with the piercing cold, and every cave,<br /> + Along the icy water-margin low,<br /> + Rings bubbling with the whirling overflow;<br /> + And sharp the echoes answer distant cries<br /> + Of dawning daylight and the dim sunrise,<br /> + And the gloom-coloured clouds that stain the +skies<br /> + With pictures of a warmth, and frozen glow<br /> + Spread over endless fields of sheeted snow;<br /> + And white untrodden mountains shining cold,<br /> + And muffled footpaths winding thro’ the +wold,<br /> +O’er which those wintry gusts cease not to howl and +blow.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry"> Rare is the loveliness of +slow decay!<br /> + With youth and beauty all must be desired,<br /> + But ’tis the charm of things long past +away,<br /> + They leave, alone, the light they have inspired:<br +/> + The calmness of a picture; Memory now<br /> + Is the sole life among the ruins grey,<br /> + And like a phantom in fantastic play<br /> + She wanders with rank weeds stuck on her brow,<br /> + Over grass-hidden caves and turret-tops,<br /> + Herself almost as tottering as they;<br /> + While, to the steps of Time, her latest props<br /> + Fall stone by stone, and in the Sun’s hot +ray<br /> + All that remains stands up in rugged pride,<br /> +And bridal vines drink in his juices on each side.</p> +<h2><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>TO A +NIGHTINGALE</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">nightingale</span>! how +hast thou learnt<br /> + The note of the nested dove?<br /> +While under thy bower the fern hangs burnt<br /> + And no cloud hovers above!<br /> +Rich July has many a sky<br /> +With splendour dim, that thou mightst hymn,<br /> +And make rejoice with thy wondrous voice,<br /> + And the thrill of thy wild pervading tone!<br /> +But instead of to woo, thou hast learnt to coo:<br /> +Thy song is mute at the mellowing fruit,<br /> +And the dirge of the flowers is sung by the hours<br /> + In silence and twilight alone.</p> +<p class="poetry">O nightingale! ’tis this, ’tis +this<br /> + That makes thee mock the dove!<br /> +That thou hast past thy marriage bliss,<br /> + To know a parent’s love.<br /> +The waves of fern may fade and burn,<br /> +The grasses may fall, the flowers and all,<br /> +And the pine-smells o’er the oak dells<br /> + Float on their drowsy and odorous wings,<br /> +But thou wilt do nothing but coo,<br /> +Brimming the nest with thy brooding breast,<br /> +’Midst that young throng of future song,<br /> + Round whom the Future sings!</p> +<h2><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +124</span>INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> ’tis +Spring on wood and wold,<br /> +Early Spring that shivers with cold,<br /> +But gladdens, and gathers, day by day,<br /> +A lovelier hue, a warmer ray,<br /> +A sweeter song, a dearer ditty;<br /> +Ouzel and throstle, new-mated and gay,<br /> +Singing their bridals on every spray—<br /> +Oh, hear them, deep in the songless City!<br /> +Cast off the yoke of toil and smoke,<br /> +As Spring is casting winter’s grey,<br /> +As serpents cast their skins away:<br /> +And come, for the Country awaits thee with pity<br /> +And longs to bathe thee in her delight,<br /> +And take a new joy in thy kindling sight;<br /> +And I no less, by day and night,<br /> +Long for thy coming, and watch for, and wait thee,<br /> +And wonder what duties can thus berate thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dry-fruited firs are dropping their cones,<br +/> +And vista’d avenues of pines<br /> +Take richer green, give fresher tones,<br /> +As morn after morn the glad sun shines.</p> +<p class="poetry">Primrose tufts peep over the brooks,<br /> +Fair faces amid moist decay!<br /> +The rivulets run with the dead leaves at play,<br /> +The leafless elms are alive with the rooks.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>Over the meadows the cowslips are springing,<br /> +The marshes are thick with king-cup gold,<br /> +Clear is the cry of the lambs in the fold,<br /> +The skylark is singing, and singing, and singing.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon comes the cuckoo when April is fair,<br /> +And her blue eye the brighter the more it may weep:<br /> +The frog and the butterfly wake from their sleep,<br /> +Each to its element, water and air.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mist hangs still on every hill,<br /> +And curls up the valleys at eve; but noon<br /> +Is fullest of Spring; and at midnight the moon<br /> +Gives her westering throne to Orion’s bright zone,<br /> +As he slopes o’er the darkened world’s repose;<br /> +And a lustre in eastern Sirius glows.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come, in the season of opening buds;<br /> +Come, and molest not the otter that whistles<br /> +Unlit by the moon, ’mid the wet winter bristles<br /> +Of willow, half-drowned in the fattening floods.<br /> +Let him catch his cold fish without fear of a gun,<br /> +And the stars shall shield him, and thou wilt shun!<br /> +And every little bird under the sun<br /> +Shall know that the bounty of Spring doth dwell<br /> +In the winds that blow, in the waters that run,<br /> +And in the breast of man as well.</p> +<h2><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>THE +SWEET O’ THE YEAR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> the frog, all +lean and weak,<br /> + Yawning from his famished sleep,<br /> +Water in the ditch doth seek,<br /> + Fast as he can stretch and leap:<br /> + Marshy king-cups burning near<br +/> + Tell him ’tis the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the ant works up his mound<br /> + In the mouldered piny soil,<br /> +And above the busy ground<br /> + Takes the joy of earnest toil:<br /> + Dropping pine-cones, dry and +sere,<br /> + Warn him ’tis the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the chrysalis on the wall<br /> + Cracks, and out the creature springs,<br /> +Raptures in his body small,<br /> + Wonders on his dusty wings:<br /> + Bells and cups, all shining +clear,<br /> + Show him ’tis the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the brown bee, wild and wise,<br /> + Hums abroad, and roves and roams,<br /> +Storing in his wealthy thighs<br /> + Treasure for the golden combs:<br /> + Dewy buds and blossoms dear<br /> + Whisper ’tis the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +127</span>Now the merry maids so fair<br /> + Weave the wreaths and choose the queen,<br /> +Blooming in the open air,<br /> + Like fresh flowers upon the green;<br /> + Spring, in every thought +sincere,<br /> + Thrills them with the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the lads, all quick and gay,<br /> + Whistle to the browsing herds,<br /> +Or in the twilight pastures grey<br /> + Learn the use of whispered words:<br /> + First a blush, and then a tear,<br +/> + And then a smile, i’ the +sweet o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the May-fly and the fish<br /> + Play again from noon to night;<br /> +Every breeze begets a wish,<br /> + Every motion means delight:<br /> + Heaven high over heath and mere<br +/> + Crowns with blue the sweet +o’ the year.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now all Nature is alive,<br /> + Bird and beetle, man and mole;<br /> +Bee-like goes the human hive,<br /> + Lark-like sings the soaring soul:<br /> + Hearty faith and honest cheer<br +/> + Welcome in the sweet o’ the +year.</p> +<h2><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>AUTUMN EVEN-SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> long cloud edged with streaming grey<br +/> + Soars from the West;<br /> + The red leaf mounts with it away,<br /> + Showing the nest<br /> + A blot among the branches bare:<br /> +There is a cry of outcasts in the air.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Swift little breezes, darting +chill,<br /> + Pant down the lake;<br /> + A crow flies from the yellow hill,<br /> + And in its wake<br /> + A baffled line of labouring rooks:<br /> +Steel-surfaced to the light the river looks.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Pale on the panes of the old +hall<br /> + Gleams the lone space<br /> + Between the sunset and the squall;<br /> + And on its face<br /> + Mournfully glimmers to the last:<br /> +Great oaks grow mighty minstrels in the blast.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Pale the rain-rutted roadways +shine<br /> + In the green light<br /> + Behind the cedar and the pine:<br /> + Come, thundering night!<br /> + Blacken broad earth with hoards of storm:<br /> +For me yon valley-cottage beckons warm.</p> +<h2><a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>THE +SONG OF COURTESY</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Sir Gawain was +led to his bridal-bed,<br /> +By Arthur’s knights in scorn God-sped:—<br /> +How think you he felt?<br /> + O the bride within<br /> +Was yellow and dry as a snake’s old skin;<br /> + Loathly as sin!<br /> + Scarcely faceable,<br /> + Quite unembraceable;<br /> +With a hog’s bristle on a hag’s chin!—<br /> +Gentle Gawain felt as should we,<br /> +Little of Love’s soft fire knew he:<br /> +But he was the Knight of Courtesy.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">When that evil lady he lay beside<br /> +Bade him turn to greet his bride,<br /> +What think you he did?<br /> + O, to spare her pain,<br /> +And let not his loathing her loathliness vain<br /> + Mirror too plain,<br /> + Sadly, sighingly,<br /> + Almost dyingly,<br /> +Turned he and kissed her once and again.<br /> +Like Sir Gawain, gentles, should we?<br /> +<i>Silent</i>, <i>all</i>! But for pattern agree<br /> +There’s none like the Knight of Courtesy.</p> +<h3><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Sir Gawain sprang up amid laces and curls:<br +/> +Kisses are not wasted pearls:—<br /> +What clung in his arms?<br /> + O, a maiden flower,<br /> +Burning with blushes the sweet bride-bower,<br /> + Beauty her dower!<br /> + Breathing perfumingly;<br /> + Shall I live bloomingly,<br /> +Said she, by day, or the bridal hour?<br /> +Thereat he clasped her, and whispered he,<br /> +Thine, rare bride, the choice shall be.<br /> +Said she, Twice blest is Courtesy!</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Of gentle Sir Gawain they had no sport,<br /> +When it was morning in Arthur’s court;<br /> +What think you they cried?<br /> + Now, life and eyes!<br /> +This bride is the very Saint’s dream of a prize,<br /> + Fresh from the skies!<br /> + See ye not, Courtesy<br /> + Is the true Alchemy,<br /> +Turning to gold all it touches and tries?<br /> +Like the true knight, so may we<br /> +Make the basest that there be<br /> +Beautiful by Courtesy!</p> +<h2><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>THE +THREE MAIDENS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> were three +maidens met on the highway;<br /> + The sun was down, the night was late:<br /> +And two sang loud with the birds of May,<br /> + O the nightingale is merry with its mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said they to the youngest, Why walk you there +so still?<br /> + The land is dark, the night is late:<br /> +O, but the heart in my side is ill,<br /> + And the nightingale will languish for its mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said they to the youngest, Of lovers there is +store;<br /> + The moon mounts up, the night is late:<br /> +O, I shall look on man no more,<br /> + And the nightingale is dumb without its mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">Said they to the youngest, Uncross your arms +and sing;<br /> + The moon mounts high, the night is late:<br /> +O my dear lover can hear no thing,<br /> + And the nightingale sings only to its mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">They slew him in revenge, and his true-love was +his lure;<br /> + The moon is pale, the night is late:<br /> +His grave is shallow on the moor;<br /> + O the nightingale is dying for its mate.</p> +<p class="poetry">His blood is on his breast, and the moss-roots +at his hair;<br /> + The moon is chill, the night is late:<br /> +But I will lie beside him there:<br /> + O the nightingale is dying for its mate.</p> +<h2><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>OVER +THE HILLS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> old hound wags +his shaggy tail,<br /> + And I know what he would say:<br /> +It’s over the hills we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills, and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">There’s nought for us here save to count +the clock,<br /> + And hang the head all day:<br /> +But over the hills we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here among men we’re like the deer<br /> + That yonder is our prey:<br /> +So, over the hills we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">The hypocrite is master here,<br /> + But he’s the cock of clay:<br /> +So, over the hills we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">The women, they shall sigh and smile,<br /> + And madden whom they may:<br /> +It’s over the hills we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let silly lads in couples run<br /> + To pleasure, a wicked fay:<br /> +’Tis ours on the heather to bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>The torrent glints under the rowan red,<br /> + And shakes the bracken spray:<br /> +What joy on the heather to bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sun bursts broad, and the heathery bed<br +/> + Is purple, and orange, and gray:<br /> +Away, and away, we’ll bound, old hound,<br /> + Over the hills and away.</p> +<h2><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +134</span>JUGGLING JERRY</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Pitch</span> here the tent, +while the old horse grazes:<br /> + By the old hedge-side we’ll halt a stage.<br +/> +It’s nigh my last above the daisies:<br /> + My next leaf ’ll be man’s blank page.<br +/> +Yes, my old girl! and it’s no use crying:<br /> + Juggler, constable, king, must bow.<br /> +One that outjuggles all’s been spying<br /> + Long to have me, and he has me now.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">We’ve travelled times to this old +common:<br /> + Often we’ve hung our pots in the gorse.<br /> +We’ve had a stirring life, old woman!<br /> + You, and I, and the old grey horse.<br /> +Races, and fairs, and royal occasions,<br /> + Found us coming to their call:<br /> +Now they’ll miss us at our stations:<br /> + There’s a Juggler outjuggles all!</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Up goes the lark, as if all were jolly!<br /> + Over the duck-pond the willow shakes.<br /> +Easy to think that grieving’s folly,<br /> + When the hand’s firm as driven stakes!<br /> +<a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>Ay, when +we’re strong, and braced, and manful,<br /> + Life’s a sweet fiddle: but we’re a +batch<br /> +Born to become the Great Juggler’s han’ful:<br /> + Balls he shies up, and is safe to catch.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Here’s where the lads of the village +cricket:<br /> + I was a lad not wide from here:<br /> +Couldn’t I whip off the bail from the wicket?<br /> + Like an old world those days appear!<br /> +Donkey, sheep, geese, and thatched ale-house—I know +them!<br /> + They are old friends of my halts, and seem,<br /> +Somehow, as if kind thanks I owe them:<br /> + Juggling don’t hinder the heart’s +esteem.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">Juggling’s no sin, for we must have +victual:<br /> + Nature allows us to bait for the fool.<br /> +Holding one’s own makes us juggle no little;<br /> + But, to increase it, hard juggling’s the +rule.<br /> +You that are sneering at my profession,<br /> + Haven’t you juggled a vast amount?<br /> +There’s the Prime Minister, in one Session,<br /> + Juggles more games than my sins ’ll count.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’ve murdered insects with mock +thunder:<br /> + Conscience, for that, in men don’t quail.<br +/> +I’ve made bread from the bump of wonder:<br /> + That’s my business, and there’s my +tale.<br /> +<a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 136</span>Fashion +and rank all praised the professor:<br /> + Ay! and I’ve had my smile from the Queen:<br +/> +Bravo, Jerry! she meant: God bless her!<br /> + Ain’t this a sermon on that scene?</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’ve studied men from my topsy-turvy<br +/> + Close, and, I reckon, rather true.<br /> +Some are fine fellows: some, right scurvy:<br /> + Most, a dash between the two.<br /> +But it’s a woman, old girl, that makes me<br /> + Think more kindly of the race:<br /> +And it’s a woman, old girl, that shakes me<br /> + When the Great Juggler I must face.</p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">We two were married, due and legal:<br /> + Honest we’ve lived since we’ve been +one.<br /> +Lord! I could then jump like an eagle:<br /> + You danced bright as a bit o’ the sun.<br /> +Birds in a May-bush we were! right merry!<br /> + All night we kiss’d, we juggled all day.<br /> +Joy was the heart of Juggling Jerry!<br /> + Now from his old girl he’s juggled away.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">It’s past parsons to console us:<br /> + No, nor no doctor fetch for me:<br /> +I can die without my bolus;<br /> + Two of a trade, lass, never agree!<br /> +<a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>Parson +and Doctor!—don’t they love rarely,<br /> + Fighting the devil in other men’s fields!<br +/> +Stand up yourself and match him fairly:<br /> + Then see how the rascal yields!</p> +<h3>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">I, lass, have lived no gipsy, flaunting<br /> + Finery while his poor helpmate grubs:<br /> +Coin I’ve stored, and you won’t be wanting:<br /> + You shan’t beg from the troughs and tubs.<br +/> +Nobly you’ve stuck to me, though in his kitchen<br /> + Many a Marquis would hail you Cook!<br /> +Palaces you could have ruled and grown rich in,<br /> + But our old Jerry you never forsook.</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Hand up the chirper! ripe ale winks in it;<br +/> + Let’s have comfort and be at peace.<br /> +Once a stout draught made me light as a linnet.<br /> + Cheer up! the Lord must have his lease.<br /> +May be—for none see in that black hollow—<br /> + It’s just a place where we’re held in +pawn,<br /> +And, when the Great Juggler makes as to swallow,<br /> + It’s just the sword-trick—I ain’t +quite gone!</p> +<h3>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Yonder came smells of the gorse, so nutty,<br +/> + Gold-like and warm: it’s the prime of May.<br +/> +Better than mortar, brick and putty,<br /> + Is God’s house on a blowing day.<br /> +<a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>Lean me +more up the mound; now I feel it:<br /> + All the old heath-smells! Ain’t it +strange?<br /> +There’s the world laughing, as if to conceal it,<br /> + But He’s by us, juggling the change.</p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I mind it well, by the sea-beach lying,<br /> + Once—it’s long gone—when two gulls +we beheld,<br /> +Which, as the moon got up, were flying<br /> + Down a big wave that sparked and swelled.<br /> +Crack, went a gun: one fell: the second<br /> + Wheeled round him twice, and was off for new +luck:<br /> +There in the dark her white wing beckon’d:—<br /> + Drop me a kiss—I’m the bird +dead-struck!</p> +<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>THE +CROWN OF LOVE</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">might</span> I load my +arms with thee,<br /> + Like that young lover of Romance<br /> +Who loved and gained so gloriously<br /> + The fair Princess of France!</p> +<p class="poetry">Because he dared to love so high,<br /> + He, bearing her dear weight, shall speed<br /> +To where the mountain touched on sky:<br /> + So the proud king decreed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Unhalting he must bear her on,<br /> + Nor pause a space to gather breath,<br /> +And on the height she will be won;<br /> + And she was won in death!</p> +<p class="poetry">Red the far summit flames with morn,<br /> + While in the plain a glistening Court<br /> +Surrounds the king who practised scorn<br /> + Through such a mask of sport.</p> +<p class="poetry">She leans into his arms; she lets<br /> + Her lovely shape be clasped: he fares.<br /> +God speed him whole! The knights make bets:<br /> + The ladies lift soft prayers.</p> +<p class="poetry">O have you seen the deer at chase?<br /> + O have you seen the wounded kite?<br /> +So boundingly he runs the race,<br /> + So wavering grows his flight.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +140</span>—My lover! linger here, and slake<br /> + Thy thirst, or me thou wilt not win.<br /> +—See’st thou the tumbled heavens? they break!<br /> + They beckon us up and in.</p> +<p class="poetry">—Ah, hero-love! unloose thy hold:<br /> + O drop me like a curséd thing.<br /> +—See’st thou the crowded swards of gold?<br /> + They wave to us Rose and Ring.</p> +<p class="poetry">—O death-white mouth! O cast me +down!<br /> + Thou diest? Then with thee I die.<br /> +—See’st thou the angels with their Crown?<br /> + We twain have reached the sky.</p> +<h2><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>THE +HEAD OF BRAN THE BLEST</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the Head of +Bran<br /> + Was firm on British shoulders,<br /> +God made a man!<br /> + Cried all beholders.</p> +<p class="poetry">Steel could not resist<br /> + The weight his arm would rattle;<br /> +He, with naked fist,<br /> + Has brain’d a knight in battle.</p> +<p class="poetry">He marched on the foe,<br /> + And never counted numbers;<br /> +Foreign widows know<br /> + The hosts he sent to slumbers.</p> +<p class="poetry">As a street you scan,<br /> + That’s towered by the steeple,<br /> +So the Head of Bran<br /> + Rose o’er his people.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘Death’s my neighbour,’<br /> + Quoth Bran the Blest;<br /> +‘Christian labour<br /> + Brings Christian rest.<br /> +From the trunk sever<br /> + The Head of Bran,<br /> +That which never<br /> + Has bent to man!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>‘That which never<br /> + To men has bowed<br /> +Shall live ever<br /> + To shame the shroud:<br /> +Shall live ever<br /> + To face the foe;<br /> +Sever it, sever,<br /> + And with one blow.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Be it written,<br /> + That all I wrought<br /> +Was for Britain,<br /> + In deed and thought:<br /> +Be it written,<br /> + That while I die,<br /> +Glory to Britain!<br /> + Is my last cry.</p> +<p class="poetry">‘Glory to Britain!<br /> + Death echoes me round.<br /> +Glory to Britain!<br /> + The world shall resound.<br /> +Glory to Britain!<br /> + In ruin and fall,<br /> +Glory to Britain!<br /> + Is heard over all.’</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Burn, Sun, down the sea!<br /> +Bran lies low with thee.</p> +<p class="poetry">Burst, Morn, from the main!<br /> +Bran so shall rise again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +143</span>Blow, Wind, from the field!<br /> +Bran’s Head is the Briton’s shield.</p> +<p class="poetry">Beam, Star, in the West!<br /> +Bright burns the Head of Bran the Blest.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Crimson-footed, like the stork,<br /> + From great ruts of slaughter,<br /> +Warriors of the Golden Torque<br /> + Cross the lifting water.<br /> +Princes seven, enchaining hands,<br /> + Bear the live head homeward.<br /> +Lo! it speaks, and still commands:<br /> + Gazing out far foamward.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fiery words of lightning sense<br /> + Down the hollows thunder;<br /> +Forest hostels know not whence<br /> + Comes the speech, and wonder.<br /> +City-Castles, on the steep,<br /> + Where the faithful Seven<br /> +House at midnight, hear, in sleep,<br /> + Laughter under heaven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lilies, swimming on the mere,<br /> + In the castle shadow,<br /> +Under draw their heads, and Fear<br /> + Walks the misty meadow.<br /> +Tremble not! it is not Death<br /> + Pledging dark espousal:<br /> +’Tis the Head of endless breath,<br /> + Challenging carousal!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>Brim the horn! a health is drunk,<br /> + Now, that shall keep going:<br /> +Life is but the pebble sunk;<br /> + Deeds, the circle growing!<br /> +Fill, and pledge the Head of Bran!<br /> + While his lead they follow,<br /> +Long shall heads in Britain plan<br /> + Speech Death cannot swallow!</p> +<h2><a name="page145"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 145</span>THE +MEETING</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> old coach-road +through a common of furze,<br /> + With knolls of pine, ran white;<br /> +Berries of autumn, with thistles, and burrs,<br /> + And spider-threads, droop’d in the light.</p> +<p class="poetry">The light in a thin blue veil peered sick;<br +/> + The sheep grazed close and still;<br /> +The smoke of a farm by a yellow rick<br /> + Curled lazily under a hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">No fly shook the round of the silver net;<br /> + No insect the swift bird chased;<br /> +Only two travellers moved and met<br /> + Across that hazy waste.</p> +<p class="poetry">One was a girl with a babe that throve,<br /> + Her ruin and her bliss;<br /> +One was a youth with a lawless love,<br /> + Who clasped it the more for this.</p> +<p class="poetry">The girl for her babe hummed prayerful +speech;<br /> + The youth for his love did pray;<br /> +Each cast a wistful look on each,<br /> + And either went their way.</p> +<h2><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 146</span>THE +BEGGAR’S SOLILOQUY</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, this, to my +notion, is pleasant cheer,<br /> + To lie all alone on a ragged heath,<br /> +Where your nose isn’t sniffing for bones or beer,<br /> + But a peat-fire smells like a garden beneath.<br /> +The cottagers bustle about the door,<br /> + And the girl at the window ties her strings.<br /> +She’s a dish for a man who’s a mind to be poor;<br /> + Lord! women are such expensive things.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">We don’t marry beggars, says she: why, +no:<br /> + It seems that to make ’em is what you do;<br +/> +And as I can cook, and scour, and sew,<br /> + I needn’t pay half my victuals for you.<br /> +A man for himself should be able to scratch,<br /> + But tickling’s a luxury:—love, +indeed!<br /> +Love burns as long as the lucifer match,<br /> + Wedlock’s the candle! Now, that’s +my creed.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">The church-bells sound water-like over the +wheat;<br /> + And up the long path troop pair after pair.<br /> +The man’s well-brushed, and the woman looks neat:<br /> + It’s man and woman everywhere!<br /> +<a name="page147"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 147</span>Unless, +like me, you lie here flat,<br /> + With a donkey for friend, you must have a wife:<br +/> +She pulls out your hair, but she brushes your hat.<br /> + Appearances make the best half of life.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">You nice little madam! you know you’re +nice.<br /> + I remember hearing a parson say<br /> +You’re a plateful of vanity pepper’d with vice;<br /> + You chap at the gate thinks t’ other way.<br +/> +On his waistcoat you read both his head and his heart:<br /> + There’s a whole week’s wages there +figured in gold!<br /> +Yes! when you turn round you may well give a start:<br /> + It’s fun to a fellow who’s getting +old.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">Now, that’s a good craft, weaving +waistcoats and flowers,<br /> + And selling of ribbons, and scenting of lard:<br /> +It gives you a house to get in from the showers,<br /> + And food when your appetite jockeys you hard.<br /> +You live a respectable man; but I ask<br /> + If it’s worth the trouble? You use your +tools,<br /> +And spend your time, and what’s your task?<br /> + Why, to make a slide for a couple of fools.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">You can’t match the colour o’ these +heath mounds,<br /> + Nor better that peat-fire’s agreeable +smell.<br /> +I’m clothed-like with natural sights and sounds;<br /> + To myself I’m in tune: I hope you’re as +well.<br /> +You jolly old cot! though you don’t own coal:<br /> + It’s a generous pot that’s boiled with +peat.<br /> +Let the Lord Mayor o’ London roast oxen whole:<br /> + His smoke, at least, don’t smell so sweet.</p> +<h3><a name="page148"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +148</span>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’m not a low Radical, hating the +laws,<br /> + Who’d the aristocracy rebuke.<br /> +I talk o’ the Lord Mayor o’ London because<br /> + I once was on intimate terms with his cook.<br /> +I served him a turn, and got pensioned on scraps,<br /> + And, Lord, Sir! didn’t I envy his place,<br /> +Till Death knock’d him down with the softest of taps,<br /> + And I knew what was meant by a tallowy face!</p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">On the contrary, I’m Conservative +quite;<br /> + There’s beggars in Scripture ’mongst +Gentiles and Jews:<br /> +It’s nonsense, trying to set things right,<br /> + For if people will give, why, who’ll +refuse?<br /> +That stopping old custom wakes my spleen:<br /> + The poor and the rich both in giving agree:<br /> +Your tight-fisted shopman’s the Radical mean:<br /> + There’s nothing in common ’twixt him and +me.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">He says I’m no use! but I won’t +reply.<br /> + You’re lucky not being of use to him!<br /> +On week-days he’s playing at Spider and Fly,<br /> + And on Sundays he sings about Cherubim!<br /> +Nailing shillings to counters is his chief work:<br /> + He nods now and then at the name on his door:<br /> +But judge of us two, at a bow and a smirk,<br /> + I think I’m his match: and I’m +honest—that’s more.</p> +<h3>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">No use! well, I mayn’t be. You ring +a pig’s snout,<br /> + And then call the animal glutton! Now, he,<br +/> +<a name="page149"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 149</span>Mr. +Shopman, he’s nought but a pipe and a spout<br /> + Who won’t let the goods o’ this world +pass free.<br /> +This blazing blue weather all round the brown crop,<br /> + He can’t enjoy! all but cash he hates.<br /> +He’s only a snail that crawls under his shop;<br /> + Though he has got the ear o’ the +magistrates.</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Now, giving and taking’s a proper +exchange,<br /> + Like question and answer: you’re both +content.<br /> +But buying and selling seems always strange;<br /> + You’re hostile, and that’s the thing +that’s meant.<br /> +It’s man against man—you’re almost brutes;<br +/> + There’s here no thanks, and there’s +there no pride.<br /> +If Charity’s Christian, don’t blame my pursuits,<br +/> + I carry a touchstone by which you’re +tried.</p> +<h3>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">—‘Take it,’ says she, +‘it’s all I’ve got’:<br /> + I remember a girl in London streets:<br /> +She stood by a coffee-stall, nice and hot,<br /> + My belly was like a lamb that bleats.<br /> +Says I to myself, as her shilling I seized,<br /> + You haven’t a character here, my dear!<br /> +But for making a rascal like me so pleased,<br /> + I’ll give you one, in a better sphere!</p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">And that’s where it is—she made me +feel<br /> + I was a rascal: but people who scorn,<br /> +And tell a poor patch-breech he isn’t genteel,<br /> + Why, they make him kick up—and he treads on a +corn.<br /> +<a name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>It +isn’t liking, it’s curst ill-luck,<br /> + Drives half of us into the begging-trade:<br /> +If for taking to water you praise a duck,<br /> + For taking to beer why a man upbraid?</p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">The sermon’s over: they’re out of +the porch,<br /> + And it’s time for me to move a leg;<br /> +But in general people who come from church,<br /> + And have called themselves sinners, hate chaps to +beg.<br /> +I’ll wager they’ll all of ’em dine to-day!<br +/> + I was easy half a minute ago.<br /> +If that isn’t pig that’s baking away,<br /> + May I perish!—we’re never +contented—heigho!</p> +<h2><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 151</span>BY +THE ROSANNA<br /> +TO F. M.</h2> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Stanzer Thal, +Tyrol</span></p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> old grey Alp has +caught the cloud,<br /> +And the torrent river sings aloud;<br /> +The glacier-green Rosanna sings<br /> +An organ song of its upper springs.<br /> +Foaming under the tiers of pine,<br /> +I see it dash down the dark ravine,<br /> +And it tumbles the rocks in boisterous play,<br /> +With an earnest will to find its way.<br /> +Sharp it throws out an emerald shoulder,<br /> + And, thundering ever of the mountain,<br /> +Slaps in sport some giant boulder,<br /> + And tops it in a silver fountain.<br /> +A chain of foam from end to end,<br /> +And a solitude so deep, my friend,<br /> +You may forget that man abides<br /> +Beyond the great mute mountain-sides.<br /> +Yet to me, in this high-walled solitude<br /> +Of river and rock and forest rude,<br /> +The roaring voice through the long white chain<br /> +Is the voice of the world of bubble and brain.</p> +<h2><a name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +152</span>PHANTASY</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Within</span> a Temple of +the Toes,<br /> + Where twirled the passionate Wili,<br /> +I saw full many a market rose,<br /> + And sighed for my village lily.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">With cynical Adrian then I took flight<br /> + To that old dead city whose carol<br /> +Bursts out like a reveller’s loud in the night,<br /> + As he sits astride his barrel.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">We two were bound the Alps to scale,<br /> + Up the rock-reflecting river;<br /> +Old times blew thro’ me like a gale,<br /> + And kept my thoughts in a quiver.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Hawking ruin, wood-slope, and vine<br /> + Reeled silver-laced under my vision,<br /> +And into me passed, with the green-eyed wine<br /> + Knocking hard at my head for admission.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">I held the village lily cheap,<br /> + And the dream around her idle:<br /> +Lo, quietly as I lay to sleep,<br /> + The bells led me off to a bridal.</p> +<h3><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">My bride wore the hood of a Béguine,<br +/> + And mine was the foot to falter;<br /> +Three cowled monks, rat-eyed, were seen;<br /> + The Cross was of bones o’er the altar.</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">The Cross was of bones; the priest that +read,<br /> + A spectacled necromancer:<br /> +But at the fourth word, the bride I led<br /> + Changed to an Opera dancer.</p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">A young ballet-beauty, who perked in her +place,<br /> + A darling of pink and spangles;<br /> +One fair foot level with her face,<br /> + And the hearts of men at her ankles.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">She whirled, she twirled, the mock-priest +grinned,<br /> + And quickly his mask unriddled;<br /> +’Twas Adrian! loud his old laughter dinned;<br /> + Then he seized a fiddle, and fiddled.</p> +<h3>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">He fiddled, he glowed with the bottomless +fire,<br /> + Like Sathanas in feature:<br /> +All through me he fiddled a wolfish desire<br /> + To dance with that bright creature.</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">And gathering courage I said to my soul,<br /> + Throttle the thing that hinders!<br /> +When the three cowled monks, from black as coal,<br /> + Waxed hot as furnace-cinders.</p> +<h3><a name="page154"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +154</span>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">They caught her up, twirling: they leapt +between-whiles:<br /> + The fiddler flickered with laughter:<br /> +Profanely they flew down the awful aisles,<br /> + Where I went sliding after.</p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Down the awful aisles, by the fretted walls,<br +/> + Beneath the Gothic arches:—<br /> +King Skull in the black confessionals<br /> + Sat rub-a-dub-dubbing his marches.</p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Then the silent cold stone warriors frowned,<br +/> + The pictured saints strode forward:<br /> +A whirlwind swept them from holy ground;<br /> + A tempest puffed them nor’ward.</p> +<h3>XV</h3> +<p class="poetry">They shot through the great cathedral door;<br +/> + Like mallards they traversed ocean:<br /> +And gazing below, on its boiling floor,<br /> + I marked a horrid commotion.</p> +<h3>XVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Down a forest’s long alleys they spun +like tops:<br /> + It seemed that for ages and ages,<br /> +Thro’ the Book of Life bereft of stops,<br /> + They waltzed continuous pages.</p> +<h3>XVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">And ages after, scarce awake,<br /> + And my blood with the fever fretting,<br /> +I stood alone by a forest-lake,<br /> + Whose shadows the moon were netting.</p> +<h3><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>XVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Lilies, golden and white, by the curls<br /> + Of their broad flat leaves hung swaying.<br /> +A wreath of languid twining girls<br /> + Streamed upward, long locks disarraying.</p> +<h3>XIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">Their cheeks had the satin frost-glow of the +moon;<br /> + Their eyes the fire of Sirius.<br /> +They circled, and droned a monotonous tune,<br /> + Abandoned to love delirious.</p> +<h3>XX</h3> +<p class="poetry">Like lengths of convolvulus torn from the +hedge,<br /> + And trailing the highway over,<br /> +The dreamy-eyed mistresses circled the sedge,<br /> + And called for a lover, a lover!</p> +<h3>XXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">I sank, I rose through seas of eyes,<br /> + In odorous swathes delicious:<br /> +They fanned me with impetuous sighs,<br /> + They hit me with kisses vicious.</p> +<h3>XXII</h3> +<p class="poetry">My ears were spelled, my neck was coiled,<br /> + And I with their fury was glowing,<br /> +When the marbly waters bubbled and boiled<br /> + At a watery noise of crowing.</p> +<h3>XXIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">They dragged me low and low to the lake:<br /> + Their kisses more stormily showered;<br /> +On the emerald brink, in the white moon’s wake,<br /> + An earthly damsel cowered.</p> +<h3><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>XXIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Fresh heart-sobs shook her knitted hands<br /> + Beneath a tiny suckling,<br /> +As one by one of the doleful bands<br /> + Dived like a fairy duckling.</p> +<h3>XXV</h3> +<p class="poetry">And now my turn had come—O me!<br /> + What wisdom was mine that second!<br /> +I dropped on the adorer’s knee;<br /> + To that sweet figure I beckoned.</p> +<h3>XXVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Save me! save me! for now I know<br /> + The powers that Nature gave me,<br /> +And the value of honest love I know:—<br /> + My village lily! save me!</p> +<h3>XXVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Come ’twixt me and the sisterhood,<br /> + While the passion-born phantoms are fleeing!<br /> +Oh, he that is true to flesh and blood<br /> + Is true to his own being!</p> +<h3>XXVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">And he that is false to flesh and blood<br /> + Is false to the star within him:<br /> +And the mad and hungry sisterhood<br /> + All under the tides shall win him!</p> +<h3>XXIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">My village lily! save me! save!<br /> + For strength is with the holy:—<br /> +Already I shuddered to feel the wave,<br /> + As I kept sinking slowly:—</p> +<h3><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>XXX</h3> +<p class="poetry">I felt the cold wave and the under-tug<br /> + Of the Brides, when—starting and +shrinking—<br /> +Lo, Adrian tilts the water-jug!<br /> + And Bruges with morn is blinking.</p> +<h3>XXXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Merrily sparkles sunny prime<br /> + On gabled peak and arbour:<br /> +Merrily rattles belfry-chime<br /> + The song of Sevilla’s Barber.</p> +<h2><a name="page158"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 158</span>THE +OLD CHARTIST</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Whate’er</span> I be, +old England is my dam!<br /> + So there’s my answer to the judges, clear.<br +/> +I’m nothing of a fox, nor of a lamb;<br /> + I don’t know how to bleat nor how to leer:<br +/> + + +I’m for the nation!<br /> + That’s why you see me by the wayside here,<br +/> + Returning home from +transportation.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">It’s Summer in her bath this morn, I +think.<br /> + I’m fresh as dew, and chirpy as the birds:<br +/> +And just for joy to see old England wink<br /> + Thro’ leaves again, I could harangue the +herds:<br /> + + +Isn’t it something<br /> + To speak out like a man when you’ve got +words,<br /> + And prove you’re not a +stupid dumb thing?</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">They shipp’d me of for it; I’m here +again.<br /> + Old England is my dam, whate’er I be!<br /> +Says I, I’ll tramp it home, and see the grain:<br /> + If you see well, you’re king of what you +see:<br /> + + +Eyesight is having,<br /> + If you’re not given, I said, to gluttony.<br +/> + Such talk to ignorance sounds as +raving.</p> +<h3><a name="page159"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +159</span>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">You dear old brook, that from his Grace’s +park<br /> + Come bounding! on you run near my old town:<br /> +My lord can’t lock the water; nor the lark,<br /> + Unless he kills him, can my lord keep down.<br /> + + +Up, is the song-note!<br /> + I’ve tried it, too:—for comfort and +renown,<br /> + I rather pitch’d upon the +wrong note.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’m not ashamed: Not beaten’s still +my boast:<br /> + Again I’ll rouse the people up to strike.<br +/> +But home’s where different politics jar most.<br /> + Respectability the women like.<br /> + + +This form, or that form,—<br /> + The Government may be hungry pike,<br /> + But don’t you mount a +Chartist platform!</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Well, well! Not beaten—spite of +them, I shout;<br /> + And my estate is suffering for the Cause.—<br +/> +No,—what is yon brown water-rat about,<br /> + Who washes his old poll with busy paws?<br /> + + +What does he mean by’t?<br /> + It’s like defying all our natural laws,<br /> + For him to hope that he’ll +get clean by’t.</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">His seat is on a mud-bank, and his trade<br /> + Is dirt:—he’s quite contemptible; and +yet<br /> +The fellow’s all as anxious as a maid<br /> + To show a decent dress, and dry the wet.<br /> + + +Now it’s his whisker,<br /> + And now his nose, and ear: he seems to get<br /> + Each moment at the motion +brisker!</p> +<h3><a name="page160"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +160</span>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">To see him squat like little chaps at +school,<br /> + I could let fly a laugh with all my might.<br /> +He peers, hangs both his fore-paws:—bless that fool,<br /> + He’s bobbing at his frill now!—what a +sight!<br /> + + +Licking the dish up,<br /> + As if he thought to pass from black to white,<br /> + Like parson into lawny bishop.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">The elms and yellow reed-flags in the sun,<br +/> + Look on quite grave:—the sunlight flecks his +side;<br /> +And links of bindweed-flowers round him run,<br /> + And shine up doubled with him in the tide.<br /> + + +<i>I’m</i> nearly splitting,<br /> + But nature seems like seconding his pride,<br /> + And thinks that his +behaviour’s fitting.</p> +<h3>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">That isle o’ mud looks baking dry with +gold.<br /> + His needle-muzzle still works out and in.<br /> +It really is a wonder to behold,<br /> + And makes me feel the bristles of my chin.<br /> + + +Judged by appearance,<br /> + I fancy of the two I’m nearer Sin,<br /> + And might as well commence a +clearance.</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">And that’s what my fine daughter +said:—she meant:<br /> + Pray, hold your tongue, and wear a Sunday face.<br +/> +Her husband, the young linendraper, spent<br /> + Much argument thereon:—I’m their +disgrace.<br /> + + +Bother the couple!<br /> + I feel superior to a chap whose place<br /> + Commands him to be neat and +supple.</p> +<h3><a name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +161</span>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">But if I go and say to my old hen:<br /> + I’ll mend the gentry’s boots, and keep +discreet,<br /> +Until they grow <i>too</i> violent,—why, then,<br /> + A warmer welcome I might chance to meet:<br /> + + +Warmer and better.<br /> + And if she fancies her old cock is beat,<br /> + And drops upon her knees—so +let her!</p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">She suffered for me:—women, you’ll +observe,<br /> + Don’t suffer for a Cause, but for a man.<br /> +When I was in the dock she show’d her nerve:<br /> + I saw beneath her shawl my old tea-can<br /> + + +Trembling . . . she brought it<br /> + To screw me for my work: she loath’d my +plan,<br /> + And therefore doubly kind I +thought it.</p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’ve never lost the taste of that same +tea:<br /> + That liquor on my logic floats like oil,<br /> +When I state facts, and fellows disagree.<br /> + For human creatures all are in a coil;<br /> + + +All may want pardon.<br /> + I see a day when every pot will boil<br /> + Harmonious in one great +Tea-garden!</p> +<h3>XV</h3> +<p class="poetry">We wait the setting of the Dandy’s +day,<br /> + Before that time!—He’s furbishing his +dress,—<br /> +He <i>will</i> be ready for it!—and I say,<br /> + That yon old dandy rat amid the cress,—<br /> + + +Thanks to hard labour!—<br /> + If cleanliness is next to godliness,<br /> + The old fat fellow’s +heaven’s neighbour!</p> +<h3><a name="page162"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +162</span>XVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">You teach me a fine lesson, my old boy!<br /> + I’ve looked on my superiors far too long,<br +/> +And small has been my profit as my joy.<br /> + You’ve done the right while I’ve +denounced the wrong.<br /> + + +Prosper me later!<br /> + Like you I will despise the sniggering throng,<br /> + And please myself and my +Creator.</p> +<h3>XVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I’ll bring the linendraper and his +wife<br /> + Some day to see you; taking off my hat.<br /> +Should they ask why, I’ll answer: in my life<br /> + I never found so true a democrat.<br /> + + +Base occupation<br /> + Can’t rob you of your own esteem, old rat!<br +/> + I’ll preach you to the +British nation.</p> +<h2><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 163</span>SONG +<a name="citation163"></a><a href="#footnote163" +class="citation">[163]</a></h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Should</span> thy love die;<br /> + O bury it not under ice-blue eyes!<br /> + And lips that deny,<br /> + With a scornful surprise,<br /> +The life it once lived in thy breast when it wore no +disguise.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Should thy +love die;<br /> + O bury it where the sweet wild-flowers blow!<br /> + And breezes go by,<br /> + With no whisper of woe;<br /> +And strange feet cannot guess of the anguish that slumbers +below.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Should thy +love die;<br /> + O wander once more to the haunt of the bee!<br /> + Where the foliaged sky<br /> + Is most sacred to see,<br /> +And thy being first felt its wild birth like a wind-wakened +tree.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Should thy +love die;<br /> + O dissemble it! smile! let the rose hide the +thorn!<br /> + While the lark sings on high,<br +/> + And no thing looks forlorn,<br /> +Bury it, bury it, bury it where it was born.</p> +<h2><a name="page164"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 164</span>TO +ALEX. SMITH, THE ‘GLASGOW POET,’ <a +name="citation164"></a><a href="#footnote164" +class="citation">[164]</a><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">ON HIS SONNET TO +‘FAME’</span></h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> vainly doth the +earnest voice of man<br /> +Call for the thing that is his pure desire!<br /> +Fame is the birthright of the living lyre!<br /> +To noble impulse Nature puts no ban.<br /> +Nor vainly to the Sphinx thy voice was raised!<br /> +Tho’ all thy great emotions like a sea,<br /> +Against her stony immortality,<br /> +Shatter themselves unheeded and amazed.<br /> +Time moves behind her in a blind eclipse:<br /> +Yet if in her cold eyes the end of all<br /> +Be visible, as on her large closed lips<br /> +Hangs dumb the awful riddle of the earth;—<br /> +She sees, and she might speak, since that wild call,<br /> +The mighty warning of a Poet’s birth.</p> +<h2><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +165</span>GRANDFATHER BRIDGEMAN</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘<span class="smcap">Heigh</span>, +boys!’ cried Grandfather Bridgeman, ‘it’s time +before dinner to-day.’<br /> +He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising +‘Hurrah!’<br /> +Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch +in his throat,<br /> +Said, ‘Father, before we make noises, let’s see the +contents of the note.’<br /> +The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: +‘Too bad!<br /> +John Bridgeman, I’m always the whisky, and you are the +water, my lad!’</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">But soon it was known thro’ the house, +and the house ran over for joy,<br /> +That news, good news, great marvels, had come from the soldier +boy;<br /> +Young Tom, the luckless scapegrace, offshoot of Methodist +John;<br /> +His grandfather’s evening tale, whom the old man hailed as +his son.<br /> +And the old man’s shout of pride was a shout of his +victory, too;<br /> +For he called his affection a method: the neighbours’ +opinions he knew.</p> +<h3><a name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +166</span>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Meantime, from the morning table removing the +stout breakfast cheer,<br /> +The drink of the three generations, the milk, the tea, and the +beer<br /> +(Alone in its generous reading of pints stood the +Grandfather’s jug),<br /> +The women for sight of the missive came pressing to coax and to +hug.<br /> +He scattered them quick, with a buss and a smack; thereupon he +began<br /> +Diversions with John’s little Sarah: on Sunday, the naughty +old man!</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Then messengers sped to the maltster, the +auctioneer, miller, and all<br /> +The seven sons of the farmer who housed in the range of his +call.<br /> +Likewise the married daughters, three plentiful ladies, prime +cooks,<br /> +Who bowed to him while they condemned, in meek hope to stand high +in his books.<br /> +‘John’s wife is a fool at a pudding,’ they +said, and the light carts up hill<br /> +Went merrily, flouting the Sabbath: for puddings well made mend a +will.</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">The day was a van-bird of summer: the robin +still piped, but the blue,<br /> +As a warm and dreamy palace with voices of larks ringing +thro’,<br /> +<a name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>Looked +down as if wistfully eyeing the blossoms that fell from its +lap:<br /> +A day to sweeten the juices: a day to quicken the sap.<br /> +All round the shadowy orchard sloped meadows in gold, and the +dear<br /> +Shy violets breathed their hearts out: the maiden breath of the +year!</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Full time there was before dinner to bring +fifteen of his blood,<br /> +To sit at the old man’s table: they found that the dinner +was good.<br /> +But who was she by the lilacs and pouring laburnums concealed,<br +/> +When under the blossoming apple the chair of the Grandfather +wheeled?<br /> +She heard one little child crying, ‘Dear brave Cousin +Tom!’ as it leapt;<br /> +Then murmured she: ‘Let me spare them!’ and passed +round the walnuts, and wept.</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Yet not from sight had she slipped ere feminine +eyes could detect<br /> +The figure of Mary Charlworth. ‘It’s just what +we all might expect,’<br /> +Was uttered: and: ‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Of +Mary the rumour resounds,<br /> +That she is now her own mistress, and mistress of five thousand +pounds.<br /> +’Twas she, they say, who cruelly sent young Tom to the +war.<br /> +Miss Mary, we thank you now! If you knew what we’re +thanking you for!</p> +<h3><a name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +168</span>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">But, ‘Have her in: let her hear +it,’ called Grandfather Bridgeman, elate,<br /> +While Mary’s black-gloved fingers hung trembling with +flight on the gate.<br /> +Despite the women’s remonstrance, two little ones, lighter +than deer,<br /> +Were loosed, and Mary, imprisoned, her whole face white as a +tear,<br /> +Came forward with culprit footsteps. Her punishment was to +commence:<br /> +The pity in her pale visage they read in a different sense.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘You perhaps may remember a fellow, Miss +Charlworth, a sort of black sheep,’<br /> +The old man turned his tongue to ironical utterance deep:<br /> +‘He came of a Methodist dad, so it wasn’t his fault +if he kicked.<br /> +He earned a sad reputation, but Methodists are mortal strict.<br +/> +His name was Tom, and, dash me! but Bridgeman! I think you might +add:<br /> +Whatever he was, bear in mind that he came of a Methodist +dad.’</p> +<h3>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">This prelude dismally lengthened, till Mary, +starting, exclaimed,<br /> +‘A letter, Sir, from your grandson?’ ‘Tom +Bridgeman that rascal is named,’<br /> +<a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 169</span>The old +man answered, and further, the words that sent Tom to the +ranks<br /> +Repeated as words of a person to whom they all owed mighty +thanks.<br /> +But Mary never blushed: with her eyes on the letter, she sate,<br +/> +And twice interrupting him faltered, ‘The date, may I ask, +Sir, the date?’</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘Why, that’s what I never look at +in a letter,’ the farmer replied:<br /> +‘Facts first! and now I’ll be parson.’ +The Bridgeman women descried<br /> +A quiver on Mary’s eyebrows. One turned, and while +shifting her comb,<br /> +Said low to a sister: ‘I’m certain she knows more +than we about Tom.<br /> +She wants him now he’s a hero!’ The same, +resuming her place,<br /> +Begged Mary to check them the moment she found it a tedious +case.</p> +<h3>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Then as a mastiff swallows the snarling noises +of cats,<br /> +The voice of the farmer opened. ‘“Three cheers, +and off with your hats!”<br /> +—That’s Tom. “We’ve beaten them, +Daddy, and tough work it was, to be sure!<br /> +A regular stand-up combat: eight hours smelling powder and +gore.<br /> +I entered it Serjeant-Major,”—and now he commands a +salute,<br /> +And carries the flag of old England! Heigh! see him lift +foes on his foot!</p> +<h3><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘—An officer! ay, Miss Charlworth, +he is, or he is so to be;<br /> +You’ll own war isn’t such humbug: and Glory means +something, you see.<br /> +“But don’t say a word,” he continues, +“against the brave French any more.”<br /> +—That stopt me: we’ll now march together. I +couldn’t read further before.<br /> +That “brave French” I couldn’t stomach. +He can’t see their cunning to get<br /> +Us Britons to fight their battles, while best half the winnings +they net!’</p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">The old man sneered, and read forward. It +was of that desperate fight;—<br /> +The Muscovite stole thro’ the mist-wreaths that wrapped the +chill Inkermann height,<br /> +Where stood our silent outposts: old England was in them that +day!<br /> +O sharp worked his ruddy wrinkles, as if to the breath of the +fray<br /> +They moved! He sat bareheaded: his long hair over him +slow<br /> +Swung white as the silky bog-flowers in purple heath-hollows that +grow.</p> +<h3>XV</h3> +<p class="poetry">And louder at Tom’s first person: acute +and in thunder the ‘I’<br /> +Invaded the ear with a whinny of triumph, that seem’d to +defy<br /> +<a name="page171"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 171</span>The +hosts of the world. All heated, what wonder he little could +brook<br /> +To catch the sight of Mary’s demure puritanical look?<br /> +And still as he led the onslaught, his treacherous side-shots he +sent<br /> +At her who was fighting a battle as fierce, and who sat there +unbent.</p> +<h3>XVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“We stood in line, and like +hedgehogs the Russians rolled under us thick.<br /> +They frightened me there.”—He’s no coward; for +when, Miss, they came at the quick,<br /> +The sight, he swears, was a breakfast.—“My stomach +felt tight: in a glimpse<br /> +I saw you snoring at home with the dear cuddled-up little +imps.<br /> +And then like the winter brickfields at midnight, hot fire +lengthened out.<br /> +Our fellows were just leashed bloodhounds: no heart of the lot +faced about.</p> +<h3>XVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“And only that grumbler, Bob +Harris, remarked that we stood one to ten:<br /> +‘Ye fool,’ says Mick Grady, ‘just tell +’em they know to compliment men!’<br /> +And I sang out your old words: ‘If the opposite side +isn’t God’s,<br /> +Heigh! after you’ve counted a dozen, the pluckiest lads +have the odds.’<br /> +Ping-ping flew the enemies’ pepper: the Colonel roared, +Forward, and we<br /> +Went at them. ’Twas first like a blanket: and then a +long plunge in the sea.</p> +<h3><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +172</span>XVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“Well, now about me and the +Frenchman: it happened I can’t tell you how:<br /> +And, Grandfather, hear, if you love me, and put aside prejudice +now”:<br /> +He never says “Grandfather”—Tom +don’t—save it’s a serious thing.<br /> +“Well, there were some pits for the rifles, just dug on our +French-leaning wing:<br /> +And backwards, and forwards, and backwards we went, and at last I +was vexed,<br /> +And swore I would never surrender a foot when the Russians +charged next.</p> +<h3>XIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“I know that life’s worth +keeping.”—Ay, so it is, lad; so it is!—<br /> +“But my life belongs to a woman.”—Does that +mean Her Majesty, Miss?—<br /> +“These Russians came lumping and grinning: they’re +fierce at it, though they are blocks.<br /> +Our fellows were pretty well pumped, and looked sharp for the +little French cocks.<br /> +Lord, didn’t we pray for their crowing! when over us, on +the hill-top,<br /> +Behold the first line of them skipping, like kangaroos seen on +the hop.</p> +<h3>XX</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“That sent me into a passion, to +think of them spying our flight!”<br /> +Heigh, Tom! you’ve Bridgeman blood, boy! And, +“‘Face them!’ I shouted: ‘All right;<br +/> +<a name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>Sure, +Serjeant, we’ll take their shot dacent, like +gentlemen,’ Grady replied.<br /> +A ball in his mouth, and the noble old Irishman dropped by my +side.<br /> +Then there was just an instant to save myself, when a short +wheeze<br /> +Of bloody lungs under the smoke, and a red-coat crawled up on his +knees.</p> +<h3>XXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“’Twas Ensign Baynes of our +parish.”—Ah, ah, Miss Charlworth, the one<br /> +Our Tom fought for a young lady? Come, now we’ve got +into the fun!—<br /> +“I shouldered him: he primed his pistol, and I trailed my +musket, prepared.”<br /> +Why, that’s a fine pick-a-back for ye, to make twenty +Russians look scared!<br /> +“They came—never mind how many: we couldn’t +have run very well,<br /> +We fought back to back: ‘face to face, our last +time!’ he said, smiling, and fell.</p> +<h3>XXII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“Then I strove wild for his body: +the beggars saw glittering rings,<br /> +Which I vowed to send to his mother. I got some hard knocks +and sharp stings,<br /> +But felt them no more than angel, or devil, except in the +wind.<br /> +I know that I swore at a Russian for showing his teeth, and he +grinned<br /> +The harder: quick, as from heaven, a man on a horse rode +between,<br /> +And fired, and swung his bright sabre: I can’t write you +more of the scene.</p> +<h3><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +174</span>XXIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘“But half in his arms, and half at +his stirrup, he bore me right forth,<br /> +And pitched me among my old comrades: before I could tell south +from north,<br /> +He caught my hand up, and kissed it! Don’t ever let +any man speak<br /> +A word against Frenchmen, I near him! I can’t find +his name, tho’ I seek.<br /> +But French, and a General, surely he was, and, God bless him! +thro’ him<br /> +I’ve learnt to love a whole nation.”’ The +ancient man paused, winking dim.</p> +<h3>XXIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">A curious look, half woeful, was seen on his +face as he turned<br /> +His eyes upon each of his children, like one who but faintly +discerned<br /> +His old self in an old mirror. Then gathering sense in his +fist,<br /> +He sounded it hard on his knee-cap. ‘Your hand, Tom, +the French fellow kissed!<br /> +He kissed my boy’s old pounder! I say he’s a +gentleman!’ Straight<br /> +The letter he tossed to one daughter; bade her the remainder +relate.</p> +<h3>XXV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Tom properly stated his praises in facts, but +the lady preferred<br /> +To deck the narration with brackets, and drop her additional +word.<br /> +<a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 175</span>What +nobler Christian natures these women could boast, who, +’twas known,<br /> +Once spat at the name of their nephew, and now made his praises +their own!<br /> +The letter at last was finished, the hearers breathed freely, and +sign<br /> +Was given, ‘Tom’s health!’—Quoth the +farmer: ‘Eh, Miss? are you weak in the spine?’</p> +<h3>XXVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">For Mary had sunk, and her body was shaking, as +if in a fit.<br /> +Tom’s letter she held, and her thumb-nail the month when +the letter was writ<br /> +Fast-dinted, while she hung sobbing: ‘O, see, Sir, the +letter is old!<br /> +O, do not be too happy!’—‘If I understand you, +I’m bowled!’<br /> +Said Grandfather Bridgeman, ‘and down go my +wickets!—not happy! when here,<br /> +Here’s Tom like to marry his General’s +daughter—or widow—I’ll swear!</p> +<h3>XXVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘I wager he knows how to strut, +too! It’s all on the cards that the Queen<br /> +Will ask him to Buckingham Palace, to say what he’s done +and he’s seen.<br /> +Victoria’s fond of her soldiers: and she’s got a nose +for a fight.<br /> +If Tom tells a cleverish story—there is such a thing as a +knight!<br /> +And don’t he look roguish and handsome!—To see a girl +snivelling there—<br /> +By George, Miss, it’s clear that you’re +jealous’—‘I love him!’ she answered his +stare.</p> +<h3><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>XXVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘Yes! now!’ breathed the voice of a +woman.—‘Ah! now!’ quiver’d low the +reply.<br /> +‘And “now”’s just a bit too late, so +it’s no use your piping your eye,’<br /> +The farmer added bluffly: ‘Old Lawyer Charlworth was +rich;<br /> +You followed his instructions in kicking Tom into the ditch.<br +/> +If you’re such a dutiful daughter, that doesn’t prove +Tom is a fool.<br /> +Forgive and forget’s my motto! and here’s my grog +growing cool!’</p> +<h3>XXIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘But, Sir,’ Mary faintly repeated: +‘for four long weeks I have failed<br /> +To come and cast on you my burden; such grief for you always +prevailed!<br /> +My heart has so bled for you!’ The old man burst on +her speech:<br /> +‘You’ve chosen a likely time, Miss! a pretty occasion +to preach!’<br /> +And was it not outrageous, that now, of all times, one should +come<br /> +With incomprehensible pity! Far better had Mary been +dumb.</p> +<h3>XXX</h3> +<p class="poetry">But when again she stammered in this +bewildering way,<br /> +The farmer no longer could bear it, and begged her to go, or to +stay,<br /> +<a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>But not +to be whimpering nonsense at such a time. Pricked by a +goad,<br /> +’Twas you who sent him to glory:—you’ve come +here to reap what you sowed.<br /> +Is that it?’ he asked; and the silence the elders preserved +plainly said,<br /> +On Mary’s heaving bosom this begging-petition was read.</p> +<h3>XXXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">And that it was scarcely a bargain that she who +had driven him wild<br /> +Should share now the fruits of his valour, the women expressed, +as they smiled.<br /> +The family pride of the Bridgemans was comforted; still, with +contempt,<br /> +They looked on a monied damsel of modesty quite so exempt.<br /> +‘O give me force to tell them!’ cried Mary, and even +as she spoke,<br /> +A shout and a hush of the children: a vision on all of them +broke.</p> +<h3>XXXII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Wheeled, pale, in a chair, and shattered, the +wreck of their hero was seen;<br /> +The ghost of Tom drawn slow o’er the orchard’s +shadowy green.<br /> +Could this be the martial darling they joyed in a moment ago?<br +/> +‘He knows it?’ to Mary Tom murmured, and closed his +weak lids at her ‘No.’<br /> +‘Beloved!’ she said, falling by him, ‘I have +been a coward: I thought<br /> +You lay in the foreign country, and some strange good might be +wrought.</p> +<h3><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>XXXIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘Each day I have come to tell him, and +failed, with my hand on the gate.<br /> +I bore the dreadful knowledge, and crushed my heart with its +weight.<br /> +The letter brought by your comrade—he has but just read it +aloud!<br /> +It only reached him this morning!’ Her head on his +shoulder she bowed.<br /> +Then Tom with pity’s tenderest lordliness patted her +arm,<br /> +And eyed the old white-head fondly, with something of doubt and +alarm.</p> +<h3>XXXIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">O, take to your fancy a sculptor whose fresh +marble offspring appears<br /> +Before him, shiningly perfect, the laurel-crown’d issue of +years:<br /> +Is heaven offended? for lightning behold from its bosom +escape,<br /> +And those are mocking fragments that made the harmonious +shape!<br /> +He cannot love the ruins, till, feeling that ruins alone<br /> +Are left, he loves them threefold. So passed the old +grandfather’s moan.</p> +<h3>XXXV</h3> +<p class="poetry">John’s text for a sermon on Slaughter he +heard, and he did not protest.<br /> +All rigid as April snowdrifts, he stood, hard and feeble; his +chest<br /> +<a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 179</span>Just +showing the swell of the fire as it melted him. Smiting a +rib,<br /> +‘Heigh! what have we been about, Tom! Was this all a +terrible fib?’<br /> +He cried, and the letter forth-trembled. Tom told what the +cannon had done.<br /> +Few present but ached to see falling those aged tears on his +heart’s son!</p> +<h3>XXXVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Up lanes of the quiet village, and where the +mill-waters rush red<br /> +Thro’ browning summer meadows to catch the sun’s +crimsoning head,<br /> +You meet an old man and a maiden who has the soft ways of a +wife<br /> +With one whom they wheel, alternate; whose delicate flush of new +life<br /> +Is prized like the early primrose. Then shake his right +hand, in the chair—<br /> +The old man fails never to tell you: ‘You’ve got the +French General’s there!’</p> +<h2><a name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>THE +PROMISE IN DISTURBANCE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> low when angels +fall their black descent,<br /> +Our primal thunder tells: known is the pain<br /> +Of music, that nigh throning wisdom went,<br /> +And one false note cast wailful to the insane.<br /> +Now seems the language heard of Love as rain<br /> +To make a mire where fruitfulness was meant.<br /> +The golden harp gives out a jangled strain,<br /> +Too like revolt from heaven’s Omnipotent.<br /> +But listen in the thought; so may there come<br /> +Conception of a newly-added chord,<br /> +Commanding space beyond where ear has home.<br /> +In labour of the trouble at its fount,<br /> +Leads Life to an intelligible Lord<br /> +The rebel discords up the sacred mount.</p> +<h2><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>MODERN LOVE</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">By</span> this he knew she +wept with waking eyes:<br /> +That, at his hand’s light quiver by her head,<br /> +The strange low sobs that shook their common bed<br /> +Were called into her with a sharp surprise,<br /> +And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,<br /> +Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay<br /> +Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away<br /> +With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes<br /> +Her giant heart of Memory and Tears<br /> +Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat<br /> +Sleep’s heavy measure, they from head to feet<br /> +Were moveless, looking through their dead black years,<br /> +By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall.<br /> +Like sculptured effigies they might be seen<br /> +Upon their marriage-tomb, the sword between;<br /> +Each wishing for the sword that severs all.</p> +<h3><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">It ended, and the morrow brought the task.<br +/> +Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in<br /> +By shutting all too zealous for their sin:<br /> +Each sucked a secret, and each wore a mask.<br /> +But, oh, the bitter taste her beauty had!<br /> +He sickened as at breath of poison-flowers:<br /> +A languid humour stole among the hours,<br /> +And if their smiles encountered, he went mad,<br /> +And raged deep inward, till the light was brown<br /> +Before his vision, and the world, forgot,<br /> +Looked wicked as some old dull murder-spot.<br /> +A star with lurid beams, she seemed to crown<br /> +The pit of infamy: and then again<br /> +He fainted on his vengefulness, and strove<br /> +To ape the magnanimity of love,<br /> +And smote himself, a shuddering heap of pain.</p> +<h3><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">This was the woman; what now of the man?<br /> +But pass him. If he comes beneath a heel,<br /> +He shall be crushed until he cannot feel,<br /> +Or, being callous, haply till he can.<br /> +But he is nothing:—nothing? Only mark<br /> +The rich light striking out from her on him!<br /> +Ha! what a sense it is when her eyes swim<br /> +Across the man she singles, leaving dark<br /> +All else! Lord God, who mad’st the thing so fair,<br +/> +See that I am drawn to her even now!<br /> +It cannot be such harm on her cool brow<br /> +To put a kiss? Yet if I meet him there!<br /> +But she is mine! Ah, no! I know too well<br /> +I claim a star whose light is overcast:<br /> +I claim a phantom-woman in the Past.<br /> +The hour has struck, though I heard not the bell!</p> +<h3><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">All other joys of life he strove to warm,<br /> +And magnify, and catch them to his lip:<br /> +But they had suffered shipwreck with the ship,<br /> +And gazed upon him sallow from the storm.<br /> +Or if Delusion came, ’twas but to show<br /> +The coming minute mock the one that went.<br /> +Cold as a mountain in its star-pitched tent,<br /> +Stood high Philosophy, less friend than foe:<br /> +Whom self-caged Passion, from its prison-bars,<br /> +Is always watching with a wondering hate.<br /> +Not till the fire is dying in the grate,<br /> +Look we for any kinship with the stars.<br /> +Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold,<br /> +And the great price we pay for it full worth:<br /> +We have it only when we are half earth.<br /> +Little avails that coinage to the old!</p> +<h3><a name="page185"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +185</span>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">A message from her set his brain aflame.<br /> +A world of household matters filled her mind,<br /> +Wherein he saw hypocrisy designed:<br /> +She treated him as something that is tame,<br /> +And but at other provocation bites.<br /> +Familiar was her shoulder in the glass,<br /> +Through that dark rain: yet it may come to pass<br /> +That a changed eye finds such familiar sights<br /> +More keenly tempting than new loveliness.<br /> +The ‘What has been’ a moment seemed his own:<br /> +The splendours, mysteries, dearer because known,<br /> +Nor less divine: Love’s inmost sacredness<br /> +Called to him, ‘Come!’—In his restraining +start,<br /> +Eyes nurtured to be looked at scarce could see<br /> +A wave of the great waves of Destiny<br /> +Convulsed at a checked impulse of the heart.</p> +<h3><a name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +186</span>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">It chanced his lips did meet her forehead +cool.<br /> +She had no blush, but slanted down her eye.<br /> +Shamed nature, then, confesses love can die:<br /> +And most she punishes the tender fool<br /> +Who will believe what honours her the most!<br /> +Dead! is it dead? She has a pulse, and flow<br /> +Of tears, the price of blood-drops, as I know,<br /> +For whom the midnight sobs around Love’s ghost,<br /> +Since then I heard her, and so will sob on.<br /> +The love is here; it has but changed its aim.<br /> +O bitter barren woman! what’s the name?<br /> +The name, the name, the new name thou hast won?<br /> +Behold me striking the world’s coward stroke!<br /> +That will I not do, though the sting is dire.<br /> +—Beneath the surface this, while by the fire<br /> +They sat, she laughing at a quiet joke.</p> +<h3><a name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +187</span>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">She issues radiant from her dressing-room,<br +/> +Like one prepared to scale an upper sphere:<br /> +—By stirring up a lower, much I fear!<br /> +How deftly that oiled barber lays his bloom!<br /> +That long-shanked dapper Cupid with frisked curls<br /> +Can make known women torturingly fair;<br /> +The gold-eyed serpent dwelling in rich hair<br /> +Awakes beneath his magic whisks and twirls.<br /> +His art can take the eyes from out my head,<br /> +Until I see with eyes of other men;<br /> +While deeper knowledge crouches in its den,<br /> +And sends a spark up:—is it true we are wed?<br /> +Yea! filthiness of body is most vile,<br /> +But faithlessness of heart I do hold worse.<br /> +The former, it were not so great a curse<br /> +To read on the steel-mirror of her smile.</p> +<h3><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Yet it was plain she struggled, and that +salt<br /> +Of righteous feeling made her pitiful.<br /> +Poor twisting worm, so queenly beautiful!<br /> +Where came the cleft between us? whose the fault?<br /> +My tears are on thee, that have rarely dropped<br /> +As balm for any bitter wound of mine:<br /> +My breast will open for thee at a sign!<br /> +But, no: we are two reed-pipes, coarsely stopped:<br /> +The God once filled them with his mellow breath;<br /> +And they were music till he flung them down,<br /> +Used! used! Hear now the discord-loving clown<br /> +Puff his gross spirit in them, worse than death!<br /> +I do not know myself without thee more:<br /> +In this unholy battle I grow base:<br /> +If the same soul be under the same face,<br /> +Speak, and a taste of that old time restore!</p> +<h3><a name="page189"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +189</span>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles<br +/> +So masterfully rude, that he would grieve<br /> +To see the helpless delicate thing receive<br /> +His guardianship through certain dark defiles.<br /> +Had he not teeth to rend, and hunger too?<br /> +But still he spared her. Once: ‘Have you no +fear?’<br /> +He said: ’twas dusk; she in his grasp; none near.<br /> +She laughed: ‘No, surely; am I not with you?’<br /> +And uttering that soft starry ‘you,’ she leaned<br /> +Her gentle body near him, looking up;<br /> +And from her eyes, as from a poison-cup,<br /> +He drank until the flittering eyelids screened.<br /> +Devilish malignant witch! and oh, young beam<br /> +Of heaven’s circle-glory! Here thy shape<br /> +To squeeze like an intoxicating grape—<br /> +I might, and yet thou goest safe, supreme.</p> +<h3><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +190</span>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">But where began the change; and what’s my +crime?<br /> +The wretch condemned, who has not been arraigned,<br /> +Chafes at his sentence. Shall I, unsustained,<br /> +Drag on Love’s nerveless body thro’ all time?<br /> +I must have slept, since now I wake. Prepare,<br /> +You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods:<br /> +Not, like hard life, of laws. In Love’s deep +woods,<br /> +I dreamt of loyal Life:—the offence is there!<br /> +Love’s jealous woods about the sun are curled;<br /> +At least, the sun far brighter there did beam.—<br /> +My crime is, that the puppet of a dream,<br /> +I plotted to be worthy of the world.<br /> +Oh, had I with my darling helped to mince<br /> +The facts of life, you still had seen me go<br /> +With hindward feather and with forward toe,<br /> +Her much-adored delightful Fairy Prince!</p> +<h3><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +191</span>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee<br /> +Hums by us with the honey of the Spring,<br /> +And showers of sweet notes from the larks on wing<br /> +Are dropping like a noon-dew, wander we.<br /> +Or is it now? or was it then? for now,<br /> +As then, the larks from running rings pour showers:<br /> +The golden foot of May is on the flowers,<br /> +And friendly shadows dance upon her brow.<br /> +What’s this, when Nature swears there is no change<br /> +To challenge eyesight? Now, as then, the grace<br /> +Of heaven seems holding earth in its embrace.<br /> +Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange?<br /> +Look, woman, in the West. There wilt thou see<br /> +An amber cradle near the sun’s decline:<br /> +Within it, featured even in death divine,<br /> +Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee.</p> +<h3><a name="page192"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +192</span>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Not solely that the Future she destroys,<br /> +And the fair life which in the distance lies<br /> +For all men, beckoning out from dim rich skies:<br /> +Nor that the passing hour’s supporting joys<br /> +Have lost the keen-edged flavour, which begat<br /> +Distinction in old times, and still should breed<br /> +Sweet Memory, and Hope,—earth’s modest seed,<br /> +And heaven’s high-prompting: not that the world is flat<br +/> +Since that soft-luring creature I embraced<br /> +Among the children of Illusion went:<br /> +Methinks with all this loss I were content,<br /> +If the mad Past, on which my foot is based,<br /> +Were firm, or might be blotted: but the whole<br /> +Of life is mixed: the mocking Past will stay:<br /> +And if I drink oblivion of a day,<br /> +So shorten I the stature of my soul.</p> +<h3><a name="page193"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +193</span>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘I play for Seasons; not +Eternities!’<br /> +Says Nature, laughing on her way. ‘So must<br /> +All those whose stake is nothing more than dust!’<br /> +And lo, she wins, and of her harmonies<br /> +She is full sure! Upon her dying rose<br /> +She drops a look of fondness, and goes by,<br /> +Scarce any retrospection in her eye;<br /> +For she the laws of growth most deeply knows,<br /> +Whose hands bear, here, a seed-bag—there, an urn.<br /> +Pledged she herself to aught, ’twould mark her end!<br /> +This lesson of our only visible friend<br /> +Can we not teach our foolish hearts to learn?<br /> +Yes! yes!—but, oh, our human rose is fair<br /> +Surpassingly! Lose calmly Love’s great bliss,<br /> +When the renewed for ever of a kiss<br /> +Whirls life within the shower of loosened hair!</p> +<h3><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">What soul would bargain for a cure that +brings<br /> +Contempt the nobler agony to kill?<br /> +Rather let me bear on the bitter ill,<br /> +And strike this rusty bosom with new stings!<br /> +It seems there is another veering fit,<br /> +Since on a gold-haired lady’s eyeballs pure<br /> +I looked with little prospect of a cure,<br /> +The while her mouth’s red bow loosed shafts of wit.<br /> +Just heaven! can it be true that jealousy<br /> +Has decked the woman thus? and does her head<br /> +Swim somewhat for possessions forfeited?<br /> +Madam, you teach me many things that be.<br /> +I open an old book, and there I find<br /> +That ‘Women still may love whom they deceive.’<br /> +Such love I prize not, madam: by your leave,<br /> +The game you play at is not to my mind.</p> +<h3><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>XV</h3> +<p class="poetry">I think she sleeps: it must be sleep, when +low<br /> +Hangs that abandoned arm toward the floor;<br /> +The face turned with it. Now make fast the door.<br /> +Sleep on: it is your husband, not your foe.<br /> +The Poet’s black stage-lion of wronged love<br /> +Frights not our modern dames:—well if he did!<br /> +Now will I pour new light upon that lid,<br /> +Full-sloping like the breasts beneath. ‘Sweet +dove,<br /> +Your sleep is pure. Nay, pardon: I disturb.<br /> +I do not? good!’ Her waking infant-stare<br /> +Grows woman to the burden my hands bear:<br /> +Her own handwriting to me when no curb<br /> +Was left on Passion’s tongue. She trembles +through;<br /> +A woman’s tremble—the whole instrument:—<br /> +I show another letter lately sent.<br /> +The words are very like: the name is new.</p> +<h3><a name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +196</span>XVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">In our old shipwrecked days there was an +hour,<br /> +When in the firelight steadily aglow,<br /> +Joined slackly, we beheld the red chasm grow<br /> +Among the clicking coals. Our library-bower<br /> +That eve was left to us: and hushed we sat<br /> +As lovers to whom Time is whispering.<br /> +From sudden-opened doors we heard them sing:<br /> +The nodding elders mixed good wine with chat.<br /> +Well knew we that Life’s greatest treasure lay<br /> +With us, and of it was our talk. ‘Ah, yes!<br /> +Love dies!’ I said: I never thought it less.<br /> +She yearned to me that sentence to unsay.<br /> +Then when the fire domed blackening, I found<br /> +Her cheek was salt against my kiss, and swift<br /> +Up the sharp scale of sobs her breast did lift:—<br /> +Now am I haunted by that taste! that sound!</p> +<h3><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>XVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">At dinner, she is hostess, I am host.<br /> +Went the feast ever cheerfuller? She keeps<br /> +The Topic over intellectual deeps<br /> +In buoyancy afloat. They see no ghost.<br /> +With sparkling surface-eyes we ply the ball:<br /> +It is in truth a most contagious game:<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hiding the Skeleton</span>, shall be its +name.<br /> +Such play as this the devils might appal!<br /> +But here’s the greater wonder; in that we,<br /> +Enamoured of an acting nought can tire,<br /> +Each other, like true hypocrites, admire;<br /> +Warm-lighted looks, Love’s ephemerioe,<br /> +Shoot gaily o’er the dishes and the wine.<br /> +We waken envy of our happy lot.<br /> +Fast, sweet, and golden, shows the marriage-knot.<br /> +Dear guests, you now have seen Love’s corpse-light +shine.</p> +<h3><a name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +198</span>XVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Here Jack and Tom are paired with Moll and +Meg.<br /> +Curved open to the river-reach is seen<br /> +A country merry-making on the green.<br /> +Fair space for signal shakings of the leg.<br /> +That little screwy fiddler from his booth,<br /> +Whence flows one nut-brown stream, commands the joints<br /> +Of all who caper here at various points.<br /> +I have known rustic revels in my youth:<br /> +The May-fly pleasures of a mind at ease.<br /> +An early goddess was a country lass:<br /> +A charmed Amphion-oak she tripped the grass.<br /> +What life was that I lived? The life of these?<br /> +Heaven keep them happy! Nature they seem near.<br /> +They must, I think, be wiser than I am;<br /> +They have the secret of the bull and lamb.<br /> +’Tis true that when we trace its source, ’tis +beer.</p> +<h3><a name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +199</span>XIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">No state is enviable. To the luck +alone<br /> +Of some few favoured men I would put claim.<br /> +I bleed, but her who wounds I will not blame.<br /> +Have I not felt her heart as ’twere my own<br /> +Beat thro’ me? could I hurt her? heaven and hell!<br /> +But I could hurt her cruelly! Can I let<br /> +My Love’s old time-piece to another set,<br /> +Swear it can’t stop, and must for ever swell?<br /> +Sure, that’s one way Love drifts into the mart<br /> +Where goat-legged buyers throng. I see not plain:—<br +/> +My meaning is, it must not be again.<br /> +Great God! the maddest gambler throws his heart.<br /> +If any state be enviable on earth,<br /> +’Tis yon born idiot’s, who, as days go by,<br /> +Still rubs his hands before him, like a fly,<br /> +In a queer sort of meditative mirth.</p> +<h3><a name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +200</span>XX</h3> +<p class="poetry">I am not of those miserable males<br /> +Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap,<br /> +Do therefore hope for heaven. I take the hap<br /> +Of all my deeds. The wind that fills my sails<br /> +Propels; but I am helmsman. Am I wrecked,<br /> +I know the devil has sufficient weight<br /> +To bear: I lay it not on him, or fate.<br /> +Besides, he’s damned. That man I do suspect<br /> +A coward, who would burden the poor deuce<br /> +With what ensues from his own slipperiness.<br /> +I have just found a wanton-scented tress<br /> +In an old desk, dusty for lack of use.<br /> +Of days and nights it is demonstrative,<br /> +That, like some aged star, gleam luridly.<br /> +If for those times I must ask charity,<br /> +Have I not any charity to give?</p> +<h3><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>XXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">We three are on the cedar-shadowed lawn;<br /> +My friend being third. He who at love once laughed<br /> +Is in the weak rib by a fatal shaft<br /> +Struck through, and tells his passion’s bashful dawn<br /> +And radiant culmination, glorious crown,<br /> +When ‘this’ she said: went ‘thus’: most +wondrous she.<br /> +Our eyes grow white, encountering: that we are three,<br /> +Forgetful; then together we look down.<br /> +But he demands our blessing; is convinced<br /> +That words of wedded lovers must bring good.<br /> +We question; if we dare! or if we should!<br /> +And pat him, with light laugh. We have not winced.<br /> +Next, she has fallen. Fainting points the sign<br /> +To happy things in wedlock. When she wakes,<br /> +She looks the star that thro’ the cedar shakes:<br /> +Her lost moist hand clings mortally to mine.</p> +<h3><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>XXII</h3> +<p class="poetry">What may the woman labour to confess?<br /> +There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.<br /> +’Tis something to be told, or hidden:—which?<br /> +I get a glimpse of hell in this mild guess.<br /> +She has desires of touch, as if to feel<br /> +That all the household things are things she knew.<br /> +She stops before the glass. What sight in view?<br /> +A face that seems the latest to reveal!<br /> +For she turns from it hastily, and tossed<br /> +Irresolute steals shadow-like to where<br /> +I stand; and wavering pale before me there,<br /> +Her tears fall still as oak-leaves after frost.<br /> +She will not speak. I will not ask. We are<br /> +League-sundered by the silent gulf between.<br /> +You burly lovers on the village green,<br /> +Yours is a lower, and a happier star!</p> +<h3><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>XXIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">’Tis Christmas weather, and a country +house<br /> +Receives us: rooms are full: we can but get<br /> +An attic-crib. Such lovers will not fret<br /> +At that, it is half-said. The great carouse<br /> +Knocks hard upon the midnight’s hollow door,<br /> +But when I knock at hers, I see the pit.<br /> +Why did I come here in that dullard fit?<br /> +I enter, and lie couched upon the floor.<br /> +Passing, I caught the coverlet’s quick beat:—<br /> +Come, Shame, burn to my soul! and Pride, and Pain—<br /> +Foul demons that have tortured me, enchain!<br /> +Out in the freezing darkness the lambs bleat.<br /> +The small bird stiffens in the low starlight.<br /> +I know not how, but shuddering as I slept,<br /> +I dreamed a banished angel to me crept:<br /> +My feet were nourished on her breasts all night.</p> +<h3><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>XXIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">The misery is greater, as I live!<br /> +To know her flesh so pure, so keen her sense,<br /> +That she does penance now for no offence,<br /> +Save against Love. The less can I forgive!<br /> +The less can I forgive, though I adore<br /> +That cruel lovely pallor which surrounds<br /> +Her footsteps; and the low vibrating sounds<br /> +That come on me, as from a magic shore.<br /> +Low are they, but most subtle to find out<br /> +The shrinking soul. Madam, ’tis understood<br /> +When women play upon their womanhood,<br /> +It means, a Season gone. And yet I doubt<br /> +But I am duped. That nun-like look waylays<br /> +My fancy. Oh! I do but wait a sign!<br /> +Pluck out the eyes of pride! thy mouth to mine!<br /> +Never! though I die thirsting. Go thy ways!</p> +<h3><a name="page205"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +205</span>XXV</h3> +<p class="poetry">You like not that French novel? Tell me +why.<br /> +You think it quite unnatural. Let us see.<br /> +The actors are, it seems, the usual three:<br /> +Husband, and wife, and lover. She—but fie!<br /> +In England we’ll not hear of it. Edmond,<br /> +The lover, her devout chagrin doth share;<br /> +Blanc-mange and absinthe are his penitent fare,<br /> +Till his pale aspect makes her over-fond:<br /> +So, to preclude fresh sin, he tries rosbif.<br /> +Meantime the husband is no more abused:<br /> +Auguste forgives her ere the tear is used.<br /> +Then hangeth all on one tremendous <span +class="smcap">If</span>:—<br /> +<i>If</i> she will choose between them. She does choose;<br +/> +And takes her husband, like a proper wife.<br /> +Unnatural? My dear, these things are life:<br /> +And life, some think, is worthy of the Muse.</p> +<h3><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>XXVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,<br +/> +Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve<br /> +He views the rosy dawn. In vain they weave<br /> +The fatal web below while far he flies.<br /> +But when the arrow strikes him, there’s a change.<br /> +He moves but in the track of his spent pain,<br /> +Whose red drops are the links of a harsh chain,<br /> +Binding him to the ground, with narrow range.<br /> +A subtle serpent then has Love become.<br /> +I had the eagle in my bosom erst:<br /> +Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed.<br /> +I can interpret where the mouth is dumb.<br /> +Speak, and I see the side-lie of a truth.<br /> +Perchance my heart may pardon you this deed:<br /> +But be no coward:—you that made Love bleed,<br /> +You must bear all the venom of his tooth!</p> +<h3><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>XXVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Distraction is the panacea, Sir!<br /> +I hear my oracle of Medicine say.<br /> +Doctor! that same specific yesterday<br /> +I tried, and the result will not deter<br /> +A second trial. Is the devil’s line<br /> +Of golden hair, or raven black, composed?<br /> +And does a cheek, like any sea-shell rosed,<br /> +Or clear as widowed sky, seem most divine?<br /> +No matter, so I taste forgetfulness.<br /> +And if the devil snare me, body and mind,<br /> +Here gratefully I score:—he seemëd kind,<br /> +When not a soul would comfort my distress!<br /> +O sweet new world, in which I rise new made!<br /> +O Lady, once I gave love: now I take!<br /> +Lady, I must be flattered. Shouldst thou wake<br /> +The passion of a demon, be not afraid.</p> +<h3><a name="page208"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +208</span>XXVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I must be flattered. The imperious<br /> +Desire speaks out. Lady, I am content<br /> +To play with you the game of Sentiment,<br /> +And with you enter on paths perilous;<br /> +But if across your beauty I throw light,<br /> +To make it threefold, it must be all mine.<br /> +First secret; then avowed. For I must shine<br /> +Envied,—I, lessened in my proper sight!<br /> +Be watchful of your beauty, Lady dear!<br /> +How much hangs on that lamp you cannot tell.<br /> +Most earnestly I pray you, tend it well:<br /> +And men shall see me as a burning sphere;<br /> +And men shall mark you eyeing me, and groan<br /> +To be the God of such a grand sunflower!<br /> +I feel the promptings of Satanic power,<br /> +While you do homage unto me alone.</p> +<h3><a name="page209"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +209</span>XXIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">Am I failing? For no longer can I cast<br +/> +A glory round about this head of gold.<br /> +Glory she wears, but springing from the mould;<br /> +Not like the consecration of the Past!<br /> +Is my soul beggared? Something more than earth<br /> +I cry for still: I cannot be at peace<br /> +In having Love upon a mortal lease.<br /> +I cannot take the woman at her worth!<br /> +Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed<br /> +Our human nakedness, and could endow<br /> +With spiritual splendour a white brow<br /> +That else had grinned at me the fact I loathed?<br /> +A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave<br /> +Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea.<br /> +But, as you will! we’ll sit contentedly,<br /> +And eat our pot of honey on the grave.</p> +<h3><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>XXX</h3> +<p class="poetry">What are we first? First, animals; and +next<br /> +Intelligences at a leap; on whom<br /> +Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb,<br /> +And all that draweth on the tomb for text.<br /> +Into which state comes Love, the crowning sun:<br /> +Beneath whose light the shadow loses form.<br /> +We are the lords of life, and life is warm.<br /> +Intelligence and instinct now are one.<br /> +But nature says: ‘My children most they seem<br /> +When they least know me: therefore I decree<br /> +That they shall suffer.’ Swift doth young Love +flee,<br /> +And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream.<br /> +Then if we study Nature we are wise.<br /> +Thus do the few who live but with the day:<br /> +The scientific animals are they.—<br /> +Lady, this is my sonnet to your eyes.</p> +<h3><a name="page211"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +211</span>XXXI</h3> +<p class="poetry">This golden head has wit in it. I live<br +/> +Again, and a far higher life, near her.<br /> +Some women like a young philosopher;<br /> +Perchance because he is diminutive.<br /> +For woman’s manly god must not exceed<br /> +Proportions of the natural nursing size.<br /> +Great poets and great sages draw no prize<br /> +With women: but the little lap-dog breed,<br /> +Who can be hugged, or on a mantel-piece<br /> +Perched up for adoration, these obtain<br /> +Her homage. And of this we men are vain?<br /> +Of this! ’Tis ordered for the world’s +increase!<br /> +Small flattery! Yet she has that rare gift<br /> +To beauty, Common Sense. I am approved.<br /> +It is not half so nice as being loved,<br /> +And yet I do prefer it. What’s my drift?</p> +<h3><a name="page212"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +212</span>XXXII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Full faith I have she holds that rarest gift<br +/> +To beauty, Common Sense. To see her lie<br /> +With her fair visage an inverted sky<br /> +Bloom-covered, while the underlids uplift,<br /> +Would almost wreck the faith; but when her mouth<br /> +(Can it kiss sweetly? sweetly!) would address<br /> +The inner me that thirsts for her no less,<br /> +And has so long been languishing in drouth,<br /> +I feel that I am matched; that I am man!<br /> +One restless corner of my heart or head,<br /> +That holds a dying something never dead,<br /> +Still frets, though Nature giveth all she can.<br /> +It means, that woman is not, I opine,<br /> +Her sex’s antidote. Who seeks the asp<br /> +For serpent’s bites? ’Twould calm me could I +clasp<br /> +Shrieking Bacchantes with their souls of wine!</p> +<h3><a name="page213"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +213</span>XXXIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">‘In Paris, at the Louvre, there have I +seen<br /> +The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce<br /> +Prone Lucifer, descending. Looked he fierce,<br /> +Showing the fight a fair one? Too serene!<br /> +The young Pharsalians did not disarray<br /> +Less willingly their locks of floating silk:<br /> +That suckling mouth of his upon the milk<br /> +Of heaven might still be feasting through the fray.<br /> +Oh, Raphael! when men the Fiend do fight,<br /> +They conquer not upon such easy terms.<br /> +Half serpent in the struggle grow these worms.<br /> +And does he grow half human, all is right.’<br /> +This to my Lady in a distant spot,<br /> +Upon the theme: <i>While mind is mastering clay</i>,<br /> +<i>Gross clay invades it</i>. If the spy you play,<br /> +My wife, read this! Strange love talk, is it not?</p> +<h3><a name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +214</span>XXXIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Madam would speak with me. So, now it +comes:<br /> +The Deluge or else Fire! She’s well; she thanks<br /> +My husbandship. Our chain on silence clanks.<br /> +Time leers between, above his twiddling thumbs.<br /> +Am I quite well? Most excellent in health!<br /> +The journals, too, I diligently peruse.<br /> +Vesuvius is expected to give news:<br /> +Niagara is no noisier. By stealth<br /> +Our eyes dart scrutinizing snakes. She’s glad<br /> +I’m happy, says her quivering under-lip.<br /> +‘And are not you?’ ‘How can I +be?’ ‘Take ship!<br /> +For happiness is somewhere to be had.’<br /> +‘Nowhere for me!’ Her voice is barely heard.<br +/> +I am not melted, and make no pretence.<br /> +With commonplace I freeze her, tongue and sense.<br /> +Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.</p> +<h3><a name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +215</span>XXXV</h3> +<p class="poetry">It is no vulgar nature I have wived.<br /> +Secretive, sensitive, she takes a wound<br /> +Deep to her soul, as if the sense had swooned,<br /> +And not a thought of vengeance had survived.<br /> +No confidences has she: but relief<br /> +Must come to one whose suffering is acute.<br /> +O have a care of natures that are mute!<br /> +They punish you in acts: their steps are brief.<br /> +What is she doing? What does she demand<br /> +From Providence or me? She is not one<br /> +Long to endure this torpidly, and shun<br /> +The drugs that crowd about a woman’s hand.<br /> +At Forfeits during snow we played, and I<br /> +Must kiss her. ‘Well performed!’ I said: then +she:<br /> +‘’Tis hardly worth the money, you agree?’<br /> +Save her? What for? To act this wedded lie!</p> +<h3><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>XXXVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">My Lady unto Madam makes her bow.<br /> +The charm of women is, that even while<br /> +You’re probed by them for tears, you yet may smile,<br /> +Nay, laugh outright, as I have done just now.<br /> +The interview was gracious: they anoint<br /> +(To me aside) each other with fine praise:<br /> +Discriminating compliments they raise,<br /> +That hit with wondrous aim on the weak point:<br /> +My Lady’s nose of Nature might complain.<br /> +It is not fashioned aptly to express<br /> +Her character of large-browed steadfastness.<br /> +But Madam says: Thereof she may be vain!<br /> +Now, Madam’s faulty feature is a glazed<br /> +And inaccessible eye, that has soft fires,<br /> +Wide gates, at love-time, only. This admires<br /> +My Lady. At the two I stand amazed.</p> +<h3><a name="page217"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +217</span>XXXVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Along the garden terrace, under which<br /> +A purple valley (lighted at its edge<br /> +By smoky torch-flame on the long cloud-ledge<br /> +Whereunder dropped the chariot) glimmers rich,<br /> +A quiet company we pace, and wait<br /> +The dinner-bell in prae-digestive calm.<br /> +So sweet up violet banks the Southern balm<br /> +Breathes round, we care not if the bell be late:<br /> +Though here and there grey seniors question Time<br /> +In irritable coughings. With slow foot<br /> +The low rosed moon, the face of Music mute,<br /> +Begins among her silent bars to climb.<br /> +As in and out, in silvery dusk, we thread,<br /> +I hear the laugh of Madam, and discern<br /> +My Lady’s heel before me at each turn.<br /> +Our tragedy, is it alive or dead?</p> +<h3><a name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +218</span>XXXVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Give to imagination some pure light<br /> +In human form to fix it, or you shame<br /> +The devils with that hideous human game:—<br /> +Imagination urging appetite!<br /> +Thus fallen have earth’s greatest Gogmagogs,<br /> +Who dazzle us, whom we can not revere:<br /> +Imagination is the charioteer<br /> +That, in default of better, drives the hogs.<br /> +So, therefore, my dear Lady, let me love!<br /> +My soul is arrowy to the light in you.<br /> +You know me that I never can renew<br /> +The bond that woman broke: what would you have?<br /> +’Tis Love, or Vileness! not a choice between,<br /> +Save petrifaction! What does Pity here?<br /> +She killed a thing, and now it’s dead, ’tis dear.<br +/> +Oh, when you counsel me, think what you mean!</p> +<h3><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>XXXIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">She yields: my Lady in her noblest mood<br /> +Has yielded: she, my golden-crownëd rose!<br /> +The bride of every sense! more sweet than those<br /> +Who breathe the violet breath of maidenhood.<br /> +O visage of still music in the sky!<br /> +Soft moon! I feel thy song, my fairest friend!<br /> +True harmony within can apprehend<br /> +Dumb harmony without. And hark! ’tis nigh!<br /> +Belief has struck the note of sound: a gleam<br /> +Of living silver shows me where she shook<br /> +Her long white fingers down the shadowy brook,<br /> +That sings her song, half waking, half in dream.<br /> +What two come here to mar this heavenly tune?<br /> +A man is one: the woman bears my name,<br /> +And honour. Their hands touch! Am I still tame?<br /> +God, what a dancing spectre seems the moon!</p> +<h3><a name="page220"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +220</span>XL</h3> +<p class="poetry">I bade my Lady think what she might mean.<br /> +Know I my meaning, I? Can I love one,<br /> +And yet be jealous of another? None<br /> +Commits such folly. Terrible Love, I ween,<br /> +Has might, even dead, half sighing to upheave<br /> +The lightless seas of selfishness amain:<br /> +Seas that in a man’s heart have no rain<br /> +To fall and still them. Peace can I achieve,<br /> +By turning to this fountain-source of woe,<br /> +This woman, who’s to Love as fire to wood?<br /> +She breathed the violet breath of maidenhood<br /> +Against my kisses once! but I say, No!<br /> +The thing is mocked at! Helplessly afloat,<br /> +I know not what I do, whereto I strive.<br /> +The dread that my old love may be alive<br /> +Has seized my nursling new love by the throat.</p> +<h3><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +221</span>XLI</h3> +<p class="poetry">How many a thing which we cast to the +ground,<br /> +When others pick it up becomes a gem!<br /> +We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;<br /> +And by reflected light its worth is found.<br /> +Yet for us still ’tis nothing! and that zeal<br /> +Of false appreciation quickly fades.<br /> +This truth is little known to human shades,<br /> +How rare from their own instinct ’tis to feel!<br /> +They waste the soul with spurious desire,<br /> +That is not the ripe flame upon the bough.<br /> +We two have taken up a lifeless vow<br /> +To rob a living passion: dust for fire!<br /> +Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells<br /> +Approaching midnight. We have struck despair<br /> +Into two hearts. O, look we like a pair<br /> +Who for fresh nuptials joyfully yield all else?</p> +<h3><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>XLII</h3> +<p class="poetry">I am to follow her. There is much +grace<br /> +In woman when thus bent on martyrdom.<br /> +They think that dignity of soul may come,<br /> +Perchance, with dignity of body. Base!<br /> +But I was taken by that air of cold<br /> +And statuesque sedateness, when she said<br /> +‘I’m going’; lit a taper, bowed her head,<br /> +And went, as with the stride of Pallas bold.<br /> +Fleshly indifference horrible! The hands<br /> +Of Time now signal: O, she’s safe from me!<br /> +Within those secret walls what do I see?<br /> +Where first she set the taper down she stands:<br /> +Not Pallas: Hebe shamed! Thoughts black as death<br /> +Like a stirred pool in sunshine break. Her wrists<br /> +I catch: she faltering, as she half resists,<br /> +‘You love . . .? love . . .? love . . .?’ all on an +indrawn breath.</p> +<h3><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +223</span>XLIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Mark where the pressing wind shoots +javelin-like<br /> +Its skeleton shadow on the broad-backed wave!<br /> +Here is a fitting spot to dig Love’s grave;<br /> +Here where the ponderous breakers plunge and strike,<br /> +And dart their hissing tongues high up the sand:<br /> +In hearing of the ocean, and in sight<br /> +Of those ribbed wind-streaks running into white.<br /> +If I the death of Love had deeply planned,<br /> +I never could have made it half so sure,<br /> +As by the unblest kisses which upbraid<br /> +The full-waked sense; or failing that, degrade!<br /> +’Tis morning: but no morning can restore<br /> +What we have forfeited. I see no sin:<br /> +The wrong is mixed. In tragic life, God wot,<br /> +No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:<br /> +We are betrayed by what is false within.</p> +<h3><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +224</span>XLIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">They say, that Pity in Love’s service +dwells,<br /> +A porter at the rosy temple’s gate.<br /> +I missed him going: but it is my fate<br /> +To come upon him now beside his wells;<br /> +Whereby I know that I Love’s temple leave,<br /> +And that the purple doors have closed behind.<br /> +Poor soul! if, in those early days unkind,<br /> +Thy power to sting had been but power to grieve,<br /> +We now might with an equal spirit meet,<br /> +And not be matched like innocence and vice.<br /> +She for the Temple’s worship has paid price,<br /> +And takes the coin of Pity as a cheat.<br /> +She sees through simulation to the bone:<br /> +What’s best in her impels her to the worst:<br /> +Never, she cries, shall Pity soothe Love’s thirst,<br /> +Or foul hypocrisy for truth atone!</p> +<h3><a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +225</span>XLV</h3> +<p class="poetry">It is the season of the sweet wild rose,<br /> +My Lady’s emblem in the heart of me!<br /> +So golden-crownëd shines she gloriously,<br /> +And with that softest dream of blood she glows;<br /> +Mild as an evening heaven round Hesper bright!<br /> +I pluck the flower, and smell it, and revive<br /> +The time when in her eyes I stood alive.<br /> +I seem to look upon it out of Night.<br /> +Here’s Madam, stepping hastily. Her whims<br /> +Bid her demand the flower, which I let drop.<br /> +As I proceed, I feel her sharply stop,<br /> +And crush it under heel with trembling limbs.<br /> +She joins me in a cat-like way, and talks<br /> +Of company, and even condescends<br /> +To utter laughing scandal of old friends.<br /> +These are the summer days, and these our walks.</p> +<h3><a name="page226"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +226</span>XLVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">At last we parley: we so strangely dumb<br /> +In such a close communion! It befell<br /> +About the sounding of the Matin-bell,<br /> +And lo! her place was vacant, and the hum<br /> +Of loneliness was round me. Then I rose,<br /> +And my disordered brain did guide my foot<br /> +To that old wood where our first love-salute<br /> +Was interchanged: the source of many throes!<br /> +There did I see her, not alone. I moved<br /> +Toward her, and made proffer of my arm.<br /> +She took it simply, with no rude alarm;<br /> +And that disturbing shadow passed reproved.<br /> +I felt the pained speech coming, and declared<br /> +My firm belief in her, ere she could speak.<br /> +A ghastly morning came into her cheek,<br /> +While with a widening soul on me she stared.</p> +<h3><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +227</span>XLVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,<br /> +And in the osier-isle we heard them noise.<br /> +We had not to look back on summer joys,<br /> +Or forward to a summer of bright dye:<br /> +But in the largeness of the evening earth<br /> +Our spirits grew as we went side by side.<br /> +The hour became her husband and my bride.<br /> +Love, that had robbed us so, thus blessed our dearth!<br /> +The pilgrims of the year waxed very loud<br /> +In multitudinous chatterings, as the flood<br /> +Full brown came from the West, and like pale blood<br /> +Expanded to the upper crimson cloud.<br /> +Love, that had robbed us of immortal things,<br /> +This little moment mercifully gave,<br /> +Where I have seen across the twilight wave<br /> +The swan sail with her young beneath her wings.</p> +<h3><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>XLVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Their sense is with their senses all mixed +in,<br /> +Destroyed by subtleties these women are!<br /> +More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar<br /> +Utterly this fair garden we might win.<br /> +Behold! I looked for peace, and thought it near.<br /> +Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each.<br /> +We drank the pure daylight of honest speech.<br /> +Alas! that was the fatal draught, I fear.<br /> +For when of my lost Lady came the word,<br /> +This woman, O this agony of flesh!<br /> +Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh,<br /> +That I might seek that other like a bird.<br /> +I do adore the nobleness! despise<br /> +The act! She has gone forth, I know not where.<br /> +Will the hard world my sentience of her share<br /> +I feel the truth; so let the world surmise.</p> +<h3><a name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +229</span>XLIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">He found her by the ocean’s moaning +verge,<br /> +Nor any wicked change in her discerned;<br /> +And she believed his old love had returned,<br /> +Which was her exultation, and her scourge.<br /> +She took his hand, and walked with him, and seemed<br /> +The wife he sought, though shadow-like and dry.<br /> +She had one terror, lest her heart should sigh,<br /> +And tell her loudly she no longer dreamed.<br /> +She dared not say, ‘This is my breast: look in.’<br +/> +But there’s a strength to help the desperate weak.<br /> +That night he learned how silence best can speak<br /> +The awful things when Pity pleads for Sin.<br /> +About the middle of the night her call<br /> +Was heard, and he came wondering to the bed.<br /> +‘Now kiss me, dear! it may be, now!’ she said.<br /> +Lethe had passed those lips, and he knew all.</p> +<h3><a name="page230"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +230</span>L</h3> +<p class="poetry">Thus piteously Love closed what he begat:<br /> +The union of this ever-diverse pair!<br /> +These two were rapid falcons in a snare,<br /> +Condemned to do the flitting of the bat.<br /> +Lovers beneath the singing sky of May,<br /> +They wandered once; clear as the dew on flowers:<br /> +But they fed not on the advancing hours:<br /> +Their hearts held cravings for the buried day.<br /> +Then each applied to each that fatal knife,<br /> +Deep questioning, which probes to endless dole.<br /> +Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul<br /> +When hot for certainties in this our life!—<br /> +In tragic hints here see what evermore<br /> +Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean’s force,<br /> +Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse,<br /> +To throw that faint thin fine upon the shore!</p> +<h2><a name="page231"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 231</span>THE +PATRIOT ENGINEER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> ‘<span +class="smcap">Sirs</span>! may I shake your hands?<br /> + My countrymen, I see!<br /> + I’ve lived in foreign lands<br /> + Till England’s Heaven to +me.<br /> +A hearty shake will do me good,<br /> +And freshen up my sluggish blood.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Into his hard right hand we struck,<br /> +Gave the shake, and wish’d him luck.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘—From Austria I +come,<br /> + An English wife to win,<br /> + And find an English home,<br /> + And live and die therein.<br /> +Great Lord! how many a year I’ve pined<br /> +To drink old ale and speak my mind!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Loud rang our laughter, and the shout<br /> +Hills round the Meuse-boat echoed about.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘—Ay, no offence: +laugh on,<br /> + Young gentlemen: I’ll +join.<br /> + Had you to exile gone,<br /> + Where free speech is base coin,<br +/> +You’d sigh to see the jolly nose<br /> +Where Freedom’s native liquor flows!’</p> +<p class="poetry">He this time the laughter led,<br /> +Dabbling his oily bullet head.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page232"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 232</span>‘—Give me, to suit my +moods,<br /> + An ale-house on a heath,<br /> + I’ll hand the crags and woods<br /> + To B’elzebub beneath.<br /> +A fig for scenery! what scene<br /> +Can beat a Jackass on a green?’</p> +<p class="poetry">Gravely he seem’d, with gaze intense,<br +/> +Putting the question to common sense.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘—Why, +there’s the ale-house bench:<br /> + The furze-flower shining round:<br +/> + And there’s my waiting-wench,<br /> + As lissome as a hound.<br /> +With “hail Britannia!” ere I drink,<br /> +I’ll kiss her with an artful wink.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Fair flash’d the foreign landscape +while<br /> +We breath’d again our native Isle.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘—The geese may +swim hard-by;<br /> + They gabble, and you talk:<br /> + You’re sure there’s not a spy<br /> + To mark your name with chalk.<br +/> +My heart’s an oak, and it won’t grow<br /> +In flower-pots, foreigners must know.’</p> +<p class="poetry">Pensive he stood: then shook his head<br /> +Sadly; held out his fist, and said:</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘—You’ve +heard that Hungary’s floor’d?<br /> + They’ve got her on the +ground.<br /> + A traitor broke her sword:<br /> + Two despots held her bound.<br /> +I’ve seen her gasping her last hope:<br /> +I’ve seen her sons strung up b’ the rope.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page233"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 233</span>‘Nine gallant gentlemen<br /> + In Arad they strung up!<br /> + I work’d in peace till then:—<br /> + That poison’d all my cup.<br +/> +A smell of corpses haunted me:<br /> +My nostril sniff’d like life for sea.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Take money for my +hire<br /> + From butchers?—not the +man!<br /> + I’ve got some natural fire,<br /> + And don’t flash in the +pan;—<br /> +A few ideas I reveal’d:—<br /> +’Twas well old England stood my shield!</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘Said I, “The +Lord of Hosts<br /> + Have mercy on your land!<br /> + I see those dangling ghosts,—<br /> + And you may keep command,<br /> +And hang, and shoot, and have your day:<br /> +They hold your bill, and you must pay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘“You’ve +sent them where they’re strong,<br /> + You carrion Double-Head!<br /> + I hear them sound a gong<br /> + In Heaven above!”—I +said.<br /> +“My God, what feathers won’t you moult<br /> +For this!” says I: and then I bolt.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘The Bird’s a +beastly Bird,<br /> + And what is more, a fool.<br /> + I shake hands with the herd<br /> + That flock beneath his rule.<br /> +They’re kindly; and their land is fine.<br /> +I thought it rarer once than mine.</p> +<p class="poetry"> <a name="page234"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 234</span>‘And rare would be its lot,<br +/> + But that he baulks its powers:<br +/> + It’s just an earthen pot<br /> + For hearts of oak like ours.<br /> +Think! Think!—four days from those frontiers,<br /> +And I’m a-head full fifty years.</p> +<p class="poetry"> ‘It tingles to your +scalps,<br /> + To think of it, my boys!<br /> + Confusion on their Alps,<br /> + And all their baby toys!<br /> +The mountains Britain boasts are men:<br /> +And scale you them, my brethren!’</p> +<p class="poetry">Cluck, went his tongue; his fingers, snap.<br +/> +Britons were proved all heights to cap.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And we who worshipp’d +crags,<br /> + Where purple splendours +burn’d,<br /> + Our idol saw in rags,<br /> + And right about were +turn’d.<br /> +Horizons rich with trembling spires<br /> +On violet twilights lost their fires.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And heights where morning +wakes<br /> + With one cheek over +snow;—<br /> + And iron-wallèd lakes<br /> + Where sits the white moon +low;—<br /> +For us on youthful travel bent,<br /> +The robing picturesque was rent.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Wherever Beauty +show’d<br /> + The wonders of her face,<br /> + This man his Jackass rode,<br /> + High despot of the place.<br /> +<a name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span>Fair +dreams of our enchanted life<br /> +Fled fast from his shrill island fife.</p> +<p class="poetry"> And yet we liked him well;<br +/> + We laugh’d with honest +hearts:—<br /> + He shock’d some inner spell,<br /> + And rous’d discordant +parts.<br /> +We echoed what we half abjured:<br /> +And hating, smilingly endured.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Moreover, could we be<br /> + To our dear land disloyal?<br /> + And were not also we<br /> + Of History’s blood-Royal?<br +/> +We glow’d to think how donkeys graze<br /> +In England, thrilling at their brays.</p> +<p class="poetry"> For there a man may view<br +/> + An aspect more sublime<br /> + Than Alps against the blue:—<br /> + The morning eyes of Time!<br /> +The very Ass participates<br /> +The glory Freedom radiates!</p> +<h2><a name="page236"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +236</span>CASSANDRA</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Captive</span> on a foreign +shore,<br /> +Far from Ilion’s hoary wave,<br /> +Agamemnon’s bridal slave<br /> +Speaks Futurity no more:<br /> +Death is busy with her grave.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">Thick as water, bursts remote<br /> +Round her ears the alien din,<br /> +While her little sullen chin<br /> +Fills the hollows of her throat:<br /> +Silent lie her slaughter’d kin.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Once to many a pealing shriek,<br /> +Lo, from Ilion’s topmost tower,<br /> +Ilion’s fierce prophetic flower<br /> +Cried the coming of the Greek!<br /> +Black in Hades sits the hour.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Eyeing phantoms of the Past,<br /> +Folded like a prophet’s scroll,<br /> +In the deep’s long shoreward roll<br /> +Here she sees the anchor cast:<br /> +Backward moves her sunless soul.</p> +<h3><a name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +237</span>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">Chieftains, brethren of her joy,<br /> +Shades, the white light in their eyes<br /> +Slanting to her lips, arise,<br /> +Crowding quick the plains of Troy:<br /> +Now they tell her not she lies.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">O the bliss upon the plains,<br /> +Where the joining heroes clashed<br /> +Shield and spear, and, unabashed,<br /> +Challenged with hot chariot-reins<br /> +Gods!—they glimmer ocean-washed.</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Alien voices round the ships,<br /> +Thick as water, shouting Home.<br /> +Argives, pale as midnight foam,<br /> +Wax before her awful lips:<br /> +White as stars that front the gloom.</p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Like a torch-flame that by day<br /> +Up the daylight twists, and, pale,<br /> +Catches air in leaps that fail,<br /> +Crushed by the inveterate ray,<br /> +Through her shines the Ten-Years’ Tale.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">Once to many a pealing shriek,<br /> +Lo, from Ilion’s topmost tower,<br /> +Ilion’s fierce prophetic flower<br /> +Cried the coming of the Greek!<br /> +Black in Hades sits the hour.</p> +<h3><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">Still upon her sunless soul<br /> +Gleams the narrow hidden space<br /> +Forward, where her fiery race<br /> +Falters on its ashen goal:<br /> +Still the Future strikes her face.</p> +<h3>XI</h3> +<p class="poetry">See toward the conqueror’s car<br /> +Step the purple Queen whose hate<br /> +Wraps red-armed her royal mate<br /> +With his Asian tempest-star:<br /> +Now Cassandra views her Fate.</p> +<h3>XII</h3> +<p class="poetry">King of men! the blinded host<br /> +Shout:—she lifts her brooding chin:<br /> +Glad along the joyous din<br /> +Smiles the grand majestic ghost:<br /> +Clytemnestra leads him in.</p> +<h3>XIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Lo, their smoky limbs aloof,<br /> +Shadowing heaven and the seas,<br /> +Fates and Furies, tangling Threes,<br /> +Tear and mix above the roof:<br /> +Fates and fierce Eumenides.</p> +<h3>XIV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Is the prophetess with rods<br /> +Beaten, that she writhes in air?<br /> +With the Gods who never spare,<br /> +Wrestling with the unsparing Gods,<br /> +Lone, her body struggles there.</p> +<h3><a name="page239"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +239</span>XV</h3> +<p class="poetry">Like the snaky torch-flame white,<br /> +Levelled as aloft it twists,<br /> +She, her soaring arms, and wrists<br /> +Drooping, struggles with the light,<br /> +Helios, bright above all mists!</p> +<h3>XVI</h3> +<p class="poetry">In his orb she sees the tower,<br /> +Dusk against its flaming rims,<br /> +Where of old her wretched limbs<br /> +Twisted with the stolen power:<br /> +Ilium all the lustre dims!</p> +<h3>XVII</h3> +<p class="poetry">O the bliss upon the plains,<br /> +Where the joining heroes clashed<br /> +Shield and spear, and, unabashed,<br /> +Challenged with hot chariot-reins<br /> +Gods!—they glimmer ocean-washed.</p> +<h3>XVIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Thrice the Sun-god’s name she calls;<br +/> +Shrieks the deed that shames the sky;<br /> +Like a fountain leaping high,<br /> +Falling as a fountain falls:<br /> +Lo, the blazing wheels go by!</p> +<h3>XIX</h3> +<p class="poetry">Captive on a foreign shore,<br /> +Far from Ilion’s hoary wave,<br /> +Agamemnon’s bridal slave<br /> +Speaks Futurity no more:<br /> +Death is busy with her grave.</p> +<h2><a name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>THE +YOUNG USURPER</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">On</span> +my darling’s bosom<br /> +Has dropped a living rosy bud,<br /> + Fair as brilliant Hesper<br /> + Against the brimming flood.<br /> + + +She handles him,<br /> + + +She dandles him,<br /> + She fondles him and eyes him:<br /> +And if upon a tear he wakes,<br /> + With many a kiss she dries him:<br /> +She covets every move he makes,<br /> + And never enough can prize him.<br /> + + +Ah, the young Usurper!<br /> + + +I yield my golden throne:<br /> + + +Such angel bands attend his hands<br /> + + +To claim it for his own.</p> +<h2><a name="page241"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +241</span>MARGARET’S BRIDAL EVE</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> old grey mother +she thrummed on her knee:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +And which of the handsome young men shall it be?<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Come, point me your finger on him that you see:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O mother, my mother, it never can be:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +And the man’ll jump for you, right briskly will he:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tall Margaret wept bitterly:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +And as her parent bade did she:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O the handsome young man dropped down on his +knee:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe’s me!<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<h3><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:<br /> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O mother, but when he kisses me!<br /> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +My child, ’tis which shall sweetest be!<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O mother, but when I awake in the morn!<br /> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +Poor comfort she had of her comeliness<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">My mother will sink if this thing be said:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He died on my shoulder the third cold night:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +I dragged his body all through the moonlight:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page243"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +243</span>But when I came by my father’s door:<br /> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:<br /> + <i>There is a rose in the garden</i>;<br /> +Could I follow the lover I loved so well!<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">The bridesmaids slept in their chambers +apart:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The frill of her nightgown below the left +breast:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Had fall’n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:<br +/> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Pale Margaret’s breast showed a winding scar:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O few are the brides with such a sign!<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Though I went mad the fault was mine:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I must speak to him under this roof +to-night:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +244</span>O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier +wound:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Than when I scored you red and swooned:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I will stab my honour under his eye:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with +you!<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are +clean:<br /> + <i>There is a rose that’s ready</i>;<br /> +You carry no mark of what has been!<br /> + <i>There’s a rose that’s ready for +clipping</i>.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">An hour before the chilly beam:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +The bridegroom started out of a dream:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He went to the door, and there espied:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +The figure of his silent bride:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He went to the door, and let her in:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +Whiter looked she than a child of sin:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +245</span>She looked so white, she looked so sweet:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +She looked so pure he fell at her feet:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He fell at her feet with love and awe:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +A stainless body of light he saw:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +My bride! by the angels at night are you led?<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I am not led by the angels about:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +But I have a devil within to let out:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O Margaret! my bride and saint!<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +There is on you no earthly taint:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">I am no saint, and no bride can I be:<br /> + <i>Red rose and while in the garden</i>;<br /> +Until I have opened my bosom to thee:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">To catch at her heart she laid one hand:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +She told the tale where she did stand:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page246"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +246</span>She stood before him pale and tall:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +Her eyes between his, she told him all:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:<br +/> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +She heard from the woods the hooting owl:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">With never a quiver her mouth did speak:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +O when she had done she stood so meek!<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:<br +/> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +He did but waken a little smile:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The bridegroom raged and called her foul:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +She heard from the woods the hooting owl:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">He muttered a name full bitter and sore:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:<br +/> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +When through the household flew the tale:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +247</span>The old grey mother she dressed the bier:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +With a shivering chin and never a tear:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O had you but done as I bade you, my child!<br +/> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +You would not have died and been reviled:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the +bier:<br /> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +He eyed the white girl thro’ a dazzling tear:<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry">O had you been false as the women who stray:<br +/> + <i>Red rose and white in the garden</i>;<br /> +You would not be now with the Angels of Day!<br /> + <i>And the bird sings over the roses</i>.</p> +<h2><a name="page248"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +248</span>MARIAN</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">She</span> can be as wise +as we,<br /> + And wiser when she wishes;<br /> +She can knit with cunning wit,<br /> + And dress the homely dishes.<br /> +She can flourish staff or pen,<br /> + And deal a wound that lingers;<br /> +She can talk the talk of men,<br /> + And touch with thrilling fingers.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">Match her ye across the sea,<br /> + Natures fond and fiery;<br /> +Ye who zest the turtle’s nest<br /> + With the eagle’s eyrie.<br /> +Soft and loving is her soul,<br /> + Swift and lofty soaring;<br /> +Mixing with its dove-like dole<br /> + Passionate adoring.</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">Such a she who’ll match with me?<br /> + In flying or pursuing,<br /> +Subtle wiles are in her smiles<br /> + To set the world a-wooing.<br /> +She is steadfast as a star,<br /> + And yet the maddest maiden:<br /> +She can wage a gallant war,<br /> + And give the peace of Eden.</p> +<h2><a name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>BY +MORNING TWILIGHT</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Night</span>, like a dying mother,<br /> + Eyes her young offspring, Day.<br /> + The birds are dreamily piping.<br /> + And O, my love, my darling!<br /> + The night is life ebb’d +away:<br /> + Away beyond our reach!<br /> +A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;<br /> + Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles<br /> +That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand<br /> + + +Sway<br /> + With the song of the sea to the land.</p> +<h2>UNKNOWN FAIR FACES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Though</span> I am faithful +to my loves lived through,<br /> +And place them among Memory’s great stars,<br /> +Where burns a face like Hesper: one like Mars:<br /> +Of visages I get a moment’s view,<br /> +Sweet eyes that in the heaven of me, too,<br /> +Ascend, tho’ virgin to my life they passed.<br /> +Lo, these within my destiny seem glassed<br /> +At times so bright, I wish that Hope were new.<br /> +A gracious freckled lady, tall and grave,<br /> +Went, in a shawl voluminous and white,<br /> +Last sunset by; and going sow’d a glance.<br /> +Earth is too poor to hold a second chance;<br /> +I will not ask for more than Fortune gave:<br /> +My heart she goes from—never from my sight!</p> +<h2><a name="page250"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +250</span>SHEMSELNIHAR</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">my</span> lover! the +night like a broad smooth wave<br /> + Bears us onward, and morn, a black rock, shines +wet.<br /> +How I shuddered—I knew not that I was a slave,<br /> + Till I looked on thy face:—then I writhed in +the net.<br /> +Then I felt like a thing caught by fire, that her star<br /> +Glowed dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry">And he came, whose I am: O my lover! he +came:<br /> + And his slave, still so envied of women, was I:<br +/> +And I turned as a hissing leaf spits from the flame,<br /> + Yes, I shrivelled to dust from him, haggard and +dry.<br /> +O forgive her:—she was but as dead lilies are:<br /> +The life of her heart fled from Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet with thee like a full throbbing rose how I +bloom!<br /> + Like a rose by the fountain whose showering we +hear,<br /> +As we lie, O my lover! in this rich gloom,<br /> + Smelling faint the cool breath of the lemon-groves +near.<br /> +As we lie gazing out on that glowing great star—<br /> +Ah! dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yet with thee am I not as an arm of the +vine,<br /> + Firm to bind thee, to cherish thee, feed thee +sweet?<br /> +Swear an oath on my lip to let none disentwine<br /> + The life that here fawns to give warmth to thy +feet.<br /> +I on thine, thus! no more shall that jewelled Head jar<br /> +The music thou breathest on Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page251"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +251</span>Far away, far away, where the wandering scents<br /> + Of all flowers are sweetest, white mountains +among,<br /> +There my kindred abide in their green and blue tents:<br /> + Bear me to them, my lover! they lost me so young.<br +/> +Let us slip down the stream and leap steed till afar<br /> +None question thy claim upon Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry">O that long note the bulbul gave +out—meaning love!<br /> + O my lover, hark to him and think it my voice!<br /> +The blue night like a great bell-flower from above<br /> + Drooping low and gold-eyed: O, but hear him +rejoice!<br /> +Can it be? ’twas a flash! that accurst +scimitàr<br /> +In thought even cuts thee from Shemselnihar.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yes, I would that, less generous, he would +oppress,<br /> + He would chain me, upbraid me, burn deep brands for +hate,<br /> +Than with this mask of freedom and gorgeousness<br /> + Bespangle my slavery, mock my strange fate.<br /> +Would, would, would, O my lover, he knew—dared debar<br /> +Thy coming, and earn curse of Shemselnihar!</p> +<h2><a name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>A +ROAR THROUGH THE TALL TWIN ELM-TREES</h2> +<p class="poetry">A <span class="smcap">roar</span> thro’ +the tall twin elm-trees<br /> + The mustering storm betrayed:<br /> +The South-wind seized the willow<br /> + That over the water swayed.</p> +<p class="poetry">Then fell the steady deluge<br /> + In which I strove to doze,<br /> +Hearing all night at my window<br /> + The knock of the winter rose.</p> +<p class="poetry">The rainy rose of winter!<br /> + An outcast it must pine.<br /> +And from thy bosom outcast<br /> + Am I, dear lady mine.</p> +<h2>WHEN I WOULD IMAGE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> I would image +her features,<br /> + Comes up a shrouded head:<br /> +I touch the outlines, shrinking;<br /> + She seems of the wandering dead.</p> +<p class="poetry">But when love asks for nothing,<br /> + And lies on his bed of snow,<br /> +The face slips under my eyelids,<br /> + All in its living glow.</p> +<p class="poetry">Like a dark cathedral city,<br /> + Whose spires, and domes, and towers<br /> +Quiver in violet lightnings,<br /> + My soul basks on for hours.</p> +<h2><a name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>THE +SPIRIT OF SHAKESPEARE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thy</span> greatest knew +thee, Mother Earth; unsoured<br /> +He knew thy sons. He probed from hell to hell<br /> +Of human passions, but of love deflowered<br /> +His wisdom was not, for he knew thee well.<br /> +Thence came the honeyed corner at his lips,<br /> +The conquering smile wherein his spirit sails<br /> +Calm as the God who the white sea-wave whips,<br /> +Yet full of speech and intershifting tales,<br /> +Close mirrors of us: thence had he the laugh<br /> +We feel is thine: broad as ten thousand beeves<br /> +At pasture! thence thy songs, that winnow chaff<br /> +From grain, bid sick Philosophy’s last leaves<br /> +Whirl, if they have no response—they enforced<br /> +To fatten Earth when from her soul divorced.</p> +<h2>CONTINUED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> smiles he at a +generation ranked<br /> +In gloomy noddings over life! They pass.<br /> +Not he to feed upon a breast unthanked,<br /> +Or eye a beauteous face in a cracked glass.<br /> +But he can spy that little twist of brain<br /> +Which moved some weighty leader of the blind,<br /> +Unwitting ’twas the goad of personal pain,<br /> +To view in curst eclipse our Mother’s mind,<br /> +And show us of some rigid harridan<br /> +The wretched bondmen till the end of time.<br /> +O lived the Master now to paint us Man,<br /> +That little twist of brain would ring a chime<br /> +Of whence it came and what it caused, to start<br /> +Thunders of laughter, clearing air and heart.</p> +<h2><a name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>ODE +TO THE SPIRIT OF EARTH IN AUTUMN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Mother Earth +lay on her back last night,<br /> +To gaze her fill on Autumn’s sunset skies,<br /> +When at a waving of the fallen light<br /> +Sprang realms of rosy fruitage o’er her eyes.<br /> +A lustrous heavenly orchard hung the West,<br /> +Wherein the blood of Eden bloomed again:<br /> +Red were the myriad cherub-mouths that pressed,<br /> +Among the clusters, rich with song, full fain,<br /> +But dumb, because that overmastering spell<br /> +Of rapture held them dumb: then, here and there,<br /> +A golden harp lost strings; a crimson shell<br /> +Burnt grey; and sheaves of lustre fell to air.<br /> +The illimitable eagerness of hue<br /> +Bronzed, and the beamy winged bloom that flew<br /> +’Mid those bunched fruits and thronging figures failed.<br +/> +A green-edged lake of saffron touched the blue,<br /> +With isles of fireless purple lying through:<br /> +And Fancy on that lake to seek lost treasures sailed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Not long +the silence followed:<br /> + The voice that issues from thy breast,<br /> + O glorious South-west,<br /> + Along the gloom-horizon holloa’d;<br /> +Warning the valleys with a mellow roar<br /> +Through flapping wings; then sharp the woodland bore<br /> + A shudder and a noise of hands:<br /> + A thousand horns from some far vale<br /> + In ambush sounding on the gale.<br /> + Forth from the cloven sky came bands<br /> +<a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>Of +revel-gathering spirits; trooping down,<br /> +Some rode the tree-tops; some on torn cloud-strips<br /> + Burst screaming thro’ the lighted town:<br /> +And scudding seaward, some fell on big ships:<br /> + Or mounting the sea-horses blew<br /> + Bright foam-flakes on the black review<br /> + Of heaving hulls and burying beaks.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still on the farthest line, with outpuffed +cheeks,<br /> +’Twixt dark and utter dark, the great wind drew<br /> +From heaven that disenchanted harmony<br /> +To join earth’s laughter in the midnight blind:<br /> +Booming a distant chorus to the shrieks<br /> + + +Preluding him: then he,<br /> +His mantle streaming thunderingly behind,<br /> +Across the yellow realm of stiffened Day,<br /> +Shot thro’ the woodland alleys signals three;<br /> + And with the pressure of a sea<br /> +Plunged broad upon the vale that under lay.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Night on the rolling foliage +fell:<br /> + But I, who love old hymning night,<br /> + And know the Dryad voices well,<br /> + Discerned them as their leaves took flight,<br /> + Like souls to wander after death:<br /> + Great armies in imperial dyes,<br /> + And mad to tread the air and rise,<br /> + The savage freedom of the skies<br /> + To taste before they rot. And here,<br /> + Like frail white-bodied girls in fear,<br /> + The birches swung from shrieks to sighs;<br /> + The aspens, laughers at a breath,<br /> + In showering spray-falls mixed their cries,<br /> + Or raked a savage ocean-strand<br /> + <a name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +256</span>With one incessant drowning screech.<br /> + Here stood a solitary beech,<br /> + That gave its gold with open hand,<br /> + And all its branches, toning chill,<br /> + Did seem to shut their teeth right fast,<br /> + To shriek more mercilessly shrill,<br /> + And match the fierceness of the blast.</p> +<p class="poetry"> But heard I a low swell that +noised<br /> + Of far-off ocean, I was ’ware<br /> + Of pines upon their wide roots poised,<br /> + Whom never madness in the air<br /> + Can draw to more than loftier stress<br /> + Of mournfulness, not mournfulness<br /> + For melancholy, but Joy’s excess,<br /> +That singing on the lap of sorrow faints:<br /> + And Peace, as in the hearts of saints<br /> + Who chant unto the Lord their God;<br /> +Deep Peace below upon the muffled sod,<br /> +The stillness of the sea’s unswaying floor,<br /> + Could I be sole there not to see<br /> + The life within the life awake;<br /> + The spirit bursting from the tree,<br /> + And rising from the troubled lake?<br /> + Pour, let the wines of Heaven pour!<br /> + The Golden Harp is struck once more,<br /> + And all its music is for me!<br /> + Pour, let the wines of Heaven pour!<br /> + And, ho, for a night of Pagan glee!</p> +<p class="poetry"> There is a +curtain o’er us.<br /> + For once, good souls, we’ll not pretend<br /> + To be aught better than her who bore us,<br /> + And is our only visible friend.<br /> + Hark to her laughter! who laughs like this,<br /> + <a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>Can she be dead, or rooted in pain?<br /> + She has been slain by the narrow brain,<br /> + But for us who love her she lives again.<br /> + Can she die? O, take her +kiss!</p> +<p class="poetry">The crimson-footed nymph is panting up the +glade,<br /> +With the wine-jar at her arm-pit, and the drunken ivy-braid<br /> +Round her forehead, breasts, and thighs: starts a Satyr, and they +speed:<br /> +Hear the crushing of the leaves: hear the cracking of the +bough!<br /> +And the whistling of the bramble, the piping of the weed!</p> +<p class="poetry"> But the bull-voiced oak is +battling now:<br /> + The storm has seized him half-asleep,<br /> + And round him the wild woodland throngs<br /> + To hear the fury of his songs,<br /> + The uproar of an outraged deep.<br /> + He wakes to find a wrestling giant<br /> + Trunk to trunk and limb to limb,<br /> + And on his rooted force reliant<br /> + He laughs and grasps the broadened giant,<br /> + And twist and roll the Anakim;<br /> +And multitudes, acclaiming to the cloud,<br /> + Cry which is breaking, which is bowed.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Away, for the cymbals clash +aloft<br /> + In the circles of pine, on the moss-floor soft.<br +/> + The nymphs of the woodland are gathering there.<br +/> + They huddle the leaves, and trample, and toss;<br /> + They swing in the branches, they roll in the +moss,<br /> + They blow the seed on the air.<br /> + Back to back they stand and blow<br /> + The winged seed on the cradling air,<br /> + A fountain of leaves over bosom and back.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page258"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +258</span>The pipe of the Faun comes on their track<br /> +And the weltering alleys overflow<br /> +With musical shrieks and wind-wedded hair.<br /> +The riotous companies melt to a pair.<br /> + Bless them, mother of kindness!</p> +<p class="poetry"> A star has nodded through<br +/> + The depths of the flying blue.<br /> + Time only to plant the light<br /> + Of a memory in the blindness.<br /> + But time to show me the sight<br /> + Of my life thro’ the curtain of night;<br /> + Shining a moment, and mixed<br /> + With the onward-hurrying stream,<br /> + Whose pressure is darkness to me;<br /> + Behind the curtain, fixed,<br /> + Beams with endless beam<br /> + That star on the changing sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">Great Mother Nature! teach me, like thee,<br /> +To kiss the season and shun regrets.<br /> +And am I more than the mother who bore,<br /> +Mock me not with thy harmony!<br /> + Teach me to blot regrets,<br /> + Great Mother! me inspire<br /> + With faith that forward sets<br /> + But feeds the living fire,<br /> + Faith that never frets<br /> + For vagueness in the form.<br /> + In life, O keep me warm!<br /> + For, what is human grief?<br /> + And what do men desire?<br /> +Teach me to feel myself the tree,<br /> + And not the withered leaf.<br /> +Fixed am I and await the dark to-be<br /> + <a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>And O, green bounteous Earth!<br /> +Bacchante Mother! stern to those<br /> +Who live not in thy heart of mirth;<br /> +Death shall I shrink from, loving thee?<br /> +Into the breast that gives the rose,<br /> + Shall I with shuddering fall?</p> +<p class="poetry"> Earth, the mother of all,<br +/> + Moves on her stedfast way,<br /> + Gathering, flinging, sowing.<br /> + Mortals, we live in her day,<br /> + She in her children is growing.</p> +<p class="poetry">She can lead us, only she,<br /> +Unto God’s footstool, whither she reaches:<br /> +Loved, enjoyed, her gifts must be,<br /> +Reverenced the truths she teaches,<br /> +Ere a man may hope that he<br /> +Ever can attain the glee<br /> +Of things without a destiny!</p> +<p class="poetry"> She knows not loss:<br /> + She feels but her need,<br /> + Who the winged seed<br /> + With the leaf doth toss.</p> +<p class="poetry">And may not men to this attain?<br /> +That the joy of motion, the rapture of being,<br /> +Shall throw strong light when our season is fleeing,<br /> +Nor quicken aged blood in vain,<br /> +At the gates of the vault, on the verge of the plain?<br /> +Life thoroughly lived is a fact in the brain,<br /> + While eyes are left for seeing.<br /> +<a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 260</span>Behold, +in yon stripped Autumn, shivering grey,<br /> + Earth knows no desolation.<br /> + She smells regeneration<br /> + In the moist breath of decay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Prophetic of the coming joy and strife,<br /> + Like the wild western war-chief sinking<br /> + Calm to the end he eyes unblinking,<br /> +Her voice is jubilant in ebbing life.</p> +<p class="poetry"> He for his happy +hunting-fields<br /> + Forgets the droning chant, and yields<br /> + His numbered breaths to exultation<br /> + In the proud anticipation:<br /> + Shouting the glories of his nation,<br /> + Shouting the grandeur of his race,<br /> + Shouting his own great deeds of daring:<br /> + And when at last death grasps his face,<br /> + And stiffened on the ground in peace<br /> +He lies with all his painted terrors glaring;<br /> +Hushed are the tribe to hear a threading cry:<br /> + Not from the dead man;<br /> + Not from the standers-by:<br /> + The spirit of the red man<br /> +Is welcomed by his fathers up on high.</p> +<h2><a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +261</span>MARTIN’S PUZZLE</h2> +<h3>I</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There</span> she goes up +the street with her book in her hand,<br /> + And her Good morning, Martin! Ay, lass, how +d’ye do?<br /> +Very well, thank you, Martin!—I can’t understand!<br +/> + I might just as well never have cobbled a shoe!<br +/> +I can’t understand it. She talks like a song;<br /> + Her voice takes your ear like the ring of a +glass;<br /> +She seems to give gladness while limping along,<br /> + Yet sinner ne’er suffer’d like that +little lass.</p> +<h3>II</h3> +<p class="poetry">First, a fool of a boy ran her down with a +cart.<br /> + Then, her fool of a father—a blacksmith by +trade—<br /> +Why the deuce does he tell us it half broke his heart?<br /> + His heart!—where’s the leg of the poor +little maid!<br /> +Well, that’s not enough; they must push her downstairs,<br +/> + To make her go crooked: but why count the list?<br +/> +If it’s right to suppose that our human affairs<br /> + Are all order’d by heaven—there, bang +goes my fist!</p> +<h3>III</h3> +<p class="poetry">For if angels can look on such +sights—never mind!<br /> + When you’re next to blaspheming, it’s +best to be mum.<br /> +The parson declares that her woes weren’t designed;<br /> + But, then, with the parson it’s all +kingdom-come.<br /> +<a name="page262"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 262</span>Lose a +leg, save a soul—a convenient text;<br /> + I call it Tea doctrine, not savouring of God.<br /> +When poor little Molly wants ‘chastening,’ why, +next<br /> + The Archangel Michael might taste of the rod.</p> +<h3>IV</h3> +<p class="poetry">But, to see the poor darling go limping for +miles<br /> + To read books to sick people!—and just of an +age<br /> +When girls learn the meaning of ribands and smiles!<br /> + Makes me feel like a squirrel that turns in a +cage.<br /> +The more I push thinking the more I revolve:<br /> + I never get farther:—and as to her face,<br /> +It starts up when near on my puzzle I solve,<br /> + And says, ‘This crush’d body seems such +a sad case.’</p> +<h3>V</h3> +<p class="poetry">Not that she’s for complaining: she reads +to earn pence;<br /> + And from those who can’t pay, simple thanks +are enough.<br /> +Does she leave lamentation for chaps without sense?<br /> + Howsoever, she’s made up of wonderful +stuff.<br /> +Ay, the soul in her body must be a stout cord;<br /> + She sings little hymns at the close of the day,<br +/> +Though she has but three fingers to lift to the Lord,<br /> + And only one leg to kneel down with to pray.</p> +<h3>VI</h3> +<p class="poetry">What I ask is, Why persecute such a poor +dear,<br /> + If there’s Law above all? Answer that if +you can!<br /> +Irreligious I’m not; but I look on this sphere<br /> + As a place where a man should just think like a +man.<br /> +<a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 263</span>It +isn’t fair dealing! But, contrariwise,<br /> + Do bullets in battle the wicked select?<br /> +Why, then it’s all chance-work! And yet, in her +eyes,<br /> + She holds a fixed something by which I am +checked.</p> +<h3>VII</h3> +<p class="poetry">Yonder riband of sunshine aslope on the +wall,<br /> + If you eye it a minute ’ll have the same +look:<br /> +So kind! and so merciful! God of us all!<br /> + It’s the very same lesson we get from the +Book.<br /> +Then, is Life but a trial? Is that what is meant?<br /> + Some must toil, and some perish, for others +below:<br /> +The injustice to each spreads a common content;<br /> + Ay! I’ve lost it again, for it +can’t be quite so.</p> +<h3>VIII</h3> +<p class="poetry">She’s the victim of fools: that seems +nearer the mark.<br /> + On earth there are engines and numerous fools.<br /> +Why the Lord can permit them, we’re still in the dark;<br +/> + He does, and in some sort of way they’re His +tools.<br /> +It’s a roundabout way, with respect let me add,<br /> + If Molly goes crippled that we may be taught:<br /> +But, perhaps, it’s the only way, though it’s so +bad;<br /> + In that case we’ll bow down our +heads,—as we ought.</p> +<h3>IX</h3> +<p class="poetry">But the worst of <i>me</i> is, that when I bow +my head,<br /> + I perceive a thought wriggling away in the dust,<br +/> +And I follow its tracks, quite forgetful, instead<br /> + Of humble acceptance: for, question I must!<br /> +Here’s a creature made carefully—carefully made!<br +/> + Put together with craft, and then stamped on, and +why?<br /> +The answer seems nowhere: it’s discord that’s +played.<br /> + The sky’s a blue dish!—an implacable +sky!</p> +<h3><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>X</h3> +<p class="poetry">Stop a moment. I seize an idea from the +pit.<br /> + They tell us that discord, though discord, alone,<br +/> +Can be harmony when the notes properly fit:<br /> + Am I judging all things from a single false tone?<br +/> +Is the Universe one immense Organ, that rolls<br /> + From devils to angels? I’m blind with +the sight.<br /> +It pours such a splendour on heaps of poor souls!<br /> + I might try at kneeling with Molly to-night.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> First contributed to a MS. +magazine, ‘The Monthly Observer,’ in the year 1849; +first printed in <i>Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal</i>, July +7, 1849.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163"></a><a href="#citation163" +class="footnote">[163]</a> Originally printed in +‘Poems,’ 1851.</p> +<p><a name="footnote164"></a><a href="#citation164" +class="footnote">[164]</a> ‘The Leader,’ +December 20, 1851.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, VOL. 1 [OF 3]***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 1381-h.htm or 1381-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/3/8/1381 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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