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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eyes of Youth, by Various
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Eyes of Youth
+       A Book of Verse by Padraic Colum, Shane Leslie, A.O.
+
+Author: Various
+
+Release Date: February 9, 2006 [EBook #17735]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EYES OF YOUTH ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marc D'Hooghe.
+
+
+
+
+EYES OF YOUTH
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     A Book of Verse by Padraic Colum--Shane
+
+     Leslie--Viola Meynell--Ruth Lindsay--
+
+     Hugh Austin--Judith Lytton--Olivia
+
+     Meynell--Maurice Healy--Monica
+
+     Saleeby--Francis Meynell--With
+
+     four early Poems by Francis
+
+     Thompson, & a Foreword by
+
+     Gilbert K. Chesterton.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     "He has eyes of youth,
+     he writes verses"
+
+     _The Merry Wives of Windsor_.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+     The four early poems of Francis Thompson are here published, for
+     the first time in book form, by the permission of his Literary
+     Executor.
+
+     We have also to thank the Editors of _The Station, The Tablet,
+     The Outlook, The New Age, The Westminster Gazette, The Evening
+     Standard, The Irish Rosary_ and _The Lamp_, for permission to
+     re-publish other Verses.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+G.K. CHESTERTON
+
+Foreword
+
+FRANCIS THOMPSON
+
+Threatened Tears
+Arab Love Song
+Buona Notte
+The Passion of Mary
+
+PADRAIC COLUM
+
+"I shall not die for you"
+An Idyll
+Christ the Comrade
+Arab Songs (I)
+Arab Songs (II)
+
+SHANE LESLIE
+
+A Dead Friend (J.S. 1905)
+Forest Song
+The Bee
+Outside the Carlton
+The Pater of the Cannon
+Fleet Street
+Nightmare
+To a Nobleman becoming Socialist
+St. George-in-the-East
+
+VIOLA MEYNELL
+
+The Ruin
+The Dream
+The Wanderer
+"Nature is the living mantle of God"
+Secret Prayer
+The Unheeded
+Dream of Death
+
+THE HON. MRS. LINDSAY
+
+Mater Salvatoris
+To Choose
+The Hunters
+
+HUGH AUSTIN
+
+The Astronomer's Prayer
+The Moon
+To Yvonne
+The Burial of Scald
+
+THE HON. MRS. LYTTON
+
+A Day Remembered
+Childhood
+Love in Idleness
+Love's Counterfeit
+
+OLIVIA MEYNELL
+
+A Grief without Christ
+The Crowning
+
+MAURICE HEALY
+
+In Memoriam
+A Ballad of Friendship
+In the Midst of Them
+Sic Transit
+
+MONICA SALEEBY
+
+Retrospect
+
+FRANCIS MEYNELL
+
+Any Stone
+Lux in Tenebris
+Mater Inviolata
+Song-burden
+Gifts
+Wraith
+A Dedication
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FOREWORD
+
+
+My office on this occasion is one which I may well carry as lightly as
+possible. In our society, I am told, one needs an introduction to a
+beautiful woman; but I have never heard of men needing an introduction
+to a beautiful song. Prose before poetry is an unmeaning interruption;
+for poetry is perhaps the one thing in the world that explains itself.
+The only possible prelude for songs is silence; and I shall endeavour
+here to imitate the brevity of the silence as well as its stillness.
+
+This collection contains four new poems by one whom all serious critics
+now class with Shelley and Keats and those other great ones cut down
+with their work unfinished. Yet I would not speak specially of him,
+lest modern critics should run away with their mad notion of a one-man
+influence; and call this a "school" of Francis Thompson. Francis
+Thompson was not a schoolmaster. He would have said as freely as Whitman
+(and with a far more consistent philosophy), "I charge you to leave all
+free, as I have left all free." The modern world has this mania about
+plagiarism because the modern world cannot comprehend the idea of
+communion. It thinks that men must steal ideas; it does not understand
+that men may share them. The saints did not imitate each other; not
+always even study each other; they studied the Imitation of Christ.
+A real religion is that in which any two solitary people might suddenly
+say the same thing at any moment. It would therefore be most misleading
+to give to this collection an air of having been inspired by its most
+famous contributor. The little lyrics of this little book must surely
+be counted individual, even by those who may count them mysterious.
+A variety verging on quaintness is the very note of the assembled bards.
+
+Take, for example, Mr. Colum's stern and simple rendering of the bitter
+old Irish verses:
+
+     "O woman, shapely as the swan,
+     On your account I shall not die."
+
+Like Fitzgerald's Omar and all good translations, it leaves one
+wondering whether the original was as good; but to an Englishman the
+note is not only unique, but almost hostile. It is the hardness of the
+real Irishman which has been so skilfully hidden under the softness of
+the stage Irishman. The words are ages old, I believe; they come out of
+the ancient Ireland of Cairns and fallen Kings: and yet the words might
+have been spoken by one of Bernard Shaw's modern heroes to one of his
+modern heroines. The curt, bleak words, the haughty, heathen spirit are
+certainly as remote as anything can be from the luxuriant humility of
+Francis Thompson.
+
+If the writers have a real point of union it is in a certain instinct
+for contrast between their shape and subject matter. All the poems are
+brief in form, and at the same time big in topic. They remind us of the
+vivid illuminations of the virile thirteenth century, when artists
+crowded cosmic catastrophes into the corner of an initial letter; where
+one may find a small picture of the Deluge or of the flaming Cities of
+the Plain. One of the specially short poems sees the universe overthrown
+and the good angels conquered. Another short poem sees the newsboys in
+Fleet Street shouting the news of the end of the world, and the awful
+return of God. The writers seem unconsciously to have sought to make a
+poem as large as a revelation, while it was nearly as short as a riddle.
+And though Francis Thompson himself was rather in the Elizabethan
+tradition of amplitude and ingenuity, he could write separate lines that
+were separate poems in themselves:--
+
+     "And thou, what needest with thy tribe's black tents,
+     Who hast the red pavilion of my heart?"
+
+A mediaeval illuminator would have jumped out of his sandals in his
+eagerness to illustrate that.
+
+G.K. CHESTERTON.
+
+
+
+
+FRANCIS THOMPSON
+
+
+_THREATENED TEARS_
+
+Do not loose those rains thy wet
+Eyes, my Fair, unsurely threat;
+Do not, Sweet, do not so;
+Thou canst not have a single woe,
+But this sad and doubtful weatlier
+Overcasts us both together.
+In the aspect of those known eyes
+My soul's a captain weatherwise.
+Ah me! what presages it sees
+In those watery Hyades.
+
+
+_ARAB LOVE SONG_
+
+The hunched camels of the night*
+Trouble the bright
+And silver waters of the moon.
+The Maiden of the Morn will soon
+Through Heaven stray and sing,
+Star gathering.
+
+Now while the dark about our loves is strewn,
+Light of my dark, blood of my heart, O come!
+And night will catch her breath up, and be dumb.
+
+Leave thy father, leave thy mother
+And thy brother;
+Leave the black tents of thy tribe apart!
+Am I not thy father and thy brother,
+And thy mother?
+
+And thou--what needest with thy tribe's black tents
+Who hast the red pavilion of my heart?
+
+* The cloud-shapes often observed by travellers in the East.
+
+
+_BUONA NOTTE_
+
+_Jane Williams, in her last letter to Shelley, wrote: "Why do you
+talk of never enjoying moments like the past? Are you going to join
+your friend Plato, or do you expect I shall do so soon? Buona
+Notte." This letter was dated July 6th, and Shelley was drowned on
+the 8th. The following is his imagined reply from, another world_:--
+
+Ariel to Miranda:--hear
+This good-night the sea-winds bear;
+And let thine unacquainted ear
+Take grief for their interpreter.
+
+Good-night; I have risen so high
+Into slumber's rarity,
+Not a dream can beat its feather
+Through the unsustaining ether.
+Let the sea-winds make avouch
+How thunder summoned me to couch,
+Tempest curtained me about
+And turned the sun with his own hand out:
+And though I toss upon my bed
+My dream is not disquieted;
+Nay, deep I sleep upon the deep,
+And my eyes are wet, but I do not weep;
+And I fell to sleep so suddenly
+That my lips are moist yet--could'st thou see
+With the good-night draught I have drunk to thee.
+Thou can'st not wipe them; for it was Death
+Damped my lips that has dried my breath.
+A little while--it is not long--
+The salt shall dry on them like the song.
+
+Now know'st thou, that voice desolate,
+Mourning ruined joy's estate,
+Reached thee through a closing gate.
+"Go'st thou to Plato?" Ah, girl, no!
+It is to Pluto that I go.
+
+
+_THE PASSION OF MARY_
+
+O Lady Mary, thy bright crown
+  Is no mere crown of majesty;
+For with the reflex of His own
+  Resplendent thorns Christ circled thee.
+
+The red rose of this passion tide
+  Doth take a deeper hue from thee,
+In the five Wounds of Jesus dyed,
+  And in Thy bleeding thoughts, Mary.
+
+The soldier struck a triple stroke
+  That smote thy Jesus on the tree;
+He broke the Heart of hearts, and broke
+  The Saint's and Mother's hearts in thee.
+
+Thy Son went up the Angels' ways,
+  His passion ended; but, ah me!
+Thou found'st the road of further days
+  A longer way of Calvary.
+
+On the hard cross of hopes deferred
+  Thou hung'st in loving agony,
+Until the mortal dreaded word,
+  Which chills our mirth, spake mirth to thee.
+
+The Angel Death from this cold tomb
+  Of life did roll the stone away;
+And He thou barest in thy womb
+  Caught thee at last into the day--
+Before the living throne of Whom
+  The lights of heaven burning pray.
+
+
+                   L'ENVOY.
+
+O thou who dwellest in the day,
+  Behold, I pace amidst the gloom:
+Darkness is ever round my way,
+  With little space for sunbeam room.
+
+Yet Christian sadness is divine,
+  Even as thy patient sadness was:
+The salt tears in our life's dark wine
+  Fell in it from the saving Cross.
+
+Bitter the bread of our repast;
+  Yet doth a sweet the bitter leaven:
+Our sorrow is the shadow cast
+  Around it by the light of Heaven.
+  O Light in light, shine down from Heaven!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+PADRAIC COLUM
+
+
+"_I SHALL NOT DIE FOR YOU_"
+
+(From the Irish)
+
+O woman, shapely as the swan,
+  On your account I shall not die.
+The men you've slain--a trivial clan--
+  Were less than I.
+
+I ask me shall I die for these:
+  For blossom-teeth and scarlet lips?
+And shall that delicate swan-shape
+  Bring me eclipse?
+
+Well shaped the breasts and smooth the skin,
+  The cheeks are fair, the tresses free;
+And yet I shall not suffer death,
+  God over me.
+
+Those even brows, that hair like gold,
+  Those languorous tones, that virgin way;
+The flowing limbs, the rounded heel
+  Slight men betray.
+
+Thy spirit keen through radiant mien,
+  Thy shining throat and smiling eye,
+Thy little palm, thy side like foam--
+  I cannot die.
+
+O woman, shapely as the swan,
+  In a cunning house hard-reared was I;
+O bosom white, O well-shaped palm,
+  I shall not die.
+
+
+_AN IDYLL_
+
+You stay at last at my bosom, with your beauty
+  young and rare,
+Though your light limbs are as limber as the
+  foal's that follows the mare,
+Brow fair and young and stately where thought
+  has now begun--Hair
+bright as the breast of the eagle when he
+  strains up to the sun!
+
+In the space of a broken castle I found you on
+  a day
+When the call of the new-come cuckoo went
+  with me all the way.
+You stood by the loosened stones that were
+  rough and black with age:
+The fawn beloved of the hunter in the panther's
+  broken cage!
+
+And we went down together by paths your
+  childhood knew--
+Remote you went beside me, like the spirit of
+  the dew;
+Hard were the hedge-rows still: sloe-bloom
+  was their scanty dower--
+You slipped it within your bosom, the bloom
+  that scarce is flower.
+
+And now you stay at my bosom with you
+  beauty young and rare,
+Though your light limbs are as limber as the
+  foal's that follows the mare;
+But always I will see you on paths your childhood
+  knew,
+When remote you went beside me like the
+  spirit of the dew.
+
+
+_CHRIST THE COMRADE_
+
+Christ, by thine own darkened hour
+  Live within my heart and brain!
+  Let my hands not slip the rein.
+
+Ah, how long ago it is
+  Since a comrade rode with me!
+  Now a moment let me see
+
+Thyself, lonely in the dark,
+Perfect, without wound or mark.
+
+
+_ARAB SONGS (I)_
+
+Saadi the Poet stood up and he put forth his
+  living words.
+His songs were the hurtling of spears and
+  his figures the flashing of swords.
+With hearts dilated our tribe saw the creature
+  of Saadi's mind;
+It was like to the horse of a king, a creature
+  of fire and of wind.
+
+Umimah my loved one was by me: without
+  love did these eyes see my fawn,
+And if fire there were in her being, for me
+  its splendour had gone;
+When the sun storms up on the tent, he makes
+  waste the fire of the grass--
+It was thus with my loved one's beauty: the
+  splendour of song made it pass.
+
+The desert, the march, and the onset--these
+  and these only avail,
+Hands hard with the handling of spear-shafts,
+  brows white with the press of the mail!
+And as for the kisses of women--these are
+  honey, the poet sings;
+But the honey of kisses, beloved, it is lime
+  for the spirit's wings.
+
+
+_ARAB SONGS (II)_
+
+_The poet reproaches those who have affronted him_.
+
+Ye know not why God hath joined the horse
+  fly unto the horse
+Nor why the generous steed is yoked with
+  the poisonous fly:
+Lest the steed should sink into ease and lose
+  his fervour of nerve
+God hath appointed him this: a lustful and
+  venomous bride.
+
+Never supine lie they, the steeds of our folk,
+  to the sting,
+Praying for deadness of nerve, their wounds
+  the shame of the sun;
+They strive, but they strive for this: the fullness
+  of passionate nerve;
+They pant, but they pant for this: the speed
+  that outstrips the pain.
+
+Sons of the dust, ye have stung: there is
+  darkness upon my soul.
+Sons of the dust, ye have stung: yea, stung
+  to the roots of my heart.
+But I have said in my breast: the birth
+  succeeds to the pang,
+And sons of the dust, behold, your malice
+  becomes my song.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+SHANE LESLIE
+
+
+_A DEAD FRIEND_ (_J.S._, 1905)
+
+I drew him then unto my knee, my friend who
+  was dead,
+And I set my live lips over his, and my heart
+  by his head.
+
+I thought of an unrippled love and a passion
+  unsaid,
+And the years he was living by me, my friend
+  who was dead;
+
+And the white morning ways that we went,
+  and how oft we had fed
+And drunk with the sunset for lamp--my friend
+  who was dead;
+
+Now never the draught at my lips would thrill
+  to my head--
+For the last vintage ebbed in my heart; my
+  friend he was dead.
+
+Then I spake unto God in my grief: My wine
+  and my bread
+And my staff Thou hast taken from me--my
+  friend who is dead.
+
+Are the heavens yet friendless to Thee, and
+  lone to Thy head,
+That Thy desolate heart must have need of my
+  friend who is dead?
+
+To God then I spake yet again: not Peter
+  instead
+Would I take, nor Philip nor John, for my
+  friend who is dead.
+
+
+_FOREST SONG_
+
+All around I heard the whispering larches
+  Swinging to the low-lipped wind;
+God, they piped, is lilting in our arches,
+  For He loveth leafen kind.
+
+Ferns I heard, unfolding from their slumber,
+  Say confiding to the reed:
+God well knoweth us, Who loves to number
+  Us and all our fairy seed.
+
+Voices hummed as of a multitude
+  Crowding from their lowly sod;
+'Twas the stricken daisies where I stood,
+  Crying to the daisies' God.
+
+
+_THE BEE_
+
+Away, the old monks said,
+Sweet honey-fly,
+From lilting overhead
+The lullaby
+You heard some mother croon
+Beneath the harvest moon.
+Go, hum it in the hive,
+The old monks said,
+For we were once alive
+Who now are dead.
+
+
+_OUTSIDE THE CARLTON_
+
+The death of the grey withered grass
+    Of man's is a sign,
+    And his life is as wine
+That is spilt from a half-shivered glass.
+    At a quarter to nine
+    Went Dives to dine ...
+(Man, it is said, is as grass.)
+
+Riches and plunder had met
+    To furnish his feast--
+    Both succulent beast
+And fish from the fisherman's net;
+    While he tasteth of dishes
+    And all his soul wishes--
+Nor knoweth his hour hath been set.
+
+The death of the pale-sodden hay
+    'Neath the feet of the kine
+    Is to man for a sign;
+At the striking of ten he was grey,
+    And they carried him out
+    Stiff-strangled with gout.
+(Man, it is said, is as hay.)
+
+
+_THE PATER OF THE CANNON_
+
+Father of the thunder,
+  Flinger of the flame,
+Searing stars asunder,
+  _Hallowed be Thy Name_!
+
+By the sweet-sung quiring
+  Sister bullets hum,
+By our fiercest firing,
+  _May Thy Kingdom come_!
+
+By Thy strong apostle
+  Of the Maxim gun,
+By his pentecostal
+  Flame, _Thy Will be done_!
+
+Give us, Lord, good feeding
+  To Thy battles sped--Flesh,
+white grained and bleeding,
+  _Give for daily bread_!
+
+
+_FLEET STREET_
+
+I never see the newsboys run
+  Amid the whirling street,
+  With swift untiring feet,
+To cry the latest venture done,
+But I expect one day to hear
+  Them cry the crack of doom
+  And risings from the tomb,
+With great Archangel Michael near;
+And see them running from the Fleet
+  As messengers of God,
+  With Heaven's tidings shod
+About their brave unwearied feet.
+
+
+_NIGHTMARE_
+
+I dreamt that the heavens were beggared
+  And angels went chanting for bread,
+And the cherubs were sewed up in sackcloth,
+  And Satan anointed his head.
+I dreamt they had chalked up a price
+  On the sun and the stars at God's feet,
+And the Devil had bought up the Church,
+  And put out the Pope in the street.
+
+
+_TO A NOBLEMAN BECOMING SOCIALIST_
+
+I do remember thee so blest and filled
+  With all life offered thee,
+Yet unsurprised I learn that thou hast willed
+  To share or lose her fee.
+
+It seems a very great and stalwart thing
+  To toss defence away,
+To tear the golden feathers from thy wing
+  And lie with shards of clay.
+
+To some far vision's light thine eyes are set
+  That mock life's treasure trove,
+And see the changing woof not woven yet
+  As God would have it wove.
+
+The red thou flauntest bravely, friend, for me
+  Hast lost alarming power;
+For who but guilty men will quake their knee,
+  And who but robbers cower?
+
+For many hallowed things are symbolled red,
+  Live fire and cleansing war,
+And the bright sealing Blood that Christ once shed,
+  And Martyrs yet must pour.
+
+O friend, choose one of these ourselves to link;
+  For how could friendship be
+If from the foaming cup thou hast to drink
+  The dregs come not to me?
+
+Dividing much, thou makest little thine
+  Except the gain of loss;
+Yet haply Christ's true peer hath better sign
+  Than coronet--the Cross.
+
+
+_ST. GEORGE-IN-THE-EAST_
+
+'Mid the quiet splendour of a pennoned crowd,
+          Gently proud,
+Moved in armour, silvered in celestial forge,
+          Great Saint George,
+Stands he in the crimson-woven air of fight
+          Speared with light--
+Hell is harried by the holy anger poured
+          From his sword.
+
+Where the sweated toilers of the river slum
+          Shiver dumb,
+Passed to-day a poorly clad and poorly shod
+          Knight of God;
+Where the human eddy smears with shame and rags
+          Paving flags,
+Hell shall weakly wail beneath the words he cries
+          Piteous-wise.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+VIOLA MEYNELL
+
+
+_THE RUIN_
+
+I led thy thoughts, having them for my own,
+  To where my God His head to thee did bend.
+I bore thee in my bosom to His throne.
+  O, the blest labour, and the treasured end!
+
+Now like a ruined aqueduct I go
+  Unburdened; thou by more fleet ways hast been
+With Him. Since thou thine own swift road dost know,
+  Thou canst not brook such slow and devious mean.
+
+
+_THE DREAM_
+
+I slept, and thought a letter came from you--
+  You did not love me any more, it said.
+What breathless grief!--my love not true, not true ...
+  I was afraid of people, and afraid
+Of things inanimate--the wind that blew,
+  The clock, the wooden chair; and so I strayed
+From home, but could not stray from grief, I knew.
+  And then at dawn I woke, and wept, and prayed,
+And knew my blessed love was still the same;--
+  And yet I sit and moan upon the bed
+For that dream-creature's loss. For when I came
+  (I came, perhaps, to comfort her) she fled.
+I would be with her where she wanders now,
+Fleeing the earth, with pain upon her brow.
+
+
+_THE WANDERER_
+
+All night my thoughts have rested in God's fold;
+  They lay beside me here upon the bed.
+At dawn I woke: the air beat sad and cold.
+  I told them o'er--Ah, God, one thought had fled.
+
+Into what dark, deep chasm this wayward one
+  Has sunk, I scarcely know; I will not chide.
+O Shepherd, leave me! Seek this lamb alone.
+  The ninety-nine are here. They will abide.
+
+
+"_NATURE IS THE LIVING MANTLE OF GOD_"--_GOETHE_
+
+O for the time when some impetuous breeze
+Will catch Thy garment, and, like autumn trees,
+Toss it and rend it till Thou standest free,
+And end Thy long secluded reverie!
+
+Still now its beauty folds Thee, and--as she
+Who kissed Thy garment and had health from Thee--
+I feel the sun, or hear some bird in bliss,
+And Thou hast then my sudden, humble kiss.
+
+
+_SECRET PRAYER_
+
+Since that with lips which moved in one we prayed,
+  So that God ceased to hear us speak apart,
+What law irrevocable have we made?
+  How shall He hear a solitary heart
+
+When He did need that we, to have His ear,
+  Should go aside and pray together there
+With urgent breath? Ah, now I pause and fear--
+  How shall uprise my lonely, separate prayer?
+
+
+_THE UNHEEDED_
+
+Upon one hand your kisses chanced to rest:
+I smiled upon the other hand and said
+"Poor thing," when you had gone: and then in quest
+Of pity rose a clamour from the dead--
+Some way of mine, some word, some look, some jest
+Complained they too went all uncoveted ...
+That night I took these troubles to my breast,
+And played that you and I, my own, were wed;
+Those troubles were our child, with eyes of fear,--
+A wailing babe, whom I, his mother dear,
+Must soothe to quiet rest and calm relief,
+And urge his eyes to sleeping by and by.
+"O hush," I said, and wept to see such grief;
+"Hush, hush, your father must not hear you cry."
+
+
+_DREAM OF DEATH_
+
+In sleep my idle thoughts were sadly led
+  By wild dark ways: it strangely seemed that I
+Must join the number of the silent dead,
+  And with my young and fearful heart must die.
+
+But ah, what drew my bitter moans and sighs,
+  And pierced my sleeping spirit, was that she
+Who with the saddest tears would close these eyes
+  And with maternal passion mourn for me,
+
+She on some pleasure-errand stayed away.
+  Ah, bitter, bitter thought! Ah, lonely death
+To seek me in the night! And not till day
+  Had come and soothed my fear, and calmed my breath,
+
+And in the sun my new life I could kiss,
+  And look with prayer and hope to future years,
+Did I discern God's mercy still in this--
+  That I was spared the anguish of her tears.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+RUTH TEMPLE LINDSAY
+
+
+_MATER SALVATORIS_
+
+Ah, wilt thou turn aside and see
+The little Child on Mary's knee?
+Enter the stable bleak and cold,
+Grope through the straw and myrrh and gold;
+Seek in the darkness near and far--
+Lift up the lantern and the Star.
+Rough shepherds came to love and greet,
+There knelt three kings at Mary's feet.
+Ah! draw thee nigh the holy place--
+He sleepeth well in her embrace,
+The little Saviour of thy race--
+Then raise thine eyes to Mary's face.
+
+But wilt thou come in years to be?
+She held Him dead across her knee.
+Stretch Him aloft on planks of wood;
+Offer Him gall for tears and blood.
+Blazon thy hatred far and near:
+Lift up the hammer and the spear.
+Red thorns about his head were wound--
+There lay three nails upon the ground.
+Yea I Heed the Lover of thy race--
+He lieth dead in her embrace.
+Ah! scourge thy soul with its disgrace:
+Then raise thine eyes to Mary's face.
+
+
+_TO CHOOSE_
+
+Thou canst choose the eastern Circle for thy part,
+  And within its sacred precincts thou shalt rest;
+  Thou shalt fold pale, slender hands upon thy breast,
+Thou shalt fasten silent eyes upon thy heart.
+If there steal within the languor of thine ark
+  The thunder of the waters of the earth,
+  The human, simple cries of pain and mirth,
+The wails of little children in the dark,
+Thou shalt contemplate thy Circle's radiant gleam,
+  Thou shalt gather self and God more closely still:
+  Let the Piteous and the Foolish moan at will,
+So thou shelter in the sweetness of thy dream.
+
+Thou canst bear a bloodstained Cross upon thy breast,
+  Thou shalt stand upon the common, human sod,
+  Thou shalt lift unswerving eyes unto thy God,
+Thou shalt stretch torn, rugged hands to east and west
+Thou shalt call to every throne and every cell--
+  Thou shalt gather all the answers of the Earth,
+  Thou shalt wring repose from weariness and dearth,
+Thou shalt fathom the profundity of Hell--
+But thy height shall touch the height of God above,
+  And thy breadth shall span the breadth of pole to pole,
+  And thy depth shall sound the depth of every soul,
+And thy heart the deep Gethsemane of Love.
+
+
+_THE HUNTERS_
+
+"_The Devil, as a roaring lion, goeth about
+seeking whom he may detour_"
+
+The Lion, he prowleth far and near,
+  Nor swerves for pain or rue;
+He heeded nought of sloth nor fear,
+  He prowleth--prowleth through
+The silent glade and the weary street,
+  In the empty dark and the full noon heat;
+And a little Lamb with aching Feet--
+  He prowleth too.
+
+The Lion croucheth alert, apart--
+  With patience doth he woo;
+He waiteth long by the shuttered heart,
+  And the Lamb--He waiteth too.
+Up the lurid passes of dreams that kill,
+  Through the twisting maze of the great Untrue,
+The Lion followeth the fainting will--
+  And the Lamb--He followeth too.
+
+From the thickets dim of the hidden way
+  Where the debts of Hell accrue,
+The Lion leapeth upon his prey:
+  But the Lamb--He leapeth too.
+Ah! loose the leash of the sins that damn,
+  Mark Devil and God as goals,
+In the panting love of a famished Lamb,
+  Gone mad with the need of souls.
+
+The Lion, he strayeth near and far;
+  What heights hath he left untrod?
+He crawleth nigh to the purest star,
+  On the trail of the saints of God.
+And throughout the darkness of things unclean,
+  In the depths where the sin-ghouls brood,
+There prowleth ever with yearning mien--
+  A lamb as white as Blood!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+HUGH AUSTIN
+
+
+_THE ASTRONOMERS PRAYER_
+
+Night. O Thou God! who rulest Heaven and earth,
+  The terraced atmospheres, the bounded seas;
+Who knowest equally both death and birth,
+  Frail human men, strong divine mysteries,
+Whose unencumbered thought sways all the spheres,
+  In all their turning, snake-like, perfect ways;
+Now that the season of my labour nears,
+  Grant me an insight to Thy larger days!
+
+To Thee all things create and unborn yield,
+  Being of Thee, the secret of their souls--
+The traversed elements, the azure field
+  Whereo'er eternal each huge star-world rolls.
+There is no tiny insect but does know
+  Itself within Thy Presence visual:
+From us too swiftly years and seasons go,
+  To Thee all change is a thing gradual.
+
+E'en as at nightfall, when the lights come in,
+  The moth attracted woos and meets her death,
+So do I seek Thy light to wander in,
+  Though fearfully and with half-bated breath.
+So do I seek all knowledge of Thy stars,
+  Which move in and without my vision's reach;
+Maybe yet burning with internal wars,
+  Or shaking as this world with human speech.
+
+Stars which perhaps ten thousand years ago
+  Waned and grew cold at Thy almighty word
+Waft their light hitherward. I do not know--
+  Thy recreating voice I have not heard.
+Maybe, e'en at this hour Thine accents shake
+  Some chaos into order, into life;
+Perchance some great creation now doth break
+  Into new form beneath Thy wisdom's knife.
+
+Ah, Lord! The night appals me. Give me strength
+  Within myself to search this planet's dome:
+O Supreme Architect, give me at length
+  Some clearer knowledge of Thy spaceless home!
+My spirit seethes within me; in the sky
+  Thy constellations shine; for me begin
+My labours until night-time passes by--
+  And before dawn I must or fail or win.
+
+
+_THE MOON_
+
+Cirqued with dim stars and delicate moonflowers,
+Silent she moves among the silent hours--
+Watching the spheres that glow with golden heat
+              Under her feet.
+
+Then, when the sunrise tints the east with light,
+She fades to westward, with the dreamy night
+And all her starry train--in faint disguise
+              Of twilight skies.
+
+
+_TO YVONNE_
+
+Such things have been, Yvonne; but you and I,
+  Can we touch lips again across the years?
+Re-order what is past? Forget--or try
+  Not to remember what through mists of tears
+Is still too memorable? Dare we two
+  Start both our lives again, as we were young
+And happy, in such love as falls to few?
+  Nay, for our violins are all unstrung.
+
+Yet it is well that memory should hold
+  Some few pale rose-leaves plucked in bygone days,
+That still are sweet, despite those pains untold
+  Which throng the marges of life's winding ways.
+Yea, these will stay when nearer things are gone;
+  I shall keep mine. Will you keep yours, Yvonne?
+
+
+_THE BURIAL OF SCALD_
+
+A long, low wail of harps across the snow,
+  Falling and rising with the whistling wind;
+A shifting glare of lights that come and go,
+  As if men searched for what they could not find.
+And then the music thrilled out loud and well
+  Over the waste and barren dunes of sand--
+Solemn and stately as a passing bell
+  Heard dimly in some weary twilight land.
+
+Then slipped the moon behind a dusky cloud,
+  And each bright star its silver visage hid;
+Mystery 'gan the darkness to enshroud;
+  Across the sky a blood-red message slid.
+
+Sudden the ship blazed up, the dark was light;
+  Lo! Scald is dead! his pyre was lit to-night.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+JUDITH LYTTON
+
+
+_A DAY REMEMBERED_
+
+Oh, Love, what fate is ours? No summer morning
+  Shall give us joy, no sunrise bring relief;
+No end--no end is there unto our sorrow,
+  No measure to our grief.
+
+You looked at me, and all your living beauty
+  Swept to my heart in flame a moment's space,
+A sudden mist of tears in darkness veiling
+  The glory of your face.
+
+You spoke: I seemed to hear the wild doves cooing--
+  The rain upon the hills, sweet falling rain;
+And all my soul was filled with joy and anguish,
+  In ecstasy of pain.
+
+I saw as in a mist celestial visions
+  Beyond the bitter seas whence hope has fled,
+Heard the wind blow among the trees in summer,
+  But knew not what you said.
+
+It matters not what words the lips have spoken
+  When heart shall speak to heart, for love can hear
+Unspoken words, and see as in reflection
+  His own thoughts mirrored there.
+
+You came to me, the sun arose in splendour;
+  I saw the roses spread their petals sweet,
+And thought that all the world must see in wonder
+  The wings upon our feet.
+
+You touched me, and a wave of passionate longing
+  Flooded my soul until it swooned away,
+And knew no more the sunlight from the shadow--
+  If it were night or day.
+
+We wandered in the shadow of the woodland,
+  Mute while we looked into each other's eyes,
+And saw as in still pools of darkened water
+  The wonder of the skies.
+
+No word we spoke. We knew that love had silenced
+  All that we wished to speak yet left unsaid;
+The bees were humming in the wild-rose blossoms
+  Which clustered overhead.
+
+And all that summer day we were together,
+  Alone with love, yet with a sword between--
+The flaming sword that stands between us ever,
+  And all that might have been.
+
+Mist gathered white at evening in the valleys,
+  And slowly grew the dusk from gold to grey,
+While rain-clouds gathered on the low horizon
+  Dark at the close of day.
+
+And softly rose a wind from out the darkness,
+  With scent of flower and fern and herb and tree,
+And in its breath there came a sound of thunder,
+  Storm-laden from the sea.
+
+And thus we reached the wicket of the garden;
+  The wood was full of sound, the sound of wings;
+The scent of lavender brought back remembrance
+  Of long-forgotten things.
+
+Though heaven and earth and sky should be forgotten,
+  Yet of that hour my soul should bear the trace:
+For night fell fast, and in the deepening shadow
+  You turned and kissed my face.
+
+
+_CHILDHOOD_
+
+A stranger come I to the festival
+Thou holdest in the regions of romance,
+Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance,
+And pearls lie hid within each rose petal.
+What magic changes in life's crystal ball
+Shall thus transform earth's dullness at thy glance!
+Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance,
+A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall.
+So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong,
+Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine;
+Remember still the visions that are thine
+When sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng;
+And dream once more that thou hast found divine
+Love in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.
+
+
+_LOVE IN IDLENESS_
+
+To look at thee, and see the sunlight move
+The shadow of the leaves upon thy face,
+Lighting the glory of thy youth and grace
+With golden rays wind-stirred from trees above;
+To listen to the rustling of the grove,
+The warblers in the reeds which interlace
+The waters of the pool, and dream a space,
+Forgetful of the hours ... this then is love!
+Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness,
+All these are mine. Who then shall dispossess
+My soul of paradise? In truth I learn
+More than the world can teach. Oblivion waits,
+And distance parts, and Death annihilates:
+But now thy love is all my love's concern.
+
+
+_LOVE'S COUNTERFEIT_
+
+By what false spell of what enchanter's wand
+Should thy gross fibre be with love allied?
+Unhappy youth, thou callest to thy side
+An unknown shade from some far spirit land;
+Thou canst not guess, nor shalt thou understand,
+The waters that thy soul from his divide.
+In place of Love, what alien spirits glide
+About thy sleep to answer thy command?
+What blasphemy is this? Thou hast no spell
+To call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,
+Or move the stars. What cometh in his place?
+This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,
+Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep?
+Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst see
+his face.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+OLIVIA MEYNELL
+
+
+_A GRIEF WITHOUT CHRIST_
+
+I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found
+In every colour, and in every sound.
+
+I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,
+A living God, breathing the living air.
+
+I sought Him in my soul--oh, passionate loss!
+All that I found was a forsaken Cross.
+
+
+_THE CROWNING_
+
+Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,
+My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.
+
+Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
+Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were--
+
+Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
+And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.
+
+Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
+Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.
+
+Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
+Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+MAURICE HEALY
+
+
+_IN MEMORIAM_
+
+"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
+And Jesus raised His weary head,
+Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
+And taught His children how to pray.
+
+"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
+And Jesus sent you to my side
+To make your own the soul I wear
+And mould it purer into prayer.
+
+And since your love first lit the way
+I find that I have learned to pray;
+For, that my soul may benefit,
+I pray that you may pray for it.
+
+
+_A BALLAD OF FRIENDSHIP_
+
+_for two most dear Children_
+
+Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
+  Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
+I gave the best of a slender ability,
+  Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.
+You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
+  Over the tips of the western towers;
+Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
+  "This is no stranger: we name him ours!"
+
+Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy--
+  Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
+Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
+  What is the score of my slavery's wrong?
+Surely where pleasures so freely throng
+  Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
+Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,
+  "This is no stranger: we name him ours"?
+
+When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
+  Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,
+Wisdom came with you; the old sad history
+  Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad
+And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad
+  As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,
+When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,
+  "This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"
+
+                  L'ENVOI.
+
+So do I thank you; and if some day
+  You in your gained Paradisal bowers
+Hear me knocking, be bold to pray,
+  "This is no stranger: we claim him ours!"
+
+
+_IN THE MIDST OF THEM_
+
+     "_Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
+     Look on me, a little child.
+     Pity my simplicity
+     And suffer me to come to Thee_."
+
+Now prevails a creed which tells
+Us to seek no miracles.
+Reason by discovered lore
+Reigns where Faith was found before.
+God, Who set our world aspin,
+Now is weary of its din;
+He, Who for our fathers' sake
+Conjured lightning and earthquake,
+Vanquished sorrow, sickness, death,
+Deems we are not worth the Breath
+That blessed the trusting prophet's rod
+When Moses called upon his God.
+How dare _we_ expect Him give
+Miracles to help us live?
+
+Yet I build on Him Who saith,
+"Move the mountains with your faith"--
+Doubt the lips that falter, wan,
+"The age of miracles is gone!"
+I have learned to read the grim
+Testimony unto Him
+Printed with starvation's hand
+On every hove! through the land;
+I have swung the crazy door
+To find huddled on a floor
+Rat-gnawed and riddled, with never a clout
+To keep the eager winter out,
+Some six or seven of our kind
+Shivering beneath the wind,
+Foodless, fireless, hungry-eyed,
+Crouched round one who just had died,
+Hopeless that the dawn would bring
+Friendly aid and comforting.
+
+And after prayer for the parted soul,
+They have thanked the slender dole,
+And spoken of hope of days to come,
+And have forgotten their martyrdom.
+The anguished grief of motherhood
+Has firmly whispered "God is good
+And can in His Eternity
+Repay this present loss"; till I
+Have almost turned my head to see
+If Christ has not come in with me!
+
+     _Gentle Jesus, mild and meek,
+     These the simple words I speak
+     Are the faith Thou gavest me;
+     Suffer me to come to Thee!_
+
+
+_SIC TRANSIT_
+
+They camped in the meadow at sunrise,
+  And their crests gleamed bright in the sun,
+And the breeze that blew sighed soft, for it knew
+  Their fate e'er the day was done.
+They lay in the meadow at sunset,
+  As the sky in anger blushed red;
+For the host of the dawn lay still on the lawn--
+  The host was a host of dead.
+
+Let the gardener but pass his scythe o'er the grass--
+  And the life of a daisy is sped!
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+MONICA SALEEBY
+
+
+_RETROSPECT_
+
+You loved the child of fifteen years.
+  I knew not this vast thing.
+Your great heart shrank beneath your fears;
+  You left me wondering.
+
+Now fourteen years have passed us by;
+  Our souls meet once again;
+And, meeting, I have asked you why
+  Our ways apart have lain?
+
+And now your answer comes at last:--
+  "I loved you in that day."
+Oh, strange reply! Oh, tender past!
+  Oh, long love locked away!
+
+And now, yes, I have climbed Love's hill;
+My heart is bound, yet free.
+And is there not some young child still
+For you to love in me?
+
+You have the right to love her yet,
+  For he who loves me grown
+Knew not the child you'll ne'er forget;
+  I give her for your own.
+
+Oh, keep her young within your breast,
+  Allow her to survive;
+For love of you _I'll_ do my best
+  To keep your child alive.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FRANCIS MEYNELL
+
+
+_ANY STONE_
+
+A myriad years God toiled to mould
+  A nerveless stone to His intent--
+From peace to war, from heat to cold,
+  It triumphed against the Omnipotent:
+God strove until His strength grew old,
+  Then cried "Thy help, My firmament!"
+
+The stars in succour gave their light,
+  The aiding moon her ocean-sway;
+At dawn and dusk the hosts of night
+  Watched round the battle-fires of day ...
+To set the dust He loved aright
+  God called His winds to that array,
+
+And all the burden of the world,
+  And all the tears from all men's eyes,
+Drought, dew, and every flower unfurled,
+  The priest, the fire, the sacrifice,
+The pillared cloud, His thunder hurled--
+  Victor, He held as nought the price!
+
+Thus loved, thus wrought, God deemed the stone
+Fit bed for beasts to lie upon.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+O God of Gods, make short my days
+  Of blind approach to her and Thee;
+Life-long upon Thy rugged ways
+  Her heart has danced: she calls to me.
+Hast Thou forgotten me alone,
+  O Watcher where the wild beast lies?--
+Mould to Thy will this other stone
+  --A stone, yet precious in her eyes.
+
+
+_LUX IN TENEBRIS_
+
+Spirit of smiles and tears, you came to me in the night,
+The golden moon aglow in your hair, and the spear-driven light
+Of an army of stars in your eyes, weary with truant sleep.
+O little skilled in self, who thought you came to weep!
+
+Out of the darkness, light; flame in the virgin dew!
+Love came unto her own, and knew him not, who knew.
+O understood! O known! O apprehended bliss!
+O self unskilled in self! O taught of my one kiss!
+
+
+_MATER INVIOLATA_
+
+A maiden's love most nuptial is,
+Innocent of his nuptial kiss;
+And only after marriage call
+Her lips, her passion, virginal!
+
+For when she dreams, who is beloved,
+The ancient miracle stands proved--
+Virginity's much Motherhood!
+For O, the unborn babes she keeps,
+The unthought glory, lips unwooed!--
+And O, the quickening of her sleeps
+Whose dreams, dreamed over, do repeat
+The echoes of Love's falling feet!
+For his, her young inviolate mouth
+Longs with the longing of long drouth:
+And, lacking substance for such feast,
+She clasps a dream-baby to breast,
+And kisses, where her head has place,
+The dream-lips of her love's dream-face!
+
+On the decked bridal bed of Night
+She knows the Moon shows maiden light--
+The Sun's kiss urged in marriage-rite!
+So, when her very night shall come,
+Virginal, in her virgin home
+When stars show unfamiliar faces,
+Laughing for love in their high places--
+When her essential lips are dumb
+In a thronged panic of embraces--
+Her maiden heart, her spousal breast,
+Shall throb, surrendered and possessed,
+Throb, passion-sweet and ungainsaid--
+"Now at the last am I a Maid!"
+
+
+_SONG-BURDEN_
+
+I do confess I have no art
+To tell the tale of my own heart.
+
+Of lips and tears, of hearts and eyes,
+I rhyme my rhymes and fear my fears;
+And if of these I make you wise,
+These pictured hearts, these lips, these tears,
+There is nought to do; I have played my part.
+
+And I, a captain of much guile,
+Within your ranks dissensions preach
+Till all are jealous, each of each--
+Your eyes, lips, heart, a tear, a smile!
+
+So, when you turn your eyes away
+From mirrored eyes, and when you stay
+Love-hearing with reluctant hand,
+Straight then your heart-throbs will betray
+That you have read, and understand!
+
+And should your maiden heart uprise
+Against fain ears and full-fain eyes,
+Upon your lips, that cannot err,
+I set my kiss-interpreter!
+
+Or hold you steadfast as allies
+Your heart, hand, lips, your smiles, your all,
+Your faithful eyes are traitrous eyes--
+Out-steals a tear to your downfall!
+
+Your heart, your eyes, the lips of you
+--Hesitant and full-fain your eyes!--
+Make all my song; have I sung true?
+Make all my song; are you song-wise?
+
+
+_GIFTS_
+
+My given gifts have been, ah me!
+Sorrow, and superfluity.
+
+You needed primal force, and this
+Was all my giving--emphasis.
+
+For your mute voice more mute I made,
+And at your singing proffered song;
+You trembled, and I was afraid--
+Were pierced, I fell on the same blade--
+Triumphed, and then my arm was strong.
+For peace I builded on your peace,
+And on your weakness mine up-piled;
+Of too fond hope I made increase,
+And at your smilings, as a child,
+Ignorant of their cost, I smiled.
+
+Always I fear at sight of fears,
+And always weep at weeping eyes;
+O my Beloved, take my tears,
+Take my sighs!
+
+And these, and these, alas! shall be
+Sorrow, and superfluity.
+
+
+_WRAITH_
+
+Mine was not equal of her trust--
+  As whose, my friend, as whose should be?-And
+now, a panic dream of dust,
+  She comes to haunt the heart of me;
+
+She comes to haunt my heart for this,
+  And lo, a glory of my sighs!
+For still her phantom lips I kiss,
+  Who cannot meet her phantom eyes.
+
+
+_A DEDICATION_
+
+I took the universe for theme,
+  And all young eyes, and all old stars;
+A thousand angels of my dream
+  I sang, and a thousand of love's wars.
+
+Blind then my eyes, that now can see
+The narrowness of infinity!
+
+For these my songs sing but her eyes,
+  And all my song one star apart,
+One angel's dream-soliloquies,
+  One conquered, one triumphant, heart.
+
+Yea, one is all, and all is one;
+My songs, O love, are sung, and I have done.
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+_By_ The Hon. Mrs. Lindsay
+            THE HERMIT OF DREAMS.
+            3s. 6d. net.
+
+_By_ Viola Meynell
+            MARTHA VINE: A Love Story of
+            Simple Life. 6s.
+
+_By_ Padraic Colum
+            WILD EARTH, 1s. net.
+
+_By_ Shane Leslie
+            SONGS OF ORIEL. 1s. net.
+            LOUGH DEARG. 1s. net.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eyes of Youth, by Various
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EYES OF YOUTH ***
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